I had half expected the bike path to be over run with joggers, prams and dogs, but it was actually quite good. Everyone must have been inside watching the grand final. My only scary moment was going around a blind bend and almost riding into a pack of cyclists coming the other way - the idiots did not have the common sense to get into single file when they couldn't see what was coming towards them. Some people are too stupid to be allowed to be put in control of any sort of wheeled convenyance.
The ride had one small bonus, in that I found a $50 note sitting on the path. There was no one in sight in either direction, so I pocketed it. The wind was blowing across the path, so it might not have fallen out of the pocket of someone walking along the path. I see it as payment for my virtue in riding 60km today.
One of the drawbacks of tiding past Tempe was having to go under this railway bridge. I heard a rumour a while back about having to go through a flooded underpass at high tide, but I had forgotten about it until I reached this underpass.
It's not often that you see a "flooding" sign with indicators on a bike path.
On my way south, the tide was not up, so the water was only an inch or two deep. On the way back, it went an inch or two over my feet. Which of course meant that I did the ride home with sodden feet, which is not the best of things.
Since councils these days don't seem to care about cutting back vegetation, it can be a boon for those that like to pick a few wild plants. As I rode past here, there was an old bloke on the other side of the fence cutting plants and putting them in a shopping bag. I did a U-turn and suddenly smelt fennel - he was collecting fennel tops. Smart move. It smelled great.
I also passed a group of blokes picking up garbage. J thinks that today is some sort of world cleanup day, but I have not seen it promoted anywhere. They looked like prisoners on day release to me. One of them said g'day, and he didn't sound like a pillar of the community to me. All had various badly inked tattoos, smoked Winfield Blues and had a fondness for black jeans and flannel shirts. I could be wrong, as I failed to see anyone that looked like a guard. But they all had those rubbish picking up grabby things, and that to me made them seem like a work gang of some sort. I bet there is some beauracratic rule that says that prisoners must be issued with grabby things so that they don't have to bend down - just in case they hurt their backs and are unable to go back to work as a house breaker once they are released.
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