11/12/18: the underwear edition

I feel like this real estate agent has to be British.

Wayyyyyyyyyyy back when, in a previous century, when your humble correspondent played lacrosse, ladies wore kilts to play and it was the fashion of the time to don a pair of boxer shorts underneath (I did not make the rules in the 90s, I simply tried to follow them). I remembered this as the temperature increased as I got closer to the coast and even with the liners of my overpants removed, I was still a bit warm. This is likely because under my overpants I was wearing a pair of long underwear. Outside of those and some long pants, though, I didn’t have anything in my pannier of tricks that might help keep me cool.

As it happens, I have access via a WhatsApp thread to a number of motorcyclists with experience wearing overpants. However, I am supremely confident that asking that group for advice about what to wear under overpants in warm weather would be—best case—hilarious but unhelpful, or—worst case—upsetting and unhelpful. And this is how I came to be loitering around the men’s underwear aisle in Target.

When I got to this “Target” (it was a single-A level Target, hardly worthy of the name) all three men in the store seemed to also be in the market for men’s underwear, so I went off and loitered in the ladies’ area until they were done. There were a lot of shorts options for ladies, but they were all made of vicose and looked like this.

There were also yoga pants and leggings, but I don’t want yoga pants or leggings. I just wanted a pair of cotton shorts that would fit comfortably under my overpants. Imagine my disappointment when the Underwear Men all cleared out and I discovered the men of Lakes Entrance/East Gippsland Australia appear to be wearing underwear that looks like this.

I did laundry this morning and had taken a slightly damp sweater with me in case I needed it later; in order to facilitate the drying process I had draped the sweater over my backpack and run the sleeves along my arms so I could gently flap them as I walked. So now you may picture me, walking around and around the men’s underwear, absent-mindedly flapping my sweater arms, pausing occasionally to root through a rack in hopes of finding something suitable, and, I am certain, muttering to myself. It is a wonder security was not called.

I finally found some cheap cotton sleep shorts (men’s, naturally—if ladies sleep in shorts, according to Target, they sleep in frilly booty shorts, generally printed with hearts) that should do the trick, but it was a fraught fifteen minutes in there and I am relieved that is over. (Men’s shorts, btw, include a lot fewer hearts and instead patterns like this. I don't totally know what happened here--some kind of free-association game gone wildly wrong?)

My other errand of the day was to go find those AustraliaBucks, and lo the other bank in town was willing to fork them over for a mere $10 fee. The teller lady was extremely friendly which is how I came to learn that she traveled to the US by herself when she had just turned 18 and used Amtrak (brave girl!) to get around the country. She spoke fondly of sleeping in train stations (WHERE?) and while she said she would never let her own kids take such a trip, that experience “made me who I am today.” I didn’t ask what that meant, exactly, but she seemed to imply it was positive so, rock on, bank teller lady. Let’s all go take crazy trips and try out other people’s underwear!

Here, however, I must admit I did balk at one chance for adventure. I misread the sign and it turns out the Seashell Museum is actually $8 for adults. I tried to bluff the lady at the counter, saying I only had $4 and making a face like “C’mon, you and I both know $4 is better than $0,” but she wasn’t having it. I hadn’t yet procured more AustraliaBucks and $8.20 was all I had left of their funny money so I walked away from the Seashell Museum figuring I’d thank myself in the morning when I had cash money left for the only decent cup of coffee in town. (It’s at a place called Bloody Good Coffee, and I always thought “bloody” was a swear word? What am I missing here?) I have no regrets.

Once I’d gotten through the money and the underwear I was free for the afternoon and so I took a pedestrian bridge over the lake toward the ocean. Pretty boring fact: Lakes Entrance is an artificially-made channel that connects the Tasman (?) Sea (or something) to this long series of lakes that runs along the southern shore. Now with the cleverly named “Lakes Entrance” bored out, boats can go straight in/out from the lakes to the ocean. Yawn. As you can tell, I was not alone in my enthusiasm for this experience.

Lots of warning signs, as per, though I admit I didn’t see the snakes-on-the-beach situation coming. 

Foolishly, I took a walking path through the middle of the sand-spit-thing I was on, and while I saw an actual skink (a big fat lizard) run across the path, when I looked to see where it might have gone I was confronted with this. In addition to being a home for skinks and venomous snakes, I am pretty sure this is one of those gateways to another (not good) world.

In order to leave the forest path, I had to brave this walkway to get back to the beach. Can you imagine just how many venomous snakes could be hanging around between me and safety? I CAN.

On my way back over the pedestrian bridge I stumbled onto a black swan fight. Two birds were really going at it, beating the shit of out each other with their wings, beak-stabbing, shrieking—it was quite upsetting, tbh. I stopped along the bridge next to a lady who didn’t even look at me, just said “They fight to the death, you know.”

Eventually the man at the end of the bench there, the one with his arms crossed, couldn’t take it any longer and went over to break up the fight. This was accomplished by leaning over the sea wall and clapping loudly while shouting at the birds and it worked. Those asshole seagulls, on the other hand, didn’t lift a feather. I am pretty sure one of them was taking bets. Once the dust had settled it became clear there were children involved, and this picture has all the aggrieved parties—lady swan who stayed out of it, male swan who won, and (presumably younger) male swan who was sullenly accepting defeat, which is better than dedeath, kid. Also, cygnets!

Tomorrow to Geelong/Torquay, and then Wednesday the Great Ocean Road. A week or so back toward Sydney then another week to do a loop up toward Brisbane and back down and then…home. I could stand to not be living out of panniers and motels, maybe, but boy howdy I am going to miss this trip.

...

Pictures! 

This could be a PSA for impressionable young gulls about how their decisions now will have consequences later. Alternatively, it's me and my sister as our gull alter-egos. 

I liked this little tableau of birds but as I lowered my phone I realized I caught the lady second from the left in the act of pivoting her butt over the edge of her post to take a poop. How civilized!

I'm hoping that "pokies" is a fun Australian way of saying...fuck I have no idea. What are you DOING, Australia?

Let's parse this sign together: I get that Iron Man swims here and you can fart in your bed; there is food, BBQ [grills], and a fax machine (super); but what is in the middle of the bottom row? A...wake up call? Access to a giant flashlight?

I'm not saying the name is why this joint is out of business, I'm just saying less is sometimes more.

I don't know what "HI-FLOW VORTEX DIESEL" is but I definitely want some.  

The beach (post-snake gauntlet) had lot of shells--reminded me of Mema. :) 

I know, Australia, you're not ugly. It's just that New Zealand...well, I'm happy to be in warmer weather and I think I've got just the underpants for it.