And up over the last hill and around the corner and there it is. The never-ending blue. The breaking swells of white.
We made it to Beverly Beach. Through driving rain and a busted wiper blade, tired yet patient travelers happily exit the car and run across the bridge, over the hill and through the woods to the beach. The most beauteous of sandy beaches. We're here, toting shovels and buckets and windproof jackets and all. We have arrived.