17/03/2024 On My Bike Again: Gawler to Tanundah

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 quiet little path.

Clumps of dessicated wild artichoke clustered along the reserve between the path and the old railway line.  

Hmm, spikey.

Time for first break.  My chocolate stash had become suspiciously squelchy in the hot pannier.

 

The Barossa Valley being one of South Australia's premier wine regions, it wasn't long before I came across vineyards and cellar doors.  All manner of signs tempted me to come and try just one house wine, a coffee, a slice of gourmet cake...

This winery had graciously allowed the bike path to come through their property, past the cafe and cellar door, granting cyclists and walkers relief from a dangerous section of road.  I believe this is known as a win-win situation (or is that wine-wine?).

I'm lucky I'm not particularly into wine.  If I stopped at even half of them I'd never get to Tanunda.

I resisted temptation although I did question my life choices as I sat in the park at Lyndoch, eating peanut butter and crackers within sight and smell of the Lyndoch bakery.  In desperation I liberated a squash chocolate bar from my stash, and had that instead.

The vineyards continued.

Grape vines dressed in autumn colours.

Just your standard Barossa valley views.

Neither machinery nor chemical spray came to mar my day.

The grapes had been left on these vines.  Not knowing a thing about viticulture, I surmised that this was one method of drying them to produce sultanas.

Half way to Tanunda the map showed the path taking a hard left and wandering beside the creek. Visions of bucolic creekside paths filled my head. There might even be a picnic table where I could sit and further prevent my chocolate stash from melting. Alas, this was not to be. The path, designed by a madman with not a care for the steepness of the hills, and with the sole aim of passing as many wineries as possible, went down and up and down again. I walked up hills and questioned the sanity of the path planner.  I gazed across green swathes of grass to enormous cellar doors where fancy people drank wine in air conditioning, watching me through tinted floor to ceiling windows.  I watched with envy as cars zoomed along the relatively flat Barossa Way over on the hills. I got hot and sweaty and tired and decided that on the way back I would take the Barossa Way and cars and trucks be damned.

Entry to well-known winery. 

Yes, it is street (bush?) sculpture.  No, it does not make me appreciate this badly designed path.

Of course the pain didn't last for ever and eventually I got back to a more sane pathway and resumed my sedate pace in to the Tanunda Caravan Park. A cold shower never felt so good.

I sat in the BBQ area and watched the chaos of family dinnertime in the camp kitchen. The sun set and family dinnertime ended: I had a brief moment of peace before Men With Meat (And Beers) descended on the BBQ area. That was my cue to take myself back to my tent and put my tired legs to bed.

Goodnight.

I'm a sucker for a fancy mailbox.