Day 5 – Into the routine

Know the empty road pics get boring, but I'm author and editor, so plenty
 more on the way

Today I finally locked into the routine. Up before sunrise. Motel breakfast organised the night before at the foot of the bed and out into the pre-dawn. Cleared out the last of the big hills in the cool of the morning, and it was then out onto the gently rolling plains for the rest of the day, as the roads got straighter and straighter. It's now like this all the way to the Flinders Range in 5 days or so.

Bar an hour or so at the end of the day in creepy scrub forest it was all big bleakly beautiful wheat farming country. Huge great horizons dotted with dark brooding hills. As a cyclist it’s an immense thing to be able to see your whole route out to the horizon, cover it and then look back. Magical stuff.

Cloud and the odd spit of rain kept the heat intensity off all day, and bar a 90 mins lunch in Temora it was pure trucking all day. And would’ve been perfect with one huge exception. The humidity brought the flies out in hoards. We all know the cork hat is a borderline xenophobic joke these days, but it has its origins in real experience. The flies out in the country are tedious beyond words. Constantly round your face as you’re climbing, in your eyes, up your nose and in three cases down my throat. They appear at 09:30 on the dot and don’t bugger off till late afternoon. It’s maddening at points.

Flat out

It’s a shame as little else on these roads frustrates me. Cars and trucks appear every 5 odd mins, the road and shoulders are wide, and with the very occasional exception everyone is decent about giving you space. This is especially true of road train truckers. Hauling two trucks one behind the other, you see them in the mirror pull into the middle of the road and pass you with a wave. In fact pretty much everyone waves. Coming the other way it’s often just a relaxed finger or hand off the steering wheel, but it’s civilised and civilising.

Sadly though, there appear to be two tedious sub tribes intent on ruining this for everyone. First there is the standard minority of tedious provicial middle age men that worship small minded right wing thought so beloved by imbeciles like J. Clarkson. The general rule is more tonnage of metal you're driving rules the road. They make little or no attempt to move over, even when the road is effectively 3 lanes wide. It’s such a shame, they are such a minority, but you have to be careful with everyone coming up behind as a result. My only wish is they choke on their walnut saloon dashboards.

Churchillian stuff

The other group is actually quite hilarious. In a fair few towns there appear to be car loads of late teens whose sole focus in life is to drive round town shouting about their, yours or other people’s privates. It’s the same every time. A late 90s saloon car in poor shape pulls up, a male driver or passenger leans out and informs you which person's privates they wish you to consider. The other KFC pimpled youths in the car wet themselves and they drive off thrilled, mission accomplished. Can’t hate them for it, but it still comes as a shock when it happens. It would also be nice to get some variety from the relentless focus on people's bits.

But all in it was a good, solid day. Even had time to stop in a sleepy little roadhouse for a drink and a chat with the bored owner Harry, who didn’t really fill me with confidence. He revealed he hadn’t seen a cyclist in a while, then appealed to my vanity by ask me for a photo. This worried me even more as I hit the road again. I wasn’t really planning for this mission to be so unusual it merited a phone snap. Maybe the lycra clad is just his interest area. Who knows.

Home sweet home

Five miles further on and I was done for the day. Finally got to stay in my first pub in Ardlethan, the grandly named London Hotel. The room smelt musty and was only really functional, but for £25 I was not going to complain. Food was good, and the company at the bar dynamite. Locals from the tiny village, contractors in the area and basically anyone else passing sat round the huge bar cracking jokes and generally being very Aussie and hospitable. The agreed joke of the evening was “you know we have cars in Australia” and I didn’t have the heart to tell them I’d heard it multiple times already. To be fair it’s a good gag, and it’s always followed up with a “no, seriously, good on you mate, good luck.” It’s a decent way of dealing things. Crack a joke, follow up with sincerity.

Miles: 94 Harden, Temora, Ardlethan

Breakfast – Weat Bix (the “a” went missing on the way down here, or maybe we put it in, not sure), toast and tea in the motel

Lunch – McDonalds, Temora – ¼ pounder meal and coke. First time I’ve stooped this low, but needed wifi. It turned out wifi was broken, so also bought a milkshake at the rather basic Warathan Café, which came up trumps on wifi.

Dinner – London Hotel - Chicken Kiev, chips and Salad – Very garlicky, but really not bad