Which Pickup Lines Work Best?

Today, Nathan and I took a ferry to Washington Island, off the north end of the DC peninsula. As the woman was selling us ferry tickets, she gave us an appraising look and made sure to mention that the nearest town was three miles from the ferry dock. "You can take your car, or rent a bike or a moped," she said, looking at us a bit dubiously. "Yep! Sounds great," we replied.

Riding over Lake Michigan in the breezy early afternoon, I felt full of ambition and vigor. After all, I had just eaten the best breakfast in the nation. So, Nathan and I decided to hoof it to Schoolhouse Beach, a little over five miles from the ferry dock. I squeezed out globs of sunscreen from a travel-size tube and slathered on what I hoped was enough to ward off sunburn. Then we blissfully wandered our way along Main Road (past Town - that's really its name) and through spots of shade. But the spots of shade became more sparse, as did our water supply. Wilting a little, we trudged on, determined to make it to the end. That's when Tyler P. McGrane, Officer-In-Charge on the two-man Washington Island police force, took pity on us. Essentially, we were picked up by the police. But it was on friendly terms. He gave us a few history facts as he made quick work of the remaining distance and dropped us off at Schoolhouse Beach. I rushed to the water and waded in as far as my sundress would allow, sticking my arms in up to the elbows for the delicious feel of the cold water on my tired, sticky skin.

We couldn't stay long because we had to make it back by last ferry at 5 p.m. We filled up my water bottle and hit the road. A long stretch of shade at the beginning of our march gave us false hope. When that ran out, the sun beat down fiercely and quickly began to melt my resolve. I put my Holister "snuggy" (Nate's nickname) over my head to try to ward off the sunburn I knew was forming on my cheeks, despite my SPF makeup. A Jeep breezed past us, stopped, and turned. Two women pulled up and said we looked like we needed a lift. Picked up for the second time in two hours - how pitiful did we look, anyway? Breezing down the road in the roof-less Jeep was heaven, and our hostesses did double-time so we could make the next ferry at 3 o'clock. Arriving exhausted but grateful, we waved goodbye and promised to work hard at our budding marriage (we've managed to tell quite a few people we meet that we're honeymooning) as we trotted for the ferry.

We may have had the best breakfast in the nation, but that was hours ago and we just survived a grueling midday march in the sun. Time for "lupper." Al Johnson's Swedish Restaurant in Sister Bay was the last must-see on my eating list, and it was on the way back to Bay Breeze. As promised, spotted goats munched grass on the roof of the building, chewing nonchalantly as I pointed and exclaimed. The Swedish meatballs were good, but Nate's ravioli was better. Either way, our waitress wore traditional Swedish dress and spoke with a thick, but delightful, accent.

We lazed around the resort for a couple hours, trying to recharge our batteries after such a crazy day. Watching the sun set on the bay, the day felt pretty perfect. But the cherry on top - we sped over to Not Licked Yet just in time for a Brownie Sundae before they closed. Delish.