My happy place — Hamilton Beach

scotto

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The Beach Strip
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Posted with permission from the Hamilton Spectator
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Joan Miller-Chapman Wed Apr 18 2012
Just as I reach the path, a flash of bright yellow whizzes past, followed by a whoosh of air. There goes a cyclist, thinking the path is his alone.

“Hey buddy, how about some pathway etiquette?” I don’t have the guts to say this. Besides, he’s long gone.

A glance behind proves the coast is clear so I side step onto the asphalt. With a click on my iPod, my favourite song entices me into my tentative launch. Soon my body remembers how to do this, and I respond with a relieved smile. A quick glance to the left reveals the familiar swath of sand, the huge lake stretching beyond, and Toronto’s CN Tower barely visible in the hazy horizon. It always amazes me that from the skyway and the QEW you can’t see this long beach, but here it is, complete with the best paved path in the area. This place is worth the drive.

Long blades of grass meet the pavement, swaying to the east, pushed by a gusty west breeze. The wind keeps my back cool and nudges me along, making it almost effortless to glide.

“Eyes on the path Joan, eyes on the path,” I tell myself, remembering there are twigs and stones to watch out for.

But I can’t help looking over at the lake. White caps dance on its surface and waves crash against the shore, spitting soggy blackened weeds onto the sand. Large dogs dart in and out of the water, retrieving balls hurled in by their owners. Bright multicoloured umbrellas perch in the sand. It looks and sounds like the ocean. Already I am overheating and look forward to my reward of walking barefoot along the water’s edge.

For this first in-line skate of the season it takes several minutes to find my groove and gain confidence. Breathing relaxed, my arms swing to their habitual motion. The path curves occasionally, mimicking the shoreline. Numerous wooden signs display images of Hamilton’s historic beach. The photos show hundreds of people in turn-of-the-century apparel and beach attire, enjoying this place over 100 years ago.

Summer cottages were built here in the late 1800s. In 1903, an amusement park was added, which thrived for decades. The only ride now is a go-kart race track, much further, near the ice cream shops. By the early 1950s, any remaining cottages had become all-season permanent residences. I pass by these within minutes. Most are made of wood. All are unique. When viewed from the main street, each block has a few larger, grander houses with turrets, large porches and fancy gables. From back here they appear humbler. Many have a second-floor balcony or a roof deck. What a great spot to sit and look out at the lake! Long back yards stretch to the beach and a few homeowners have left their wooden lawn chairs close to the sand, just beyond the path. Many elderly people are outside tending their gardens and I suspect they have lived here most of their lives.

“What do they think of this path and us visitors?” I wonder.

The further I go, the more occupied the path becomes. This is evidently a favourite spot for many. A man approaches, pulling his toddler in a plastic orange wagon. He smiles at me in recognition. Soon another familiar man passes with a friendly smile. He’s much older and in very good shape. Several young couples skate past, hands held, laughing. A guy pushing someone in a wheelchair goes by. Since this is my third year skating here, regulars of all ages are becoming recognizable.

Cottage homes are behind and the entertainment area is coming up, just past this very small hill. The beach widens, speckled with boulders. Larger groups of people are everywhere, enjoying such nice weather. After passing the go-kart track, I come to the small swimming pool and patio bistro. Children splash and laugh, many lining up for snacks and cones. Several adults enjoy a beer on the patio. This makes me so thirsty. A wooden lookout deck is well-occupied.

Reaching my turnaround point 500 metres beyond, the path gets even busier with families and couples walking in both directions, some holding hands, many with dogs. Bicyclists ring their bells, mindful of people. Sometimes small children run free, their parents engrossed in adult conversation.

“Excuse me,” I shout, approaching a small girl who has darted in front of me. “On your left.” This gets her mother’s attention.

Many people dominate this spot, some not mindful of others, too focused on their ice cream cones. The snack bar and diner does a booming business. It’s busy every day in the summer, as is the Greek beachfront restaurant further along. Often that is my destination, but I know I’ll eat there tomorrow after blading with my friend.

Instead I sit on a bench and observe kids on the beach, who climb the rocks, toss stones in the water, or make sand castles. Seagulls squawk and hover at the fringe of people picnicking on blankets, frantic for offerings. Colourful personal watercraft race by, some pulling kids on tubes, back and forth along the shallower water. A barge moves slowly in the middle of the lake, headed toward the lighthouse and narrow canal at the lift bridge, the entrance to Hamilton’s harbour. Toronto’s fabulous beach is mirrored far off in the distance but this place here is a strong rival, with more to offer. Do they even know what they are missing?

The oncoming wind makes the return a bigger challenge. Huffing and puffing up one slope (which was so much more fun going down) a small bug shoots down my throat, prompting me to breathe through closed teeth. Back at my car I trade skating gear for beach supplies and cross the path. That barge has reached the lighthouse and the horn sounds loudly for the lift bridge rising. Hot sand between my toes. Water beckons.

Joan Miller-Chapman is an Oakville resident who loves the great outdoors.
 
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