While Not Working

The Railway Museum at Milang inhabited a collection of old carriages overlooking Lake Alexandrina. Staffed entirely by volunteers, it celebrated all things light rail: the forgotten little railways that hauled things between mines and around industrial sites without any of the kudos and fanfare of the suburban and intercity networks.   In a fine example of procrasti-snacking, we took ourselves to the Railway Museum for afternoon tea rather than face sorting through stuff in the storage shed. A group of jolly geriatric hikers had just finished scoffing their scones and vacated their seats for us.  "They all live on the other side of the Peninsula," confided the walk leader. "But I live on this side so I organised a walk and made them come over the hill."   "We walk once a month," chimed in a tiny little lady with a big backpack. "But the walks get slower as we get older."  Not that they looked particularly slow to me as they bounced down the steps...

Back in April last year we stayed in McLaren Vale with a little white dog who had a penchant for playing Fetch with lemons. Now we're back in McLaren Vale and the dog is all of a sudden far too mature to chase lemons or indeed fruit of any kind even if the blood orange tree is loaded with fruit. He's become a senior dog, and he's been joined by a junior dog 'for company' although I suspect Senior would frequently be more than happy with a peaceful solitary life. Junior's erstwhile puppy lurks just under his skin: he regularly runs bonkers circles around the living room furniture and has an obsession with toes. Should I be silly enough to walk around barefoot Junior risks trampling in his efforts to lick my toes. I wash my feet regularly* but Junior doesn't care: socks and shoes are the only defense against his persistence.  Not that wearing socks and shoes is a hardship, given the miserable weather outside. Rain and wind has beaten Australia's southern c...

I have expectations when riding my bike. If I put in the effort to ride up a hill, I expect that I will enjoy a commensurate downhill, preferably of a gradient such that I can sit back and enjoy the view without excessive worry about tedious things like tight corners, loose gravel, or wearing out my brakes.  None of this happened on the Crafers Bikeway yesterday. I planned for the best kind of downhill: one where the uphill bit was achieved by car.  After a convivial lunch in Mt Barker Roger dropped me off at Crafers and I pedaled happily into a blustery wind, anticipating 27 km of downhill all the way to my front door. Actually, I pedalled in circles first because it took me a while to find the way out of the car park, but we won't talk about that will we? The ride started with gentle sweeping curves along the old Mt Barker Road. I passed a little boy zooming along on a balance bike. Then I passed his father, peeing quietly beside the car while shouting "Junior! Come back!...