Annual Tour Day Three - There's No Town Like Snowtown

I'd slept really well so I was about as fresh as I could be for Day Three.
I rose, washed, packed and ate with an almost ruthless efficiency. I was expecting a pretty tough day, which was likely to compound my feelings of soreness.
It was a cool, cloudy day which probably suited us for the early push out to morning tea. The leg to lunch at Bute was pretty flat, and pretty fast.
As it turned out, the main part of the day was more of a solid grind than a series of punishing climbs. Which probably suited me. After a couple of hours of gradual climbing it was a great relief to hit the ten per cent descent into Snowtown. Have I ever mentioned that I love downhills?
We camped at the school, and walked into town.
Sherrilee and Flash the dog greeted us as we walked into the hotel.
As I replenished my lost fluids I gazed out of the window. Even in a sleepy town, gaxing out of the window is a better option than watching Days of our Lives on the big-screen TV. I could see two people performing some kind of 'show', larking about in a barrel in front of that building. Not sure if they were locals or blow-ins. They probably thought they were being cutting-edge and funny, but it just looked boring and more than a little sad.
Dinner was one of those lovely community affairs, held in the Town Hall. The food, drink and friendship were all top-notch. Thank you, good folk of Snowtown.
We walked back to camp under one of those moonless, starry, country skies that never fails to remind me of my insignificance. Truly beautiful.
Despite the cool night, I slept well.

www.bleakumbrella.com

Annual Tour Day Two - An Ill Wind.

It's colourless, odourless and tasteless. Depending on its direction, it can be of great assistance or it can smash you to pieces.
Wind.
On Sunday the ride took me to Kadina and then on to Wallaroo. It was a pleasant novelty to leave camp without having to pack up. The route to Kadina was fast, the strong breeze pushed us all the way there, but as soon as we turned for Wallaroo and Moonta I knew I was in trouble. The wind was right at me, and the long, straight stretch from Wallaroo to Moonta Bay was hideous. Exhausting. Partly because I was out of condition, but mainly because the wind was a bitch. The 4WD that missed me by centimetres didn't do much for my opinion of tank-driving idiots either. Anyhow, for the bulk of the ride I just tucked in behind Ray and cursed. Happy days.

I was a tad relieved when we arrived back at camp.

I spent the afternoon recovering from a precarious position. I felt pretty bashed up. The miniature train ride around the mine helped a little, as did the restorative 'brown champagnes' at the Royal Hotel.

Vegetarian lasagna for tea. I bought my own Parmesan.

I was asleep before 9.00 PM.

www.bleakumbrella.com

Annual Tour Day One - Triangulation

This is where I find out if two rides in ten months is sufficient training for a nine-day bike tour. I suspect I already know the answer...

I jumped off the Bike SA coach in sunny Moonta, set up my camp and got myself organised for the first day's ride. I said hello to many of my fellow riders, many of whom I've shared rides with at various times over the last eight years. After a quick lunch and an even quicker riders' briefing, it was time to head off. Here we go then!
Luckily, day one wasn't too arduous. We rode a triangular route which initially headed east from Moonta and took me to a couple of localities the existence of which I'd never previously been aware - Agery and Cunliffe - before arriving back at camp a couple of hours later. It was a fairly flat 47 kilometres, and wind wasn't really a factor. It didn't particularly hurt, which was a relief. The distance itself, though, was more than I'd ridden in 2012 so I was satisfied that I'd made it without tiring.

The evening was the time to reacquaint with old friends, and the Bike SA evening routine. I had a substantial feed, a couple of reds, and crossed my fingers in the hope that the next few days would be OK.

No turning back now.

www.bleakumbrella.com

Some kind of wonderful...

Since getting back from Darwin I have been really, really struggling. Physically speaking, I haven't been at the races. Not worth a cracker. I've been so tired, too knackered to do anything discretionary. Shame really, because I've been a dynamo in the preceding weeks.
I was in Canberra last week and it was a labour. I felt like I was a hundred years old. I did manage a few pints in The Phoenix so my efforts brought some reward, it is fair to say.
I got home on Friday night and spent Saturday trying to get back into the swing of things; doing jobs, standing in the pissing rain at the footy, falling asleep in my chair when I should have been at the Northern Soul night, and watching United fall over the line.
I guess I needed to rest up a little.
Sunday and Monday were much better. I went busking for three hours in the winter sunshine, did my APRA return for 2011-12, visited King William Road to view the SALA exhibition, made a date loaf, organised gigs, got to grips with the lawns and garden, cooked a kind of laksa, played with my latest eBay arrivals (including Top of the Tots!), attended to my Honda, watched a great film in Hunger, learned some new songs, and took possession of the latest batch of David Robinson CDs. I can't believe how different the last couple of days has felt compared to the preceeding couple of weeks...
Perhaps I am back.

www.bleakumbrella.com

King of the Bus

I've been busking at the Sunday Farmers' Market recently. I thought it would be a good thing to do because it's better than a music room rehearsal, I like the market environment, and it's only around the corner. You have to go through an application process; not very punk rock I know, but it's a pretty good gig.
The vibe of the place is great. I'm not generally a busker, but this is a performance opportunity within a community, and I don't feel that I am at the mercy of some of the more aggrocultural elements of society. As I might be if I was playing in the Mall...
It's great way to work on new songs, to meet people, and to make connections with stall holders and other artisans.
The challenge of playing for three-four hours straight without resorting to music sheets or repeating songs has also been great. I've been dragging out originals and covers that I'd forgotten I wrote/knew - what a hoot!
It's not just coins and notes that find their way into the guitar case. Last week I also got a couple of bottles of (delicious) organic wine, a bag of apples, and an iced coffee.

I hope this continues for a while yet. It's been fun so far.

www.bleakumbrella.com

(Camel) Train Man

Cavorting in the Northern Territory. A nice thought, when one is sitting in a freezing house in the middle of the coldest time of the year. Frontier Land - where long trousers are only worn on special occasions and, even then, generally unnecessary.
As I was daydreaming of Darwin, three words came to mind - warm in August.
The lure of a mid-winter's break ultimately proved overwhelming, so last week I set off on The Ghan on a northern adventure that would take me and my guitar not only to Darwin, but also to Alice Springs and Katherine. Two places upon which I'd never had the pleasure of inflicting myself.
I had to reacquaint myself with train-life, but a few familiar faces helped to smooth over the logistical challenges.
I had three or four gigs every day on the train; harder work than it sounds, really. Some nights I was playing from 6.00 until 10.00, with maybe a half-hour for tea. Not that I am complaining - it's a great experience. The passengers generally love it, and it gives me the opportunity to shift a few CDs, and accept the odd free drink. I've had some great conversations with amazing people, and listened to tales of triumph and tragedy. I also get to eat like a king, albeit in a rather rapid-fire manner. Nice one.
In addition to the joy of playing music for people who enjoy it, I also get to visit other parts of the country. This time I got to go on a camel ride, cruise Katherine Gorge, visit the Winnellie Hotel, have a beer at Bojangles, climb Billy Goat Hill, enjoy a Pale Ale at the Katherine Hotel, and enjoy a shared bathroom facility in my Darwin digs. Oh, the glamour!

Eighteen onboard performances later, I emerged back in wintry Adelaide, needing a few days sleep.

www.bleakumbrella.com

Drunken Poet

Last week I was in Melbourne for a couple of days, exchanging one cities' bleak, cold weather for another's. On Wednesday night I went down to the Drunken Poet in West Melbourne for a pint or two. Its unassuming doorway is on Peel Street, just across from the Vic Markets. Like The Phoenix in Canberra, this is a pub with more than a whiff of the Emerald Isle about it, but hasn't stooped to the level of embarrassing cliche as typified by franchise "Irish" pubs. This is probably about as real as it gets, outside of Ireland. Along with The Phoenix, of course...

Unlike the raucous, vibrant Phoenix, the Poet is well-ordered and quiet. It turns out to be a great place to sit and catch up with a mate, Guinness in hand. The live music isn't overbearing, so shouting at each other isn't necessary. Unless we fancy an argument. The service is friendly and easygoing, and the patrons are happy just to be there, leaving the outside world at the door. And why not?

First time there, definitely not the last...

www.bleakumbrella.com