While Not Working

Here is a cruise ship in the morning. In two hours time, right about when I want to catch the train to Hallet Cove, thousands of cruise ship passengers will want to catch the same two-carriage train in to Adelaide city.  Cruise ship in the morning. Marina in the morning. Why was I catching a train to Hallet Cove? It had to do with hills and wind and the fact that by riding from Hallet Cove to Outer Harbor rather than the other way around I would get the trifecta of tailwind, downhill, and another night in a comfortable bed. That was more than enough incentive for me to mess up my continuous line of travel by doing one bit backwards, even if I did have to contend with cruisers on the train. See? It's downhill going this way. I joined the sea at Brighton, on a day that could not have been more beautiful had it tried.  White beaches curved between gentle headlands, punctuated with quaint wooden jetties. The beachfront was largely empty, the wide expanses of sand claimed only by seagul

Don't worry, I didn't get to update while I was riding but I finished my cycle tour.  Let's just pick up where I left off, the day after riding from Gawler to Mawson Lakes. Before I could get pedaling again I had a few errands to run in Adelaide in the morning. After all that talk about the Barossa's beautiful buildings, it's only fair if I show you one of Adelaide's equally beautiful buildings.   Roger dropped me back at Mawson Lakes in the afternoon, ready to finish the last bit of the Stuart O'Grady/Port Adelaide bikeway and spend another night at home rather than in the tent.  I'd love to say this was an exciting ride but really, it wasn't.    The path followed Dry Creek along a corridor from the suburbs into the industrial areas closer to Port Adelaide;       through a culvert under the Salisbury Highway; and down toward the Dry Creek salt fields. The Dry Creek salt fields were previously owned by the Ridley Corporation, which ended salt extrac

Turns out concrete is a good base for sleeping on, even if it is a bit hard on the knees when crawling around inside the tent. I didn't hurry in the morning. I knew it was going to be a tedious day: a head wind along the Stuart O'Grady Bikeway beside the M1 and then a zig-zaggy route through the suburbs to Mawson Lakes where Roger, bless his little chauffeuring heart, would pick me up and take me home because why sleep in a tent when you can sleep in a real bed with a warm husband to cuddle up to?   I exited the Gawler Caravan Park by cycling around the boom gate without using the code, like the antisocial rebel which I am.    I wandered through the main street of Gawler, taking photos of buildings,     and ANZAC memorial art works,   before getting down to business on the Stuart O'Grady Bikeway.   The wind blew, traffic rushed past on the Northern Expressway, olive groves, greenhouses, and new subdivisions passed by in rapid rotation. The Gawler Harness Club came and went,

A temperature drop of 5C made all the difference (possibly aided by the general downhill trend), and vineyards zipped past as I powered out of Tanunda on a cool, cloudy morning. I popped on my big girl panties and took to the Barossa Way rather than push my loaded bike up the silly and unnecessary hills on the silly and unnecessary detour by the creek, and that was a good decision. There were one or two scary pinch points but on the whole the grades were reasonable, the traffic was courteous, and in no time at all I was rolling into Lyndoch and succumbing to the lure of the Lyndoch Bakery.  No peanut butter and crackers for me today, thank you! I had a nice pot of tea and two mini snacks which, I'm sad to say, looked much better than they tasted. They look good, don't they? Lyndoch marked the end of the vineyards and a return to rolling hills of cattle pasture and fallow cultivation.   One of the last vineyards offering plenty to drink. By lunchtime I was in Gawler and ensconce

I was up bright and early watching the sun rise over the water park playground which was blessedly quiet in the early morning.  Kookaburras cackled, but the families were all tucked up safely and quietly in their respective cabins and tents, as were the Men With Meat, so I could enjoy having the camp kitchen all to myself.  I planned a day ride from Tanunda via Nuriootpa to Angaston and back again, all on the rail trail.  Another hot day was forecast, hence the early start but not as early as I would have liked because I was co-opted into the morning talk circle with my motorbike-riding neighbour and the englishman from the tent over the way.  We had a grand discussion on the differences in weather between Victoria (motorbike man), England (guess who), and Queensland/South Australia (that would be me). Talk circle not pictured. Lutheran church on the way out of Tanunda. It's lucky I'm not a wine drinker, otherwise I would have never made it to Angaston.  Cellar doors lined the

Rain was not what I wanted to hear on the morning of the first day of my bicycle tour, but I woke to rain splattering on the roof, and even a few grumbles of thunder. Rail still fell as Roger dropped me off at Mawson Lakes railway station to catch the train to Gawler. The two policemen on the other platform came over and shouted bicycle-related questions: I think they were jealous. I got off at Gawler, one stop short of the end of the suburban line.  Gawler Railway Station provided a fine backdrop for the official starting photo. The rain had gone as I pedaled my fully loaded bike sedately through Gawler's suburbs to the start of the Barossa Trail.  The forecast was for a hot day but the morning was perfect: cool, overcast, and without a drop of rain.  The trail ambled along the old railway line, across jumbled gentle hills and past grazing cattle. I had to pedal up a hill past the South Para Gorge.  Traffic roared across the bridge on the other side and I was glad to be on my quie