Day 17 – Still Hilly

The slightly North Korean effort in Wudinna. They need to talk to Kimba,
the people just prefer rubbish concrete parrots, fact.

It’s calmed down a bit, but still been a hilly day to grind out rather than enjoy. A few things went my way though, but some piss poor planning meant the day ended 20 miles short of where it was meant to, resulting in a big trek down to Ceduna tomorrow.

It’s noticeably cooler as I got out on the road at first light. WiFi had packed up early last night, so hadn’t researched the weather properly. As the sun rose it became clear what was keeping the temperature down. 30 mins into the ride, I was confronted by a huge dense cloud blocking the road. Clear bright morning then a wall of cloud from the ground high off into the sky. For best part of an hour I rode through some of the thickest fog I’ve ever seen. Visibility was 15 metres tops, and all my clothes where damp from the moisture.

The hard shoulder has disappeared to almost nothing since Port Augusta meaning I’m now riding right out on the road. Usually this is little issue, but in this fog it was unnerving to say the least. Most of the tourist traffic clearly decided to wait, but I still rode along with my head sideways listening for any engine noise. As soon as anything came I was off the road and into the bushes to let things past. Sometimes it is just worth being a wimp.

But for all this I still made good progress in the cool of the morning. Combined with the fact I was heading northwest not southwest, the wind was tucked in behind me most of the day. I was into Wudinna for roadhouse lunch by 13:00, ahead of schedule and with well over half the planned day’s riding complete.

Roadhouse living begins

It was then thanks to planning or lack there of, my target slipped. Hoping for a more gentle ride into Ceduna tomorrow I’d planned to reach the little township of Poochera by the evening. Given the distances between towns here I’ve taken to calling ahead to check if there are rooms before setting off. Whilst carrying a tent, I’m pretty keen to keep it’s usage to the bare minimum. For whatever reason, I’d not bothered to call ahead to Poochera. Multiple attempts at lunch got through up a dead line.

The curious thing is the place I was trying to call was the Poochera Hotel, but in these outback towns that is the least reliable name for there to be an actual bedroom. These outback hotels are unique places. They function as pub, café, village hall, local casino, and if you are lucky have a dodgy room or two out the back with a shared bathroom. However the accommodation is an after thought, unless it is a “Hotel Motel” or a “Motel” with hotel facilities. It’s confusing.

Not really keen to ride an extra 20 miles to find nothing, I called the “Hotel” (which despite its name was a Hotel Motel. So confusing) in the village before Poochera called Minnipa. Three miles from Minnipa a motorcyclist rode up beside me and offered me a bed at his for free. Kind as the offer was, and I’m not proud to say it, but the tattoos right up over his face, and the fact he his motorbike was loaded up with “stuff [he’d] found on the municipal dump” slightly put me off. I passed on the offer.

How to spot a village

Minnipa itself was like every village here. Essentially one or two streets in dusty trees hugging a huge grain silos hard up against single track railway. Little green dusty oases in a sea of wheat fields, dominated by the imposing realities of industrial agriculture. The Hotel was dead when I arrived at 15:00, but more strikingly it was an almost perfectly preserved slice of 1985.

Nothing looked tired, just the decor, the lighting, the signage, the fruit machines, etc all looked 30 years out of place. It was as if the landlord has chosen to keep it that way in perfect nick, and when I came back through for supper it made sense. Everyone in the packed bar and restaurant looked like the prime of their life had been in the early 80s. They looked happy in a place where time had never moved on.

Whilst the landlord was helpful and friendly, unfortunately his views on race were 30 years out of date too. Whilst luckily I’ve not come across too much of this, when you do it’s hard to know what to do. Couldn’t have found his view on aborigines more stupid and narrow mined if I’d tried.

Sage advice in the roadhouse

But if he’s got to 70 holding them, there is little you can do to change his mind now and frankly on a bike out here I feel a little exposed to start a fight. Unfortunately the only real solution to these kind of views is they will die with his generation. I made my excuses and fled the bar, keen to just get away from hearing such idiocy. Sometimes it is not good to be a wimp, but you just kind of are.

Miles: 87 – Kimba – Wudinna - Minnipa

Breakfast – Standard.

Lunch – Ham wrap – Kimba Hotel packed lunch. Really not bad.

Dinner – Ham and pinapple. Not the first clue why I ordered this. It was rancid, made of formless water filled pork, like everything else it felt like something straight out the 90s.