I’m going to go a little off topic this month, well quite a bit actually, and transport us to warmer climates and write about a subject that has absolutely nothing to do with motorcycling. It’s about wishing to be someplace, anyplace, where shorts and tee-shirts would be a more appropriate attire. A little diversion for both myself and the readers of Virginia Wind.
In keeping with this theme, images of white sand beaches, clear blue skies with soft white clouds floating by on warm summer-like breezes over sparkling blue-green tropical waters fill my minds eye as I sit here writing this months article. Looking outside through a frost encrusted window at the barren trees in their winter slumber as passers-by huddled in thick fur wraps scuttle to and fro between buildings, a tropical paradise seemed just the ticket to chase away the mid-winter blues.
Thus I find myself winging my way south to a land of tropical splendor, and soon afterwards I am surrounded by palm trees waving in the gentle sea breezes intermixed with pine forests stretching for miles as I make my way to a deserted beach. Island melodies playing in my head provide the perfect background music while I stroll along brilliant white sands, devoid of footprints other than my own or those of the native creatures. Sands washed clean with each tide, patterned by the soft rippling waves as the water recedes that leaves behind shallow pools heating in the bright golden sun for me to wiggle my toes in and soak up the warmth of the day. In the distance, visions of coral reefs lying just below the surface that change the waters’ color from green to dark blue fill the horizon and occasionally rise above the surf to revel the multitudes of tiny coral animals and plants from which they are built. Tiny offshore islands built of living creatures, while just below the waves sea fans move with the motions of the currents, decked out in bold blues, purples, reds and oranges. Entire colonies of animals fixed in place, growing in shapes that mimic forms found elsewhere in nature, fans, brains and antlers. All the while, schools of fish in every color of the rainbow swim amongst the coral adding their spender to the whole.
Seagulls wheeling overhead in the bright sky swoop down and skim the sands for a stray morsel or two left by some forgotten beachcomber that has come and gone before me or that the waves have washed ashore to be recycled by nature. Shore birds at the waters edge rush along before me, tiny legs pumping furiously to avoid both the approaching giant and encroaching sea. An endless variety avian species, both seen and heard, mix their calls with the sounds of gently lapping waves and the Island tunes still playing in the background of my thoughts. Mangrove marshes and pine forests vying for dominance along the line where sand and beachfront meet, broken by the occasional opening where streams pour forth having found their way from deep inland to meet the ocean and return home, touch the edge of my vision as I walk.
Turning inland to follow a stream along a path cut though the mangrove forests, and crossing over a rickety wooden walkway built on crooked supports that straddles the crystal waterway, I am surrounded by brilliant wild flowers in shades of red, yellow and gold. Brightly colored tropical fish swim lazily in the warm water, seeking refuge from the sea to rest in the stillness of inland shallows away from the constant motion of tide and surf, their colors a reflection of the flowers that peer into the clear water. Barracuda, tiger-fish, yellowtail and iridescent pike fish sharing the shade and quiet water.
Small brown lizards basking on rocks blend almost imperceptibly with their surroundings, motionless except for tiny eyes darting back an forth, seeking the hapless insect that strays within reach of their long sticky tongues to become the next mid-day snack. Butterflies and bananas, orange trees and hilltop chapels share a quiet garden landscape filled with dark pools and waterfalls. Nature blending all together, drawing me in till I find myself becoming one with the surrounding splendor, but that is just as it should be, for all of us are, in the end, one with nature. Our feeling of separation is only an illusion we create in a desperate attempt to separate ourselves, a futile and foolish notion wherein we perceive ourselves to be somehow “superior”, a perception that visions of unspoiled nature quickly dissuade.
Back on the beach, evening descends and the sky turns a brilliant red-gold and the sea swallows the sun once more. Bon fires blaze up in the distance along the shore. Crooked wooden tables strain under the weight of local favorites piled high line the shore, whole fish fried is spicy oil, pot cake, chicken souse, conch and Johnny cake. A meal where utensils are optional, but a good appetite and plenty of napkins are a must. Pitchers overflowing with Bahama Mammas and yellowbirds, a blend of Bacardi 151 and five other rums (with not much else) and strong local beer liven the nights revelry among the light and shadows cast by the yellow flames of the beach fires. Golden, sun-tanned bodies undulate to the beat of Island music, caught in the soft radiance of moonbeams and firelight, bronze skins flash to the pounding rhythm. A time and place where party is spelled with a capital “P” and where inhibitions and attitudes are unwelcome but laughter and love are prerequisite.
As the dawn approaches the fires slowly die leaving only glowing embers. Fry cooks and revelers pack up and go home and quiet returns to the shore. All that’s left is the murmur of waves lapping the cooling sand, seagulls disturbed from their slumber settle down once more. Night creatures scurry about, clearing the beach of tasty morsels left by the nights revelers then bury themselves in the sand as the tide rolls out to await the next evenings fare. Thus silence returns to my island dream as night turns to dawn and with it my vision of paradise fades to darkness.
I wake to find myself once more staring out into a landscape of white, only now it is the cold whiteness of snow, not the warm whiteness of golden tropical beaches, where a moment ago I heard the sound of waves, I hear only the sound of rushing wind between tall buildings. Where only moments ago I felt the warmth of a tropical sun, there is only the cold harsh glare of florescent lights. The once happy notes of Island music and images of madcap dancing are replaced with the grating rhythm of city traffic and sluggish movement of dirty cars on a crowded street.
Was my island journey just a dream or did I really travel to some golden paradise? Was I really lucky enough to get away from the cold and stark reality of Northern Virginia caught in a mid-winter freeze to lie on an unspoiled tropical beach? Did I indeed stroll in the shade of tall palm trees and indulge my senses in such magical surroundings? I suppose that in the end since I certainly feel refreshed and invigorated just in the act of writing this recounting of a Caribbean escape, the real question becomes: Does it really matter?
