As I write this I am watching the men’s semi-final of the Aussie Open between Nadal and Verdasco. It’s a five set, five hour thriller and is the best tennis I have ever seen. The commentators are talking about it as the longest match in tournament history and it would seem fitting that on a day of record breaking heat there would be this, a record breaking tennis match. It’s 1:00 am, I have a nice cold glass of white wine and I am glued.
For our third major trip we had planned to drive to Adelaide and back along the iconic Great Ocean Road. Recognized as one of the great coastal drives anywhere in the world, the Great Ocean Road is home to the 12 Apostles, the start of Aussie professional surfing and innumerable vacation properties and communities dotting an endless array of picturesque bays, points and inlets. This would also be the trip where we would finally see family, in the flesh, for the first time in six and some odd months. My parents, Jane and Peter, were meeting us in Adelaide after having done some of their own trekking and traveling across this great country.
But before Adelaide there were many klicks of beautiful, and at times desolate, country to cross. With our first mini-van of the year packed to the gills with cricket bats, boogie boards and more stuff than we really needed we headed west across the Bolte and Westgate bridges. Our destination for the first leg of the trip was a relatively short three hour drive to a seaside paradise called Lorne. On our way there we would drive by the Avalon airport, Melbourne’s Mirabel, then down through Geelong and past the grammar school where Charles attended for a term or two. After Geelong you head due south to the coast and soon into Torquay the home of the longest running pro surf competition anywhere, the Rip Curl classic at Bells Beach. With time on our hands we decided to check out the Australian Surfing Museum and were impressed with the amount of history surrounding the sport. Having surfed for a couple of hours a few days later, my appreciation for the guts and athleticism of surfers has increased tenfold.
After setting the boys up with a new pair of crocs from one of the many surf shops along the Torquay strip we boarded our bus and set sail for Lorne. This was to be the same road Allie had lost his lunch on a few months back so we were in constant contact with the back seat asking both boys to update us on their rating – a scale from 1-10 – that is set to determine one’s nausea levels. A report of perfect ten is good news to the driver and co-pilot. A report of 7-9 is fine but indicates a need to open windows or reduce speed. Below seven is cause for more major concern and may entail an emergency roadside stop or the immediate need to disengage from all distractions and to stare straight at the horizon. Below 5 is a very dangerous rating and to hit a “two” would mean that all passengers should immediately duck for cover. Thankfully, with the rating system firmly engaged we coasted into Lorne with nary a dizzy thought or a scary burp to be had.
Lorne for us was paradise. We were booked into quite a nice place - the Mantra Erskine Beach Resort - which in a way reminded me of a newer Hermitage Club, at least in terms of the grounds. With the beach on our doorstep and the town at our back door we settled into 4 days of surfside fun and sun. Lots of sun. Days were spent boogie boarding, building sand castles, playing cricket, frisbee and soccer on the beach and being about as lazy as humanly possible. In fact, losing track of time and the date wasn't the half of it. There were times in these few glorious days where we laughed at ourselves and the relative "nothingness"of it all. I think we came to a point in Lorne where the sheer absurdity of the fortunate and fabulous situation that we found ourselves in finally came home to roost. Our stress levels involved administering enough sunscreen or whether the tide would wipeout the latest sandcastle. Lunch was food eaten anytime between the time when breakfast ended and dinner began. In fact, dinner reservations and store hours became an irritation and interruption to our slow, sloth-like existence. Were we finally heaving off the burden of the anal, stressed-out Canadian and adopting a bit more of the Aussie "no worries" culture? I'm not sure.
But another thing that occurred to me in the sun soaked stupor that Lorne had us in, was that the beach life is perhaps passing me by. No longer does lying in the sun have the appeal it once did. I need a lot of shade to make a full day of sitting in the sand bearable. As well, not that this boy's ever had rock hard abs, the prospect of baring all on the beach has also reached a new low in appeal. I find a sunshirt is now a convenient way of avoiding a burn as well as a misplaced jiggle or three. Additionally, my two hours wallowing in the waves, more off than on the surfboard showed me that surfing is a very young man's game. Wandering around the surf shops only reaffirmed that niggling notion. The piercings, tatts, haircuts, and fashion are so clearly beyond anything I would consider. I must so obviously look like I must be buying something for my son. Am I now destined for more golf and tennis and less in the way of surfing or wakeboarding? Certainly, I will never experience the joy of landing a reverse olly 540 mcTwist. And that kinda sucks.
These are the types of thoughts and experiences that troubled our beached out brains along the Great Ocean Road. Relaxed and reflective, the fortunate frolic on the sands of Lorne finally brought us to the realization that these could truly be the best, most relaxing days of our lives.
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