Can't Stop the Spike (Part 5)

After chasing sunsets, one of life's simple joys is playing with the boys

A few weeks after our humbling defeats in Santa Cruz, Matt and I headed to Dillon Beach to celebrate my 32nd birthday with a group of close friends. A gorgeous stretch of foggy coastline where Tomales Bay meets the Pacific, Dillon Beach is one of my favorite parts of Northern California. The previous year we’d spent an idyllic weekend at a bucolic Airbnb eating oysters and drinking Chablis at sunset as cows grazed nearby, and of course playing lots of Spikeball by the shore.

This year there was more Spike in the forecast. After some hearty breakfast burritos on Saturday morning, we walked down to the beach and played for six hours straight.

These games were a refreshing reminder of what I loved about this new sport and how it became such a cherished activity for me in a few short years. We played with gentlemen’s serves but nobody minded because the rallies that followed were just that good. Despite having a range of different skill levels, everyone was bought in and brought their A-game. No discussion or debates about the rules were necessary. A shared zeal for the sheer joy of play was palpable in the salty air. It was more than enthusiastic banter that was flying around. Teammates and opponents alike felt the intensity rub off on each other and pushed each other to improve. New skills were blossoming in real time. As the day wore on, the level of play rose higher and higher as the temperature and the sun sank lower. My former frisbee teammates teamed up with old friends and family members and proved their athleticism with hits, passes, and dives worthy of a SportsCenter highlight. Matt and I danced our ritualistic dance, Achilles and Hector of the sand. Gleeful grins on our faces in between long points, we’d finally found a place and a group where we could exist in athletic bliss. In this state, my intellectual questions about the struggle for numbers and quest for parity faded away, replaced by the rhythmic flow of people and sand and the common striving to do even better things the next point.

The sunset and fog rapidly approaching, we finally broke down the set. We began to set our minds and legs upon the the long, vertical walk up the hillside to our Airbnb. A hot tub and cold Montuckys awaited us. As we left the beach, an old man stopped us. He and his buddy had been watching us with curious smiles all afternoon while playing cornhole nearby. He had just one question:

“So, y’all really like that game, huh?”