All Hail!

And now, a Very Special Tasmanian Cycle Chic post:

Behold!

"But Fat-bottomed Girl!" you rudely interject, "What is so special about this perfectly ordinary looking and unfetishised bicycle? I see no wicker baskets or cute bells or even mudguards! I can barely picture a nubile, billowing skirted maiden upon the saddle! Surely this bicycle is the very antithesis of internet cycle chic posts!"

Firstly: Pervert.

And Secondly: I'll tell you why this bike is the most beautiful bicycle in the world if you'll just shut your trap for a moment.

This bicycle is parked outside of a chocolate factory. Specifically it is parked outside House of Anvers, a jewel in the North West Tasmanian crown of national highway attractions and most relevantly, the diametric opposite of bicycle friendly location and access. It is a car, car, car world after all but the beautiful soul who owns this bicycle knows it takes more than a string of high speed brushes with death and lack of bike rack to keep them from FREE CHOCOLATE.

Yes. There are free tasters in the gift shop. And not free cake in the restaurant. And amazing Belgian waffles. They also do a shockingly delicious gluten free sandwich. Once again you're welcome, Tasmanian Tourism.

I salute you, Anonymous Chocolate Seeking Cyclist.

See Your Oma and Raise You 1 Granny.

Spotted at the Ulverstone Agricultural Show: The inspiration for your next bicycle/craft project/yarn bomb.

You're welcome, Baby Boomers I blurred and cropped out for the sake of privacy.

Obviously what it lacks in practicality it makes up for in panache. That granny-square covered basket and saddle are giving me ideas as well as reminding me that it's entirely possible to crochet yourself a skirt guard or pay somebody on the internet to crochet you a skirt guard.

Wheels on Fire.

Not too long ago, Ginger and I were taking a jaunt along the Turners Beach/Ulverstone path when we saw the most spectacular sunset over the fields. It was so striking that everybody we passed on the path had either their phone or a camera out trying to capture the mist gently curling around the long grass.

Once we tore ourselves away from the photo opportunity (sadly we were only phone equipped) we reached the end of the path and discovered the 'mist' was actually smoke from Turners Beach petrol station that was going up in flames. As Australians we should have recognised a smoke reddened sunset when we saw one but as said smoke was strictly confined to the fields, the smell didn't carry to the path. I'm sure there's a profound remark to be made here regarding beauty in unexpected places but I'm not the fart joke connoisseur to make it.