Madura - Cocklebiddy 91km's, Cocklebiddy - Caiguna 65km's
It was with a feeling of great relief that I woke up in the morning on top of the world again. After a solid ten hour sleep, some sandwiches and chocolate for brekky and some careful bike maintenance, I was able to burn through the 156km's of road with minimal fuss.
I stopped at the Cocklebiddy road-house for a spot of lunch, but pushed on to the Caiguna road-house where I was hoping to camp.
The Cocklebiddy air hung heavy with the unmistakable stench of dead mice. The plague was apparently hitting this area hard, and I could hear tourists complaining and planning to move on with haste. I was only too happy to join the evacuation.
As I pulled-up outside Caiguna just on sun-set, an old, local bushy made his hatred of cyclists very clear to me, and I was careful to give him a wide berth for the remainder of the night. He was extremely drunk and had used very colourful language to indirectly threaten me. In light of this unnecessary complication, I stowed my bike close under my watchful eye, and wasted no time in befriending some tall, solid truck drivers: Mark and Greg. Mark was taking some time away from his accomplished profession in I.T - a very big change! He was sick of being called upon at 'Del', for problems around the clock, and so decided to drive trucks, where "the job finishes with the turn of a key". He was well dressed, well spoken and stood out clearly from other truck drivers I had met in the past. Greg was just a big, loud meat-head - but lovely all the same.
It was a Saturday night and Mark, Greg and I had mustered quite a large group of people to socialise with.
It was an uneventful, yet interesting evening, and I was comforted by the knowledge that I was nearing the end of the mighty Nullarbor.
From the storm-lashed coast-lines of Victoria and South Aus, to the sun-bronzed outback of W.A, I was finally feeling settled in an unsettled life-style.
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