Today started as many of my days lately have started (pun intended): with me sleeping in because I had an unrestful night. My morning routine had me eating breakfast, checking my e mail, checking Facebook, and making my usual list as to whom I should call or what I thought I should accomplish. Sunlight was streaming into my office through the window where I’d pulled back the curtain, the curtain swaying in the breeze blowing through. Consequently, by about 11:30am all the happy outdoor action had convinced me to slough off responsibility (i.e., job search) for the afternoon and consult the Ottawa Beaches Water Quality and The Weather Network sites.
A few posts back (July 30) I wrote of an OC Transpo billboard ad, one of the wittiest I’d ever seen. There was another brilliant one that I recall seeing through the windows of an OC Transpo bus five or six years ago somewhere along Bank Street, in The Glebe. (Want more info about The Glebe? Read here and here.) The billboard promoted The Weather Network with the slogan, “Written, Produced, and Directed by God”! I still grin every time I think about it.
Given the forecast (23˚C the predicted high, 25˚C the actual), I could only surmise that Providence had foreordained today as my beach day. I accessed the OC Transpo Trip Planner (similar to Winnipeg Transit’s Navigo), threw together a backpack, and rode off into the noontide towards Britannia Beach. Approximately one hour, three buses, and a 15-minute walk later I arrived at my destination. I could have saved myself the walk: had I not been filled with overweening pride and self-confidence, I could have asked the bus driver to point out my stop. Instead, I exercised my independence, poor judgement, and legs by hopping off at the Yacht Club. Still, I knew I was in the general vicinity of the beach and it was a gorgeous day. Trust me, I needed the exercise anyway.
If Britannia Beach has designated change rooms, I didn’t find them. The washroom that served that purpose was modern, but not very clean at 2:30pm. Since I didn’t plan to spend more time than absolutely necessary there, it sufficed.
Children, primarily, dotted the beach and water, with a handful of adults in tow (adults, here, being a synonym for packhorses). The wind certainly made its presence known: there were white caps on the river, and every now and again mini-sandstorms would ravage the tranquility on shore. I read my book, dozed, and just soaked up the atmosphere. At any given time, from four to seven kiteboarders (aka kitesurfers) and at least six sailboarders (aka windsurf boarders) provided visual points of interest along the horizon. I’ll have to return another time to explore the outcropping of rocks and the scenic pathway to get there.
All in all, a fantastic afternoon. Even my trip back went smoothly. I caught the #18 up to Lincoln Fields 3B, then crossed over to gate 1C, where I waited for the #77 express. One passed by without stopping, too full of downtown commuters to squeeze even one more in. A fellow waiting beside me was, in his own words, “pissed” about that. (I figured I’d just go with flow and take a #95.) He probably felt a little foolish when another #77 rolled up only a few minutes later. As it turns out, I beat James home.
So I’ve had my moment in the sun. I even have the (faint) tan lines to prove it. It occurred to me again yesterday that my idea of heaven-on-earth is a beach: Grand Beach would be better, but Britannia will do in a pinch. So, God, if you’re reading my blog, I don’t really need a mansion in heaven, but I won’t say no to a lakefront cottage!
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