Hot Chocolate Dreaming 15/08/22

Roger and the BD lollygagged in Warrnambool, going sightseeing in between car picnics, visiting friends, and conducting quality assessments at local bakeries. 

Windy in Warrnambool.  Time to check out another bakery.

I got on my bike again, having discovered that the Frankstone line which allegedly ended in Frankston didn't really do so. It just became the Stoney Point line and downgraded from a swanky electric train to a diesel rail motor which chugged all the way to Stoney Point on the business side of the Mornington Peninsula. I was overtaken by the desire to ride to Stoney Point and catch the train home, thereby riding the entire line in both modes (train and bicycle) and planting the seed of a desire to ride the entire Melbourne Myki network. By train that is, not by bike, although now I come to think of it...

I brought a set of warm clothes in a waterproof bag, having learnt my lesson yesterday regarding cold wet clothing.  The faux countryside started right off the bat in Frankstone and if I had ignored the sound of roaring traffic I could have been out in the country.

 

A pretty path.

Officially, I was on the Frankstone Baxter Rail Trail.

 

Alas the Frankston-Baxter trail finished at Baxter (surprise!) so I put on my hi vis vest, girded my loins, and took to the road only to be greeted with a big 'ROAD CLOSED' sign. There was a detour but a casual 10k detour takes a while on a bike and I was on a timeline: if I didn't catch the 3:24 train at Stoney Point I would have a 2 hour wait for the next one and I wasn't convinced that Stoney Point would have enough entertainment for 2 hours without a fishing rod.

'Excuse me" I said to the Hi Vis man doing stuff with traffic cones near the ROAD CLOSED sign. "Can I get through on a bike?"

"Where do you want to go?" He asked. "Bunnings?"

"Is it at the other end of the road?  Then yes."

"Sure" he said. "Go ahead."

I had no idea where Bunnings was but he had just given me the go-ahead to pedal on past the ROAD CLOSED sign, so I wasn't going to quibble about my DIY needs. 

It was all surprisingly peaceful, if a little muddy at times.

For the engineers who walk amongst us...

 

There wasn't a lot happening due to the rain:  the road workers stood around chattering into radios and telling each other that a bicycle was coming through.  There was no heavy traffic other than what was coming in and out of the Inghams Chicken Factory and that was easy to dodge.  Even better, the roadworks ended right at a convenient coffee shop which made tasty toasties.  I didn't have coffee with my toastie: I had a plan which involved having a hot chocolate while I waited for a train at Stoney Point, and was willing to deprive myself on the journey so the end would be sweeter.

I followed the Western Port Trail as it followed the railway (mostly) down the eastern side of the Mornington Peninsula.  This was a semi rural area with an entertaining mix of racehorse agistment,

 

Wet horses.

Smelly chicken farms (no pictures because smelled, not seen), 

 

And my favourite, where one can leave one's small children in the care of T Rex whilst choosing a Christmas tree.

 

The trail led me into the Hastings Foreshore Reserve, because why go in a straight line on a bitumen path when I could slog along a circuitous route that involved puddles and mud, and in the process pedal blithely past the last available coffee shop without one thought for the impact this would have on my hot-chocolate-related future plans.

 

Marina masts.

Pelican pals with seagull entourage.

The view over to Long Island Point, home of assorted heavy industry including Western Port Bluescope Steel, Long Island Fractation Plant, and Long Island Crude Oil Tank Farm.

 

I thoroughly enjoyed my ride through Warringine Park, except for being scared out of my bejeebers by two swans who hissed loudly and burst out from under the boardwalk in an explosion of feathers and water. Taking sudden evasive action was not advised given the lack of guardrails on the boardwalk, but I managed to stay out of the water and both the swans and I lived to tell our terrifying tales.

 

Wetlands.

More wetlands, getting wetter.

 

Scene of the Great Hissing Swan debacle.

It was very hard to keep out of the water and sand/mud.  I could feel a solid bike cleaning session coming on after this.

My first sighting of an Australian Shelduck.  I got very excited: the Shelduck not so much.

 

Arriving at Stoney Point, I went looking for the cafe that I was sure would exist, ready to savour my hot chocolate.  Alas, Stoney Point had a jetty with a few trawlers and a festoon of fishermen, a tired caravan park, a scatter of tireder houses, a fair sprinkling of pelicans, and no cafe at all.  I contemplated cycling back up the line to Crib Point, but that would result in me being one stop short of having ridden the whole line and there was no guarantee of a hot chocolate at Crib Point anyway.

 

Back to civilisation, or somewhere with sealed roads at least.  Does it count as civilisation if you can't buy a hot chocolate there?

I've run out of riding.

Because a pelican is always worth photographing.

Coming to terms with dastardly disappointment related to hot chocolate (non)availability.

 

I had to stay in the train station to keep my dry clothes dry because the rain outside had stepped up a notch. In a desolate fugue of hot chocolate deprivation, I ate cold crackers and drank cold water while I waited for my train. 

 

The trip home was uneventful and toasty warm due in good part to my dry clothes, so the hour of train station purgatory was worth it.  The dogs were beside themselves with excitement when I brought out their leads and off we went for a walk, as if I hadn't done enough exercise already. At least it wasn't raining at home.

By the time we got home Roger had returned from his jolly jaunts, complete with delectable treats from the Camperdown Bakery to which he had paid homage on the way home.

I took my treat, boiled the kettle, and finally had my hot chocolate.

 

A final Stoney Point moment: Caspian Terns with very bad hairdos.