Sand, stars, and heroic coffee (human-powered edition)

Who says you always need a roaring Harley to live an adventure? The Motor Therapist was born to tell stories about motorcycle trips, wild camping, and miles of hot asphalt… but sometimes you can betray the V-Twin for something quieter — and sweatier: the bicycle. Still two wheels, just less horsepower. Actually, no horsepower. Just… leg-power.

This weekend we ditched the gas and headed to False Cape State Park, a hidden gem south of Virginia Beach, squeezed between the Atlantic Ocean and Back Bay. A place so wild you can’t just GPS your way in — you need willpower, muscles, and a high tolerance for sand in uncomfortable places.

False Cape is one of the last places on the East Coast where you can literally camp on the beach. No cars, no food trucks, no Wi-Fi. Just sand, deer, Olympic-level mosquitoes, and silence so deep you can hear your own thoughts — or your legs screaming.

So, loaded up like a two-wheeled mule, I rolled south toward yet another ridiculous — and glorious — chapter of this blog.

Wild Convergence: Wives, Kids, and Blisters

This time, I wasn’t alone. My wife Maggie joined the ride — after letting me wander off with the usual lunatics on previous adventures, she decided it was time to supervise… you know, just in case there were any “female friends” along the route. (Kidding. I love adventuring with her.)

Then there were the usual suspects: Gokhan and Indiana PepJones, the latter bravely bringing along his two young sons, Luca and Giovanni. While Maggie and I cycled with some dignity, the others hiked in on foot, loaded like Himalayan sherpas. They left before us… and arrived long after. Burnt, limping, and spiritually aged by 20 years.

Sand, Surf, and Philosophical Fishing

After pitching our three slightly tilted tents (not quite confident about the high tide), we plunged into the ocean. The water was warm and perfect — until the sand crisis began. Drying off or changing clothes without covering yourself in sand? Impossible. It was everywhere. Always.

But the beach? Absolutely stunning. Wild, empty, and full of tiny ghost crabs sprinting across the shore like caffeinated ninjas. Indiana PepJones brought fishing rods for the boys, hoping for a primal bonding moment. Result: zero fish. But hey, A+ for effort.

Soup, Stars, and Jedi Miner Lights

Dinner was a casual affair between tents. I had brought my famous mushroom soup, which I stored in a thermos so advanced it should be in a museum. Still hot, still amazing. Even the kids asked for seconds.

We added cheese chunks, bread, raw peppers, and mysterious other snacks from various bags. Pep fired up his little camping stove. Dessert was two crumbled cookies, lovingly shared among six.

Then came the real show: the stars. With no light pollution, the night sky exploded above us. We wore our headlamps — some with red and green settings, others blinding enough to land planes — and lit up the tents just enough to avoid being crushed by beach ATVs still patrolling the sand like post-apocalyptic rovers.

Tent Sauna and Vampire Insects

The night? A tropical nightmare. The tent was a sauna, the sand was everywhere, and around midnight a mysterious swarm of insects went full Dracula on my ankles. I spent hours scratching and groaning before giving up and wandering the beach, soothed only by the stars.

Thankfully, the 10:26 PM high tide spared us. The tents stayed dry. Just barely.

Sunrise, Heroic Coffee, and the Way Back

At dawn, the sky exploded again in color. I woke up Maggie — who accepted, without complaint, to be escorted for a granch-free bathroom walk — and we soaked in the view.

Then came the battle for coffee. I had my moka pot but no stove. Only a can of Sterno canned heat and a stubborn BIC lighter. Lighting it in the wind was like a medieval trial. I knelt in the sand for an hour shielding the flame, waiting for the moka’s sacred hiss. When the coffee finally arrived… I was too tired to drink it.

After a quick breakfast, we packed up camp, crossed the dunes to our bikes, and waved goodbye to our friends — who didn’t look particularly thrilled about another epic walk.

We, instead, hopped on the bikes and let the rising heat push us toward home.

Exhausted, sandy, but happy. Because adventure doesn’t need an engine — just a moka, good company, and a sky full of stars.