We think the Boomtown Rats may have almost got it right with their late seventies hit "I don't like Mondays....". A longer than expected day in the saddle covering about 30 kilometres was a little
premature given the horses present lack of work.
A pretty early start this morning, riding out about 8.15am after a 6.00am feedup. Good news arrived in the form of a phone call - Ian's stolen clothes had turned up after being
found at Cox Peninsular Road, a few kilometres from where they were stolen, and were ready for collection from Palmerston Police Station. This was a fortunate thing, as it is on the way back into town where Bruce had arranged to get a
quote for repairs of his car.
Bek got in a bit of trouble from the local authorities, as she was driving the escort car which had a non-functioning amber flashing light. She went on ahead and Ken managed to find a quick fix of
the broken wire and broken globe.
Had a couple of riders join us for shorter sections today and they thoroughly enjoyed the ride. Barry Pett is a cancer survivor and learnt to ride at the age of thirty-four. It is always really
nice to meet people like him, as he has time to help out with the RDA teaching riding to people with disabilities - even though he has a disability as well! He has a brilliant outlook on life and had some wise words in "no
matter what crap life throws at you, it always prepares you for something that may happen later on. Sometimes we wonder why the hell things happen... and later we realise that if that thing had not of happened we would not be able deal
with something else that happens in future."
The most bizarre thing about Ian meeting Barry was finding out the name of his horse. His quarterhorse is registered as "Bozzy-Boz" - only one day into the ride and a strange
spin of planets has a horse with the same name as Duane Boswell's nickname turns up!
The team of riders arrived for a late lunch, where Catriona looked a little worse for wear, having not acclimatised from the Melbourne cold quite yet
Another mechanical drama today - an exploded brake drum on the horse float... $160 thrown at it and an hour of labor and it was brand new again!
After the team had the horses settled and watered, it was time to head back to
town to pick up Colin's truck, grab a bit more horse tucker, get quotes for Bruces car and do a quick shop prior to heading down to Adelaide River and Pine Creek.
Dan, Lucas, Bek, Colin, and Barto all went to Adelaide River for the
Territory Day Fireworks whilst John, Yola, Catriona and Mat went to the Noonamah Pub for the "Topless Night" (one of the local barmaids impresses visitors with her curvaceous form each night). Ian, Bruce, Dale and Ken
stopped back at camp, as they were quite late back from Darwin after getting quotes and leaving the damaged car for the insurance assessor to view.
Nothing like tapping out about six hectic and action packed days worth of journal entries when one is tired...
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Larrimah is situated sth of Mataranka on the Stuart Hwy. Larrimah was once the southern extremity of the North Australia Railway from Darwin, that closed in 1976.
Larrimah was used as a transhipping location
from road to rail. The Pub features a large model of the Pink Panther and replica of a giant size Darwin Stubby outside." (Holds 2250 gallons. The original is two litres).
"The pub was actually moved from Birdum after World War Two. (1952)
The Larrimah Hotel is a true outback NT pub."
*Thanks Glenn and Dominik. The Larrimah Hotel boasts the "highest" bar in the Northern Territory.
At 181.04 metres above sea level. Is that the top of the Bar??

It was in Larrimah where I met Fritz the mad German cyclist. I was sitting minding my own business reading War and Peace when this excited looking and sun burnt man ran up to me and shouted “YOU WITH BICYCLE YA???”. He sat himself down without waiting for an answer and started talking at 500 miles an hour in a strange German/English hybrid. We did the usual where you been, where you going and it turns out he’s been cycling round the world for the last three years and has done pretty much the entire South and North America coast line including Alaska. I’d read about this guy when I was researching my trip and it just feels weird that I’m now a fledgling member of this group of people doing stupid things like cycling the Oz outback. People who I consider to be my heroes I’m meeting in roadhouses in the middle of Oz. The strange thing is that even though I’m not on a level with the likes of Fritz, other people now look at me in the same way. I don’t feel crazy, brave or even that what I’m doing is special and it just seems like this is what I do. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel like it’s me that’s doing this. It’s like I’m watching someone else cycle round the world.
Another interesting thing is that because people I meet instantly assume that what I’m doing is more interesting than what they’re doing, it’s difficult to have a two way conversation. I ask people what they’re
doing, where they doing and they usually mumble something and then say it isn’t as exciting as what I’m doing, like they feel guilty for not cycling through the outback. It can become frustrating because I love hearing about what other
people have been up to and what they’ve seen but I have to really make the effort to get them talking about themselves. On the plus side everyone wants to take pictures of me with the bike so I’ll be in people’s photo collections all over
the world.
At Renner I also met a French guy hitch hiking round the world. For those who have seen Monty Python’s Life of Brian he was just like the mad guy living in the hole with the Juniper Tree. In a previous email I’d said that it
seemed like a great way to travel but I’ve changed my mind for a couple of reasons. The first is that hitch hikers don’t have that ability just to get up and leave if they don’t like somewhere. They’re always dependent on the help of
others and I’m not sure I could do that constantly. The second is that no one respects the hitchhiker. People just seem to view then as someone trying to get a free ride in life. The view is more prevalent in places where resource is
scarce but I think I’d rather know I was getting round on my own steam. The guy got a lift eventually but not before he’d had to hassle a lot of people. People don’t mind offering help out here but they don’t like being hassled or to feel
you’re trying to get something for free. Everyone just has to work too hard for what they’ve got for that to wash.
I stopped off at a rest area 30 miles after Renner as I had the mother of all head winds and had no way of making it to
the next roadhouse before the midday sun kicked in. While I was at the rest area the kindness of the various travelers came to the fore and I had a constant supply of people stopping, making sure I was alright and giving me food and drink.
It’s mostly the oldies traveling Oz with their gigantic caravans that seem to stop. Think they’re called the grey nomads as they spend months, even years just traveling round Oz after retirement. It’s like having loads of grandparents and
they’re always worrying and fussing I’m fully watered, fed and know exactly how hot it is. Some old fella stopped off just to tell me it was 42C. As long as they don’t start giving me dire Christmas jumpers then I’m happy.
I’ve also had
a few conversations with the guys driving the road trains. I like to check if they can see me at night and the reassurance that they can see the “dickhead on the bike” from miles away is good to hear. The road trains all talk to each other
via radio which is how I’ve come to be known as the “dickhead on the bike”. They’ll go past me and then radio the other trucks just to let them know where I am. One of the blokes told me the truckers know where I am better than any GPRS
system.
I slept up at the old Tennant’s Creek Telegraph station two nights ago. It’s an historic building from the 1800’s but there’s no one around at night so a good place to camp. I did the tourist tour on my own at 2 in the morning
and noticed that some guy had cycled a similar route to mine in 1899. The roads there would have been single track dirt roads with literally nothing for thousands of miles. When you read things like that it gives you a real sense of
perspective.

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Larrimah

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