The trouble with golf courses (when you’re out for a nice cycle ride) is that many of the little paths just come to an end and you find yourself on the green. Windaroo Lakes (near Brisbane, Australia) is a prime example, which is where I was yesterday morning, and what a lovely ride I had. It was all so beautiful and wonderfully kept. Really, you’d never think that they would allow cyclists to ride amongst the golfers; but I wasn’t too worried because I had on my cycle helmet over my baseball cap.

I went down every path, circumnavigating all the greens and fairways (is that what they are called?) and reached as far as I could go without having to climb the fence into the adjacent golf course, which is separated but still part of the same club; and both conveniently border the Windaroo Memorial Peace Park, which is where I was at first – and from whence I had become intrigued to find my way into the course.

My first stop for a bit of photography was where a couple of elderly gentlemen had drawn up in their buggy only a few minutes before and they were setting up on the green. One of the chaps saw me taking photos and, no doubt concerned about all his chattels in the unattended buggy, he asked:

“Are you a photographer?” (Isn’t it funny? I often get asked that.)

“No,” I said smiling (and quite pleased that I looked so professional), “I’m an artist looking for beauty.”

“Where are you from?” he smiled back.

“Well, I’m Australian but I live in England,” I responded.

“I can tell that,” he said, “where abouts in England?”

“Devon,” I answered and he smiled and nodded as if that was good enough for him.

“Do you know Devon?” I asked.

“No,” he said, “but it’s a nice place – isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” I said and, obviously satisfied with my answer, he turned back to his pals and the game underway.

 

“What a nice old golfer,” I thought to myself before continuing on around the course.

 

Farther on around the other side I had to stop where the path divided a green and two very smartly dressed young Japanese men were about to tee off.

“Try not to hit me!” I joked.

“Do not ‘wolly’,” the handsome one in a pink polo shirt called back, holding a thumb up to indicate in case I couldn’t hear.

Some minutes later I was around the other side of one of the lakes and observed a gaggle of geese heading towards me. Of course I simply had to hang on until they were closer so I could get some good shots of them, which I did until I heard loud whistles… It was my nice Japanese golfers, no doubt “wollied” that they might hit me with a miss-shot if I didn’t move. No trouble, I had enjoyed my photographic session and promptly cycled on to the next bit of green.

Yesterday’s ride was so good that this morning I decided to cycle around the other part of the course that I couldn’t get into previously. There was a way in from end of the housing estate (what luck!) and I made a special point of getting off my bike when walking over the nicely tended grass. The path led me to an intersection where a young groundsman was busy repairing a post. I thought he looked a bit surprised to see me so I decided to speak.

“It’s so beautiful,” I began, “and I take it you don’t mind me cycling through here?”

“Not at all, Darling,” he said, “just not between the hours of six-thirty and five o’clock!”

“Well, I’ll just mosey on down that road,” I said (not mentioning yesterday). “Does it go back to the main road eventually?”

And it did.