Day 34. Lepe. Sept. 9 2001

Today was a fairly uneventful and with nothing else on our plate we decided to go for a small bike ride. Kerry and Simon’s children have returned to school so we are free from distraction for a while. We looked at the local map and decided to bike down to Lepe beach. We had been there on our last trip to England and Heather had produced her famous print “Roots” from a picture taken at the beach.


I should preface this by stating that what the British call a beach the rest of the world, O.K. Canada at least, would call a gravel road.

We mounted our unladen bikes and set out, a little concerned because while Lepe seemed close on the map so too had Knighton from Clun. Also we had some difficulty riding. Our bikes without their gear seemed like fragile crystalline things that would snap if pushed too hard.

The ride down was very nice but the wind increased the closer we got to the sea until it was almost a solid wall, which became a little rank as we passed by a hog farm.

The sea, actually the Solent, was beautiful and calmer than the wind would have suggested. We stopped for a long time to watch Heather’s tree. She was delighted to see that it was little changed.

From there we biked down the beach in the direction of Calshot, the cigarette styled smokestack of the Fawley power station raising like a beacon high above us. It is strange that since being here I have had no urge to visit Calshot considering how much time I spent there in the past. But we have heard too many disturbing tales of the Calshot character for us to want to visit.

Our trip along the beach at Lepe was slow and once we hit the actual shingle we dismounted and walked, enjoying the gentle pulsing of the waves as the lapped at the shore. When we reached the turnaround pint in our walk, about halfway to Calshot we stopped to play. Heather walked all around the rocks eyes fixed resolutely on her feet, searching for shells, while I built a causeway of rocks as far into the water as I could. What it is that compels me to build something every time I’m on a beach I do not know.

After a seeming eternity of play on the beach and in the water the light began to fade so we returned to the green before Heather’s tree. I think that if both Heather and I could spend the rest of our lived playing on the verge of the sea we would be content.

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