I had been wanting to go on the Sunset/Full Moon Ride at Ft. Pickens National Seashore for months, but always seemed to miss it, until this Sunday. Chris and I packed up our bikes and arrived at the entrance to the park at 4:30, ready to ride, excited for an adventure.
And how fun it was, riding to the fort! Those seven-plus miles of beautiful road, happy riders alongside, the sunset ahead, the promise of a full moon behind. Granted, the sun set without fanfare, but the night felt cool, the wind blew at our backs, and we rode among the dunes, sea oats, tall pines, and gnarled oaks, enjoying the scenery at a leisurely pace.
At the fort, with the sun officially down, we headed back. And it got dark. Quick. The wind, which had pushed us along, now felt like a wall.
No matter. We had nothing but time, and the promise of a full moon rise. Riding in the dark was actually magical, otherworldly.
But then ... my blood-sugar dropped. Chris and I love to ride bikes, and 15 miles isn't daunting. But we aren't the best at preparing for situations. I didn't even have water. But I did have Tic Tacs, and I ate twelve of them, along with much of Chris' water.
We still had five miles to go, and was afraid I might pass out. I put my head down and focused on my breathing and the white line painted on the side of the road. Every once in a while I looked up to check on the moon, finally deciding, in those minutes that passed by like hours, that there would be no moon for me tonight.
But then, the magic kicked in again. I looked up and saw a strange orange dome sitting on Pensacola Beach, like a lit-up party tent at a big event. But this party tent started floating. Soon, a huge orange ball sat on the horizon, and Chris and I marveled at the beauty. Three miles to go.
I put my head down again and only pedalled, and pedalled, and pedalled.
At the last mile, I just couldn't do it anymore. Chris, my hero, my knight in shining armor, reached his hand out to me and pulled me the rest of the way.
I fell into the car, gulped down my water, and scavenged for food, coming up with a Gatorade chew. I would survive.
As we drove home, we pondered the question of whether we would take part in the Sunset/Full Moon Ride again. There's a good chance we will. But there's a 100 percent chance that we will be packing snacks.
Photo Credits: Chris Zokan
The brightly costumed people on the fifty or so floats threw beads and Moon Pies and frisbees, but the best part of the street party was, and always will be, the music. 
Happy Mardi Gras, y'all!
I'm so grateful to live here. I take a deep, doubly deep breath, and sigh.
I learned from Deepak Chopra to practice lovingkindness to others by thinking "Namaste" as I see them. Namaste: the spirit in me honors the spirit in you. The divine in me recognizes the divine in you.
I had been wanting to go on the Sunset/Full Moon Ride at Ft. Pickens National Seashore for months, but always seemed to miss it, until this Sunday. Chris and I packed up our bikes and arrived at the entrance to the park at 4:30, ready to ride, excited for an adventure.
At the fort, with the sun officially down, we headed back. And it got dark. Quick. The wind, which had pushed us along, now felt like a wall.
No matter. We had nothing but time, and the promise of a full moon rise. Riding in the dark was actually magical, otherworldly.
At the last mile, I just couldn't do it anymore. Chris, my hero, my knight in shining armor, reached his hand out to me and pulled me the rest of the way.
I'm looking out a this beautiful ocean today. The sky is an unbelievably blue dome and the sun refracts light onto the green expanse of sea. I take a deep breath. The breeze caresses my face, the surf rolling gently in. Goodbye TigerLily.
At first we couldn't believe it. She had been so lively. Granted, she'd turned into a finicky eater and some days couldn't keep her meal down. The day before she died, we decided to take her to the vet if she wasn't better. How we wish we had taken her sooner!
With TigerLily gone, the centenarian seems to have revived with our sudden attention to her. There is a certain beauty with age, and we value her life deeply.
We're in the Fort Pickens Gulf Islands National Seashore this afternoon. I love Fort Pickens. Driving through the gate on the west end of Pensacola Beach is like traveling to another world. A desert world of white sand dunes, low shrubs, and a calming, insistent rumble: the nearby tide.
Unlike Northern Colombia, it's cold here as the sun sets on this near cloudless day. Somehow we've managed to end up at a busy beach. At least seven people surround us, all with cameras.
Although the sun is behind a haze, it's not windy. The Gulf is a lovely emerald green today, with white waves rolling in. Watching them, I quit caring about what the Margaritaville staff might think. Lord knows I've spent enough at their delicious restaurant, Frank and Lola's. I'm just grateful to be at the beach -- my beach.
