Although there remain yet six of the sixteen weeks we’re away from home, the perpetual amortization of the journey is inescapable. It is perhaps fortunate there is a limit, some palpable measure by which to gauge the otherwise indistinguishable blur of the adventure. I still find myself marvelling at the fortune of every aspect of this trip, our digs, the weather, the food, the random purchases, the people and – of paramount significance – the location adjacent the beach on the Atlantic Ocean. It is equally marvellous that we have bicycled an average of three hours a day every day we have been here. While we fully intended to bicycle here I don’t think we imagined doing it quite so aggressively. The exercise is a constant source of personal fulfillment even though it appears to have done nothing appreciable to reduce the size of our protuberant bellies. Except on Hilton Head Island one doesn’t normally see so many elderly people on the roll (pointedly tricycles are the latest fashion).
As might be expected the novelty of the place has long since worn off. We tend to repeat the same paths on our cycling routine, we visit the same stores and the same places, we have developed repeat habits for breakfast, lunch and dinner; and, our intervening customs of dawdling on the computers, watching TV and reading are by now standard. There is however no diminishment of my fascination with the beach and the Ocean. Every day the aspect is different notwithstanding the number of times I’ve traveled the same course. I shall never tire of going to the beach or Harbour Town or South Beach. Even the many photos I have taken nonetheless capture a singular take every time because the view is constantly changing.
We titillate our amusement with the prospect of a short detour to Amelia Island, FLA at the end of our junket. This for me is rather like the interim separation from our haven. Already we are making plans about what to do upon our return. And of course it will be good to reunite with family and friends.