Every good mystery starts with a ritual, and ours is no exception. For the past 12 years, our beach mornings with Ed and Chris have revolved around one simple act: coffee on the sand at 7 a.m. sharp. We shoulder our chairs, lug our mugs, and march toward the shoreline like faithful followers of a secret order. In the early days, we each carried our own cup. Now, thanks to Ed’s YETI thermos—purchased specifically for “beach coffee”—the system is streamlined. It’s convenient, almost too convenient. You’ve got to ask yourself: was this thermos about coffee… or something deeper?
This particular morning, Ed wasn’t just pouring coffee, he was pouring out his newfound expertise on conspiracy theories. He’s watched a stack of programs on the subject, and while they don’t prove much, they all share a method. First, they set up seemingly connected details, then tell you, “You’ve got to ask yourself…” and then they slip you a theory that makes you suspend your disbelief to believe it. Before you know it, you’re on the edge of your seat halfway convinced the moon landing was staged and the YETI is your neighbor. Even Service Dog Charlie seemed dialed in, staring at Ed as though he, too, was weighing the probability of Bigfoot roaming North Landing Beach. The rest of us sat with mugs in hand, equal parts entertained and suspicious.
After coffee, the plan was set. From our base camp at North Landing Beach, we’d head to Sandbridge Beach, south of Virginia Beach. Sandbridge is lovely and remote, the kind of place that feels untouched, but it hides its own snare: the parking lot. You can’t just drop a couple bucks in a slot anymore. No, you’ve got to scan a code, enter your license plate, and feed it your credit card—all while roasting under the midday sun. Ed stepped up for the task, wrestling through the prompts until finally it went through. We joked that the system was designed to frustrate anyone over 50, but deep down it felt like a plot to keep us off the sand. Gotta ask, was it just modern “convenience,” or a conspiracy against the tech-challenged?
With the parking gauntlet cleared, we made our way onto the beach. Chris, Chris, and Service Dog Charlie were soon striding along the shore, waves lapping at their feet. The two of us trailed behind, wondering just how long this “short walk” was really going to be. On the waterline, Charlie trotted proudly, as if he were scouting for Yeti footprints. Later at Virginia Beach, the contrast hit us. Sandbridge’s isolation gave way to a boardwalk buzzing with life—kids weaving through pedestrians on bikes, shops hustling everything from neon t-shirts to hermit crabs with every purchase. Somewhere between the crowds, we spotted one of the day’s great mysteries: a pit bull in mirrored sunglasses, looking cooler than any of us ever could. If that wasn’t staged by some secret society for tourist amusement, I don’t know what was.
Heading back to camp, we hoped for one of those traditional roadside gems—an antique shop or a quirky country store. Instead, we wondered onto an overpriced farm market. Still, it wasn’t a total loss. At one stand, we found the day’s best clue: Chris by a giant Sno-Cone sign, grinning like she’d uncovered the hidden plot. Maybe the conspiracy wasn’t about YETIs, QR codes, or dogs in sunglasses. Maybe it was about keeping our tradition alive, no matter how many obstacles the day threw in our way. So what did we discover? That coffee on the beach, even laced with wild theories and overpriced parking, remains one of life’s great conspiracies—because the real plan is simple: to enjoy every moment, with friends, with laughter, and yes, with one suspiciously indispensable, yet hidden, YETI thermos.
