Last year, Chris, our son Christian, his then-fiancée, now wife Claire, and I set up camp—well, let’s call it what it was, glamping—on Chincoteague Island, Virginia. It’s the kind of place where wild ponies roam free and locals still round them up once a year like something out of a children’s story. Because, well, it was a children’s story—Misty of Chincoteague, to be exact. Marguerite Henry’s beloved book told the true tale of two kids who raised a wild pony, and that legend still gallops through town today. Every year, “saltwater cowboys” drive the ponies from Assateague Island, auctioning some off to support the fire department. But our story didn’t start with ponies. It started with bacon and eggs.
Chris whipped up a gourmet breakfast—at least as gourmet as a camp stove and Blackstone grill allow. We’re talking hearty sandwiches, the kind that make you believe you can conquer the wilderness. Fueled up, we prepped for the several-mile ride from our campground to the untamed side of Assateague Island. Now, Chris and I have made the trek before, riding smooth and easy on our trusty Fuji Crosstowns. Christian and Claire, however, were on a different journey. The campground had hooked them up with one-speed, well-worn bikes. And I do mean worn. Christian, who stands a proud 6’4″ and played college football, looked like a circus act—knees practically knocking his ears as he pedaled through 85-degree humidity.
We glided. They grinded. About halfway into the trail, we spotted a sign for the “Wilderness Beach”—just half a mile down a sandy, winding path. Naturally, we bit. After working up a serious sweat, we found a clearing with a few bike racks, ditched our shoes, and headed up a dune on foot. That’s where we saw the “wilderness outhouse”—a driftwood log and a roll of toilet paper impaled on a twig. Charming. But over that dune? Pure magic. The beach stretched for miles. No crowds, no noise. Just surf, sand, and serenity. We snapped a few pictures and dipped our toes in the chilly Atlantic before heading back. Now, here’s where things got interesting.
I teased Christian that I could ride his undersized torture device of a bike better than he could. And like a true Tom Sawyer, he handed it over. I made it work—but let’s just say it was a humbling, calf-burning journey back. I had the leg cramps to prove it. The Bible says, “Commit your work to the Lord, and your plans will be established.” My plan was simple: make it back in one piece. Mission accomplished. Tired, sore, but smiling, we rolled back into camp—having pedaled our way to the wild side and back with memories (and sore muscles) to last a lifetime.
