Exploring The Wild North

I've gotten to know the southern half of Adelaide quite well by bicycle. I know pretty much the quickest bicycle route to anywhere, how to avoid hills and headwinds, and where I can jump on a train when pedaling gets wearisome. I've ridden up and down the foreshore more times than I can count and although it's beautiful with stunning beaches, sunsets, and sightings of dolphins and seals, it's also clogged with beach goers, kids on roller skates and training wheels, and everyone who wants to go for a walk and wander haphazardly over the shared path with nary a bother for whoever is frantically ringing a bell behind them.

Slow spark that I am, it took a while before I realised that north of the city was a whole heap of Adelaide just waiting to be explored and accessible to anyone who cared to hop on the Gawler train line which afforded multiple spots for getting off and exploring. So on a bright sunny day with just a promise of summer I did just that, riding the train all the way to Gawler with the intention of riding my bicycle all the way back to the city. Roger, left to spend a morning pulling donated bikes apart in a charity shop, predicted dire consequences. "You'll be mugged!" He warned. "You'll be run over by hoons! The northern suburbs is a hotbed of crime and debauchery!"

I took my chances anyway.

First the train down to the city.  Then another train to Gawler.

Once in Gawler I got off to a sputtering start. First of all the train stopped at Gawler, two stop short of end of the line at Gawler Central, so I had to have a coffee at the Gawler Railway Cafe to get myself over having to pedal that last little bit myself. Then the barista at the Gawler Railway Cafe forgot to make my coffee which meant I had to sit in the sun and chill for an extra 15 minutes, such a hardship that was.

Gawler Railway Cafe in the old Gawler Railway Station.  Not to be confused with Gawler Central, which is another two stops along and is both the end of the line, the centre of Gawler proper, and doesn't have a Cafe.

 

Gawler's Woolworths had absolutely nowhere to lock up my precious new bike, so I was forced to take it with me as I wandered the aisles foraging for lunch supplies.

Then I had lunch beside the creek (sorry, river) in Gawler before finally getting organised enough to start pedaling south.

 

Gawler, while possessing the start (or end) of the Stuart O'Grady Bikeway, did not advertise how to find it. I found two men digging holes beside a bike path in the park and asked them if they knew how to get to the Stuart O'Grady.

"We're putting up directional signs for that!" declared the young fella with a smile as bright as his high visibility shirt, as he leaned comfortably on his shovel. "But I can't help you - I don't have a clue where it is!" Which raised questions about the accuracy of the signs he was installing, not that anyone seemed bothered about that.  Undeterred on I rode and, guided by the growl of traffic, found the Bikeway which ran beside the motorway all the way to Port Adelaide.

Hmm, better start pedaling and stop faffing around.

 

Apart from the noise of the traffic, it was all quite pleasant and rural.  I even saw rabbits (evil feral pests that they are, but they're cute) hiding in the embankment as I whizzed chugged past. 

Lo and behold there was a memorial to the battle of Long Tan, about which you can find out more here. What the battle of Long Tan had to do with this corner of a random paddock beside the motorway, I don't know.

Paddocks of oats?  I don't know my winter crops very well.

I know this crop. This is canola.  This is a bicycle posing in front of a paddock of eye-wateringly yellow canola.

 

There was only so much riding beside traffic that I could do before my mind started to wander, contemplating the fact that the Bikeway followed the road on a big detour out across the paddocks where I would listen to roaring traffic and look at crops and... do more of that all the way to Port Adelaide.  Meanwhile, to the south of me lay suburbs bursting with roads and bike paths yet to be explored, so at the next roundabout I waved the road goodbye and launched myself into the seething maelstrom of vice and carnage known as the northern suburbs.

My first impression of the northern suburbs was pretty wild...ish.  Ranks of almond trees marched past, shedding blossoms in favour of bright green leaves.

The goat gang was out, keeping everything trim, tidy, and nibbled between the almond trees.

The almond trees gave way to suburbs.  I pedaled past a RAAF training establishment, and past an airfield which was busy with Cessnas and a clattering helicopter.  Up above me a glider trailed its tow plane, climbing in lazy circles to a cloudless sky. With 35ish km down and more to go, my progress slowed. I found a park and ate a very late second lunch with the last of my water. Searching unsuccessfully for a tap, I consoled myself with the thought that I would pass innumerable parks sure to be dripping with taps.  Progress was slow, I had to stop frequently and check where to go next, and then I had to double back when I got too confident and didn't check as I should, and then I took detours on a whim which made it all take longer again.

I was in a bit of a spin actually, but I propelled myself onward nonetheless.

Past the Adelaide super-drome, which was very impressive in the evening light.

And then out of the blue I stumbled across the Levels-City bikeway, which meant that I was released from making navigational decisions and could just blindly follow the blue signs all the way to the city. I even found a water tap along the way!

From there it was a beautiful ride, following little blue arrows downhill through the gracious streets and mansions of no-longer-the-dangerous-northern-suburbs of Adelaide, while the setting sun painted end-of-day colours in the sky.

Pretty.

I crossed the river Torrens where reflections of the city floated upside-down in the darkening water. The Torrens looked quite grand at sunset.

There was just time for one final bicycle pose in the entrance to the railway station, and then I could give my tired legs a rest on the train.

And then I had to make my tired legs walk home from the train.  At least it was all downhill.

The cat, having been home alone all day, greeted me with outrage and demands for lap time. I complied and we sat and ate our dinner together, one of us decidedly more weary than the other.