Beyond the Black Stump

Rolling into Tambo I wonder if the residents have ever referred to themselves as Tamboners, I hoped they had a sense of humour. A tiny town in Central West Queensland I never known what to expect. 

Surrounded by green fields there had certainly been some rain here and all I could see was an outcrop of small tin sheds and fibro houses. The inside on the other hand was another story. Beautifully groomed lawns and bottle trees fill the Main Street. All the buildings seem to have their own sense of character and I enter the library/information to get my bearings. 

       

Im greeted by Bruce, a quirky looking man with thick glasses, he gladly gives me the run down on Tambo. Ill be staying here an extra day to rest so a place to pitch my tent is of most concern. Bruce is very diplomatic in pointing out where to stay, in the end I simply shop my way up the street seeking out the cheapest place. The two pubs are a bit out of my league at $50 a night, and not to judge a book my its cover I check the Tambo Mill Motel. 

A very relaxed gentleman sits behind the desk. I ask how much in the usual way, all I need is some shade and a shower. His name is Gary and he owns the place with his partner Corina. Gary has no idea what to charge and leaves it up to me. Also wanting to be fair I have no idea what to suggest. My first thought is $0 and Gary says $1000. I don't want to buy the place and eventually we agree on $10. With a pool and some free washing powder I couldn't have got a better deal. 

      

Floods and drought have both plagued Tambo at times (I know, what a bugger). Not long ago the town was in dire financial times and were in desperate need of a solution. The locals pulled together and began sewing up teddy bears, and thus the Tambo Teddy was born. There is certainly a feeling of community spirit here that i haven't quite got from anywhere else. For the first time I'm in a place where I feel like I could stay.

      

Like anywhere there are pros and cons, and in Tambo its the insects. Mosquitos and flying ants swarm the town. No light is safe of a night time and the public phone is a mission to use after dark, although I'm sure this is a delight to the frogs which inhabit it. 

      

After an overcast day off and a bit of rain i feel ready to head north into the desert channel. The sun is back out with the ominous headwind. I have a chat with the last few Tamboners as I try to leave making my final departure much later that I had anticipated.

Not even 5km out of town and to my left 20-30 horses spread out across a field. At first I thought it was cattle as this many horses in one place is an unusual sight. I ride past yelling out to them to get their attention. Unbelievably they all begin to come down closer to the road along side where i am riding, following me up the road. I accelerate as best I can and the horses follow suit. I cant believe it, are they trying to race me? I try to take a photo as I ride but a BMX is no match for a horse and they all take off past me and disappear out of sight. 

     

The road opens up and sweeps around the hills and 360 degree views are taken in with awe. Even after a rest the strong wind is wearing me down early and after 30km I need to rest and have lunch. Fortunately for me I find a rest stop complete with running water where I can drink till my hearts content and cool off. 

Across the highway I get to watch some real country action as stockmen on horseback muster cattle. A life in the sun out here must surely be rough and it puts my own attempts to travel the outback into perspective. 

Back into the wind though and I quickly remember how tough this can be, especially for a city bloke like me.

      

The dreaded endless straights return. Long dips with almost no end in sight. When a horizon is finally met its more often than not joined to another stretch much the same. The only way to move forward is to walk into the wind and persist in the heat. The roadside is bare and dry with only a few trees here and there. Im still amazed and the bottle tree which are common in this part of Australia and easily spotted in the dry landscape.    

                                   

Kilometre after kilometre finally pass and some life returns with bushland back on the horizon. I'm nearly half way to Blackall at the 50km mark. I cross a cattle grid with a bit of a difference. This particular grid on the road is there for wild dogs. Its part of a wild dog fence 6500km long. Crossing it makes me wonder which side of the fence the dogs are supposed to be on.

      

A young bloke I was chatting with in Tambo pulls up and offers me a lift. "You still out here" he says sounding surprised. He tells me of a good camping spot on the Barcoo River only 10km away and I find a last bit of energy to power on. 

I arrive with an hour of light left and there is another vehicle setting up camp. I introduce myself to Anthony and Darella from Cairns. A young couple travelling their way down into New South Wales for Christmas. I set my tent up before asking if they would like to join me for dinner, a passive way of inviting myself into there camp for some company. They are only too inviting and we share a meal next to the dry Barcoo River while the sun goes down and a few rain drops fall. Lightening on the horizons brings us no storm this evening, just a light show as night falls. 

      

Im presented with breakfast in the morning of bacon and eggs. Eggs are a food which provides untold energy and are consumed at every opportunity. With only 45km to Blackall this could be the makings of a short day. I wish Andrew and Darella all the best and try to get a good start. 

After a small climb out from the river the road swings around to the west and the wind dies down allowing me to pedal hard. Its hot early today and as soon as I see a sight boasting a mineral spa and pool in Blackall only 30km away, the decision is made to get there as soon as possible and relax the afternoon away. 

      

Even with a headwind its not long before I'm there and its not even midday. Time for recovery mode, finding a place to camp where I can leave my bike and have a look around. 

In the 1800's Australia literally rode on the sheeps back. 100 million head of sheep were shorn by 60,000 shearers providing Australia with two thirds its export earnings. Blackall legend Jackie Howe was the best of the best. On the 10th October 1892 Jackie Howe blade shore 321 sheep under 8 hours. It was a time where men were men and had moustaches, and weren't afraid to hug a sheep or two. And the sheep liked it.

                                 

Blackall is also home to the back stump. A famous stump used in early mapping of this region. Used as a place to stand equipment when taking measurements. Unfortunately the stump had since been burned out and replaced with a piece of petrified wood. It was a completely underwhelming sight, Never the less I had now travelled beyond the black stump. 

I couldn't wait to leave Blackall in the morning. Its Tambo's bigger cousin and unfortunately didn't have the same community feel. While I packed my things in the morning I get talking to a fellow camper Gary, actually the only other camper where I was staying. "No wind for you today" he exclaims. I look up at the trees waving in the wind and wonder if Gary may be either deaf or blind? I speak a little louder and step to the left, watching his eyes follow me with a bemused look on his face, "Maybe" I reply and waste no time packing up before the burning sun comes into play. 

An early start givers me confidence in reaching Barcaldine, a 110km day is more than possible with the right start. First backtracking half a kilometre to pump up my tyres at the petrol station. Not 100m from the petrol station and I can hear a noise over my headphones. I pull out an earpiece to the sound of my front tyre deflating. From deep within my lungs exits the loudest of all profanities, enough to echo down the deserted sunday morning Blackall Main Street. Not a great start to the day and I was minus half a kilometre. 

I make the decision to take the extra time to patch this one while I'm somewhere with a decent pump. As soon as the glue is touch dry its back in and take two on the day begins. 

      

Immediately out of town the road is filled with cattle. Drovers are passing by. They seem in no hurry to get their cattle off the road and the little morning traffic is forced to wait. My bike makes light work of negotiating the hazard and I slowly ride through the heard stopping to have a chat with one of the drovers on his dirt bike out in the middle of the road. Totally relaxed and in no way bothered by their cows blocking the traffic. Cows are one of my favourite animals and this close encounter starts to make my day a little better. 

      

Through the heard and into the wind, trying to keep my cool and concentrate on the task at hand.

10km ahead and I can feel there is something wrong. My front tyre begins to feel soft and its only getting softer. Shit! I stop under a tree and sit there for a moment considering whether or not I should just turn back to Blackall and sit the day out in the local pool. Instead I decide to continue and begin to change another tube. The patch had held, but a rock had imbedded itself in the hot soft tyre making its way through to the tube. Its hard work trying use my little hand pump and I can feel the temperature is in the 40's already. I am fortunate this dry landscape is thick with trees providing ample shade without fuss.

      

Take three and I felt my temper rising for the second time. Two flat tyres joined with a strong headwind was again testing me mentally. I choose a bit of techno music in an effort to return my mind to better times. The loud banging music has the desired effect and I come to terms with not making Barcaldine today. 

I walk up some of the long slow inclines on the highway doing my best to make any ground. Sitting on my bike half way up a hill completely exposed to the burning sun and microwave style wind I stop for a breather. There is a large amount of cattle around and off to my left a truck and caravan. I squint into the distance and see an arm waving out of the caravan, at least I think it is. I sit there for a moment watching this arm wave me in before finally trekking off across the dirt to investigate.

      

I get close to the caravan and there is a young girl on a dirt bike, and the waving arm from the caravan hands me a cold soft drink, complete with ice. The day begins to turn around at a rapid rate. "Hows it going?" I say to dirt bike girl "Better than you" is the response, and a usual one at that. I am meeting my first family droving their cattle on the Queensland stock route.

Mary, Sarah, Dave, Tyson, the Brooks are out here in an attempt to save their cattle and livelihood. From Amarock near Longreach their property was ridden with drought. They had no choice but to hit the stock route. 

The Queensland stock route is crown land, about a mile wide it was the route used to move stock up and down the land before the advent of modern highways and trucking took over. It is available to those who need it and requires a permit usually allowing them to move 10km per day or sometimes only 5km under special circumstances such as the cattle calving.

I sat in the shade of the Brooks caravan and chatted with Dave and Mary feeling completely saved with nothing more than a cold drink and a little company. They looked at me as if I was doing it tough and I reminded them I chose to be out here for no other reason than a personal journey. The Brooks had pulled together when times were tough, a quality difficult not to admire. On the road since May, they had travelled down to Charleville and were now returning home, 10km a day,  and praying for rain. 

After an hour or so I knew I had to continue. The highway and the midday sun was calling my name. Their cattle weren't as afraid of my bike as others had been and again I negotiated through the stock and made my way across the dirt and back to the road. 

      

Tyson rode over on the quad and met me on the highway. He had left his job in Townsville to help out his family during the most trying of times. A top bloke, he wished me all the best as I rode off into the distance. I would be keeping in touch with the promise of sharing a coldie one day in the future.

I continued to make headway towards Barcaldine, or Barci as it would now be known, waving goodbye to Dave who had found a tree to sit under to watch his 1100 head of cattle wander about and feed.

The wind softened slightly. Unfortunately the same couldn't be said about the heat. I was forever getting used to 40 degree temperatures, although at times it still forces me to catch some shade.

Up the highway waving to the few cars which passed, it wasn't long before one turned back and stopped to see if I was ok. I had given no signal for this as all the cars get a thumbs up, even when the flies are out in force.

      

Lizzy is travelling back from working for a family near Longreach. She's a Sydney girl returning home from a stint in the bush. She kindly gives me some cold water and we have a conversation before continuing as shes on a tight schedule to make Mitchell a further four hours away.

This interaction is enough to get me moving again. The more distance covered today is less I have to do tomorrow. Barci is only 110km from Blackall and if I can make it over half way ill be more than happy. Dave and Tyson had told me of some good places to camp with a bore trough about 50km from Barci and this was now my goal. 

Afternoon cloud drops the temperature significantly and allows me to get some real pedalling done, now energised from the simple kindness of strangers. The road is giving me much joy, a fairly quiet stretch running through the grassy scrub of Central West Queensland.

I pass the 50km mark when two utes pass me, thumbs up out the window. I approach as I watch them get out, something inside hopes this ends well. I get along side and slow down to engage when an arm reaches out to me holding a cold beer as if i was running in the city to surf. Although in that case the beer would be replaced with water. Bloody Legends. 

Tom, Patrick and Keiran were three mates returning to Darwin from other parts of Australia where they had been working. They tell me "We wouldn't have stopped if you were on a normal bike", and rightly so. 

      

Little did these larakins know but I wasn't much of a beer drinker. Something that had plagued my manhood as an Australian throughout my adult life. I was not adverse to drinking alcohol, I'd just never found a taste for beer. Today was the day that would all change. And out here on the highway in the middle of nowhere, it was an offer which would be rude to refuse.

We talked and laughed as I drank my first real beer, and I enjoyed every second of it. Maybe it was the beer talking but I told them they would be the first ones I called once I reach Darwin, even before my mum or girlfriend.

They let me finish before heading off. Now completely relaxed in the afternoon shade, the wind all but gone, I sing my way up the road. A day which began horribly couldn't be ending any better. A final 10km before I spot a stock route sign and I can see a water tank from the road Tyson had told me about. I could easily keep going but with only 50km to Barci and bath in a bore trough within sight, it would be silly to carry on. 

      

A short dirt road about 300 meters takes me off the highway and around some tall reeds to my final camp for the day. There it is, beautiful cool water, out of sight of the road. I feel like a new person as I bath in the cool artesian water, quickly getting into my birthday suit to feel is therapeutic effects.

I set up a little away from the trough to allow the local wildlife to enjoy. A family of bright green parrots fly down from the trees to drink. Ive never seen parrots like this in the wild and I try to get closer to snap a photo. Smart birds, they have a parrot brother keeping watch to signal for danger from a nearby tree and they are gone before I can get close. Kangaroos slowly make their way in while I cook dinner and watch the sun go down from the shade of my camp. I spot what seems to be a baby emu but as I move to get a better look its gone and out of sight. 

      

Mentally broken from the get go today before, without a doubt, becoming the most satisfying day so far. Im totally at peace and felling completely blessed with the people I have met. and the journey of the day. If only I had turned back this morning, perish the thought.

Writing my journal the light is all but gone and I reach for my torch. My eyes are drawn to a glow from the east. Is there a city over there? I wonder, or maybe a truck with its lights on has stopped on the road. I continue to watch and I realise its the moon. I put down my journal and stand back to a most incredible sight. A large bright full moon shows itself and continues to rise right before my very eyes, making its way into the night sky. I turn around to see my shadow once again on the ground behind me and for the first time I wished there was someone here to share this with. I could sit and watch the sky all night, eventually though I must sleep.

      

In the quest to get to Barci before lunch I rise early. Something is different this morning, the wind had gone. I had to take the opportunity to make some ground before the inevitable were to happen. Head down and on a mission the first 30km takes nothing more than a couple of hours. 

A rumbling stomach halts any progress and sustenance is in order. I don't want to stop for too long in fear of the wind returning its evil self. Its too late. As quick as the landscape can change so can the weather and once again the wind whistles from the north. It gives a feeling that something else is wrong, perhaps with my bike. The added resistance fells like that of a flat tyre or worn bearings. Purely psychosomatic, the wind continuing to play havoc with my mind. It makes me look down at my bike while I ride looking for a breakage somewhere. Nothing.

      

There is plenty of time to check out the eucalyptus scrub while I walk up a few large hills. Progress is becoming increasingly slow for the last 10km. So close I don't see the point in stopping and its my last ounces of energy carry me into to Barci. 

1km from town I stop at the first tourist park I see, not expecting to camp here its more just to check what I could be in for in Barci. 

Its a great looking place with lush green lawns and palm trees shading the grounds. An oasis in the outback. A bloke named Darren runs this place and when I ask the price he looks over my shoulder at my bike, "I cant charge you for that" he says. I feel as if I have to pay something so I make him take my $10. Darren even offers me his car to run into town but I'm more than happy to have a walk. In the end I settle on joining him for a beer in the evening and we are both satisfied. 

I am the only one camped here and have free reign of the large covered camp kitchen. A storm in the afternoon loomed and I havent even set up my tent yet, instead Darrren suggests I just sleep on the kitchen floor.

I take a walk into town to have a look around. There is a monument called the wishing tree right in the centre of town. Its an old Ghost Gum, giving significance to a time when workers in the region were struggling for rights and this is where meetings were held. I also find out that Barci lays claim to the first free flowing artesian bore in Queensland, just the same as Cunnamulla. A most interesting revalation in the tourist world of Western Queensland I wonder how many know of this discrepency.

The remainder of the afternoon is spent in the palm tree shade of the caravan park patching and repatching my remaining tubes waiting for the afternoon storm.

      

Darren and I have an ale and watch the rain fall. He has only been running the park since April and it suits him well. I'm told of all the times he has gone out of his way to help people and he never wants anything in return. Darren asks me to promise him two things, that I don't stay in Longreach (apparently they arn't as friendly there), and if I see a half dead animal on the side of the road that I euthanise it. I can easily pass through Longreach, that I can promise, but im really not sure if I could kill something. I promise anyway and the more I think about it the more possible it could be. I am after all surprised by capabilities every day. 

When its time to go Darren comes to see me off giving me some tyre repair patches he had found. He has also organised for his brother to pick me up in Winton 280km away for some free accommodation. Fantastic as I planned to have a day off there. 

Darren warned me about the roadkill on the next about 110km leg to Longreach with only one town 80km from Barci called Illfracombe. That was my target.

      

The road heads west towards Longereach and North West Queensland was in sight.

An early get away dodges the wind and the open straight road takes me away from Barci. It was noticeably dry as soon as I left with very little vegetation around and already the stench of roadkill filled the air. Quite often the dead kangaroos which peppered the road could be smelt before they are seen. This keeps me moving as much as possible. 

I reach a rest stop 30km out of town and am forced to rest in the shade while I can. The wind picks up from the west while I sit there, an occurrence I had began to get used to in my daily life, and waiting for it to die down is never an option. 

      

Swarms of Kite Hawks and Wedge Tailed Eagles patrol every section of this highway buffet. With plenty to go around they will never be going hungry, I was most definitely in Death Valley. 

More and more road trains used this stretch of highway as it also links up to Townsville and the east coast of Queensland. The 50 metre long monsters of the road move like giant steel snakes as they negotiate an obstacle course of dead kangaroos. I do my best to give them as much room as possible and hug the edge of the road, also negotiating my own dead roo obstacle course. The smell is extremely confronting as is the sight. Some carcasses are fresh from the previous evening and current morning, others have been pulverised into the road, baking in the sun and constantly driven over, its hard to tell where the road stops and the leathery carcass begin. Scattered bones left from the scavengers spread out over the entire length of the dry brown soil roadside as far as the eye can see. I cant wait to get out of here.

      

The wind has rarely been on my side and today was no different, and storms now loomed in the distance. Its always difficult to perceive which direction they are headed or how far they are exactly away. It makes no difference in the end, I'm still just out here on the road as exposed as ever and will have to deal with the weather as it comes.

Another rest stop only 5km ahead and another chance to sit and make a decision on the remainder of the day. A lift is offered by a passing motorist headed my way. I am in no way about to accept especially with a break within sight. On foot as the wind continues and only several hundred metres from shelter, a storm which I had been watching for the past hour had beared down fast and I could smell the imminent rain. I watch the thick rain sweep across the road, giving me only just enough time to pull the rain cover over my back pack but not enough to grab a raincoat. Im instantly soaked to the bone and the rain is so strong there is no hope of looking up to press on to shelter. I just stand there on the side of the road and endure its fury. Even the little traffic pulls over, at first I think its to offer me shelter before realising they cant see either. I attempt to reach safety of the rest stop and keep my head down following the white line on the edge of the road as my only guide as to which direction I was travelling.

      

Just as quick as the rain had come, it left into the distance behind me. I was particularly happy about surviving my first real Queensland storm. A relatively quick experience that had cooled me down temporarily. Occurring within 200 metres of shelter its hard not to think that if I hadn't been offered a lift only moments ago I would have surely made safety. 

Only 15km to Illrfacombe I stop for lunch and to empty the water out of my boots and dry my clothes. This takes very little time in the hot windy afternoon and any storms which had passed only bring minor relief. I was keen to exit Death Valley at the earliest conveniance so camping here was an impossibility.

Extremely humid it is now sweat which drenches my clothes and I press on into the tiny town of Illfracombe.

      

A sign for the Wellshot Hotel stating 'modern refrigeration' gives me an impression of the primitive pub I was about to reach. My first sight is a caravan park and thoughts of a cold shower before looking further up the road to see another sign boasting 'very cold beer', the shower would have to wait. 

The Wellshot Hotel was much less primitive than I had expected and as promised the beer was very cold. It instantly cooled me down and knowing I wouldn't have to travel any further today brings a smile to my face. My adventure was quickly becoming the worlds longest pub crawl. 

                                  

Ross and Jacky, recent owners of the Wellshot, are extremely welcoming and along with a beer I'm presented with an ice cold mango at the bar. While we get to know each other their immediate hospitality justifies a real bed for the evening in a cool room, something I haven't experienced for a couple of weeks. The Wellshot Hotel has a vast history in these parts, moved several time over the past one hundred years as the pastoral land expanded. It seems that pubs were always the first building to be erected during a new settlement, the best way to keep shearers and stockmen happy in the outback. The wa/lls were lined with hats from locals and travellers alike, from famous musicians to former governors, my helmet would be left here to be immortalised for years to come. I felt honoured.

      

It wasn't easy to leave the comfort of an air conditioned room in the morning. Its only 30km to Longreach and the Tropic of Capricorn which I had been looking forward to reaching for sometime. Storms once again loomed in the distance. As I moved ever forward lightning emerged from the black clouds. I couldn't tell whether they was coming from this side of Longreach or not so I rode as fast as I could in an effort not to get caught. Beginning to tire I kept an eye out for places to get shelter if I had to turn back. There were a few culverts in the road and the rail line running parallel with the highway. These would be my only hope in the event of a lightning storm. 

Longreach soon came into sight and the storms had remained on the horizon. It was still quite early and I planned to stay for an extended lunch and stock up before the next leg to Winton, 180km away in the desert channel, with no towns and little chance of getting water. Longreach was the home of the Qantas museum and the Stockmans Hall of Fame. Id promised Darren from Barci I wouldn't stay here and I needed to make headway soon to begin the trek to Winton.

I found a park with a free BBQ and sorted out my things for the next few days. Its here I made friends with some local kids on school holidays. All of them on their bicycles they didn't believe me that I had ridden all this way. Each one in turn had a try of my bike, and each one in turn wobbled up the footpath before falling off. I couldnt help but laugh and the kids joined in.

      

Just before I left I pumped up my tyres at the petrol station and the comedy of errors began. While inflating the front my bike fell over. With the air nozzle still attached the valve stem was ripped from the tube destroying a perfectly good tube. Lucky for me the petrol station was also the local bicycle shop and I purchased a new tube. Getting better at replacing these, the new tube is changed in a new record time, sweating profusely my impatience gets the better of me and while inflating the replacement id gone too far and "BANG!" the tube explodes in the tyre. Feeling quite embarrassed when the staff inside rush outside to inspect what dickhead had made such a loud noise. The second replacement is a success and I leave as quickly as I can with my tail between my legs.

I finally find the Tropic of Capricorn sign on the exit of town. Getting this far was always going to be a milestone and I was left bitterly disappointed by the small hidden sign announcing the change in climate zones.

      

The wind howled in my face as I left Longreach and I slowly passed over the Thompson River. There were places to camp here and I wondered if this was far enough out of town to appease Darren and my promise not to stay in Longreach. 

I was energised from lunch and the day was still young. I try to do the calculations in my head and if I can travel another 30km it can set up for a possible two day trip to Winton. Reaching Mt Isa for Christmas was a priority and there is still 650km to travel in only 14 days. I would be cutting it fine and had to get a move on.

Trees and scrub returned to the land on this side of Longreach and the road slowly climbed. The landscape had changed yet again to a band of red sand and rocky soil. Unfenced roadsides gives me plenty of camping opportunities behind the trees but I push on as far as I can into the afternoon. 

I almost camp at the next rest stop 20km from Longreach but I remember Darren telling me about the Darr river. I cant seem to remember exactly how far it is and when I check the map I feel like I might have passed it already and not noticed. I bargain with myself and agree on another 10km, if there is no river its there I stop. A slight break in the wind and I'm off. 

     

The new landscape of sandy earth keeps my mind occupied and the afternoon brings a cool breeze. I finally reach the 30km mark and it just so happens to be on the beautiful Darr River. An easy decision to camp here and join the kangaroos and birds for a dip in the river. The river has subsided slightly leaving an extremely muddy bank. It makes it difficult to get close to the water as I sink deep into the mud. Once I'm up to my knees its enough to bath myself and take some photos. There is always a nervous feeling being in an unfamiliar river by myself. Im sure there is nothing that can eat me in here, but there are always stories floating around of saltwater crocs making their way up into fresh water rivers in the most unusual places. 

     

Such a peaceful way to watch the sun set. 

Its still 150km to Winton and the distances between civilisations are only going to increase all the way to Darwin. As I had known from the start this is where it was about to get serious. Ive pushed six days in a row on the bike today and my body is beginning to shows signs of needing a rest. Perhaps I should have stopped for an afternoon in Longreach, there was no turning back.

     

  

Cosmos Bilby Country

It was a joy to reach Cunamulla and the first 1000km out of the way. I was nearly broken and it was during a telephone conversation with Nicole that she reminded me that's exactly what I wanted. "Isn't that what you wanted?" she said. I had set off on my BMX to test my human form and see how far it would go, Nicole was dead right.
Cunamulla was much smaller than I expected and it was here the same Warrego river which was 'dry as a dead dingos donger' in Enngonia a mere 160km away, flourished here full of animals and plant life. A couple of days off allowed me to recoup and check out the town. I revisited the information centre where Mike gave me a lesson on the Great Artisan Basin. A body of water buried between permeable and non-permeable rock under the ground, covering 20% of Australia, 200 million years old, with a capacity 130,000 times that of Sydney harbour. It was here the first free flowing artisan bore in Queensland was sunk. Cunamulla also boasts a mention in a Slim Dusty song, Cunamulla Fella, Where the handshakes stronger, and the smile lasts longer. Not really my cup of tea but its these parts which more cater to the grey nomads of the winter months, occupying outback Queensland in their droves.

It was time to hit the road and continue north towards Charleville, 200km north. Only Wyandra sits exactly half way and all it will be good for is a top up of water. Giving myself four days to reach Charleville I now ride with 11L of water and try to get used to the extra weight on a perminant basis.
It had been overcast during my rest and now the sun was back out. After five 40+ degree days in a row the heat didn't nearly seem as rough and a touch of cool in the breeze filled the air. Today was my birthday and to my great surprise mother nature had supplied me with a tailwind. This made for an extremely pleasant ride and the minimal trees are no longer a bother. The landscape is still very dry and bare but as I move further north with the wind, scraps of green return to the ground around me.

After 30km I enjoy a morning break and take the time to cook up some food and relax in some shade. I feel no rush at all to get anywhere and seem to be adapting to a simple transient life with great enjoyment.
With the breeze on my back pushing me along a bus pulls up beside me and the door opens "Want a lift mate?" comes the voice, "Its too hot out there". For someone travelling in an air-con bus perhaps it was too hot out here, but for someone travelling on a BMX bike it was just right. Of course I decline the lift even when the driver tried to persist, "Plenty of room for your bike". I begin to feel pressured and expect the next offer to be for some 'lollies' to entice me further. Accepting a lift will only ever be my last resort in times of danger and all the 'lollies' in the world wasn't going to get me on that bus, especially when I was having such a great time.

I watched the bus disappear into the distance for what seemed like an eternity and it reminded me of how flat it was out here. I didn't want to stop and was enjoying some techno music with the sounds of Pendulum pounding my ear holes. I dance my way down the road singing and smiling and before I know it I'm only 20km from Wyandra. I have totally lost track of time and distance today and clouds have now hidden the sun, a regular afternoon occurrence in South West Queensland. There is no point in stopping now and I see how fast I can cover the final stretch.
Just under an hour later I reach Wyandra and to my absolute delight the first thing I see is a pub. I had no idea this was here and am blessed with another birthday surprise. It was totally expected to camp on the side of the road tonight, sipping warm water and eating noodles. Refreshingly cool drink here I come.

I pull up at the the pub and am greeted by three locals. Clearly intoxicated, I am immediately adopted by the trio. There was Mick, Lyn and whome I will only ever know as Camel Man. "Where are you staying tonight?" enquired Mick. When I replied "here", "Your staying with us" he says and promises a roof over my head and a feed to boot.
I grab a drink and join them, totally pleased with myself after covering 100km, and just as pleased with making new friends and being able to enjoy a cold beverage. I question Camel Man as to the origin of his nick name. As you might expect it's because he is ,well, a camel man. Walking the outback breaking in wild camels and ultimately domesticating them for our own pleasure. It was hard to get more information out of him as he was clearly the most inebriated. Mick and Lyn made a living by making charcoal, the types they use in charcoal chicken shops in the cities. Special hardwoods in the area were perfect for this and the last load was enough to fill two B-doubles. Quite an operation. Mick had also spent some years walking when he was a bit younger part of the way around Australia and as a fellow wanderer we bonded quite easily.
We didn't spend long at the pub before retiring to Mick and Lyns place for a feed and more drinks, Camel Man was left behind, unable to kick on into the evening. It was nice to sit on the balcony of the only Queenslander (A style of home in Queensland with large balconies) in Wyandra and watch the sun go down as it produced its usual spectacular sight. I begin to fade as we eat and soon retire to my bed on the balcony. I'm provided with a fan to cripple the mosquito's ability to eat me alive while I sleep in the open air. Alas the fan only challenges the mossies to find new ways of getting to my precious blood and a restless night ensues.
A warm overcast morning awaits and with my bike packed its time to leave. My hosts are nice enough to wake from their coma and see me off and I hope to see them again one day.

Back to the highway I feel quite lethargic after last nights drinks. The first thing I notice is that the road has narrowed yet again with just enough room for two cars to pass each other. Road trains are another story with one forced to slow and drop a tyre in the dirt to avoid imminent catastrophe. This keeps me on my toes.

The wind has turned into my face again wasting unnecessary energy. I was already feeling knackered and was having a hard time. The road is again dead straight and now lined with two orange dirt strips and green trees that lead the way. With plenty of time to reach Charleville I move into the trees and rest. Two hours pass and I should probably get moving. The wind doesn't look as if it letting up and I only need to make another 20km today to easily make Charleville tomorrow. The sun returns and my BMX isn't going to ride itself.
The horizon begins to show signs of an afternoon storm and I will on the cooling rain . The closer I get though the further away it goes and the best I can do is reach damp parts of the road where the rain had recently visited. The tree line opens up yet again revealing an wide green panorama all around me. A sign indicates Charleville is only 55km away and, now satisfied with how far I'd come today, seeking a camp was my priority.

A car heading towards me flashes its lights and slows down, as do I. At first I am a little nervous as to what this could be about and as it gets close the window rolls down, an outstretched arm holding a bottle of water reaches out to me " We thought you might like this mate?". They thought right. His name is Barry and he was returning from Charleville to Wyandra with his wife and kids. I don't quite know how to thank these fantastic folk sometime but hopefully the smile on my face shows how much I appreciate it.
Its only a few more kilometres before I find a place to stop. A railway line follows the road and I push my bike up and over the ballast to a clear patch hidden from the road. I have plenty of time to cook some dinner and watch the sky. There's possibility of a storm is in the air and I choose my final camp spot wisely an the highest bit of ground trying to avoid setting up under any large branches.
While I eat I hear something on the other side of the rail line. I'm not sure what it is but my paranoid side immediately thinks its a car. I slowly creep up the railway in an attempt to get a peek. I reach the top and am face to face with a pack of goats coming my way. I'm not sure who was more surprised as they bound off down the railway and off into the bush. The sound of what appears to be the worlds largest cicada fills the air as I try to sleep. So much for the serenity of the bush.

The morning came with the trashing the trees about me. The cool shade allowed me to sleep in longer than usual and I was in no rush to head off into the wind which was once again blowing from the north. It was a given that Charleville would be reached today and I planned it to follow with another day off.
Upon returning to the highway I could feel the days heat early on. I have adapted well to this, the wind on the other hand brought me much frustration. Knowing how close somewhere is and the extended time to reach my destination adds to the angst. There are many challenges to face along the way and I must learn to deal with all of them in turn. The heat was no longer bringing me too much pain, it was time to learn to deal with a headwind. I tell myself it could remain this way for the entire trip and I close my eyes and take a deep breath trying to ease my mind. Its head down and one rotation of the wheels at time which will get me there, eventually, every time.

The roadside remains green following the long straight dips in the road. Each crest reveals yet another long dip into the distance, over and over again. Perseverance gets me ever closer to my daily goal and a rest day as a reward keeps me moving. I spot a large sign up ahead and as I get closer it reads 'Detour'. Shit, I had been drinking water like it was going out of fashion and had left myself only enough to finish the remaining 20km. My mind wandered into where the detour would take me. There are not many places to get water out here and my mental state had already prepared me for a relatively short final afternoon ride into civilisation. I take comfort in seeing the detour is nothing but a dog leg around where the road had once stood during a flood vs road match, with the flood victorious. The final stretch feels endless in the afternoon sun, at times the wind forcing me on foot abating forward motion. Slowly but surely, I see the Charleville sign.

'Charleville, Cosmos Bilby Country' A most amusing sign to welcome me and I wonder if I had packed for this. I seek out a caravan park, somewhere with a bit of shade and a shower. As I ride through Charleville its an absolute ghost town. I had been unaware of the days and realised I had arrived on a Saturday. Country towns only operate on a five day week reminding me of how far away the 24 hour, 7 day a week, city of Sydney was.
The bore water here was especially warm straight out of the ground. John at the caravan park tells me they turn off the hot water over summer and use it as cold. They let the bore water fill the disconnected hot water system to cool, although when I tried this out I couldn't tell the difference. Some people are adverse to drinking the bore water. I was by no means fussy and after being cooled in a fridge it made no difference.
I tried my best to sleep in the next day but my body and the million Galahs in the surrounding trees had other ideas. A walk through the Sunday ghost town in search of breakfast in the drizzling rain and I'm pleased to find a market in the street. I have no need for any new material possessions at this stage so I simply browse and wander the street before seeking out a pie or two. In the remainder of the day I fuel up, absolutely surprised as to have not lost any weight so far having travelled 1200km.
This is now the furthest I have ever ridden my BMX in a single trip. surpassing my previous best my 100km. Its going to get easier and harder at the same time as I slowly move forward into the desert country. I'm constantly told that I'm out here at the wrong time of year and "Its only going to get hotter" wherever I go. I am aware of this and it only adds to the excitement.
The noisy Galahs become my alarm clock. Flying around in their pairs they are a tranquil sight, but when the pairs meet in a group they won't and can't keep quiet. John came over to wish me well and say goodbye. He tells me "You've got a southerly". I had already checked the morning northerly wind and poor John was mistaken, although it was I that would have to suffer.

Over the sad looking Warrego river again on the exit to town I continue north into the wind. The red dirt which lined the road has been replaced with grass and tall trees. Fences which followed had all but gone and I feel like I have been transported into another world. The beautiful green forest keeps my mind off the wind and yesterdays clouds remain shielding the sun. Corners had also made an appearance to the road way. Its happy trails today.

Augethella was only 85km from Chareleville and I had no intention of making it there today in this wind. While I was in Charleville I had agreed to meet my mother in Mt Isa for Christmas. I had done some quick calculations and thought it would be safe to make it there. 1160km in 23 days was about 50km a day average. As I rode into the wind I gave this more thought and it occurred to me I had not factored in rest days, strong winds, storms or breakdowns, ect. For the first time I had a time limit to be somewhere and it made me feel slightly stressed. I would have to wait a day or so to get to a telephone before I could discuss this further.
I had reached the Warrego river yet again as it snaked across the land and stopped for a rest as I spot an adjacent bridge which had obviously seen better days. It appears it was for the stock route which followed the road and again it had been a previous flood which had proven victorious. I take a look around and get close up to the river, wondering how I could sneak a dip in the brown water when the heavens begin to open up, first with a sprinkle of cooling rain before gradually getting harder. I grab my bike and seek refuge under the bridge holding the highway.

The rain gets harder and I begin to wonder if this would be my final destination for the day and I was already in my nights camp spot. Ironically if I hadn't stopped to check out the river I would be a few more kilometres up the road and soaking wet. While I sit there watching the rain water begins to pour in off the side of the bridge, into my possible camp spot and the small space where my tent would go begins to flood. I have to think fast and I grab a stick to frantically dig out a channel on either side directing the water flow towards the river. Mud flicking up on my clothes I work as fast as I can, grabbing rocks to make small dams it begins to work. The rain continues to fall and I am extremely smug about what I had just achieved as I sit back and watch the water run away from me and into the river.

The sky remains grey but the rain slowly eases. It is still have a few hours left in the day and in the course of time I choose to ride into the cool afternoon. With the wind now subsided its the only logical choice and I believe there is a rest area just up the road. Pushing my bike back to the road is a mission in itself, the ground is now soft and muddy and both my boots and my BMX sink into the mud collecting as much as possible on the way out. Puddles in the road make for light work in cleaning the mud as I ride into the cool rain soaked afternoon.

Everything is absolutely green and looks remarkably peaceful. Kangaroos gather in their masses in the fenceless surrounding forest and I sometimes forget I'm in cattle country until one bounds across the road in front of me.

Unsure of exactly how far the rest stop is I eventually start to think about finishing up for the day. I sit on the side of the road for a moment looking around at no shortage of suitable camp spots. I decide to navigate one more corner and, with fortune on my side for the second time today, a rest stop awaits.
Rest stops provide me with a table for the evening and this simple luxury adds a little comfort I would normally do without. Coupled with a wonderfully cool night a good night sleep is inevitable and depending on tomorrows weather, reaching Augathella only 35km away would be satisfactory.

The tranquillity of many Galahs and Kookaburras provides me again with a suitable alarm clock. Its 5:30am and I have stacks of time for packing up and having breakfast. I have come to really learn the importance of breakfast. Taking a few extra moments of a morning to do this right can make all the difference to the day ahead.
A truck driver in Charleville had told me its an uphill run all the way to Longreach and so far he seems to be correct. The road follows the contour of the land which leads into rolling hills and the forest thins out giving me a picturesque view. Today's headwind is minimal and morning progress sees me getting closer to Augathella sooner than I had anticipated.

I spot a most unusual tree just off the road. Its fascinatingly different to any other tree I have ever seen and later learn its called a bottle tree. As you might expect its shaped like a bottle and as I move forward I spot more and more across the countryside. They come in all sizes, tall, short, fat and thin each one catches my eye as I pass spotting them from the road both near and far.

Its only 10am when I seem my first indication of how far I am from Augathella. 'Augathella 25km, Home of the meat ant'. A lack of any real research as to where I was heading makes way for these daily surprises. No point in stopping now I ride to the end of the Mitchell highway. Turning onto the Landsborough highway, I will follow this road all the way to Cloncurry, 120km from Mt Isa.

Augathella is a well groomed town with luscious green parks and bottle trees everywhere. Famous for meat ants able to strip a carcass of meat within days when left near a nest. A great place to stop for a long lunch and to plot out the remainder of the day. I visit the phone box to call Nicole and my mum and say hello to the green frog living inside. Green frogs love phone boxes probably due to the insects they attract at night time.

Sitting in the shady park I'm given a chance to watch the few townsfolk go about their lives. Everyone seems relatively friendly but I sit and cant help but feel there might be a few uncle dads in town. I feel energised and even with ominous clouds coming from the north I make the decision the continue into the afternoon. I'm told about another rest stop 30km or so up the road and I feel like I can make it.

Just out of town a swarm of Kite Hawks fill the air. Id seen plenty of these but no where near this magnitude. The wind has picked up again and the road is defiantly on a long slow incline. I am slowly conquering the wind and speed is of no concern, provided its further forward. Another beautiful stretch of road lined with green grass and trees, at times giving way to surrounding farm land and the red earth on which it sits.

A police car stops me and enquires about my trip and makes no mention of my helmet strapped to the front of my bike which hasn't been warn since Dubbo. He tells me the rest stop is just up the road, advice I always take with a grain of salt as 'just up the road' in a car and 'just up the road' on a BMX can be perceived very differently. As it turns out he was right and within the hour I'm there.

Its a bit of a sad looking rest area with no water, scarce trees and little grass. A Toyota Landcruiser sits under a tree in the corner and from what I can see the occupants look a bit shady. I wave with no response and setting up here makes me feel uneasy. Perhaps this is me keeping my wits about me or just unnecessary paranoia, never the less I will move up the road.
As it happens there are now few places to camp. The amount of trees have dwindled and thinned out and finding a spot proves difficult. Eventually I settle on a place behind some thin trees giving little protection from the road in some dry uneven dirt. Hunger has gotten the better of me and I cook a feast before even thinking about setting up my tent. While I do so, meat ants begin to congregate around my feet slowly taking away bits of vegetables and rice I had dropped. Strangely they leave me alone and unlike their smaller black ant cousins don't even bother climbing over my shoes. These are certainly clever ants. In my mind though I don't really care how clever these ants are I don't particularly feel like setting up my bed near a meat ant nest and once again I'm in pursuit of another camping spot.
For the first time I find myself riding in the late afternoon. Id ridden at dawn but was always where I needed to be by dusk. The traffic had died down to the odd road train, the wind let up and the pending sunset delivers much cooler air than the day. I have a magnificent view of the open countryside yet again. Covered in green grass, on top a crest I can see the vastness laid out before me. It never ceases to amaze me how I can simply turn a corner or over a crest and the landscape changes almost instantly. I'm left with only minimal light when I find my camp. Just off the road there are very little trees but long grass and the cover of darkness to hide me from the world. Better yet no ants, and with the sun disappearing the flies follow. An awesome day!

Perhaps due to yesterday evenings hyperactivity I have had a terrible sleep, woken by the whistling wind and my tent partially down in one corner slapping against my feet. I had camped in fairly soft ground and in the rush to set up in the final light I had failed to sink a peg in far enough. Every effort to make Tambo, 70km from where I camped, would be made today. The wind is as strong as its been so far and continues from the north.

I had made it further than I thought yesterday and soon into the morning I was only 60km from Tambo. A day off will be my reward having travelled 200km in three days keeping in the schedule of reaching Mt Isa for Christmas.

I waved goodbye to the South West as Central West Queensland was now my path. The road continued slightly up when another police car pulls up along side. A fellow cyclist who has never seen anyone out here on a BMX and shares with me that he wouldn't be caught dead out here on his bike, even with aero bars (whatever they are, but they sound aerodynamic). I didn't feel it wise for me to share my thoughts on his lack of courage in the wind and as usual I played it down. Especially when again there was no mention of my helmet.

The wind was definitely strong and wearing me down fast. At times I lose my cool and yell, at the wind, a variety of swear words. This amounts to nothing except me having to calm down. On foot again the road flattens out and, in the blink of an eye, the trees are gone. Again exposed and tiring fast. The only pleasant vegetation are small purple flowers, sort of like little purple daisy's, in the grass along the road. Its a long, straight, flat road ahead of me, seemingly endless.

Into the wind the sun belts down as I seek out a tree. I have to walk a bit off the road across the dry ground, unsure of the thorn situation ready to ruin my day. I feel especially hardcore today out here as I sit and wave to the passing cars. All of them wave back, out here on my own I have never felt alone.

I try my hardest to continue across the flat as I near the horizon. The road begins a slight decline as I enter the Lake Eyre Basin.

The grand sky once again fills up with my afternoon friend the clouds, and perseverance gets me as further than I can imagine. In the last 20km the road swings around to the west easing the wind off my face and the end of the day is in sight. Another swarm of Kite Hawks flies overhead, perhaps these scavengers are sizing me up waiting for me to fail. Today was not their lucky day.

I had now travelled 1350km and was nearing the centre of Queensland. In retrospect the ride so far has been quite forgiving. Its easy to forget yesterdays adversity when the sun rises with a new day, every day.

Welcome To Queensland : Part 1

It was 9am before I managed to leave Doug's house and as soon as I stepped outside the hot wind gave me second thoughts about carrying on today. None the less I was packed and on my way. As I walked the 2km corrugated dirt road back to the highway it was evident that today would be tough as I leaned into the wind. Its 250km to Cunnamulla and to date this is the longest stretch without any real convenience, so whether or not I had enough food was a mere guess. I was now carrying a full load of water too which added 10kg to the bike. The induction continued.

Training on the job was taking its toll and today I was struggling. It was only about an hour before I parked myself under the nearest tree giving me a chance to try out the small chair I picked up in Bourke, a luxury I thought I could do without was now a blessing.
I tried my best to carry on into the morning. It wasn't until I saw my first emus that my spirits were lifted. Like most animals I had encountered so far they are timid at best and quickly race into the bush, first pausing before their long slender neck straightens out, and their off. It was quite a sight to see and it makes me let out a big "Woo Hoo!" I punch the air as if to cheer them on. Out of the corner of my eye I notice a straggler left behind by his mates, it runs along side before overtaking me and springs across the road and disappears into the bush.

The wind is thwarting efforts to push on. I have given myself two days to reach Enngonia which is 90km from Bourke and before lunch reaches I feel completely spent. The temperature has risen and for the first time since Dubbo I am on foot. Driven by the chance of finding a better camping spot I eventually succumb to the day and retire. I sit and wait for the sun to go down, occupying my time by dealing with the flies and filling myself with food. As I attempt to sleep I can feel my sweat pool up beneath me, I am knackered and before long I'm deep asleep.

The sun on my face wakes me and now all I have to do is let my body catch up. I feel stiff and sore after only 35km yesterday and when I exit my tent the immediate barrage of flies quickens my movements. The air has a touch of cool, unlike the microwave I had to deal with yesterday, and coupled with the lack of wind makes for a pleasant ride.

I am humming along not wishing to stop and lose my rhythm until the first wild goats appear on the roadside. A pack of about ten look completely startled as soon as we detect eachother and before I can get my camera out they're gone.
The scenery is absolutely dry and the red earth beams from either side of the road. As I trudge up a long hill a 4WD slows along side me looking for the obligatory thumbs up. We exchange smiles before he speeds off.
Its as if I have been in a trance all morning as I am surprised to reach Enngonia just before 11am. Its a tiny place and like any place in the outback with a population of more than 5 there is a pub which doubles as the post office/general store and caravan park (or patch of grass and a tree). I peek at the thermometer as I wait for the pub to open and at 11am, for the second day in a row, its tipping 40 degreees in the shade.

Continuing on today is useless and the pub would become my home for the remainder of the day. Owned by an ex shearer, Greg, and excellent host lets me camp out the back and have a shower before sitting quietly in the pub until the sun goes down.
Enngonia is located on the Warrego River 40km from the NSW/QLD boarder and unfortunately this section of the river has been bone dry for the past two years (or in Australian, 'Dry as a dead dingo's donger'). I take a walk after lunch to check it out and the offensive dry heat quickly forces me back inside.

I'm locked in the Enngonia pubs backyard until 8am when Greg arrives to let me out. There are promises of a repeat of yesterdays heat and the immediate plan is to make Barringun situated only 40km away on the boarder. A gentle morning ride through the outback awaits.
Moments after leaving the sealed road becomes dirt, its loose and rocky making for difficult momentum and would continue for the next 5km. I use this opportunity to walk for a while and take a good look around. I grin as I review the scenery, amazed at myself as to where I was.

The wind continues to keep my pace to a minimum and Barringun is entered before the midday sun can bite. Barringun is smaller that Enngonia and is home to the oldest publican in Australia. Mary Crawley of the Barringun Pub is 90 years old. Although accommodation and food are no longer available, she still manages to serve drinks to passers by from the confides of the bar which seem to double as her living room.

As its food and a place to camp is what I am after I continue to the roadhouse just around the corner. I expected a big shiny roadhouse as I have always known on the main highways. Instead I am met with a tin shed as rustic as it gets although beaming with character.
I am greeted inside by Betty who works here with her son Darryl. I decide to splurge on an air con shack for the night but am left disappointed as the two available are already taken. For $5 I can camp in the old outdoor kitchen, an open tin shed teeming with flies and creaking as the wind blows. It seems like a fair trade off to be able to also use the facilities and relax in the air conditioned roadhouse. After all, I need to adapt to this heat sooner or later. The third day at 40degrees + is testing me in these early stages. Stern warnings of the imminent humidity of the north are described as "heaps worse" than the dry heat of my current location.

Using the shower is a test in itself. The knobs are unmarked and I turn what I think is the cold, waiting, only to feel warm water flowing from the shower head. I give it sufficient time before switching taps and almost instantly scorching hot water flows. I have since learnt that bore water is warm at the best of times and it will have to do.
I meet Daryl, another ex shearer, who owns the roadhouse and caters for the trucks which frequent this route travelling from Sydney to Darwin, much the same as myself. Albeit sans truck. "Make yourself at home" he tells me making me feel ever so comfortable to hang out in his tin shed for the afternoon and making sure I have enough water to take with me for the final stretch to Cunnamulla. "Its too bloody hot to camp out there, come with me. Ill shout ya." Daryl takes me upstairs to a bed sit he keeps reserved for visiting family. There is an air conditioner and a bathroom at my disposal. He is sure the air con blows cold and we turn it on and leave it to do its thing. I am then given the run down as to avoiding his guard dog on my exit in the morning. A genuine snarling, crazy eyed, vicious dog tethered by a thick chain. It runs at me as soon as it picks up my scent only to be halted as the chain tensioned around its neck, reminding me of the dog from a FogHorn LegHorn cartoon. I park my bike next to a sheep in the shed and wait for the cooler evening to retreat upstairs for an early night.
The heat had, unfortunately not dissipated from my new quarters as the air conditioner blew cool air faintly into the room. I thought perhaps it would be more comfortable outside but I didn't want to seem ungrateful. If it wasn't for the running water so close I would have surely moved.
Cunnamulla is now 115km away and I rise before the sun. I feel especially determined this morning, and after a couple of easy days I feel pumped to go for it. Although I wasn't checking the weather forecast as I went, kind locals on my travels continually give me updates and today's forecast was much the same as the previous three days, 40+.

Barringun was right on the boarder and within moments I was in QLD, another milestone picking up my spirits. Determination to make today's distance stops me from absorbing the majesty of the sunrise in the outback. Few photos are taken as I put my head down utilising the cool air and minimal wind.

35km flies by and I begin to feel optimistic before the debacle of the day is established, A flat rear tyre forces stoppage.
Changing the rear tube is a mission as the rack and tension and alignment of the rear wheel and chain add to the time consumption. Only moments into the task and a ute pulls up. Steve takes care of many of the properties in the area and happily offers assistance. He wants to drive me to Cunnamulla but I must refuse. He is genuinely worried about me out here, especially with the imminent heat. He leaves me some water anyway which i quickly consume.

Back on the Highway and the terrain becomes extremely flat and open once again, with only few trees offering relief. Before I can even find my rhythm again my rear tyre begins to deflate. Had I underestimated the harshness of the landscape and the thorny shrubs which line the highway? I am forced to push my bike a couple of kilometres with a flat tyre to locate the nearest tree. It was easily 40 degrees already at 11am and it would not be fortuitous to stop in the sun for any lengthy period of time. Another car passes before turning back and offering me a lift, "You know its going to be 45 today" information I was aware of and I smile as if its nothing. Reluctantly I refuse as I hastily change another tube. With only one patched tube left as a spare. I carefully inspect my tyre as I had done previously and under closer inspection and now notice small thorns completely embedded into the tyre. Although they don't protrude on the inside I take the extra time removing them with a pair of pliers before reassembling.

The wind had now picked up and it feels as if someone has their hand on my chest pushing me back. Along the roadside locusts fill the grassy shrubs, and like some sort of locust mexican wave, they crash into me in there hundreds as I pass. I feel like I am in a microwave as I lean into the wind, on foot, searching for the next tree. Distance is distorted in the heat and perseverance finds me shade. Its now incredibly hot, I wonder what the hell I'm actually doing out here as I refuse one last offer of a lift from a passer by. Its takes all my resolve to refuse this one as I try to act tough. All my fluids are now extremely warm and any chance of cooling down is now a battle of patience as I sit under a tree and rest.
Flies have increased ten fold and locusts now jump around in the dry grass at my feet. As long as I stay still the flies settle on my body, slight movements sending them back into the air around my face with a deafening buzz. My appetite is all but gone so I draw energy from a tube of condensed milk I had been carrying since home.

Scattered clouds begin to roll in temporarily shielding the sun, this is when I would make my move from tree to tree. I will on the rain, looking up to the sky hoping for any pause from the heat, even if just for a moment. While perched under a tree I decide to accept a ride from the next car that stops. Ironically the traffic has now completely stopped and not a car is to be seen. Was this divine intervention perhaps? Maybe its too hot to be even driving around and I seem to be the only living thing silly enough to be out here. Apart from the insects there is not another living sole to be seen. All I can do is wait it out, feeling completely drained.
The afternoon rolls on and the sky brings some welcome shade. As soon as the sun is hidden its as if the temperature drops a couple of degrees instantaneously. I somehow summon the energy to move on, perhaps driven only by the tube of condensed milk I had consumed. My water was beginning to run low and for the first time I have to ration as there is nowhere to get drinking water until Cunnamulla.

I remember being told of the QLD stock route, bore water drinking stations used for cattle driven up the countryside. These are signposted with a picture of a drinking cow and a distance from the road. Faintly I can see one of these signs and as I approach I see there is a trough and a water tank only a couple of hundred meters from the road. I leave my bike, reluctant to take it from the sanctuary of the thorn free road and walk over to inspect. To my absolute delight I find a trough filled with bore water. A little green but perfect to bath in, a genuine oasis in the outback. In a flash my day has been turned around. I need not go any further, at last check I had somehow travelled 60km leaving me in a prime position to blast on to Cunamulla in the morning 55km away.

I retrieve my BMX and set up camp in the open, spending the remainder of the day's light bathing in the cool bovine drink, watching the local birdlife. I watch the sun go down as the horizon puts on a display of lightening 360 degrees around me. What seems as if an inevitable storm never reaches me as I drift off, pleased to have persevered. The alarm is set for 5am, hell bent on not being stuck again and with only two litres of water left I would have to be quick in the morning.

I wake before my alarm, half hanging outside my open tent on the ground. The flies begin their attack straight away and all I can think about is a cool drink and a rest in Cunnamaulla. This was now my 8th day in a row on the bike and I was due for a day off.
Rationing water was more difficult than I thought and my kidneys were working overtime as I used my last ounces of energy to make a dash for town. I knew my water was getting low so I had to hurry.
I could see roadworks in the distance and fatigue forces me off the bike. Slowly walking I reach the first traffic controller, his first words to me are "Would you like a cold drink mate?" I couldn't have been more grateful and feelings of yesterday afternoons revelations came over me. I was extremely grateful of the kind natured stranger. He tells me I'm only 15km from Cunnamulla and I know I would be safe soon. I move slowly through the roadworks stopping to chat with the other workers, all bemused as to why I was out here on my BMX. I felt extremely empowered.
With nothing left in the tank I make it to Cunnamulla. Walking through town to the information I sit slumped in a chair on the balcony of the building. Mik,e the information guy, comes outside to greet me with a big smile and a firm handshake. An absolutely pleasant bloke directing me to a cool drink. I decide on some menial accommodation for the next few days, somewhere to recover in a cool room with a comfortable bed. Mike suggests the pub where he tells me Bob would happily take care of me. At that point I remember Greg from Girallimbone had suggested this very place about a week ago.
It was not to disappoint and had everything I required, a cold shower, food and a bed. Everything I had dreamt of over the past couple of days was now a reality. I was happy and safe in Cunamulla "Where the handshake's stronger and the smile lasts longer!"

To be continued....