Bunbury is surrounded by water, not surprising for a costal town. A bike path / boardwalk rings the Leschenault estuary through mangroves then out to Koombana Bay.

Billowing clouds and sudden storms seem the norm here. This morning I was greeted by rainbows, not just one but several in succession! As the clouds rolled in, they melded together then rose into showers. A good sign.

Double rainbows generally mean light rain rather than torrential downpours and so it was until mid morning when the skies cleared completely.

Then the sun came out in earnest.

I felt much better with the warmth of the sun on my back.  I made quick time along the well marked highway. The authorities make provision for bikes here. I have even had drivers give way to me. Always appreciated and acknowledged with a friendly wave.

Capel is a small town a couple of kilometres off the highway, half way between Bunbury and Busselton and was my chosen destination for breakfast. At the aptly named Capelberry Cafe I ate perhaps the best raisin toast of the tour thus far. Three pieces, each one thickly sliced, full of fruit, toasted to perfection and served hot with butter at room temperature accompanied by a steaming hot pot of English breakfast tea, all for the princely sum of $7.00.

Leaving the delights of the Capelberry behind, I rejoined the light weekend highway traffic to Busselton aka Busso by the locals. The large roundabout at the highway exit is engineered with cyclists in mind with exit ramps and safety bays leading to a bike path that takes you right into town.

I liked Busso, it had that busy but relaxed Saturday morning market feel happening, but after a quick tour of town it was time to push on to Margaret River.

With so much rain of late, frogs were getting vocal. I couldn’t discern if there were a number of different species or some kind of mating game taking place, such as males calling to females who were responding in kind.

White tailed black cockatoos, in small flocks wheeled by. I’m used to seeing the yellow tailed black cockatoos, even red tailed ones, but I have never seen these birds before. Ring necked parrots called “28, 28”. Evidently that’s what local people call them because its the sound they make. Neither name does justice to the beauty of these creatures.

Early wattle is blooming and the red bottle brush is in flower, with the warmth of the sun on the wet ground. The breeze carried a subtle menthol and lemon scent, again there’s a freshness to this Indian Ocean air.

On the road into Margaret River, I came upon the body of a small rat like creature, only larger and thicker set. It had no obvious signs of injury. I believe it may have been a quokka, those small endangered wallaby like marsupials. I should have taken its picture to be sure.

Rolling through hilly country around Cowaramup, the rain made its return. This is rich dairy, beef and wine country, a foodies paradise and is known Australia wide. However, before it became a Mecca for the bourgeoisie, Margaret River was hailed by the 70’s counter culture (the Bourgeoisie in their youth perhaps? ) for its surfing sub-culture and illicit harvest of the famed “Margaret River Heads” only rivalled by the equally popular “Mullumbimby Madness” or so I have been told.