The Feral Magazine #08 | Page 8

3 minutes are left. We hit a thick patch of wet beach sand that has been blown over the derelict concrete drive. We go down.

No injuries save for a gash on my leg. Grabbing cameras we leave the bike on its side and we dash the several meters onto the soft sand. With moments to spare we photograph the quiet and empty beach that is at the end of our adventure. We celebrate with a breakfast of litchis.