It was tempting. It was. In spite of visiting the beach on zero sleep. In spite of the fifty mile per hour gales and the stinging sand storms. In spite of witnessing a woman nearly washed off the pier.

I drove out to Ferrysburg by myself after working third shift last night with every intention of trying to surf the twelve-foot waves that my Internet forecast promised. I wolfed down a couple of Snickers and a Powerade on the drive out to keep from passing out at the wheel. The drowsiness and the sugar balanced out nicely into a foggy contentment as I pulled up to North Shore Beach. I spent about ten minutes here hunched underneath my hoodie, squinting into the wind, trying to decide whether it was worth my time before driving down to the fishermen’s parking lot near the north pier.

In the end I bailed on the surfing idea and just sat and watched the water until every part of me was numb. If I hadn’t been by myself I’m pretty sure I would have gone in. No, actually, I am sure I would’ve gone in. By myself the water just didn’t look that fun. Just looked violent and choppy. Big, but not twelve-foot big. Or maybe the wind was just squashing things down.

Watched some dorky high school kid try to surf for a few minutes, giving thumbs ups to his dorky video-camera-holding friends. He didn’t fare too well and I took that as my cue to go. Took an hour nap in my car, then drove back to GR. Some minor regrets on the ride back about not at least getting in for a couple tumbles, but all in all felt okay about at least getting to see the weather.