The final ride
From the sunlit, turtle-filled waves of Waikiki to a nostalgic reunion in Kailua, a perfect day in paradise takes a terrifying turn. Racing through the pitch-black streets to catch the final bus home, a sudden plunge into an unseen gap sends Mischko hurtling toward oncoming traffic—sparking a moment of overwhelming guilt and a life-changing vow that ends their cycling adventures in Hawaii forever.
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CHAPTER I – Paradise and Its Waves
You can’t swim in Pearl Harbor for two reasons: First, it’s a military base, and second, the water is heavily polluted because the Japanese contaminated the harbor with bombs during the attack on December 7, 1941.
Since we live in Pearl City, we swim where it is most beautiful for my wife—namely, where there are no waves. We prefer Ko Olina. We spend two-thirds of our time there. However, since I love swimming far out in the waves, we also like going to Waikiki.
There, I swim about a hundred meters from the beach. At this distance, you can see the most beautiful fish, and I play my games with the turtles.
They see me swimming and accompany me; often they swim just half a meter below me, as if I were a turtle myself. They have absolutely no fear. Because I love to touch them, I carefully reach out my hand and stroke them very gently. If I press too hard, they swim about two meters away and enjoy their peace again.
Relaxed Swimming and Worrying About the Valuables While I have a tremendous amount of fun observing the beautiful underwater world, I often have to think of Mischko and wish she were with me. How much she would love to touch the turtles or see the vibrant colors of the ocean with her own eyes! However, since we have valuables with us, she stays on the beach, watches our luggage, and looks in my direction.
The Path to the Open Sea The Waikiki Wall In Waikiki, there is a concrete pier about two meters wide that extends almost fifty meters out into the open ocean. When I reach the end of this path, I jump into the water. Out there, the waves break directly against the wall. This can be quite dangerous, as there are sharp, black reefs there. You have to be extremely careful when entering, as the water is at most a meter deep at this spot.
Playing with the Waves and the Colorful World of Fish Once I am in the water, I swim in the rhythm of the waves from one pier to the other. It is incredibly fun to let the surf rock you. The water depth constantly alternates here between one and two meters. It is exactly this shallow, protected environment—about a hundred meters from the beach—that offers many fish species a safe haven from predators. A true paradise for snorkelers!
They have absolutely no fear. Because I love to touch them, I carefully reach out my hand and stroke them very gently. If I press too hard, they swim about two meters away and enjoy their peace again.
I don’t go swimming just to look at the underwater world; I simply love being in the waves. When they build up, I dive under them just before they break and wait for the next one. All the while, I enjoy the underwater world.
CHAPTER II – The Trip to Kailua
On this particular day, we decided to go to Kailua on the east side of the island. We ourselves lived in the central west, in Pearl City.
We rode our bikes from our complex, turning right onto Kuala Street.
We crossed the street and rode on the sidewalk to the right, turning left onto the Kamehameha Highway sidewalk after about twenty meters.
Hardly any people walk on this sidewalk; you rarely see anyone—and if you do, they are from our residential complex.
Barely were we on the Kamehameha Highway when we left Sam’s Club behind on our left—our favorite store and the only place we really like to shop. As we ride past Sam’s Club, we roll along their parking lot. Up above the parking lot is our mall with various shops.
On the right side, on the other side of Kamehameha Highway, is the Home Depot. When we reached the bus stop at Home Depot, we took the first bus to Honolulu. In Honolulu, on Bishop Street, we transferred to the number 56 bus, which goes to Kailua.
We spent the whole day at the beach, more specifically in the middle of North Kalaheo Avenue, where we used to stay with Jean and Matt back then.
Shortly before sunset, we left the beach and rode our bikes along North Kalaheo, then turned right into a cross street, and shortly after that to the left. That’s how we reached the Pizza Hut restaurant.
Over the years, we loved eating there—often twice a day because they always had great lunch specials. For very little money, we could eat until our bellies were about to burst.
Since we hadn’t seen our former hosts in a long time, we wanted to visit them. Lucinda was a very loving host, as was her husband Tom. Since Lucinda was suffering from multiple sclerosis, we hoped she was doing better and wanted to check in on her.
CHAPTER III – The Ride into the Darkness
Because Kailua is a smaller town, we had to keep an eye on the time.
As it slowly got late, we didn’t want to miss the last bus heading to Honolulu at ten o’clock at night. If we missed it, we would have to sleep somewhere on the beach.
Since the nights here in the winter—especially near the water—get very cold, we said goodbye to the two of them, hurried up, and took Kaimalino Street.
While this street leads right to the military base, which is at most 300 meters away, we turned left onto Old Mokapu Road toward Safeway.
Back when we stayed with Lucinda and later with Nancy, we absolutely loved riding through this gorgeous area at any time of day.
That evening, however, when we said goodbye to Lucinda and Tom, we didn’t turn left onto North Kalaheo Avenue like we usually did. Old Mokapu Road is wide and wonderful to ride a bike on. Our goal was to catch the bus on Oneawa Street before ten o’clock.
The bike ride from Kaimalino Street to Oneawa Street in Kailua on Oahu is a flat, roughly 5-kilometer (3-mile) stretch. It leads through quiet residential neighborhoods and the center of Kailua.
Depending on pace and traffic, the ride takes about 15 to 20 minutes. To the left and right of the street are typical Hawaiian single-family homes with palm trees and tropical front yards.
The road also crosses the Kawainui Canal. If you look to the left, the vast expanse of the historically and ecologically significant Kawainui Marsh, a massive wetland, stretches out in the background.
This is a typical, multi-lane suburban street with sidewalks and bike lanes, where local public buses also run.
On larger roads like Oneawa Street or Kailua Road, you often have to share the road space with car traffic.
Since it was already night, the street was completely dark. It leads straight toward Highway H-3, and on the right side, there were absolutely no houses left.
We stayed on the right side so as not to startle any dogs keeping watch there at night. Thus, we rode through the pitch-black night—completely without bike lights. Mischko had one, but I didn’t.
At this hour, absolutely no cars were driving on Mokapu Boulevard anymore. This area is like a village; they roll up the sidewalks here at eight o’clock in the evening. Not a soul in the darkness.
Where would anyone even go at this time? It was estimated to be between nine-thirty and ten o’clock. We didn’t know the exact time because, as always on vacation, we didn’t need a watch.
So, while we rode along Mokapu Boulevard, I turned around every now and then to see if the bus was already behind us.
CHAPTER IV – A Breath of Death
We still had at least 700 meters to go to the bus stop on Oneawa Street. We had to ride about 600 meters on the wide road, then turn left and cover the last 100 meters to the stop.
While riding, we kept looking back. When I was still about 100 meters from Oneawa Street, I spotted the bus.
It was still about 200 meters away, just coming out of the curve behind my back. I called out to Mischko: “Come on, the bus is on its way!”
We still had 200 meters left. We crossed the street and now rode in the oncoming lane, since there were no cars on the road. However, the street was sufficiently lit, so you could see the asphalt well.
The bus was getting closer. I noticed that Mischko wasn’t keeping up as fast, and I told her: “I’ll ride a bit faster ahead and tell the bus driver that you’re right behind me.”
Since I was faster, I rode across the canal bridge directly on the road.
Mischko took the narrow sidewalk. While she rode over the unlit bridge, I was already at the bus, waiting. When it stopped, I explained to the driver that my wife would be there in a second. I waited, but she didn’t come.
I peered into the darkness. I had already secured my bike to the rack on the front of the bus. Anxiously, I kept a lookout for her.
She just didn’t come. I stepped in front of the bus, peered into the night, but couldn’t spot her anywhere. Finally, I walked around the bus and said to the driver: “I’m going to ride back to see where she is.”
The bus driver said that was no problem, he would wait for us. I took my bike off the bus again, got on, and rode off—back into the darkness I had come from.
Around me on both sides were private houses, but it was pitch black.
Ever since I left the bus, I rode in the middle of the road, as there wasn’t a car in sight far and wide.
All the while, I continuously called out her name. I didn’t see her. I stared into the blackness of the night. When I was almost fifty meters away from the bus, I got very scared for her.
I screamed her name loudly into the darkness: “Mischko! Mischko!”
Suddenly, on the other side of the street, I heard her voice very faintly. Because it was so dark, I couldn’t see her at first.
I steered my bike across the street in the direction the sound came from. I rode toward the bridge and actually spotted her: She was standing right at the end of the bridge.
I asked: “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you coming?” She didn’t answer, but just stared at me with wide eyes. I stepped very close to her and asked again: “What happened?”
She was completely in shock, paralyzed with terror, and shaking all over. “Why are you shaking so much?”
With a trembling voice, she whispered to me: “I almost ended up under a car!”
She stood there rooted to the spot, the bicycle still between her legs. Her front wheel was stuck deep in a hole. The sidewalk on this bridge was barely half a meter wide, but quite high.
I myself had used the road to get to the bus stop faster, completely avoiding the walkway.
However, because it was so dark and completely unlit, Mischko had carefully ridden on this narrow, elevated sidewalk. But at the end of the bridge, the asphalt suddenly stopped.
Exactly at the height the sidewalk had on the bridge, the concrete was missing at the transition to the normal ground. In the total darkness—despite all her caution—her front wheel had gone exactly into this deep hole.
In that exact same moment, a convoy of cars had shot past her. I remembered the vehicles now. I had quickly merged over to the right side shortly before, where the bus stop was located.
On my side, there was no sidewalk at all; only a dirt strip about three feet (one meter) wide separated the asphalt of the road from the fences of the properties.
If I had been in her place and ridden up on the sidewalk while the cars were coming, it would have been a catastrophe.
I would have hit that hole with my front wheel much faster and inevitably crashed right in front of the cars.
I hadn’t noticed any of this because I had stayed on the road and ridden over the bridge against traffic. When I saw the cars coming, I had immediately swerved to the other side.
The vehicles I had made way for crossed the bridge and probably turned left afterward toward Highway H-3. It had been an entire convoy.
With a trembling voice, she explained to me what had happened: Because the sidewalk on the bridge was barely wide enough for a pedestrian, she rode extremely carefully so as not to fall off the high curb onto the roadway in the dark.
But at the end of the bridge, the asphalt was missing, and her front wheel completely unexpectedly sank at least a foot (thirty centimeters) deep into the hole. When she reflexively tried to catch herself with her right leg, she tipped to the side.
Her head snapped forward—right into the path of a passing car, which missed her by a hair’s breadth.
She told me that all she saw were the headlights rushing straight toward her face, and that she managed to avert crashing into the first car at the very last moment. Had her right knee buckled even a fraction, the car would have struck her head.
When she told me that, a violent shock ran through me. In a fraction of a second, her life could have been over. At that thought, I instantly felt sick to my stomach.
A heavy sense of guilt washed over me. I knew perfectly well that she could never ride as fast as I could on her women’s bike.
Plagued by self-reproach and completely terrified, I got off my bike. I leaned it against a silver aluminum railing in the middle of the road and rushed over to her.
I said, “Come here, I’ll take the bike.”
With great effort, she pulled her right leg over to the left side and took a careful step back to stand steadily on her left foot. I pulled the bicycle out of the hole and placed it on Oneawa Street, right next to my bike.
Because I was so incredibly sorry and felt guilty that she had nearly lost her life because of me, I apologized through tears. I wrapped her tightly in my arms and held her close for a long while.
Tormented by the thought that I had put her in this danger, I made her a promise: “This will never happen again. I promise you.”
Since her entire body was still trembling, I gently asked her if she could even ride at all. She nodded weakly, said she wanted to try, and got back on the saddle.
We started off very slowly. Once I saw that she could reasonably keep her balance on the bike, I told her: “I’ll ride ahead quickly and let the bus driver know we’re coming.”
When I reached the driver, he immediately waved it off: “Don’t worry, I have time. This is my last run for tonight.”
I turned around, rode back toward Mischko, and together we covered the final yards to the bus.
On the bus, we told the driver the whole dramatic story.
Only here, in the bright interior light, did I see how pale as a ghost her face was. Her whole body was still shaking. After my own two near-fatal accidents and this hair’s-breadth incident with Mischko’s bike, we made a final decision:
We would never ride a bicycle in Hawaii again.
In our residential complex, employees from the Philippines worked as gardeners and groundskeepers.
We saw them every day except on weekends; they were always incredibly friendly and greeted us warmly.
We decided to gift our bicycles to an older gentleman from this team. Because it was an unexpected gift, he was overjoyed.
He took the bikes home with him on the bus that very same evening. Later, he packed them up and sent them by ship as freight to his homeland in the Philippines.
Two years later, he too returned to his homeland for good.
© 2026 Hawaii Adventures Shark. All rights reserved. This story is based on true events and is my intellectual property. The text and content are protected by copyright. Any unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or publication (even in part) is strictly prohibited without explicit permission.