Dogs are not allowed on the promenade – the beautiful cobbled boardwalk meandering beside the sea is sanctioned for humans only. The parking lot is the closest my four-legged friends and I are permitted to get to the shores of the bay. We are not alone in our banishment, there are scores of other dog lovers and their beloved dogs walking around the numbered parking stalls and dreaming of the day the bylaws change. We are in good company.
There is a sub-culture in the parking lot by the beach – it’s a meeting place for more than just dog walkers and dogs. Lately I’ve noticed a few old timers loitering in the lot furthest from the pier – just hanging around, leaning on the hoods of their classic cars perhaps hoping someone might stop to admire their wheels. It’s probably the good weather that’s pulled the old cars out of storage and a sense of pride that’s inspired the old timers to put a shine on their grill and dust off the dash. It appears classic cars have replaced the pickle barrels of the days of yore – something on which to prop yourself while shooting the shit with strangers.
The parking lot isn’t just a showcase for classic cars and old timers, it’s a concourse for the up and comers – the Newbies. On the weekend the parking lot vibrates with teeth rattling mufflers and sub woofers cranked loud enough to make your ears bleed, it reeks of hormones and weed. Young men gun their engines vying to be the next cock of the walk and girls in questionable clothing egg them on. The cars may be new but the game is as old as time. Saturday night at the seashore.
Where the promenade celebrates the shore like an upscale resort, the parking lot is actually where it’s at. I’m looking forward to the day dogs are welcome up there on the cobbled boardwalk but for now my pals and I will continue to glean stories from the parking lot.