While Not Working

On Saturday the wind was forecast to blow from the north with a period of indecision just after midday and an about-face to southerly by 2pm. Should they wish to do so, a smart person could ride south with a tailwind, have lunch in Moonta whilst the wind decided what to do, and then ride north back to Wallaroo also with a tailwind. I decided to be this smart person and while I did this I would make sure that all the kilometers that I rode were counted towards my goal of at least 200km/month for the whole year. I waved Roger off to conduct exploration of Wallaroo and Kadina and off I pedaled in the arms of a stiff north wind.   First I had to plug out the standard 8km around the bay to Wallaroo. Ho hum.   The rail trail followed the route of the railway which in the 1800s brought copper ore from the Moonta mine to the smelter at Kadina and the rail trail was brand spanking new, having only opened six weeks ago.  It even had shelters at regular intervals for bicyclists such as me to sit

Roger arrived in Wallaroo and quickly took on the burden of shipping supervision. "It left early!  Note to self: get to the ferry early if you don't want to be left behind."  The cats eyed him askance and departed to dark corners from which they could watch him.  Except for Grandma: she took it as granted that he would be no more than a second lap on which she could demand to lie.  There was no chance to be cat-lapping, however.  The wind blew in the right direction, there was a bicycle shop in Moonta, and a rail trail between there and Wallaroo.  I pointed Roger and his bicycle in the direction of Moonta and set off by car, taking my recalcitrant wheel to someone more experienced than me in the arcane art of bicycle fixing. The road to Moonta spooled past with a fine view of golden wheat, a sliver of deep blue sea, and a bright cloudless sky.  I was in the bicycle shop bright and early at 0830.  "Of course we can fix your tyre," they said.  "But our mechan

A north wind was forecast, starting softly and increasing in force throughout the day.  Accordingly, I hopped on my bicycle and rode north, intending to get to Tickera by lunchtime and then ride the tailwind back home along the cliffs beside the sea. I don't plan to dump anything. Right off the bat I was in my favourite kind of riding: a congenial gravel road with minimal traffic; golden wheat fields tipping gently down to a bright blue sea; birds twittering in the bushes and hares lolloping off across the paddocks as I trundled past.  And snails of course - a million evil snails popping under my tyres. One-of-a-kind fence post, encrusted with snails. The wheat paddocks of the Wallaroo Plains had a pleasing geometry: the little gravel roads zig zaggged left and right and navigation was easy - turn right at the T intersection, turn left at the next T intersection, rinse and repeat all the way to Tickera. I passed old homesteads made of stone, nestled amongst sheds and silos.  Stubbl

The wind blew from the south.  I decided to ride south, so that when I got tired and turned around the wind could push me back home. On the southern edge of Wallaroo I met a dilemma: the road left the sea and went inland, burdened with grain trucks going to the silos.  Alternatively, a track led to the beach to bypass private land, but this particular beach was push-your-bike territory. Thinking... I guess I'll push my bike now. The pushing didn't last long.  In no time at all I was back up onto firm ground and the little track along the top of the escarpment led me to the Wallaroo Powder Magazine which provided a fine spot to stop and have a snack. The original magazine, whose foundations are still visible, was built in 1867 after some members of the community expressed concern about the relaxed practice of storing the explosives for the Wallaroo Mine 'between a dwelling house and the blacksmith's shop' before taking them to the mine site.  Off I went along a swee

If I was a snail in South Australia I wouldn't haul myself up onto grass stalks and bushes and glue myself there to dry out in the wind and sun. I wouldn't cluster on rocks in dry paddocks and set out to traverse the sahara-esque wastelands of gravel roads where I would grind to a halt in the dust and stay there to make a satisfying pop! if someone should run over me with a bicycle tyre. This is what the snails do, however.  They cluster over bushes, festoon grass stalks, and lie in drifts on the ground.   I'm not a snail, thankfully, although I did run over a few lot on the way to and from Kadina on my bicycle this morning. I didn't set out to ride to Kadina and back.  I thought I might just ride in to Wallaroo to get some fresh fruit but one thing led to another, I stopped here to photograph that, Watch out for sharks in the salt lake.   I detoured to look at an old building or two, I explored a road I hadn't previously ridden, and before I knew it I was halfway