The Red Hat From Venice

Port Vincent to Stansbury

A woman wearing a bright red hat stood fishing on the Stansbury jetty. It was a cloth hat, shiny, with a little brim and a smart red flower. It looked like a hat that would be more at home at the races than on the jetty, waiting for fish and risking being blown into the water.

"I like your hat," I said.

"Thank you. I bought it in Venice."

"It's a long way from Venice to fishing on this jetty."

She was a frequent visitor to Italy, Venice in particular. She rattled off the name of somewhere in Italy where, apparently, there is a whole week of festivities involving costumes and for which, when she was in Venice, she bought her hat. The hat, by the way, was waterproof which made it eminently suitable for fishing apparel.

"Well" I said "I hope it brings you lots of fish."

She laughed. "Hardly! I haven't caught a thing. Just one squid tentacle, but without the squid.' And she went back to fishing in her red Italian hat.

I spoke with the red hat lady at the end of my ride. It was a short ride, 22km from my front door at Port Vincent to the Esplanade at Stansbury. The WTY behaved impeccably, with accurate and well placed signage.

The gravel road which took me through the outskirts of Port Vincent and across the wheat paddocks to the sea was amply shaded, a little corrugated, and not long enough to be bothersome. In no time at all I was back on the cliff top.

Back on the first day riding I took my helmet brim off because the wind was so strong, and promptly gained a fine sunburn. Now I ride covered up to mummy standards.

Some signs should be interpreted with an application of common sense.

I had lots of time: I faffed around taking photos. The wind of the last two days had died away, the sea was silky smooth and the Adelaide Hills were clearly visible on the other side of the gulf.

After twelve kilometres of cliff top riding the WTY booted me unceremoniously onto the road while the walkers got to walk the beach and hop over rocks at the headlands. Neglected and overgrown, the trail wandered in the road reserve but was still preferable to sharing the road with the grain trucks, so pedal on the trail I did.

Past picturesque farm houses and yet more wheat.

Before you could say 'boo!' I was in Stansbury.

From the lookout on the way in to town. Despite the impressive entry sign, there actually wasn't a lot to Stansbury.

I rode down to the water front and settled in at a picnic table before ringing Roger. "Bring a picnic. It's too nice to go home."

We picnicked on the Stanbury esplanade overlooking the gulf. An old man waded in waist deep water, harnessed to a red plastic tub which floated behind him. He raked the bottom for crabs and when he raked up a crab he deftly flipped it, without even looking, into the tub. Possibly he should have looked, because a third of the crabs he flicked sailed over the tub altogether and splashed to freedom in the sea behind him.

When we tired of watching the crabbing man we went for a walk on the jetty and that was where I met the woman wearing a red hat which she bought in Venice.

Back in Port Vincent Roger went out to watch the sailboat racing and I stayed at home. The sailboat racing occurred in slow motion due to (rarely, for the Yorke Peninsula) a lack of wind but that was OK because it gave the spectators more time to savour their milkshakes.

As the sun set that night we watched the lights flicker on in Adelaide while two pelicans settled in the shallows for the night and planes trundled overhead on their way to or from Sydney and Melbourne.

We sat outside and watched the sun set until the mosquitoes sent us in to bed.

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Today's ride: 21 km (13 miles)
Total: 1,066 km (662 miles)

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