Day 13 – Finally back in the hills

The Flinders range come into veiw

 Today was a good day. Coldish, but good.

Wine combine. Cool

With another 110 odd miles to knock of I was on the road in the pitch dark before first light. Then thought better of the idea and waited in the Barmera roadhouse/angling shop for pre-dawn. The older guy at the till was friendly, but did use the time to do something I find very frustrating here. When you get talking to local people you want them to give you some useful local knowledge/advice (which he did subsequently) and wish you good luck (ditto).

Sunrise on Lake Bonney. All is good.

Unfortunately before he had done either of these things he insisted on something a minority of guys do, which I can be summarised as tell the Pom he’s an idiot. It’s so frustrating, but some blokes (and they are always blokes) have a rather bullhead view of their opinions and will bluntly tell you you are doing it wrong, in today's case it was wind direction. Because he’s got an Australian accent and you’ve ridden through the bush, you're inclined to take him as an oracle.

It’s only afterwards when you think you realise what narrow minded dumbass they are. Here's a provincial man who rarely leaves a 10 mile radius, claiming with unblinking confidence that he knows what the weather will be 1,000 miles away, on the basis he lives on the same continent. It would be like you’re local newsagent in Hackney telling you which way the wind will blow in Moscow in two weeks time, and you taking the adviceseriously. This is not local knowledge, it’s just sedentary people living out their hard nut pioneer fantasies.

Not all pioneer dreams made it clearly

The morning ride up to Morgan was functional, cool almost cold at points, traffic has collapsed to a trickle having split from the Adelaide road, hardly a breathe of wind and no flies. After a blissful sunrise over Lake Bonney with the grape harvesters out, it was mostly it was rolling along the bluff above the Murray river, with a bleak little run over scrub land straight into Morgan itself. It did exactly what it needed to a ride, and was riding into Morgan dead on 12:00 as planned.

Middle of nowhere, no
idea why

Morgan is a weary little experiment of a town. What the early pioneers had planned for the place is unclear, and it's clearly never found a way since. Not an unpleasant place to be, but more one you wondered why it existed at all.

The afternoon on the other hand was sublime. Within a hour or so the Flinders range appeared in on the horizon. After over a week on the plains, was a very welcome site. As the wind got up behind me, I made solid progress hour after hour. There is something very awe inspiring about a range of hills looming over you across the whole horizon. It was a beautiful and special section of riding.

Once in the Flinders I made a beeline for the town of Burra. Assuming it would be another simple highway town, was in for a great surprise. The town is beautiful, nestled in the rolling hills. It grew on mining, and the Cornish and Welsh origins of the founders comes straight through in the architecture of the town. It’s a really gem of a place and just wish I had time to stop and look around.

Bain of my life

But must crack on with what promises to be a beautiful ride over the range to the sea tomorrow. With back to back 110 milers, I’m feeling the effects. As a result I’m writing this I’m lain out on the bed, smothered in Deep Heat in little more than my pants, like a member of an adult hobbyist club in Staines. If it works, it has to be worth the indignity.

 Miles: 110 Barmera, Morgan, Burra

Breakfast – Standard

Lunch – Morgan RoadHouse -  Two very disappointing chicken sandwiches and a Picnic bar. Functional at best.

Supper – Burra Hotel (basically an oversized pub) – Lamb rump steak, veggies and chips. Not going to win Michelin stars, but good quality comfort food done well.