The Elster Trail

Just like that, our time with D1&2 came to an end. We spent a day making the house and yard ship shape and squeaky clean and then off we went for cat intermission between dog sits. We didn't even get to have a final dog walk because the weather was miserable, so the D's family  had to cope with all that pent-up small dog energy when they dragged their jetlagged selves in the door on Thursday morning.

Final farewell, dogs not appreciating the moment.

With BD back in her own place and no dogs to walk, we finally got the chance to do some really important tasks like planning our next Melbourne adventures, buying a mop (how do people clean their houses without a mop?), and going for a bike ride. Well, I did anyway. Roger, still taking care with his back, preferred to walk.

Along the way I passed the house where beanie babies go to die.

And discovered the little-known and less-appreciated delights of Spoonville.

The Elster trail started at Allnut Park near our house and finished at the sea. 

Off we go.

I rode it early one morning and made it a lot harder than it needed to be by not having breakfast first and forgetting to take my water bottle. Add that to the awesome fitness I'd attained by hanging out in hospitals for 5 weeks, and an easy 20km didn't feel easy at all.

The path was pretty, ambling through a wet world that smelled of late winter wattle.

Across the water, the city hid in clouds. Feeling my lack of both breakfast and water I turned around to go home.

On the way home I passed by Mrs Bent's memorial drinking fountain and, being the bright spark I am, realised that I could assuage my thirst there rather than waiting until I got home. Desperate for water, I leapt off my bike and bounded to the fountain.

Alas, Mrs Bents fountain was designed more for grandeur than saving desperate bicyclists from dehydration.

'Let's put a pillar on each corner. That should do the trick.'

I stood on my tippy toes on the step provided, squeezed myself between the pillars, contorted my arm to reach the button, stuck my tongue out as far as it would go, and was rewarded with a splatter of water on my nose. I tried all manner of toe, torso, arm, and tongue contortions, but a drink was simply not going to happen.  Eventually I conceded defeat and pedaled the final weary (and thirsty) kilometers home, where I sank on the sofa with a glass of water and the cat. I extolled to him the benefits of modern plumbing and water treatment plants.

The cat did not care, and retired to his cat tree.

I had breakfast, and very nice it was too.