If I were the one planning the voyage I cannot imagine having done a better job of getting me here! New Year’s Day 2022! Let’s face it, I’m damaged goods. In spite of all my youthful violations and extravagances, my erstwhile passion for blended scotch whiskey and latterly frozen vodka martinis, my mid-life passions, cigarettes, cigars and the unpredictable penalties of life, today I was blissfully reclined and entranced upon a foggy beach of the North Atlantic Ocean, one of nature’s most esteemed barrier islands, squinting upwards towards the glimmering white orb, stretching outwards towards the sea upon the sand dunes to relieve my limbs after having cycled 10 kms from Harbour Town. To whom do I owe this incalculable privilege and pleasure! If ever there were a case to be made for divine providence! My own less than astral intervention is hardly the circumspection of my just portion.

When I awoke this morning I was recovering from a restless night’s sleep.  My neuropathy – or whatever it is that antagonizes my lower back, limbs and feet – refused to accept any adjustment which I repeatedly attempted to accomplish by rolling this way and that on my side, or dropping my left limb over the side of the bed. The best I could do upon arising to subdue the annoyance was to stretch, a small supplement. Yet after my stock breakfast of sliced green apple and steel cut oats I was fit to discover the day!

The ride from Marker 67 to Sea Pines Beach Club was a challenge.  There was a strong wind from the south. Walkers and runners – both younger and older – were passing me! I pushed and pushed. Strangely my legs had the strength to continue but my cumbersome bike with its sole gear wasn’t easily persuaded.

It didn’t help my prolonged endurance that it was difficult to see where I was on the beach.  I did however see the numerous beach ingress and egress points but I still wasn’t positive how far south I had gone in my governed progress.