Leaving Jockey's Ridge

The wind was blowing at about 22 miles per hour. The sand stung my face as I stood out on the crest of Jockey’s Ridge Stat Park. Georgia, my 4-year old daughter, was about 50 feet ahead of me, but since I could see all around me and there was nowhere dangerous for her to go, I wasn’t worried.

Jockey’s Ridge is ever-moving as it is the tallest active sand dune system in the Eastern United States. The winds blow. The sands shift. Jockey’s Ridge moves.

Georgia and I hiked and jogged up and down the sides of the dunes. She kept turning around to make sure that I was there, and to see if she was going the right direction. She was, I assured her.
“We’re looking for the tallest one we see. When we find that, we’ll know we’re there,” I said.

She scrunched up her face, but then smiled and gave me a thumbs up. 4-year olds are so emotive.

It made me think of Tatooine. I’m sure I’m not the first person to say that. I could almost see the stormtroopers riding Dewbacks over the ridge looking for rebels, or a herd of hairy banthas resting in the sand. In any case, it was gorgeous, and my insides were buzzing with butterflies or fairies or whatever it is that makes us tear up when we see something truly magnificent.

The wind was blowing so hard, my hair looked like it was trying to escape my head. Specifically, it was trying to escape South. There must be a hair safe haven in that direction.

I saw what I figured to be the best spot to kick off the run, so I yelled to Georgia, about 30 yards ahead of me, “That one!” and pointed. She yelled back to confirm, and took the steepest, slowest and slipperiest route to the top. I wasn’t worried about her getting hurt, so I let her go. Since I had another 33 miles or so to go that day, I figured, I’d take my time as well as the easiest route that I could.

I took the longer but easier route to get to the top of the dune. There was flat spot up top that could have fit two tractor trailers and there was an easier, gently-sloping wide path to the South that I knew I would be running down in just a few minutes. I caught up to Georgia just as she struggled to get over the last lip of the climb. I gave her a gentle push on her bottom so that she tumbled over the edge. She growled but smiled as she looked back at me. “I’m fine!”, she yelled. Without dusting herself off, she started running with her arms spread wide as if this posture made her more receptive to the sun’s rays and the strong wind. Dean, Chuck, and Meidad were right behind me, and you could tell they all experienced the same breath-taking moment as they looked around. Pamlico Sound was to the West. The wind often came from that direction but it eddied around and moved the sand making it appear as if it was dancing.

Just below us was a hang-gliding instructor trying to keep his student from eating too much sand. After several photo opportunities, I looked at Murphy. She had tears in her eyes and her hands were moving to cover her face. Georgia was clinging to her leg. I turned away quickly so that I didn’t get drawn into too much emotion. It was loud, windy and almost too perfect.

I started running.

After I dodged the hang glider, I looped around and heading back towards the parking area.

Dean nearly tumbled head over heels getting down the dunes and cutting a shortcut through the sand, trying to get to our rented Tahoe ahead of me. I forgot to put on sunscreen and I was going to need to empty sand out of my shoes or I was going to really hate this run before the first day was over. Thankfully, nobody was hurt and he sprinted ahead of me. Mom was waiting for me on a wooden pier about 300 yards from where I started. She couldn’t navigate the sand due to her two artificial knees and a partially fake hip that she had broken on my back porch the previous Summer. I hugged her and kissed her quickly - once again trying to avoid tears.

Another 100 yards or so and I was at the parking lot where Dean was just opening the back of the 2018 black Chevrolet Tahoe. Just as I was walking up, Dean pulled out a black plastic milk crate filled with a drugstore of emergency essentials. As if it was guided by a divine hand, Dean reached into the crate and pulled out a yellow spray can of SPF 50+ sunscreen and shook it like a graffiti artist. I dusted off the sand, and spun and danced like a kid waiting to get in the swimming pool as Dean made sure I was as covered as I could be.

The trail followed a concrete path through the woods, and over a busy NC Highway 12 to a frontage road that parallelled the beach. I veered right facing South and a strong crosswind towards Oregon Inlet.

I’m sure that my adrenaline levels were spiking, and I struggled to control my exhilaration before I burned out within the first few hours of the run. There were a lot of days to go and trusting the process, my legs and my crew were all that were going to get me there.

It was early on Easter morning, the sun was out and the weather was nice. Families were coming back from sunrise service, getting ready to spend a day at the beach, or slowly packing up to head back to their depressing realities waiting for them wherever their homes were. Even though I knew better, it felt like they were stepping out on their balconies to cheer me on.

Go, Kenny!, they must be yelling in their heads, even though they had no idea who I was, and perhaps didn’t even notice me. I was wearing my Throwing Bones t-shirt, so if they looked really close, then went to the website I’m sure they could have figured out I’m the man of the minute, soon to be forgotten as soon as I’m out of sight.