As dreary and uninspiring as the weather is today I have oddly accomplished things.  First and foremost, I didn’t get out of bed until approaching ten o’clock this morning.  That wouldn’t normally be either a compliment or an advantage but it required the dull weather to keep me at rest for a change. In a rare admission it has been the exceptionally fine weather we’ve enjoyed for a prolonged period that has kept me buoyant beyond my capacity.  In short, I needed a break.  Instead of launching myself as has been my custom somewhat reluctantly – and automatically – from bed every morning at 7:00 am (for which an alarm on my iPhone was set), I succumbed instead to natural fatigue.  I’m hoping the break will relieve my expiring knees.  The daily bicycling looks good on my c.v. but it patently harms my aging mechanism.  It will however require a lot more than a one-day break to stop me from bicycling but it’s an accommodation.

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“Yes, Maupeou, pucker those sinister brows of thine, and peer out on it with thy malign rat-eyes: it is a questionable case. Sure only that man is mortal; that with the life of one mortal snaps irrevocably the wonderfulest talisman, and all Dubarrydom rushes off, with tumult, into infinite Space; and ye, as subterranean Apparitions are wont, vanish utterly,—leaving only a smell of sulphur!

“For indeed it is well said, ‘in every object there is inexhaustible meaning; the eye sees in it what the eye brings means of seeing.’ ”

Excerpt From
The French Revolution
by Thomas Carlyle

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Living (or, should I say, vacationing) as we do on Hilton Head Island it is quite impossible not to be taken in by the Lucifer that is the weather.  There is spiritual legitimacy to the magnetism because so much of what we enjoy doing here and what vitalizes us involves out-of-doors affairs.  I hesitate to identify my base activity as an elevated exercise because bicycling is the only thing I do repeatedly; and, mine is but a casually conducted leisure activity to expiate my guilt and to photograph the magnificent scenery throughout the island. It fulfills my inner need for self-expression and identity. Bicycling is also my major source of socialization even though I seldom talk with anyone.  There is something about tourism which, unless it involves drinking, doesn’t invite correspondence with others; mostly people are understandably within the bubble of their traveling companions. Nonetheless I entertain myself to watch people, sometimes to judge them, often to imagine what are their circumstances and sometimes with outright curiosity. For the most part however it is a perspective kept well at a distance.

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The singular feature of yesterday’s ritual bicycle ride upon the beach was the sudden appearance of people swimming in the ocean. As I watched them I was instantly envious. The recollection of the swimmers has since invaded my thoughts. Repeatedly I have contemplated when it will be appropriate for me to wade among the crashing waves, to plunge into the depths, to restore that elemental connection we all reputedly have as erstwhile amphibians.

Origin: mid 17th century (in the sense ‘having two modes of existence or of doubtful nature’): from modern Latin amphibium ‘an amphibian’, from Greek amphibion (noun use of amphibios ‘living both in water and on land’, from amphi ‘both’ + bios ‘life’).

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Today marks the anniversary of our 26th year together. From a casual martini at a friendly bar in the By Ward Market we have since spent a great deal of time together both working and playing. Our common interests have included in particular three real estate ventures, the law practice, our lovely French bulldog Monroe, family, friends and considerable travel together mostly on this continent but also the Caribbean, Mexico, Europe and Sardinia.

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Though the 18 km/h wind was from the west today, I early resolved to cycle along the beach from Coligny Beach Park against the wind in order to have the blazing sun in my face and the wind in my hair. Besides, because the high tide was at 01:32 PM and that was about the time I’d be venturing onto the beach, I proposed to recline on the sand just beyond the crowds for an hour as usual.  During that time I could await the partial descent of the tide from its peak. It was in this happy pluck that I began my ride.

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The road is considered a tourist attraction in the area, in which much of the road hugs coastline affectionately known as the Surf Coast, between Torquay and Cape Otway, and the Shipwreck Coast further west of Cape Otway, providing visibility of Bass Strait and the Southern Ocean.

As my erstwhile physician continues his unending travels about the globe I am vicariously discovering the view from southern Australia to nearby Port Campbell and (by extension on my part) the more remote island of Tasmania. Thankfully however I am avoiding the concurrent hiking which he undertook in the Grampian Mountains with immediate family from Melbourne.

Port Campbell is a coastal town in Victoria, Australia. The town is on the Great Ocean Road, west of the Twelve Apostles, in the Shire of Corangamite. It is popular for day trips as the sandy beach is relatively safe to swim in. At the 2016 census, Port Campbell had a population of 478.

Tasmania is an island state of Australia. It is located 240 km to the south of the Australian mainland, separated from it by Bass Strait. The state encompasses the main island of Tasmania, the 26th-largest island in the world, and the surrounding 1000 islands.

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As prosaic as may be our sojourn here on Hilton Head Island by a more social orthodoxy, the elemental features of this barrier island on the North Atlantic Ocean are indescribably wonderful in any event. Furthermore it requires immodest disturbance of my plodding existence to upset me. Certainly, I argue, at 73 years of age the decision to do what I prefer howsoever uninspired is supreme logic. To pretend otherwise risks endless possibilities of both physical and psychological travesty. In the result the conjunction of ingrained beauty in our surroundings and deep-rooted incorrigibility on our part makes for a sustainable union. Even if the natural beauty were an accommodation I can live with that.

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While languidly cycling about Sea Pines today it occurred to me that one of the winning features of Hilton Head Island is its faintly discernible change of seasons. I was forced by municipal repair work to get off the bicycle path and wander around the local but unfamiliar residential neighbourhood before regaining my regular stride.  Without exception the suburban properties are preserved to a fault. At this time of year however the lawns have that yellow/brown tinge peculiar to late season northern climates. I am always astonished by the contradiction of the dormant grass with the local Palmetto ferns and Sabal palms which I consider native to tropical climates. The first time on Hilton Head Island I set foot upon the beach adjacent our Marriott Grande Ocean condominium on S Forest Beach Rd I was introduced to the parochial winter.

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One could not possibly covet a more providential day than today! It’s Sunday morning.  I arose early and without contrition.  It wasn’t always so. The sun was shining luminously. And my decomposing carcass felt uniquely functional.  Perhaps it was because at 4:00 am this morning when as is my custom I awoke to take my first dose of prescription drugs, I afterwards sprawled upon my lair and administered to my aching calves a half hour of Theragun technology. It worked!  Who thinks this stuff up! The treatment induced an immediate soporific state.

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