For two weeks after losing my tent, I returned to Hidden Beach nearly everyday to take pictures, walk dogs, think, relax, and half-assedly search for the remnants of my tent. For two weeks, I walked the same trail over and over, never seeing any signs of a struggle. For two weeks, friends and co-workers went down to the beach (not so hidden as the name alludes) without seeing anything out of the ordinary.
This is the trail I took daily. Notice anything unusual? Me either.
Then on March 14th, about 2:00am, I ventured down to the beach to catch a few hours of sleep under the stars before the sun rose. With my headlight leading the way, I noticed a strange reflection off the side of the trail. Not so much strange, but not expected. It was the reflective material of a tent: my tent!
Inspecting the tent for any damage, I found nothing but a tiny hole in the bottom. Still inside were the four large rocks I'd put there to keep the wind from blowing it away.
Same trail. Anything different?
Wanting answers, I interrogated everybody, every dog, and every log I knew. Nobody and no thing confessed to kidnapping my tent, or even just playing a friendly prank. My friend, Henry, came up with the only logical explanation:
"Scott Harrison (owner of Lutsen Resort) probably got upset that you were staying on his beach without permission, so he Hulk-style launched your tent into a nearby pine tree where it remained hidden for weeks. Until a big gust of wind caught the tent and blew back down onto the trail where you found it. Problem solved."
After a round of congratulatory high-fives, we toasted to our superior wit solving this most unsolvable of mysteries and gulped down our drinks of choice (mine being water). Relieved and full of hydrogen dioxide, I stumbled back to my bachelor pad and drifted soundly to sleep knowing that in the morning I had an apology to make.
With love,
P.S. The current score. Pinky:10 X:4
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