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Chasing Aurora

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On our last day in Mclarenvale a large solar storm was forecast to result in an Auroroa Australis of proportions that could be seen from the Australian mainland and, possibly, as far north as Adelaide.  Armed with an absolute lack of knowledge about astrophotography I downloaded an Aurora app and headed off to Maslins Beach lookout to have a shot (ha ha) at getting a shot of the Aurora.  Roger, not wanting to stand around in the dark and cold, stayed home with the dog. All ready for Auroral action.  My app informed me that the best auroras happened from 09:30 in the morning and were not visible due to daylight. Waiting for the daylight to take itself off to the other side of the world.  A pretty crescent moon came out to play, but no-one was interested in it so it headed off to the other side of the world as well.  A small group of random photographers stood on Maslins Beach lookout with me, watching the sun set.  A lady came along on an electric bike and took photos of the sunset befo
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Stuff And The Storage Thereof.

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Almost three years ago we gave away a whole heap of stuff, packed all the remaining stuff that we couldn't possibly live without into a storage shed in western Queensland, and proceeded to live for three years with what we could carry in the car.  Our stuff mouldered through freezing winters, mouse plagues, and roasting summers in its tin shed in Roma and we rarely thought about it. Eventually my clothes started wearing out, which wasnt surprising given I was wearing the same 3 t-shirts on rotation for three years and couldn't bring myself to buy more clothes when I knew I had boxes of perfectly good duds in storage.  Not that t-shirts in a box 3000km away were much good to me when the worn-out T-shirts reached the fine line between shabby chic and no longer decent. Roger was in the same boat, with rather more of himself than was necessary poking out through holes that weren't in the original pattern for his clothes.  We decided we needed a storage shed in South Australia a
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I Didn't See Any Koalas.

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The dog and I had a few days at home on our own while Roger gallivanted around Sydney in the rain, attending a graduation and catching up with family. In McLarenvale bright sunshine filled a cloudless sky, the light breeze was neither too hot nor too cold, and the autumn leaves glittered red and gold in the vineyards.    I jumped on my bicycle and took off for another uphill-downhill ride on roads I'd not traveled before. Having had a lot of type 2 fun last time, I looked at today's route carefully and adjusted my expectations to match, therefore it wasn't a surprise when Taylor Hill road tilted upways and I had to walk.    I took a lot of rests to look for koalas. I didn't see any koalas, despite frequently stopping to examine the grand old eucalypts that grew in the road reserve. I only had to walk for a km or so and then I was able to ride, albeit with lots of koala-spotting breaks, to the top of the hill and the intersection with Range Road.    Up on Range Road a
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Lemon Fetch And Limping Dogs

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There was a citrus tree in our back yard, dripping with lemons. There was a small fluffy dog in our house, bursting with energy. The small fluffy dog had two stuffed toys which his owners were quite clear were for indoor play only. We played vigorous games of indoor fetch with the small fluffy dog, pretending to throw the toy while he raced up and down the hallway searching for it.  Lacking traction on the bamboo floor, he struggled with rapid take-off, sudden changes of direction, and heavy braking.  We exploited this weakness for our own amusement. Deprived of his toys while outdoors the small fluffy dog circled our chairs like a shark at feeding time, desperately bringing his indoor toys outdoors in the hope of playtime.  One day, tired of confiscating his indoor toys, I picked up a lemon from the collection on the table, and threw it to him.  "Play with that," I said. And he did. He played his own game of fetch, tapping the lemon with his nose, rolling it with his paws, a
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Watching Other People Work (Or Play, As The Case May Be)

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We visited Onkaparinga Gorge, taking a picnic lunch out to the Punchbowl Lookout with a grand view down to the swimming holes in the bottom of the gorge. Children's voices echoed off the rock walls and we had occasional glimpses of teeny tiny people swimming in what I can only imagine was really cold water. I bet that water is cold.   Back at the car park we followed the climbers' track to the part of the cliffs allocated to climbers, most of the gorge being too crumbly for climbers to go up and down willy-nilly. There was even a steep set of steps to allow climbers to eschew having to climb both ways if they didn't want to do so. The steps gave a great view over another part of the gorge and as a bonus we got to watch someone else doing the hard and scary work of climbing      He got to the top safely. I like watching other people work. Or climb, as the case may be. In the spirit of watching other people do strenuous things, the very next day we went to watch a whole heap
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Type 2 Fun.

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I stopped half way up Topps Hill Road, gasping for breath and reconsidering my life choices. A lazy wind went through me instead of around, with occasional needles of rain for extra stimulation. "Why do I do this to myself?" I asked. I was having Type 2 Fun, which is the kind of fun that isn't fun while you do it but is heaps of fun to talk about afterwards. My type 2 fun started easily enough on the trail to McLaren Flat, but I was soon working hard on the long uphill to Kangarilla, dodging trucks along the way. I stopped to talk to a Belted Galloway bull but he wasn't particularly pleased to see me, so I didn't stay long. Smart outfit.  Shame about the attitude. And then I came to Toops Hill Road, and started my type 2 fun. Up. I took lots of photo breaks as I slowly pushed my bicycle up the hill. Nothing to do with the steepness of Toops Hill, of course, just my natural desire to appreciate the view that gradually unfolded as I gained altitude. I could see down
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Ride.

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I've been riding my bike up hill and down dale around McLaren Vale.  McLaren Vale is close to the hills and the sea, so there's lots of places to explore. I rode to Port Willunga where forgotten fishermen gouged caves into the cliffs, seeking a place to safely store their boats. There's a sign at the bottom of the ramp to the beach: "Soft Cliffs," it says. "Don't go near the caves. Rocks might fall on your head." Or words to that effect. Just like everyone else has done, I went into the caves anyway. The cliffs behaved and my head stayed intact. I pedaled to Lion's Head, beside rugged, crumbling coastal cliffs.  Despite my bravado at the caves, I'm not a very brave cliff top bicyclist: I walked along the bits where the path followed right on the edge of the cliff although we won't mention the closed path where the cliff had fallen away and I may or may not have walked along there anyway because the detour was long, hilly, and boring. Ingl
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