We begin packing for our beach trip shortly after my grandmother arrives from Arizona. My dad's twenty-five-year-old surfboard is securely tied on top, and we are stuffed like sardines into the car with the week's groceries packed in every nook and cranny. My dad always insists that we take everything with us; it would be a sin to spend good beach time at the grocery store. The trip down is uneventful, and we make our traditional one and only stop at the Subway for lunch and gas. I was taught early on that there are limited drinks on travel day because bathroom breaks are unheard of. After an early start we arrive to find our three-bedroom, three-bath condo just as we remember it. We especially enjoy having a VCR in each bedroom. After unpacking the car, my family and I head for the beach. The familiar smell of the salty air, the rhythm of the ocean waves, and the gentle breeze across my face are like long-lost friends. The beach routine begins.
Just as we do on the day we leave for the beach, my family and I wake up early to prepare to leave for Colorado. My dad says that getting my family of six ready to go is like launching the space shuttle. For this trip, luggage is limited to what we can each carry. We all convince my dad that there will be grocery stores in Colorado. After a quick trip to the airport, we board a jet to Salt Lake City and take a connecting flight to Denver. The highlight of our plane trip is the long-awaited lunch, which is... [continues]
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