I guess I felt we’d be remiss if we went to Erie and not spent some time at that Presque Isle place, so we did that briefly Saturday evening.
I’m not a big beach person (beached whale, yeah), let alone a fake beach person, but it was OK for the short amount of time we spent there. My family used to go to Wildwood, NJ every summer and I was OK with spending my days eating sand because I knew that I would be rewarded with all of the action after dinner when we’d hit the boardwalk.
If I HAD to go to the beach, it would be Wildwood but that’s ONLY because of Morey’s Piers.
The entire time, Henry reminisced about his stupid fishing trip that he took there a hundred years ago. “That’s where we stayed when I came here to fish!” he exclaimed wistfully at one point as we passed some negative-star motel.
“I PARKED THERE WHEN I WENT FISHING!”
“I ATE AT THAT PERKINS WHEN I CAME UP HERE TO FISH!”
Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP.
Chooch probably still has sand on him.
I should probably give him a bath at some point this week.
Still, trodding through wet sand at Presque Isle wasn’t the worst way to waste time. And I guess it was pretty, if you like all that nature shit.
I wish we had something you could consider a beach here. We just have places they call beaches that are covered in tiny rocks that get stuck in bad places.