There’s a most unusual sky
Not a sign of a cloud passing by
And if I want to sing, throw my heart in the ring
It’s a most unusual day
There are people meeting people
There is sunshine everywhere
There are people greeting people
And a feeling of Spring in the air
It’s a most unusual time
I keep feeling my temperature climb
If my heart won’t behave in the usual way
Well, there’s only one thing to say
It’s a most unusual, most unusual, most unusual day
Songwriters: Harold Adamson / Jimmy McHugh
It’s a Most Unusual Day lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
I don’t know about you but occasionally I find things go precisely as they should, everything works, the watch strap fits properly, one’s metabolism cooperates and there is nothing adverse on the horizon. Say what you will, bicycling to the hair salon has to be a singular event in one’s life!
This morning promptly at nine o’clock I telephoned Rita’s Barber Stylist at 1 N Forest Beach Drive to enquire about getting cleaned up. Elena could take me at noon. Perfect! I was already dressed; the car had been in and out of the wash minutes after eight o’clock; and I was munching through my Honey Crisp apple slices and steel cut oats. Bicycling there would be no problem, there was plenty of time. And I could avoid having to remove my car from my favourite parking spot. As well I could forgo having to find a parking spot when I got there. The mounting traffic on the Island has already inexorably begun. Though I might easily have found a convenient parking spot earlier in the morning, I knew that by noon the spaces surrounding the shops near Coligny Beach would be jammed.
And they were. After brushing my teeth with the new Crest charcoal paste which promises to restore my appearance to ten years ago (a small compliment), and having dozed marvelously in a drawing room chair for an hour, we pushed off together on our bikes. As expected the swarms of families – father proudly in the lead, erratic young children in the middle, mother dutifully following – were already in full form along the bicycle paths. We escaped some of the traffic from South Beach by turning off Lighthouse Road onto Plantation Drive towards Greenwood Drive and eventually Pope Avenue past the South Carolina Beaufort University at 1 Sand Shark Drive. As we passed by the exceptionally beguiling University buildings I thought to myself that one day it might be toothsome to take a course there over the winter. I guess those years I spent in residence on university campuses have left their mark in more ways than the diplomas.
The University of South Carolina Beaufort (USCB or USC-Beaufort) is a public university with three campuses located in the Lowcountry region of South Carolina. It is part of the University of South Carolina System and enrolls about 1,900 students. The main campus is in Bluffton, South Carolina. The campus offers over 20 programs of study. The institution’s campus in Beaufort, South Carolina houses the school’s honor programs and the Department of Visual Arts & Design. The campus in Hilton Head Island, South Carolina is home to the school’s program for hospitality management.
As I say, parking was already at a premium when I arrived at Rita’s emporium. I was fifteen minutes early so I just sat on the wooden beams in front of the parking spaces adjacent the bike rack. The rack too was close to full. A mother and her young son (I presume) arrived and stationed their bikes by the rack then walked off into the maze of stores – without locking their bikes. I had noticed yesterday by the pool that none of the bikes were locked. It seems to be an unwritten level of tolerance in certain ambiences at least – though not universally. There must be millions of bikes on Hilton Head Island. Most of them are rented but some are not. Today for example upon our return to Cutter Court we noticed two rather dramatic bikes locked up next to our rack. They had fat tires, GPS devices on the handle bar and they were E-bikes. It reminded me once again that my age is showing! Technology insinuates everything!
But I am losing the thread. My visit to Rita’s was a charm as always. Elena is from Russia though I had the courtesy not to address the matter vis-à-vis Putin. As it was, her enquiry whether we would next year be renting a property in Key Largo owned by Trump (frankly I have no idea to what she was alluding) posed a significant quandary within me because I have learned to avoid politics with locals and specifically to avoid any connotation regarding Trump because his supporters are more diverse than his intelligence would to me suggest possible.
When I left Elena, coiffed and smelling of exotic scent, I turned down N Forest Beach Drive then onto Avocet Road to Dune Lane which is the narrow road upon which beachfront mansions are located. Interspersed between groups of the mansions are practically indiscernible public pathways onto the beach.
Dune Lane is reminiscent of Key West, condensed and subtropical. It is oddly disguised from the public. I was today especially anxious to extend my cycle further north because I had earlier determined that the wind was from the northeast – and at a significant speed, say 19 km/h – which meant a smooth return ride along the beach to Sea Pines Beach Club.
I am constantly enthralled by the views onto and along the beach. Today the dry sand was swirling upon the face of the beach in snake-like patterns. The powerful gust propelled me along the beach as though I were on a passing train. I hadn’t time to acknowledge those struggling in the opposite direction. Mine was the privilege of the wind! There were ambitious swimmers in the Ocean. Kites in the sky. Breezy umbrellas and flags.
As I neared Cutter Court I resolved to prolong the radiant heat of the blazing sun by drifting through the yacht basin before turning onto Lighthouse Lane. Our remaining days here are measured.