When I was 15, I was in a small youth group (that fit in a 15 pax van, with two adults and luggage) that went on a summer trip to Florida upper Keys.
On the way back, the folks decided to stop at Daytona Beach for a day. For the cognoscenti, you would recognize this as the wide flat beach that was used for world land speed records in the early part of the Twentieth Century.
We arrived mid-morning, and there was a ramp down to the beach, and a bunch (hundred or more?) vehicles already parked there, and we parked, and then spread out to play in the surf and whatnot.
As the day wore on, it felt like time to go, and moving back up the beach to where our van was, we noticed it was all alone: all the other vehicles were gone, and water was lapping at the wheels.
The group leader got in, and when he tried to move, the rear wheels just spun.
As luck would have it, close by were some big healthy men, surrounding a couple tall "healthy" women, and the men were joking and toying with the bikini parts on the ladies.
We recognized several of the guys as players from the Super Bowl Dolphins team, and gently interrupted, and asked for their assistance.
They looked at us, and over at our van, and unspoken messages passed between them, and they headed over to the van.
With no discussion, they spread around, picked up the van, and moved it about ten feet to harder sand. The group leader jumped in, and drove the van. The cute ones in our group thanked the players profusely, and off we went.
I was in awe.