End of a Road : Sometimes we drift into moments of grace when everything feels still, beautifully paused, temporarily at rest. As if, for a short while, we've reached a quiet destination and can just exist, having satisfied the forces that brought us so far, and not needing to listen to the new voices that will move us on.

A couple of years ago I was wandering down a narrow road in New Zealand in a camper-van, hanging back behind a herd of cows, lazily listening to horse-racing on the radio (horse-racing interrupts everything else on the radio during the weekend, so it was that or nothing). I was looking for the fifth or sixth surfspot of the day. I had just finished the obligatory pilgrimage to Raglan, which was certainly the most beautiful wave I'd ever seen, but I hadn't gotten much satisfaction there since school was out and the local rippers were dominating the place. Not that I minded - they surf at a level I've rarely seen anywhere, and it was fun to watch.

So I headed south, meaning to head off the main road more or less every chance I got, and just see what was there to be found. There wasn't much. The swell was small, and the day had been a pleasantly lethargic combination of driving, map-reading and watching the sea. It was getting late in the afternoon, so I thought I'd just wander down this last road and find somewhere to park the van.

At the end of the road, a narrow beach lead down to the sea, and about fifty yards out a large rock stuck out of the water. As I watched, a short fast right broke and ran just by the rock and down to the beach. The tide was coming in, and it looked like the wave might get rideable with a little more water underneath it, so I sat down and waited. An hour later, a guy with a short-board wandered by, paddled out, and caught a wave - the right was missing the rock now, and a left was showing on the bigger sets. Empty surf. An evening session. Sounded good.

So I turned round and strolled back to the van, wondering what to do after the session, since it would be dark by then. And noticed that there's a sign in front of the field where I parked the van. The sign says "camping". Well, that's settled then.

Wetsuit on, grab the longboard and head out to the left. It's a long, slow, rolling drop with an inside section for a little speedy nose-riding. There's two or three people out now just taking it easy as the sun slowly drops into the water behind us. It's a little cold, but there's no wind, no hassle, just some easy rolling waves.

I take the last one in as it gets dark. At the van, I've got food, coffee and a bottle of red wine. The field is empty, shadowed, silent. After the camp stove goes off, the stars are massively bright. I think of Gary Snyder, "under the tough old stars...". I finish the wine, lie on my back on the grass and just let the world, for a few hours, come to a beautiful pause.

The next morning, I go looking for a good cup of coffee and some breakfast. In New Zealand, this can be hit and miss since instant coffee hasn't been banned yet and tends to be served with a warmed over meat pie at any time of the day or night . Not that I'm complaining, it's just that this morning I wanted something good - I had the vague hope my lucky streak hadn't yet run out.

And it hasn't. By the side of the highway is a place called "Burnt Toast". Inside, the room is bouncing to Simply Red and it smells as if the word's finest baker has just finished the best morning of his (or her) baking life. The guys behind the counter are stoked that somebody from San Francisco has just been surfing their waves. The coffee, when it comes, is perfect, and the muffin is huge, warm out of the oven, and sitting in the middle of a bright red puddle of raspberry sauce on an enormous white plate.

Fifteen minutes later, jazzed on coffee and music and sugar and sunshine, it's time to get going. We're on the other side of this brief moment now, and I feel if I push it further and look for more, the shape of this little pocket of time will get forced, stretched, undone. So I get in the van and switch on the radio and drive, feeling the world beginning to spin, feeling time locking itself into its daily rythms, feeling the pause dropping away and the pace of life beginning to move to its insistent, necessary beat.