A special place in my personal history

The Outer Banks, N.C. have been a special place as long as I can remember. Before telling the story of what happened there on my roadtrip, I felt this introduction was necessary to explain why I drove a total of ten hours out of my way to go back. Not that I ever need a reason.

Being down there is a completely different atmosphere. The Outer Banks is one of a few places where it's great to just 'hang out.' Do nothing. I could sit in a chair down there for hours on a porch and just enjoy myself, by myself. Or with friends, talk about nothing for hours. Those are ALWAYS the best conversations. There's no pressure to go to the bars, no pressure to do anything really. It's a fantastically slow life.

Every year for almost twenty years my family would come down and spend a week somewhere in the Outer Banks, and we all got to bring a friend. It was something I looked forward to all year, and the best childhood memories I have. I remember when I was just a little guy we'd drive down on Sunday and not be allowed to get in the water (crazy Mormon thing), so we'd say we were going to 'just stick our toes in' and come back soaked. And get grounded. At the beach. The rest of the week I would spend boogie boarding to exhaustion. I would stay in the water until my lips turned blue, trying to catch the perfect wave but usually ending up on the shore spitting out salt water and picking sand out of my nose. Then I'd go stomp out my sister's sand castles to warm myself up. By dinner time I would be so tired that on more than one occasion I actually passed out onto my plate, and woke up to my parents laughing as I coughed up spaghetti.

My teenage years down at the beach consisted of windsurfing on Pamlico Sound all day, usually with my friend Mark Karns.

At night we'd walk down the beach looking for bonfires, and girls. I had my first kiss on those dark dunes of North Carolina. Ironically, it turned out we had the same last name, and that was just a little too weird. I still owe Mark one for distracting her chunky friend. At twenty, in Corolla, I finally scrounged up enough balls to kiss the girl I had been infatuated with all summer. She went to the bathroom and puked, but ended up becoming my girlfriend of over two years. She's been my meter stick; anyone I've dated since has had to measure up to her. That all started on a dock on the Albemarle Sound:

She was also smoking hot, and had great jugs.

I had still not emerged from my awkward phase.

There were two great trips that I don't think I'll ever forget, and we didn't even do anything eventful. The Outer Banks is just that kind of place. There was the trip with Mark and Kevin Zebatto, where Mark didn't think his rashguard looked gay,

and we tried to teach Kevin how to windsurf (didn't go so well),

and were all so horrible at Pictionary that we laughed to tears. Kevin was actually the main reason I moved out to Tempe, Arizona.

The second trip was a few years later with my girlfriend and two of my best friends at the time:

Will Havlovick, Tula, Erin, and Me. At least one of us remembered to apply sunscreen.

Those were good times. Needless to say, this place holds some good memories for me. Remembering all these experiences, I go back to the beach whenever I get the chance.

But the whole experience changes when you hang out with Dave Malan. On to the Roadtrip, Day 5, 6, 7, and 8.