Moving time of under 28 minutes. I'll have that. Strava is more aggressive than Garmin and gives me a much quicker time, so that's the one I choose to believe. But, what the hell am I meant to do now I'm knackered and sweaty (though not too sweaty, as it happens) next to the ocean? I guess I'll walk along a bit further, wander through the town and get a bus back.
Well, or not. Manly is lovely and I take a few more pics - all of which I've probably taken in each of my last 4 or 5 visits here, tbh.
I have a small taster of the habanero beer and it really does have a kick. As I leave I ask which ones I can buy to take home, he says go to the counter upstairs. I do, it's unmanned and I can't be bothered to wait so head off to get a bus back to Seaforth. This is needlessly complicated; there are 3 different stops to get buses that way from, on 2 different streets a good ten yards apart. The two stops which are on the same street are not adjacent, so I have to loiter suspiciously between them ready to pounce when one comes to either.
Soon, there's a 144 and I'm on it, back through the hills I walked this morning. My watch is very impressed with my recent progess in terms of steps per day, since getting off those flights that now seem a hell of a long time ago. Perhaps this has not been the non-exhausting day I claimed to crave. Perhaps such a claim was bullshit?
Back at the house and I've won the race: no-one else is about except, of course, for Pepper. As always, attempts at selfies in which she'll stay still for even a microsecond are hopelessly in vain.