… and in fact it didn’t
I don’t seem to sleep much better in a real bed than I do in the tent, how curious. I woke up to a much better day, the promise of dryness put a spring in my feet and I decided that, after breakfast in Loch sport I would explore the costal route that I did not take yesterday. It would add a couple of miles to my trip but, with only 43 miles ahead of me, I thought it was not going to end up with a heavy day anyway.
Coming from Golden Beach Google gave me two option to get to Loch Sport: one crossing the lagoon and then following the main road, the other following the coast to a place called 90 Miles Beach Campsite and Resort and then cross the lagoon there at a crossing that none of the locals knew anything about. The less than reassuring news from the locals were the reason why, in full monsoon, I choose option one.
On the way to Loch sport though I saw a sign pointing towards the lagoon and reading 90 Miles Beach Resort and I told myself that I was going to explore the mystery in the morning.
So I rode the 3 miles out of town and took a sharp left getting onto the gravel path. the path quickly emerged onto a causeway (top image) and I knew I was on the money, Google was right, the locals were wrong, there was indeed a second crossing. With the lagoon now behind me I turned right and I instantly knew there was something not quite right. The track I was on was not the one that was marked on Google Map but off set to the north by a few hundred yards and running parallel to it. I noted it and continued for a nearly 5 miles before the two paths merged and I was in fact at the 90 Miles Beach Retreat.
After I went around a little and being unable to find what I expected to be a tarmac road from there to Golden Beach I stopped at one of the hut where there was a chap cleaning an engine. I asked direction and he told me that the only was to get to Golden Beach was trough the causeway and onto the main road. He said that the path that is on Google is in fact no more than an abandoned walking track that would not be possible for a bicycle, some bits almost not possible at all.
So it was time to do a U turn and return onto the main road with a 10 mile detour added to the day’s payload.
The route from there was less than eventful, apart from the occasional pause to take a picture, mostly, but not only, of wildlife there was nothing much to do of pedalling.
On the fauna stats we are moving up a bit both live and roadkills:
- Kangaroo: 8 (+4 live +2 dead and very stinky)
- Koala Bear: 0
- Fox: 3
- Wombat: 6 (+2 another couple of dead ones)
- Snakes: 0
- Emu: 1 (+1 live and kicking)
On the pedalling side I have developed a pain in both achilles tendons, I think it’s because I set the seat too high so I rectified that and hope it will get better tomorrow. It would be bloody inconvenient to pick up an injury this close to the end of the tour.
By14:30 I was really hungry and I had to stop for some emergency food, it was a shame that there was not food place I could see in Longford where I could get some food and I could definitely not make to Sale, chocolate was needed.
After that I rode the short distance to Sale where I picked up some cash and did a proper shopping trip in a supermarket. Sale was the first big place I hit since leaving Melbourne, it was almost refreshing to be in a busy high street, this should be telling me something about myself and once I evince what the message is I feel I should keep it in mind when I plan future trips.
After the shopping there was only 10 miles to go to Stratford and the campsite on the river Avon, I wonder where the first settlers were from.
5 miles out of Sale a car beeped at me, I assumed it was because of the flag and I waved but then I saw them pulling over a few hundred metres in front and I wondered what was going to happen. It turns out that the couple in the car were a Aussie chap and a Scottish lady that migrated here 7 years ago from Glasgow. She came out of the car welding an apple and said that she had to give something to a fellow scot. We spoke a bit about our beloved Glasgow and they gave me a few tips on Stratford nightlife. She did however spot that I was not a pure blood and I explained that I had been born in Italy but I was keeping that quiet.
This chance encounter made me realise two things. First I have to practice my Scottish accent more in order to stop having to go through the “I was actually born in Italy….” thing. Second Tarn was right when she used to say “Of all the girls tis’nice to meet, Glasgow girls are hard to beat.”