As I’d found myself in Cowell a bit earlier than expected I changed the ferry I was booked on yesterday so I’d arrive on the York Peninsula at lunch time instead of in the dark. I could have kept cycling on to Port Wakefield, but I decided to embrace the relaxed pace of the day and only cycle an extra 10km from the ferry port at Walaroo on to Kadina.
(Conjures in my mind complimentary activities of a starfish and sea anemone petting.)
The sailor man instructed me to put my bike by the bin. I presume the bin was more of landmark than an explicit statement of how he felt about my choice of transport. You can see a group of bikies (riders of motorcycles) in the background of this photo. After getting a bit of stick from them for “being nuts” for cycling across the Nullarbor, I later on chatted to a couple of them on the top of the boat and between us we reached a consensus of solidarity between folks on two wheels largely in response to the threats of cars and trucks and in the face of them our own vulnerability and mortality. The group of bikies, it turns out, was on their way back from a funeral for a couple of biker friends.
Wilson, like myself, gravitates to red things.
A beautifully calm day between the peninsulas. It often isn’t this calm apparently.
The ferry was great. I especially like not knowing, and then discovering, what’s at the other side.
The caravan park was absurdly expensive, but I managed to negotiate a more reasonable price and so I’ve set up camp at said caravan park. After a shower I wandered around town for a bit before coming to terms with not actually needing to buy anything. I suppose I’ve gotten used to being excited at the sight of a shop as an opportunity to replenish supplies, but with now just two days before I get to Adelaide I’ve no need to do anything more than use up my dwindling, but still sufficient, supplies. I did, however, manage to curb my consuming desires upon sighting a small (1L) bottle of homogenized milk at the local IGA (a Co-op). A welcome treat.
Feeling a bit want of anything much to do here. Caught between, I think, on the one hand a desire for closure on this cycling journey and a return to a non-tented and -bicycled ‘normality’, and on the other hand a recognition that the tenting and cycling has been long enough my day-to-day that it has become normal.