Morning Tea in Watchman House

Coromandel Valley

There I was, riding (or more accurately sitting aboard while gravity did its thing) my bicycle beside Minno Creek in the Coromandel Valley, enjoying the sunlight and shadows of a day where the temperature (21C!!) promised future summers,

when I saw a handwritten sign propped against a small stone cottage right next to the bike trail.

"Morning Tea" said the sign. "$5. Marmalade for sale."

A small lady in a pink cardigan popped out of the cottage, followed by a portly fellow (his cardigan was blue) who hovered on the edges of our conversation and offered historical corrections as Pink Cardigan elaborated on the history of the cottage, which was not particularly exciting. The Watchman family lived there. They didn't watch anything. Despite the very ordinary history of the cottage, the local National Trust was very committed to preserving it.

"I'm here for morning tea," I said, visions of a teapot with scones and cream floating before my eyes.

"Yes, come in! We've got marmalade too! Let me show you around the cottage!"

We explored the cottage, this being the unspoken morning tea tax. The Watchman House was managed by a dedicated but diminishing number of National Trust volunteers, of whom Mrs Pink Cardigan was one. And she was lovely. After exhausting the informational possibilities of the cottage she delivered me to the back room where I found a veritable feast of home made goodies waiting for me, along with a fine collection of jolly geriatrics who teased me quite unmercifully about my chosen transportation and my lack of competitiveness at a Tour de France level.

These were all local Coromandel Valley people and they made quite clear that they were entirely distinct from both the 'hill people' and the 'plains people'. Unspoken, but quite well understood, was that those of the Coromandel Valley were of course cut from better cloth than those of hills and plains.

I decided to identify myself as a Queenslander rather than admit to currently residing in Belair (hill person territory) and settled in to eat rather too much of the available spread. After my third cup of coffee (in my defence the cups were tiny) I began to feel that I had consumed much more than $5 worth of morning tea, but Pink Cardigan would not allow me to pay extra so I bought a guilty bottle of marmalade instead and tucked it in my pannier with my peanut butter sandwiches.

Full of coffee, scones, and home-made cheese biscuits, I followed Minno Creek all the way to its junction with the Stuart River, and thence to Horner's Bridge and the start of the Stuart Recreation Park.

Built in 1886, Horner's Bridge was the first bridge built across the Stuart River, and was on the original Goolwa Road which was superseded when motor travel became possible because Goolwa Road was not conducive to traveling at the mind-boggling speeds achievable by early motor transport.

I was sorely tempted to take a short cut through the Stuart Gorge Recreational Park, but there were too many youngsters spending their Saturday zooming down the bike trails, and I didn't want to show them up with the awesome slowness of my downhill bike skills (or break my marmalade) so I opted for the road instead. That gave me a decent cardio workout until I finally crested the ridge and wound downhill through suburban streets all the way to Happy Valley Reservoir.

One of the things I like about traveling by bicycle is the ability to explore all the hidden paths and cut-throughs that criss-cross suburbia.

The reservoir was busy with skateboarders, walkers, bicyclist of all shapes and sizes, and walkers with and without a wide variety of dogs. The dogs reveled in the dual joys of being off leash and near water, and as I sat in the shade and ate my apple I was visited by several happy hounds in various states of wetness.

From Happy Valley I followed the creek gently downhill, past suburban wetlands brimming with wrens, and on to the Coast to Vines rail trail. I found a quiet spot to eat my second lunch, leaving the marmalade to fend for itself in the panniers without the cushioning afforded by peanut butter sandwiches.

The bushland of Happy Valley opened out as I got closer to the coast, and there was a fantastic downhill into the Onkaparinga River valley and across the wetlands.

I arrived at Seaford Station and locked my bike in the bike cages (I just discovered bike cages, wonderful inventions that they are!) and took myself to the shops a mere block away. Of course that meant that by the time I walked back and liberated my bike from the cage I had the pleasure of waiting for the laggardly station lift while watching my train depart from the platform below me.

Never mind. I'll just wait for the next one.

I spent the waiting time watching as Adelaideans one and all caught public transport to and from the Royal Adelaide Show. The Adelaide Advertiser proudly reported that the Royal Adelaide Show had the highest per capita attendance of any Royal Show in Australia but I guess it depended on how much (many?) capita you started with as to whether the numbers were impressive or not. There were lots of them though: fresh happy families heading in and frazzled, sugar-jazzed children with jaded weary parents on the way home.

Onkaparinga wetlands in the train window, heading home.

Back home I unpacked my pannier and discovered my guilty marmalade which had survived its little journey by bicycle and train. Then I got out my calendar and penciled in the date, four weeks hence, when the Watch House Cottage would again be providing morning tea.

I might just go and visit them again.

Downhill all the way.

Heart

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Today's ride: 39 km (24 miles)
Total: 724 km (450 miles)

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Mike AylingMost of the pictures on this page won't open while those on your other pages do.
Why is this so?
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1 year ago

Titanium PenguinThanks for bringing this to my attention Mike. I've deleted all the photos and reinserted them. From my point of view it appears to all work now, but please let me know if there are still problems.
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1 year ago