While Not Working

On Sunday morning a small breeze ruffled the calm waters of the Spencer Gulf.  Little boats puttered out of the marina and bigger boats followed them, all of them seeking the best spot to fish or drop their crab pots.  It was too nice a day to stay at  home. Take two on the road to Tickera via Myponie Point Road, with backup organised in case of flat tyres. Myponie Point Road hugged the coast from Point Riley to Black Rock and just begged to be cycled, so off I went to do just that.  Point Riley lay a scant 3km from home via an unrideable beach, forcing me to cycle 6km the long way round on a little gravel road with just enough sand and corrugations to keep me awake. Point Riley at the end of the road. The silos at Wallaroo were still clearly visible from Point Riley. The little boats that had puttered out from the marina while I had my breakfast were anchored in the coves and shallows along the shore, separated from each other by polite distances so as not to break ...

Armed with a list of Copper Coast attractions, we headed off to Kadina where we quickly eliminated the Veterans' Museum (not open and with no opening times advertised) and the Art Gallery (ditto).  In the absence of other Kadina attractions, off we went to the Farm Shed Museum. The Farm Shed Museum sat behind the Tourist Information Centre which hid behind a miniature railway (The Copper Coast Railway) and a Putt Putt cours,e and shared its facilities with a play cafe. Oh, and there was a brewery as well. The gardens outside the Tourist Information Centre were planted with Billy Buttons.  I like Billy Buttons. "Straight through the door," said the nice girl at the information counter when we asked how to get to the Museum. "Over the bridge and follow the map.  There's lots of sheds." Which we did (although 'bridge' was rather a generous term) and there were.  We started at the Matta House. The Matta House was where the manager of the Matta Matta Mine...

Grandma is a very old cat. If she were a human, she would long ago have gotten her letter from the monarch and may well have welcomed great-grandchildren into her life. She is so old that her people, in their written instructions, included notes on What To Do If Grandma Dies (put her in the garage freezer so they can personally farewell her later, if you were wondering). She likes the sun.  She follows it around the house from window sill to lounge room floor and back again, with brief excursions out to the court yard.   Unfortunately, spending most of her time upstairs following the sun meant that Grandma was a long way from the kitty litter in the laundry downstairs, and when an old cat has to go, she has to go. Grandma struggled to make it all the way downstairs before the forces of nature had their way and puddles ensued. Over the course of a weekend we went from an occasional puddle on the steps to hourly puddles in places discoverable only by feet, a house smelling of di...

On Saturday the wind was forecast to blow from the north with a period of indecision just after midday and an about-face to southerly by 2pm. Should they wish to do so, a smart person could ride south with a tailwind, have lunch in Moonta whilst the wind decided what to do, and then ride north back to Wallaroo also with a tailwind. I decided to be this smart person and while I did this I would make sure that all the kilometers that I rode were counted towards my goal of at least 200km/month for the whole year. I waved Roger off to conduct exploration of Wallaroo and Kadina and off I pedaled in the arms of a stiff north wind.   First I had to plug out the standard 8km around the bay to Wallaroo. Ho hum.   The rail trail followed the route of the railway which in the 1800s brought copper ore from the Moonta mine to the smelter at Kadina and the rail trail was brand spanking new, having only opened six weeks ago.  It even had shelters at regular intervals for bicyclists such...

Roger arrived in Wallaroo and quickly took on the burden of shipping supervision. "It left early!  Note to self: get to the ferry early if you don't want to be left behind."  The cats eyed him askance and departed to dark corners from which they could watch him.  Except for Grandma: she took it as granted that he would be no more than a second lap on which she could demand to lie.  There was no chance to be cat-lapping, however.  The wind blew in the right direction, there was a bicycle shop in Moonta, and a rail trail between there and Wallaroo.  I pointed Roger and his bicycle in the direction of Moonta and set off by car, taking my recalcitrant wheel to someone more experienced than me in the arcane art of bicycle fixing. The road to Moonta spooled past with a fine view of golden wheat, a sliver of deep blue sea, and a bright cloudless sky.  I was in the bicycle shop bright and early at 0830.  "Of course we can fix your tyre," they said.  ...