(Warning: This post is a little more ‘R’ rated than my normal material; and less words; more pictures; but hey… it tells the story.)
Whilst out on the mountain bike yesterday, I got to thinking about associations I have developed – one element with another, like sky and blue – when it comes to my thinking about Porepunkah. I’ve been holidaying here since I was 8, so there are many. Stuff like the Mt. Buffalo launch ramp with hangliding for example:
When I stand on the ramp… I associate it with flying my Foil.
The doozy of them all in the current environment, and the association which prompted me to write this post, is at the bottom of the page – one element associated with another – but don’t sneak a peak. Read through first.
Another common one for me, mostly as I ride down the track behind what is now the Porepunkah Pines Camping Park (formerly Rush Inn Caravan Park) is this:
I can’t show you Adrian’s real face as he’s now a responsible teacher (mostly)… but the cubby we had built on the track near the river – now my MTB route to single track glory – copped a fair old hiding of Southern Comfort consumption… all purchased by Adrian without ID.
Every time I drive past the Porepunkah Pines Camping Park (formerly Rush Inn Caravan Park) I notice the tree still standing, under which we repaired all of our broken down motor bikes… it was the site of much frustration but work which got us going again.
Of the same era was my mum’s black and white bikini. Whenever I see a black and white bikini – weird I know – I think of my mum sun-baking and covered in baby oil beside the Ovens River at Rush Inn Caravan Park:
Rubber truck tubes were like gold. Luckily, our family business was a transport company so we were never really in short supply. Truck tubes will forever be associated with many adventurous trips down the Ovens River from Bright to Porepunkah:
More recently for me of course is the simple association of Porepunkah and cycling. You don’t need to have known me too long to realise that, for me, Porepunkah and bikes are almost synonymous:
But here’s the doozy.
The one you’ve been waiting for.
The association of the senses that blitzs them all… at the moment… in the current environment.
The association which prompted me to write this post.
The association which, right at this very moment, is present in my mind because it’s present in my nostrils.
I can’t get out the door, down a single track, into the river, out to a coffee shop or off to bed without this one coming to mind at present. Early December in the North East will “arouse” this familiar association… past, present and future. The scent of Chestnut blossom is indistinguishable from the smell of seiman… sorry, but check it out!
If you haven’t been aware of this phenomenon until now, I’m sorry, I may have just ruined your experience of the North East in summer. But seriously!… when next you wander out the door in and around the Ovens Valley, take a big sniff, check out the Chestnut trees, try not to get confused and wonder… ‘Was that really even a dream last night?’… ‘Is it just the chestnut trees?’… ‘I thought I was up for it but am I really more like this guy?’…
Post Script: Whilst out riding with Scotty yesterday, he suggested that this glorious scent was more like cats urine (he used a different word). It may suit you better to associate it with that.