forty, no, fifty. sixty km ride from Eltham to the city alongside the Yarra River and its eucalypts. cross the river 5 times. skid where the track turns to gravel road, take the wrong fork and trace the goat’s trail back to the main trail, the sheep’s trail.
past a Turkish celebration under peppercorn trees, with their card tables and unfolded chairs, a line of nimble elderly dancing. I’m not even embellishing. then to Melbourne’s version of Parliament Hill, sorry to be still comparing after so many days.
the last stop was a colonial ghost, an empty building with chalk signs for ginger beer and the nostalgia of the English émigré. tables for tea and boats for paddling on the brown billabong.