The Risks Of Reflected Light, And The Travails Of Chasing Trains.

I like to think I'm sun-safe when I ride my bicycle. I have long pants, long sleeves, gloves, and a wide brim on my helmet. If the sun is low enough to sneak under my helmet brim then I bust out my bandana for my official not-fashionable no-sunburn look. This approach has served me well for thousands of outback kilometers with not a peeling nose in sight.

A couple of days ago I rode my bike from Goolwa to Victor Harbor and halfway back again, all the while beside the sea. The sun shone brightly on the water and although not a ray touched my face by the time I went to bed that night I had developed a certain sympathy for lightbulbs and other things that glow in the dark. Thus I learned a cautionary lesson about reflected light from the ocean causing sunburn: a lesson which I should have known had I but thought about it. 

Cooler temperatures lull the unwary into a false sense of security with regard to sunburn.

 

My red shiny face being still in its developmental stage, the ride was nice. The weather was perfectly congenial, with bright sparkling sunshine and a stiff cool breeze. The waves were big enough to both entertain the surfers, keep the lifeguards on their toes, and provide excitement when they crashed into the granite boulders that adorned the headlands. I walked around the headland from the jetty at Port Elliot, discovering to my delight that the walking track hugged the cliffs and looped around little sandy bays tucked in amongst the granite.

What are they watching?

 

Beautiful, secret little bay.

 Beyond the headland the path ducked down to cross the creek. The railway also crossed the creek on a picturesque arched bridge which afforded a glimpse of the beach beyond. 'That would be a great place to photograph the train,' I thought. I checked the timetable, found out that the train was due to arrive in less than ten minutes,  got out my camera, and settled down to wait.

Unseasonal rain meant that summer had dressed the hills in green instead of brown.

I waited.  Bicyclists zoomed past on the path.  Birds tweeted.  The sun shone.  The train did not come.

Imagine a picturesque steam train, puffing picturesquely across this picturesque bridge.

I waited. Bicyclist, birds, the sun... etc etc.

The train did not come.  No steam train whistle in the distance, no hint of a train.

Fidgeting, I waited.

Still no train.

 

After 30 minutes I gave up in disgust, convinced that the Cockle Train had crashed* and wasn't coming.  I gave up on my photography and kept on pedaling and not more than two minutes later along came the train and I had missed my opportunity.

Consumed with grumbling about steam trains that didn't keep to timetables I barely noticed Victor Harbor with its Summer Carnival and Sunday markets come and go, powered by indignation I pedaled all the way around Encounter Bay to the Bluff and the end of the bikeway. 

 

The summer carnival was still in full swing at Victor Harbor, the big wheel visible from the other side of the bay.

Patient horses pulled loads of (dare I say it?) lazy tourists along the causeway across a glittering sea.

The Bluff, across Encounter Bay.

 

I asked a nice man to take my photo, which he did with much less finesse than the 4wder from the Murray mouth a couple of days ago. I forgave him for his bad photography though, because he was able to confirm that the mystery punk-headed bird at the barrages had been a crested grebe.

What good is a photo without a bicycle in it?  Note the fantastic reflected light all over the place.

 

Back in Victor Harbor I bought lunch and didn't eat it because I was too busy watching the train roll into town and do its shunting thing back and forth and round about in front of our Christmas apartment. Then I jumped on my bike and pedaled as hard as I could, but it was quickly apparent that I wouldn't be able to get back to the picturesque bridge before the train got there and I had to make do with a random vantage point over the sea instead because I was determined to get at least one train photo out of the day.

Not a bridge but it will have to do.

There it goes.

 

With the train gone I rode slowly south looking for a nice seat where I could sit and eat my lunch, and before I knew it I was back in Port Elliot and Roger had arrived to pick me up and home we went. I fed the chooks and watered the garden and slowly began to realise that the heat in my face was more than just a gentle glow from a morning of light exercise, and thus began my reflections on the dangers of reflected light.

At least I won't be deficient in Vitamin D.

A crested grebe.  Confirmed  by random man and someone's twitcher brother on Facebook.  Not fact checked by me.

 

 

*The Cockle Train has crashed into two cars and run over one pedestrian while we've been here. Which isn't to blame the train: the silly people just keep jumping out in front of it and trains, as everyone knows, don't stop quickly.