We’re at a kinda bush camp, actually a rest stop we are sharing with some surfers.
We are now on the 90 miles (miles not km) of dead straight road. There was a long, hard wind out of Balladonia. Anthony broke it, Tour de France style, all the way to help ease the strain on my knee. I hope to soon return the favor. We got a preview of the actual Nullabor plain at the old telegraph station ruin. Old stone and tin roof with skinny skeletons of dead telegraphy poles that still eagerly described the days not too long ago when this lonely stretch of road was even longer. Further on we stopped to stretch, and I looked straight up into the blue evening sky with a few wisps of clouds. Only a few rocks and scrub brush edged into my peripheral vision. There was a gated road, no doubt a cattle station, that was using an old 1950s gas refrigerator as a mailbox. Curious, I opened it to find an orange flag to hold out during the road train deliveries. There was also some baking soda. I assume it was to keep it fresh.
Dusk came with brilliant shades of powder blue, purple and neon yellow. The kangaroos became active, and a mob of ten or so jumped parallel to us for nearly 300 meters in what looked like a very unhurried stride of 20 kph.
Now we eat and sleep. Tomorrow we ride for 90 miles, 146.6 km, without turning the handlebars.