While Not Working

Leaving Loxton. A path led along the river from the Riverside Caravan Park to downtown Loxton, and along the way I met Loxton's big pelican. First introduced to Loxton in the Mardi Gras of 1979 , it appeared in subsequent Mardi Gras atop a houseboat before being abducted by a heinous gang of youths and floated down the river, an outing which destroyed its paper mache body. In 1985 it was resurrected and attended the Adelaide New Years Eve parade celebrating South Australia's 150th jubilee. In 1998 local businessman Peter Mangelsdorf successfully lobbied Council for funds to reconstruct the pelican with fibreglass and, after much debate as to a suitable resting place, parked it down at the waterfront. He even had an axle added, to facilitate rescue in inevitable future floods. I love a good Big Thing. I headed northward on Bookpurnong road, expected a pleasant pedal along a country road but nope: trucks roared and all the riverland was determined to take the shortest route pos...

 I spent a thrilling two days in Loxton, locked in my cabin with my nose against a grindstone. I didn't go into town at all and only got down to the river, all of 50 m away, on the evening of the second day. I found the stairs up to the lookout. From the top: houseboats on glass. And from the bottom. Reflections. Wood and water. Colours of cliffs. I repeated the puffer jacket fashion statements of Mannum, but the style fitted right in to the mores of the Loxton Riverside Caravan Park and no one blinked an eye as I paraded back and forth to the laundry. I rearranged furniture and repurposed kitchen appliances into office nicknacks. Phone holder for video calls. I was disturbingly proud of this piece of creativity. Dont worry, I unplugged it first. Loxton office. After two solid days sitting at a keyboard my back was sore and I was grumpy. My bicycle was getting antsy at being cooped up in the bedroom. No you can't go out to play at night. There are signs all around the park war...

  I have a confession to make. I was pedaling along the road, bursting for a wee and looking for a suitable private pee spot with somewhere to lean my bike.   Coming to the conclsion that I would have to lean it at a property gatepost and disappear into the bushes, I picked a gatepost with a sturdy pole and a suitable thorn-free approach, trundled to a stop, and leaned my bike. The whole thing fell over.  I kid you not, the deceptivey sturdy post was in fact a hollow shell, eaten out by white ants and just waiting for a heavy bike to cause collapse. Disaster!  I hauled my bicycle from under the log and looked around.  A family of white-winged choughs laughted at me.  There was no one about to whom I could confess my sin.  I mounted my bicycle and pedaled away in the fastest slow motion possible on a fully loaded bicycle.  a few kilometres down the road I found a sturdy stone wall and attended to all necessary needs without further destruction...