Picture of the Day 33:
Quite frankly about to go insane, this afternoon I took advantage of the cool change to strap on my seatbeat and whiz around town on my magic bicycle. Whee! I’d been cooped up inside for so long that I wanted to ride forever, if possible. Since forever seemed like a bit of a stretch, I settled for a good amount of the afternoon, and decided to go wherever the bike took me.
Well, silly bike, would have taken me straight into a tree. Instead I angled it down Capper Street and away we went. First to the restored railway (pictured above), which now acts as a craft centre, geocache location, and potters’ club:
Then I hooked onto the road to Gundagai, onto the road past Snowy Works and Services, which is a disquieting little back road to find yourself upon at night or in winter:
particularly since it terminates in the old cemetery. Once in India I nearly landed in terrible trouble for accidentally photographing the crematorium; since then I have been very cautious about taking pictures of cemeteries and graves. But, well, most of the graves here are at least a hundred years old, and I’m sure the pioneers know I mean no disrespect. I looped once around the cemetery, then parked the bike and jumped the fence to go say hello to my grandfather eight times removed, Thomas Boyd.
Thomas Boyd was a convict from Ireland who either volunteered or got volunteered to go with Hume and Hovell on their trek through the countryside. The Thomas Boyd trackhead, best place in Goobagandra, is named for him. He’s granddaddy to just about everyone in Tumut, which means, you know, we’re all a bit funny. Unlike most, I got the voluntary exploration gene, and so I like to come and say thank you to Boyd for that when the opportunity is close at hand.
Bidding farewell to the cemetery, I skirted the highway, past the auto electricians, down past my grandmother’s house and back past the train station to the wetlands. The cyanoalgae was taking a break and had kindly let the red algae take its place in the carp pond:
While the Gilmore Creek was flowing at a genial pace, very different to the Tumut River’s high and sometimes oddly backwards flow:
If you can see there, on the right, a good amount of water moving at speed counter to the current. There are huge eddies in the middle of the river… not a place I’d like to be!
The beast at rest. I had to laugh a little at the message on the bench. Look after the river and the river will look after you. Cold water pollution, unnaturally high and rapid flow, removal of natural habitats… are we really looking after the river? State Water, you wacky bastards with your water quotas and your alienation.
Onwards to the river walk, where I accidentally but hilariously saw a man naked as he went to change into his swimmers between the open doors of his car. I didn’t stop to get a photo. I know, I know. Wasted opportunity. To take your mind off this galling loss, please accept this picture of pretty river flowers:
Through the river walk and around the race course, where I enjoyed the clear blue skies (no smoke today!) to the fullest. I keep meaning to jump the fence and get a better picture of the pavilion, but that will have to wait again.
Then it was up the hill and home! Phew, what a ride! Of course, the moment I stepped in the gate, Sax was on me, wanting to go for a hike. -_-; I’m so sorry Sax. I will make it up to you when the country isn’t on fire.
Have you taken a bike tour of your town or city? Did you find anything unexpected? Meet any old relations? Have Jesus take the wheel and steer you somewhere that wasn’t a brick wall? Let me know!