December, High and Thirsty

December, high and thirsty, and I – fool that I am – have once again ventured into the unknown without a decent amount of water. Or a repair kit, for that matter. I know I should take both, but this is the tropics, where we care little for unimportant things, like making it home alive.

Truth is, I am not going too far beyond my ken. Just a little bit further down the road. A few more kilometres.

This is a trip though time, in a way. A part of my city that was build thirty years ago, and hasn't changed much since then. Should I turn left and keep going for a few minutes, I would find newer neighbourhoods build with newer trends and building codes, but I stick with the river, following it up towards the dam. These older houses please me more than the newer ones ever could, anyway.

The path by the river changes into a “safe” cycle path that may be safe, but isn't terribly comfortable. I shift to the road. How many times have I wondered where this road eventually leads? Maybe one day I'll follow it until I find my answer. Maybe one day I'll just remember to look it up.

It seems popular amongst “real” cyclists. Two or three of them pass me, and I wonder if I'll ever feel as though I belong on the same road as someone wearing that much Lycra. One passes me only to turn around a few meters ahead. It seems the road narrows, and there is no space for such things as cyclists ahead.

Me? I haven't reached my target yet. I steel myself for jostling with cars, then notice that the “safe” cycle path is still continuing over on my right. I cut across someone's footpath to get to it. I'd rather share with pedestrians than cars, if given the choice. I like it better when I'm the potentially lethal element in the situation.

Then, suddenly, I'm there. Now what? I thought it would take me longer to get here. Should I just turn around as I planned? That would make for a shorter adventure than I intended.

I coast around the car park for a moment, wondering if I want to walk to the top of the dam for something to do. Or, perhaps, down to the river. Then I remember something I saw in passing, off the other side of the road.

It's a bird-watching platform. Built in the last year or so, with a nice, shiny interpretive sign to tell me all about the birds that come to the borrow pits. I'd never heard of a borrow pit before, although it makes sense that they would exist. Now I know what they are, that we have one, that it fills up with water every summer and that a wide variety of birds can be found here. I love interpretive signs. You almost always learn something new.

I notice the mountain range on the way back. It's a range I see all the time on the way to work, but it's a side and an angle I almost never see. I'm looking at the sun playing across the face of the mountains and I marvel at how pretty it is from this side – how beautiful and unfamiliar. I can barely take my eyes off it.

Nor, for that matter, the peacock which is inexplicably walking up the bike path on the other side of the road. What on earth...? How did that get there?

The things you see in your own town, eh?