While Not Working

Wilcannia was the part of bicycle touring that happened in between riding the bicycle.  No bicycle riding happened at all, other than a quick spin out to East Tilpa Road and back again.  Still here. The day dawned cold and clear with a bright southerly breeze, perfect for drying out roads. In between regularly checking the road status I explored Wilcannia and conducted quality control sampling at the cafe.  The stretch of river on which Wilcannia lay was originally inhabited by the Barkindji, 'people of the river', the descendants of whom continue to live in Wilcannia. Colonisation was not kind to the Barkindji and Wilcannia is considered one of the most socially disadvantaged postcodes in NSW. The town was an alcohol free zone, so all the pubs were closed and shuttered. The Community Grocery Store opened every day apart from when it didn't.  The Council Chambers housed admin staff who couldn't tell me why the road was closed or when it would open. On Tuesday afterno...

 Rain spattered on the tent and I dithered from 4am, reading the weather forecast and tying to guess the condition of the road north. The problem lay in the black soil of the flood plains. At best it was like a highway, at worst it was a sea of dust, when wet it was slippery glue. I met a couple from Charleville while I was hanging out in the laundry charging my phone, and they had just come from Tilpa. He was quite excited to hear about my bicycle ride: he'd been a keen cyclist in the day, once riding from Charleville to Birdsville with a group of mates, just for fun. "Tell you what" he said, "Let's go for a run out along the road, see what it's like." So we did. It was rideable, I decided. The rain had laid the dust nicely and I was convinced that the weather was now clearing. Time to sally forth to the Wilcannia Community Grocer to stock up for the next 6 days. Myself and half the town turned up at the advertised Sunday opening hour of 09:00, ...

The sun put on a fantastic morning show and then retired behind curtains of cloud for the rest of the day.  I got under way early as rain was forecast and although it wasn't going to be a lot of rain I didn't want to get caught with all that dust turning to mud. The wind was excited from the get-go, no gentle warm-up for the day, just a blast into my face. My million fly fans took shelter on my back and panniers. I swear if I could harness flies they could have hauled me all the way to Wilcannia but the lazy beggars just freeloaded instead. I saw a fox. Despite the goat chatter that went on in the bushes all night, I saw no goats. This was the order of my day: Slog into the wind. Walk because dust. Slog into the wind. Walk because dust.  Slog into... you get the picture. The country around me showed signs of more recent rain: the dams were full and grass lined the road in places. The last 7km into Wilcannia were sealed which meant I only had the wind to contend with. I heard W...

Sometimes I do silly things. Who thinks it's a good idea, when buying her lunchtime sandwich, to also buy a chocolate bar for later? Who then stuffs it in her snack bag where it joggles around in the sun for the next 4 hours? Who then decides to eat her chocolate bar, clocks that it's a bit squidgy, opens it anyway, and then attempts to stuff it in her mouth whilst still wearing a fly net? Do you know how tricky it is to wash chocolate out of a fly net when you're being very parsimonious about water use? Alright, let's move on. Another of Menindee's old stone buildings. I visited the river on my way out of town. Before the installation of a bridge in 1927 there was no way to cross the river other than by private punt owned by a Mr Turkey Creek Smith, who lived on the river bank and kept a pet sheep to coax recalcitrant stock onto his punt for river crossings.  In 1882 the NSW Government installed a new punt which transported people and stock for free and put quite a...

 The goats had forgotten all about me by morning, and grazed contentedly past my tent as I lay and watched the rising sun slowly erase the stars.   I puttered around packing up camp, enjoying the peace and quiet, and what do you know along came a farmer on his ATV, puttering in circles across the paddock. This was quite off-putting for any morning activities which required partial nudity, as I had to keep a wary eye on him (could have been a her, I couldn't tell) in case they decided to come and say a jolly good morning. Which they didn't, and I escaped to the road with my dignity intact. The road was brand new and as such quite boring. Construction had cleared all the trees away: there were no random puddles of shade in which to take a breather and no bushes to shelter twittering little birds. Fences marched along on both sides, sternly dressed in barbed wire and netting and I didn't see a single goat that wasn't safely behind them. I dreamed of the motel room wai...

Morning in Pooncarrie. Rain moths spending their short adult lives in fruitless combat with the lights on the ablutions block in Pooncarie. You wouldn't believe it from the photos I've shown of the Darling, but the paddle steamer trade extended well up this stretch of river, and the Pooncarrie wharf was considered flood-proof due to being built on two levels and therefore accommodating large variations in river flow. The grey nomads offered me extra water as I left the campground, careful not to step on any dead/dying rain moths. I literally had nowhere left to store 500ml of water, so I stored it in my stomach and my kidneys will thank me for it I'm sure. I stopped off at the General Store where I bought a salad roll to eat as a treat at lunch time. The thought crossed my mind that I should ask that beetroot be witheld from the roll, but I did not act on it. Instead I took my salad roll, stuffed it into my bag which was jammed under the bungees on the back of my bike be...