holiday

Apparently it’s a public holiday. What would I know of that? I’m hardly Joe Public and the unemployed know nothing of holidays.

My good woman is on holiday. She’s with me in the Jazz on the way to Wonthaggi to ride our bikes on the Bass Coast rail trail. The trip down is easy enough. I fill the vehicle with petrol and my good woman provides lunch: burek—cheese, cheese and spinach, and cherry, bananas and vegetable juice.

I unload the bikes at Anderson just as the V/line bus pulls in. I re-attach pedals and front wheels and away we go. At Kilcunda the trail crosses Bourne Creek on a marvellous old trestle bridge pretty much on the beach. The 12 kilometres from here to Wonthaggi are flat and there’s not much to see but six wind turbines whirling in the easterly breeze.

Wonthaggi is shut for the holiday. My good woman wants to walk on a beach so we pedal back to Kilcunda. A metre of gloriously coppery snake freaks her out as it slithers across the trail. She can’t even look at it. I stand between it and her as she pedals gingerly past. It nudges my front tyre before crossing the track.

We lock the bikes to a sturdy bench, descend rickety wooden stairs to the beach, and wriggle out of bike clothes and into gear appropriate for beach-combing.

Surf fishing is big today and two surfers brave to pounding waves. We see neither a fish nor a wave caught. The spray crusts my glasses and I stumble through the coarse sand in a fog. My good woman collects beach ephemera and stares out to sea. I wonder how I’ll get the sand off my feet before putting my bikes shoes on again.

Back at Anderson I stow the bikes in the car and we polish off the last slices of burek. An unbroken stream of traffic trickles down the road from Phillip Island and onto the South Gippsland Highhway. At times it simply stops. I consider taking back roads through the Gippsland hills but decide that road works near Bass are causing the delay and once past we’ll scoot along. And so it is.

Just before six we’re home, tired, sunburnt, and sleepy. A cup of tea goes down a treat before we say our goodbyes for today and retreat to our respective worlds; hers will be catching up with her children and cooking, mine catching up with three programs of football highlights and feeding the dog and cat.

Late at night I go online to report my work and job-seeking activity to Centrelink. I tell them nothing, especially that I’m on holiday.

     

Rock on.