On the morning of our last day on Oahu, my wife and I decided to take a drive around the island to take a last look at some of our favorite parts (and take a quick peek at the lifeguard’s lost-and-found at Sandy Beach).
We’ve parked at the Makapu’u Lookout, hoping to spot a whale in the bay. Walking back to the car, I see two ragged, agitated-looking guys standing by the railing. Not angry-agitated, but clearly worked up about something. They grab each person walking near them, ask a question, and then I see the head shake “no.”
Now it’s our turn.
“Hey, man! Can you help us? We’re looking for someone to give us a ride and then park our car.”
“Ummm…”
“We’re just trying to get to the top of that mountain right there. We need someone to drive us up, and then take our car to the bottom of the hill over there.”
He points up to the top of the mountain behind us, then to a flat spot at ground level a mile or so up the coastline, and then to the car we’re all standing next to.
I’m sort of stammering, internally and externally. What the hell is going on here?
As my head bobs around on my neck following his pointing, I finally notice the car. It’s got a bunch of stuff, like long poles strapped to the roof.
Wait, it can’t be.
