25/04/26 Bush Camp to Pooncarie

The little girl had pink cowboy boots and carried a soft drink in a pink sequinned stubby holder. "Hello," she said.  "You're riding a bicycle."
"I am."
"Do you have a car?"
"I left it behind.  I'm just riding my bicycle instead."
She thought about this and discarded it as a train of thought not worth riding.  She held up her stubby holder, pointing to a gap in the sequins.  "One's missing."

"So it is.  You'll have to find a new one and stick it on."

She thought about that too, then turned tail and ran back into the beer garden of the Pooncarie Pub, where I heard her start a conversation with her mother about where one might procure a sequin and some glue.  Not wishing to meet a mother who had just been given a mission she most assuredly didn't want, I acted like the coward I am and slunk into the Pooncarie Pub by another door.  But that was at the end of the day: let's start at the beginning.

A bright half moon washed out the stars when I went to bed, but at 5am it had set and I lay snuggled in my sleeping bag watching the milky way spin into space as stars danced and infrequent satellites drew lazy lines across the sky. As the milky way faded from sight the birds woke up and somewhere a kid started bleating for its mother. A wedgetailed eagle watched me as I packed up camp.

The early morning road.

Other than birds I haven't seen a lot of wildlife this trip. I suspect that's due to two things: first of all I'm slow and unusual so the wildlife sees me coming and runs away before I get there; and second, the recent rain means feed and water is everywhere and therefore the wildlife has dispersed rather than concentrating around water. 

The road was steady going, slow but rideable. I was truely untethered: my phone was flat and the battery bank, for whatever reason, failed to charge it. I may also have enjoyed being untethered and didn't bother to rig my solar system. The lack of a map was not a problem because the day's navigation was simple. Ride up the High Darling road until it ended, then turn right and ride until I entered Pooncarie. I still had my satellite zapper should emergencies emerge.

So I rode.

Sacred Datura, a highly toxic introduced weed.  But pretty.

Goanna was here.

Thing with lots of legs got turned around here.

Time ticked past, measured by changing shadow angles. The wind blew. The land around me gradually dried out, the standing water beside the road disappeared. It was still green but the heavy storms had obviously missed this area. 

Resting spot.

I rode past the entrance to the Ginkgo mine, which confused me because gingko is a tree but Google informed me that Gingko was only a name and in reality the mine extracted titanium and zircon materials. Regardless, it added the kind of destruction that heavy trucks bring to gravel roads, before I entered the magical land of sealed roads again. 

The bitumen took me down to the bridge over the Darling, where milky green water lay still and quiet between steep grassless banks. I had planned to spend time beside the river here but access was limited so on I went. The showers at Pooncarie were calling me.

Pooncarrie Pub was pumping, sausages sizzling out the front, live music in the beer garden. Just in time I realised I'd crashed the after party of the Anzac parade, and that was where I met she of the sequinned stubby holder.

I asked for a key to the power box at the Pooncarie All-Purpose Park. The bartender looked at me, processing slowly. "I've run out of keys," he said. I took that to mean that there was already a full complement of grey nomads down at the park. "I'll have a lemon squash please," I said. "And can I charge my phone while I'm drinking it?"

"Sure." He gave me a lemon squash and walked away. I charged my phone, drank my lemon squash as slowly as I could, and reassured my loved ones that I was still alive. Then I left (avoiding small girls in pink cowboy boots) and rode my bike down to the Park, set up my tent beside the river, said hello to dozen or so nomads, spent $1 on 5 minutes of the best hot shower in the world, and realised that I had not paid for either my campsite or my lemon squash.  Oh well.

Home for the night: Pooncarie Mult-Purpose Park.

I walked back up to the Pub for takeaway dinner, the dining room having closed in honour of Anzac Day. Along the way I met another Pooncarrie local.

The pub was still pumping. Two-up was in progress in the street and a live musician was making up in volume what they lacked in talent. I ordered another lemon squash while I was waiting for my pizza. "I didn't pay for the last one," I told the barman. "And I haven't paid for camping yet, either."

He looked at me, processing. Then he charged me for two lemon squash and didn't mention the camping. I decided I'd tried hard enough and decided to run with the free camping idea.

Back at camp I ran out of stomach before I ran out of pizza. I did the rounds of the grey nomads, offering my pizza to anyone who had a fridge in which to store it. A large group sat happily around a fire pit, drinking hops water and grape juice. "Grab a chair and join us!" they yelled. Somebody brought out a set of bagpipes and played a shakey version of 'Scotland The Brave', to which the nomads cheered and clapped and asked for encores, their standards no doubt lowered by a liberal application of hops water.

I took my cue and disappeared into the shadows. I just didn't have the energy.   Look at me, all party pooper and tucked up in bed by 8pm. That's what riding a heavy bicycle on bumpy roads all day does to you.

Pooncarie waters.

Grand old tree at Pooncarie Park.