Tuesday we packed up the mules and made it down to Crystal Cove, a wonderful beach once you're able to finally establish basecamp. The ladies -- my wife and sister -- LOVE this beach, no doubt because they're not the ones fording streams, catching buses and walking through drainage pipes to get all the stuff from the van to the sand. No, they get dropped of at the "Queens and Kids Drop Off Zone" where muscular slaves cart them off like little Newport Cleopatras to their shady beach zone. The husbands, on the other hand -- me and my brother in law -- we pop twelve Tylenols and get to work unloading the mules. All in a day's work. A beautiful beach with one claim to fame that no other beach on earth can claim -- the magic staircase to the Shake Shack on the bluff overlooking the beach. I've been hitting up that shake shack since I was little more than a wee grommet grabbing the 43A bus w/ a Morey Boogie Mach 7 tucked under my armpit. Of course back then it was the actual Shake Shake, now it is a Ruby's, but whatever. They still serve up the Monkey Flip, ask for it by name. The tide pools on the south end of the cove provided much fascination.
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