Lessons Learned While Riding In The Rain.

1.  The weather forecast is not to be trusted.

2.  K-mart rain jackets don't keep out the rain.

 How do I know this?  Let me tell you the soggy story. 

I decided to ride from Mount Barker to Milang: it was all downhill (in theory anyway) and with the end of January breathing down my neck I had yet to clock up my 200km for the month.

It wasn't a slow getaway.  We had to do some important things like change over our driver's licences and car registration, meaning we could no longer call ourselves Queenslanders nor blame any traffic fumbles on being from out-of-state and not knowing where we're going.  Rain sprinkled gently on Roger's head as he screwed on our new SA plates.  Rain pattered gently as we did our grocery shopping, and little rivulets of water gushed merrily across the carpark outside the window as we ate our Subway lunch.

"Are you sure about this?" said Roger.

"The weather forecast says it's lessening the closer I get to Milang," I replied, thereby demonstrating the dubious sensibility of believing the forecast at the expense of what my own eyes could see.  "And I've got my rain jacket anyway. Let's go."  I cheated a little bit though: I got Roger to drop me off at Wistow, on the other side of the uphill out of Mount Barker.

When last I drove Wellington Road it had meandered happily across green hills, generously shaded by gum trees, with occasional well-behaved traffic chugging past at a sensible speed.  This time around the road was sheeted with water, the hills drifting in and out of sight behind immoderate veils of rain, and every truck and car in the area had decided to speed along Wellington Road risking life and limb for cyclists silly enough to ride on the (non-existent) shoulder. Not to mention splashing water all over said cyclists as they panted up the hill, having miscalculated and discovered that Wistow was not quite at the top.

It never looks as scary in the pictures.  Or as wet.  Or as steep. You'll have to take my word for it.

 Faced with ignomoniously calling for retrieval or finding another less dangerous option, I went for the longer, muddier, wetter but definitely safer route and entered a quiet world of gurgling water, white gravel, green grass, gum trees with a hundred different colours of bark, and soggy sheep watching from the sidelines.

At this point I realised that my K-mart rain jacket was a rain jacket only in the sense that it let rain in, rather than keeping it out.  The good thing about rapidly achieving maximum sogginess was that once wet there was no point in keeping dry, and as long as I kept moving I was warm, so on I went.

Rain notwithstanding, Red Creek Road was quite a delightful ride.  There were ruins aplenty:

Unnamed ruin #1 came with a bonus dry stone wall.

Unnamed  ruin #2 came with an indoor garden.

Unnamed ruin #3 was protected by a very serious Biosecurity sign.

And ruin #4 had a name: the Hartley Methodist Church, built so early that there are no records showing the definitive date.  There is a single headstone in the cemetary, where a Mr Squires was laid to rest.  In 1955 the building was taken over by the South Australian Education Department, and used as a school.  It was largely destroyed in the Ash Wednesday fires of 1983.

I left Red Creek Road and headed out across the plains toward Langhorne Creek.  The rain continued.  Sheep watched me warily from high ground.

Do they know something I don't?  I know it's wet, but should I be seeking high ground too?

I discovered that my front carrier system was not as waterproof as I had assumed, necessitating a stop in whatever cover I could find, and the rapid implementation of phone protection systems involving plastic bags, rubber bands, and a lot of finger crossing.  I congratulated myself on leaving my 'proper' camera at home and bringing the waterproof one.

I don't know why this information plaque merited a shelter, and to be honest I didn't even read it.  The bike, the phone, and I could not fit under it all at the same time, which was rather troublesome.

At Langhorne Creek I rode in very wet circles for a little bit, having gotten somewhat discombobulated with regard to my lefts and rights.  Having sorted all that out, I squelched into the Langhorne Creek General Store, which was a rather grand name for a shop that didn't sell very much if the contents of its shelves were anything to go by.

"Do you have anything hot?"  I asked the man behind the counter, very aware that I was making puddles (of rainwater) all over the floor.  He pointed to the empty hot box: "No!  Someone just bought the last 3 pasties.  I've put a new lot in the oven but they'll take at least 20 minutes!  Do you want to wait?"

I couldn't sit still for 20 minutes: that would be much too cold.  I made do with my old friend Farmers Union Iced Coffee (yes, I'm becoming a South Australian) and a packet of lollies instead.

I can't sit here for too long: as soon as I stop moving I get cold.  Drinking cold iced coffee doesn't help.

From Langhorne Creek I had another 12ish km to pedal, through the vineyards towards Milang on the shores of Lake Alexandrina.  The rain kept raining, the puddles kept puddling, the water ran white with clay from the road.  Rude cars splashed me with water but I didn't care because I couldn't get any wetter anyway.  My little waterproof camera added insult to injury by going flat, but the rain paused in intensity ed long enough for one last photograph.

The home stretch.

 

I rolled into the Old Butcher's Shop in Milang and pedaled into the courtyard, out of the rain.  "Don't come in!" shouted Roger.  "You're too wet!  Strip off out there!"  He took a photo of the back of me to support his argument.

Oh.  Maybe I will strip before I come in.

The moral of this story is two-fold:

1.  Consider the weather that you see, as well as the weather that is forecast.

2. K-mart rain jackets are very good at keeping out the mud, and terrible at keeping out the rain.

If you'll excuse me now, I've got some cycling clothes to wash.