Surf, Sharks, and Sand-Stuck Sedans: My Galveston Saga
Galveston, Texas. The sun was hot, the waves were calling, and Pleasure Pier stood in the distance like a carnival mirage. I was there to surf, soak up the Gulf vibes, and maybeājust maybeāchannel my inner Kelly Slater. What I didnāt expect was a close encounter with a bull shark and a late-night beach blunder that would make my Honda Accord question its life choices.
šāāļø Surfās Upā¦ and So Is My Heart Rate
The waves were decentānothing monstrous, but enough to make me feel like I was starring in a low-budget surf film. I was paddling out, catching rides, wiping out with flair, and generally living my best saltwater life.
Then came the bump.
Not a wave. Not a rogue boogie board. A bump with weight. A bump with intent. I looked down and saw itāa bull shark. Just cruising by like it was window-shopping for snacks. It gave me a gentle nudge, like āHey, youāre in my lane,ā and then swam off, completely unimpressed.
I, however, was very impressed. By its teeth. By its size. By the fact that I hadnāt spontaneously combusted from fear.
I paddled back to shore like I was trying to qualify for the Olympics. My arms were windmills of panic. My board was a getaway vehicle. I didnāt stop until I hit sand and collapsed like a soggy noodle.
š¦ Sharkās Review: 2/10, Would Not Bite Again
Turns out, I wasnāt tasty enough. The shark bumped me, shrugged (probably), and went on its way. No attack. No drama. Just a casual āmehā from natureās most feared torpedo.
I lived to surf another day. But the real danger was yet to come.
š The Honda Accord vs. The Beach: A Tragedy in Three Acts
Later that night, feeling brave and slightly buzzed from beachside beers, I decided to drive my trusty Honda Accord a little closer to the water. You knowāfor vibes. For stargazing. For the aesthetic.
Bad idea.
The sand looked firm. It was not. I pulled in, parked, and within five minutes, my Accord had sunk like it was trying to become one with the Earth. The tires spun. The engine whined. I tried every trick short of sacrificing a churro to the beach gods.
Cue the rescue squad: two shirtless guys with a Jeep, a tow strap, and zero judgment. They pulled me out while laughing, and one of them said, āBro, this car belongs in a parking lot, not a sand trap.ā Fair.
I tipped them with leftover tacos and eternal gratitude.
š The Wrap-Up
Galveston gave me waves, a shark story, and a reminder that sedans are not off-road vehicles. Pleasure Pier twinkled in the background like it was watching the whole thing unfold with popcorn.
Would I do it all again? Absolutely. But next time, Iām bringing a bigger surfboard, a waterproof shark repellent (is that a thing?), and leaving the Accord safely on pavement.
