March 26, 2024
All Good Things
Must Come To An End
A morose couple joined me for breakfast in the camp kitchen. They came from the east coast and had been exploring South Australia for the past six weeks.
"What did you think of South Australia?" I asked.
"Oh it's awful!" They tripped over themselves to tell me how awful it was. It was too dry, too windy, and there was too much boring dry stuff between the interesting bits. The beaches were all wrong, the rivers were just glorified creeks, the city nature strips were bare earth instead of grass. They were returning to the east coast and not coming back. The silent consensus in the camp kitchen was that this was probably a very good decision on their part and South Australia would not miss them anyway. "If you want stuff to be just like home," muttered the man in the corner boiling water for his coffee. "Just stay there."
Despite feeling like it had barely started my tour was over, no more kilometers left for me to ride. I would be in McLaren Vale for the next seven weeks, give or take a day or two. Other than the 10am checkout, there was no reason to do things quickly, so I didn't.
I spent the day in McLarenvale, hanging out at the social enterprise cafe and in the park. I read the local paper in the cafe and my book in the park, at the bottom of an avenue of olive trees of unexplained origin. Plans for future bike rides swirled in my mind.
Roger arrived. We packed the car and I changed into clothes more likely to inspire trust in the hearts of a couple who were about to leave their home and small fluffy dog in my (and Roger's) allegedly responsible hands.
Until the next time, my ride was over.
Thanks for coming with me.
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8 months ago