02/05/26 Bush Camp to Wilcannia

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 Wilcannia before I saw it: there was a party in town and the music was pumping. Wilcannia's streets themselves were empty apart from a line of landcruisers outside the cafe (a Cafe! In Wilcannia!) and road trains rumbling down the Barrier Highway through the centre of town.

I crossed the Darling River on Wilcannia's heritage-listed centre lift bridge, now a foot bridge and meeting place for a million pigeons, and settled into the Victory Caravan Park.

The Victory had a brand new ablutions block with free use of the washing machines and I had neighbours who were just the right amount of chatty. I walked back into town and treated myself to an enormous salad roll which had probably been sitting in the roadhouse fridge all day, so we'll see how that settles.

The first splatters of rain fell as I snuggled into my sleeping bag. Good, I thought. The showers can come through overnight and in the morning I'll pedal off into sunshine and rainbows.

Ha!