Adelaide, nay the majority of Australia is flat. Whereas in Scotland the rolling hills of the lowlands accumulate into towering Monroe’s – the highest hill in Adelaide is rarely covered in cloud – and only grants the keen climbers 2385 feet of climb. Mount Lofty summit walk provides a upwards amble and is the most popular walk in SA with over 350,000 visitors a year – and one cool spring morning it’s where I found myself. Despite being a Monday, not in holiday times, and not even particularly nice weather the car park was fully stocked up with SUVs and I was never alone whilst walking the 7km trail. I was joined by a plethora of spandexed, flat tummied girls and tanned men in running gear and bulging calves. These beautiful, healthy Instagram friendly creatures were joined by us commoners; out of breath, red-faced and embarrassingly sweaty.
I won’t talk too much about the walk, mainly because it would involve being honest about my level of fitness (or lack thereof) except to say that part of the purpose in this donut blog was to remind readers and other donuteers (donut pioneers) that a donut is a thing of great pleasure, but one that must also be consumed in moderation and as a delightful reward or special occasion. Since starting this blog my donut consumption has at least halved as I put more thought into what enters my mouth, as well as appreciating that if I want to live a long and happy life of eating donuts I must balance their consumption with other healthy eating and exercise.
So at the end of my hike, apparently 149 floors of stairs climbed over 11,111 steps, I found myself at the nearest bakery to Waterfall Gully. Well, perhaps not the nearest, but the first one I found as I googled bakeries on the way home. The walk had taken me long enough that the morning had morphed into the afternoon and it was near shutting time for this little bakery, with a notable lack of goods on display. I, in my sweaty attire and red face, rocked up, scraping my muddy shoes on the front mat and searching for a single donut to consume in a ravenous pattern. The man behind the counter looked forlornly on as I traipsed my dirty feet across his newly washed floors, tripping over a “wet floor” sign in my hypoglycemic state and with my sweaty and unwashed finger I jabbed the glass to where the single donut sat. The bakery was little, and keeping in mind that I only had just realised that some bakeries might not make their own donuts, I bluntly asked if the donut was made in store (it is) – and then, because I always forget to ask and so have to make an embarrassing and random follow-up phone call – I enquired about the price. How rude he must have thought I was! None the less, he was ever so polite despite me having snuck in as his last customer and then dirtied his clean little bakery. With an awkward picture of the front of the bakery, and as the kind man stared on, I got back in my car, backed out – only hitting a few bins on the way – and drove home to consume the donut in sweaty, and well deserved, peace.