19/03/24 Tanunda to Gawler

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 ensconced in the Gawler public library where I happily ate my lunch and recharged all my devices in the large common/cafe area.  I like public libraries, especially the new ones. The toilets are always clean, they have comfortable chairs, and you are positively encouraged to plug things in and take your time perusing the books and using the public wifi.  I dawdled at the library for rather too long before taking myself off to the caravan park and that was where I discovered that me and my tent were not desirable guests.

The lady at the Gawler Caravan Park screwed up her nose. "Sorry" she said, "We don't do unpowered camping. Or tents. You'll have to go to the Barossa Park: it's just up the road."

"Can I have a caravan spot then?" Apart from the fact that 10km wasn't 'just up the road' on a loaded bike, I'd ridden past the Barossa Park on the way from Tanunda. It looked decrepit and the reception was boarded up following a fire: I didn't want to stay there.

She was horrified. "You won't be able to peg your tent in!"

"The tent can stay up without pegs." I did my best pleading face. "I'm on a bicycle. Please?"

She gave in with more than a little bad grace, and made a point of telling me that I must use the boom gate and code to enter and exit the park. I politely agreed and proceeded with a dodgy pitch of the tent on a concrete slab, surrounded by caravans. The tent, held down only by the weight of the panniers and tied to my bicycle, threatened to blow away with every gust of wind.  I decided to stay in camp rather than going for a walk, on the premise that I could catch the tent should it decide to convert to a kite.

Down in the camp kitchen I made the mistake of throwing a ball for Tilly the dog, who promptly became my best friend and caused some anguish to her owner by refusing to come to him, preferring to wait at my feet in hopes of another ball toss. Once that was all sorted out and the vagaries of doggie desires had been discussed in some detail the wind had died down and I crawled into my sleeping bag quite happy with the knowledge that I was now unlikely to blow away in the night.

Home for just one night.