Salt Pans to St Kilda

Finding New Places

I decided to explore a path less pedaled (by me, anyway) and venture north of the M2, having heard a whisper about a route through the salt pans to St Kilda. This initially involved an argument with the Adelaide Metro website which didn't tell me that the trains to Gawler had been replaced by buses on the very day on which I planned to use the train to launch me on my journey. Having set my heart on St Kilda I caught the train to Port Adelaide instead, and rode from there.

Great excitement! A vintage train chugging to its new home at the Railway Museum in Port Adelaide: just goes to show that it always pays to stop and check for trains even if you know that the line isn't in use. Because every so often it will be.

Once I left Port Adelaide on the bikeway it was all new territory for me.

Not the most thrilling of cycling, but great infrastructure beside the M2. At least, being a Sunday, the traffic was light.

In no time at all I wandered off from the M2, meandering out past wetlands and swamps with a few optimistic flowers getting a head start on Spring.

The path took me disturbingly close to the rubbish dump which smelled far worse in real life than it ever could in the imagination. Not to mention the foul water puddled in the table drain between me and the road, inhabited no doubt by unspeakable things. Purely by coincidence, I achieved my highest average speed along this section of cycle path which would be forever known in my mind as Poo Alley.

Not far past Poo Alley I found the promised path which ducked quickly under the freeway and wandered beguilingly off across the blurred edge between the sea and the salt pans.

The northern suburbs of Adelaide lay to my west, out of sight behind the Bolivar water treatment works.

Traffic noise faded away and gravel crunched under my tyres. A gentle wind pushed me along, the salt pans bloomed with algael colour, and fantastical salt sculptures blossomed on the bones of old fence posts and poles.

The industrial areas of Port Adelaide were still visible across the salt, the mangroves, and the upper reaches of Barker Inlet.

and Adelaide City still just visible off across the plain.

The city faded into the background and I rode in wind and silence until i came to the road into St Kilda, and must leave the salt behind. Here I discovered that, while entry to the path had been open from my end, the exit was blocked by locked gates and signs promising dire retribution should the public (aka people like me) be so evil as to wander out on the salt. The locked gates lacked a certain effectiveness without a firmly attached fence, and by dint of a little clambering and mud-puddling I emerged onto the outskirts of St Kilda where I attempted to look as if I had of course ridden all the way there on the boring bitumen.

You are being watched. Did someone see me exit from the salt pans past the "Do Not Enter" signs? Now I'm paranoid.

St Kilda Adelaide possessed none of the charms of its siblings in Melbourne or Sydney. In fact, it possessed little in the way of anything bar a marina, a kiosk, a very large car park, a historic tram, and the very best playground in all of Adelaide with hordes of children and families making the most of it.

Just a small part of the best playground ever. I want to come here when there are no children about, so I can play on the playground and slide down the slides.

There was screaming and yelling (both joyful and of the tantrum variety), jumping and sliding, and lots of ice creams being dropped in sand. In weather that would have had Queenslanders huddled round their heaters, Adelaide popped on their puffer jackets and took their children out to play.

The tide was out. The business end of Outer Harbour was visible across the water.

I only stopped at St Kilda long enough to have lunch at the kiosk. The wind was cold, all the seating was outside, and I knew the ride back would take longer because a) I had to go the long way home because I couldn't pretend that I didn't know about the dire warnings against cutting through the salt pans and b) the wind would be against me.

Go away, silver gull. I know how this works. If I feed you anything a thousand of your relatives will turn up and demand more.

The freeway accompanied me all the way back to Port Adelaide, with a little detour along the Para river offering a short reprieve from the traffic noise.

A moment of peace on the Para River Bikeway.

I stopped at the last lookout and drank my iced coffee before facing the final slog past Poo Alley and back to the railway station. Had I been a purist I would have ridden home along the Greenway but my legs were tired, the wind was cold, and I wanted to relax in the train carriage before I had to get off and trundle the last 7 km back to the cat.

Alrighty, let's get the stinky bit over with then.

Back home the cat demanded penance which I was happy to pay. There were worse ways to end the day after 49km in the cold wind than to relax in a comfy chair, reading a good book, with a warm cat sleeping in my lap and hot chocolate to hand.

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Today's ride: 48 km (30 miles)
Total: 507 km (315 miles)

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