the towns are drying up. Of both people and beer.
I stopped in for a beer at one of those iconic style Aussie corner pubs to break up the monotony but to my great disappointment I pushed into a locked door. I peered through the dusty window and it didn’t look like it had seen a patron or heard a yarn for quite some time.
Off into the darkness with thoughts and music once again I made my way into a long, fatigue fighting night. Somewhere into South Oz I kept on motoring even though I’d promised to stop off on the way back, but the calling was on again. And this time it had me trucking along, driving faster than I had the whole trip when I’d been happy to cruise on a hunna (100kmh). I was gunning for Voldemort’s again, turning left this time over the hill and there were some backpackers out on the left, but no one on the right. Again, fatigue fizzled away but it only looked two foot or so, which it was, but very soon after getting out there, the pulse started. Two to three to four foot. Unbelievable is all I could say as for the two hours I was out there, I was on my own. Eventually two guys paddled out which kind of broke the spell, but I was satiated and ready to hit the road again, with an overwhelming stoke I just had to quench with an amber and mark an unprecedented day in my life. The desert had provided again. Slowing down the pace I actually played one of the holes out the back of one of the roadhouses, but it wasn’t much chop and I lost three balls in the scrub. As I got nearer to home I couldn’t believe how long I’d been on the road. 14,000km in four weeks just flew by and as I pulled back into Margaret River, I wasn’t quite ready for it to be over. Obviously, by the fact of pulling into a caravan shop a few towns back, I was pondering the concept of a much longer period on the road. I must have been a Gypsy or Pikey in a previous life. SUP
