Pilbara Classics

Where the bloody hell am I???
It was hot, dry and the distances stretched far into the horizon. The rocks of the Pilbara seemed to shine metallic red in the late afternoon sunlight. Ranges of exposed, towering rock stood tall around the road that managed to avoid any real hills by winding round and around. The scenery was mind-blowing - and without the undulations... You beauty!
I was really sweating now, and not because of the heat, but because I was losing spokes in my rear wheel. I was some 260km's from the nearest town (Paraburdoo) and was really kicking myself for riding unprepared.
As I rode on into the afternoon heat with worst-case scenarios playing out in my mind I spotted a van driving towards me in the distance. It slowed down as it approached me and a small man hung out of the window to ask me how I was going. When I told him that I was having troubles with the bike he smiled and pulled over past me on the side of the road. As he did this I saw the big letters on the side of his van: "bicycle support crew - Mechanic". He was driving ahead of a group of 15 odd cyclists riding through northern Australia raising funds for M.S.
I had heard whispers of the cycling group but was still blown away by my luck. The probability of finding a bicycle mechanic out in the red outback seemed slim, but here he was fixing my bike. What's more he was such a friendly man who insisted that I was doing it tougher than he, and that I sit back with a cold drink while he fixed the spokes free of charge. I donated $10 to the charity (M.S) for good measure. What luck!!!

This exercise did take time however, and head-winds slowed me further resulting in the decision to ride into darkness to make my camp spot.
So there I was, riding only in the light of my small bike lamp. There was almost zero traffic on the road. It was getting late. I was very alone. But suddenly off in the distance I spotted a light coming from a clearing not far from the road. It was a small camp-fire. I could hear voices. As I drew nearer a voice called out to me, "hey mate come and have some hot dinner with us!". I was starving by this stage and pulled in with no hesitation. A young man was sitting next to the fire with a pot of hot stew. He offered me a bowl and I tucked into the delicious feast. We began to chat and I squinted through the fire looking for the other voices I had heard. There didn't appear to be anyone else with us. The conversation grew increasingly more confusing when this man began referring to other people who I could not see. What was going on?
And so it came to pass that this young, bright, handsome man admitted to me in a moment of clarity that he was suffering from schizophrenia. We cooked bread in the fire and he gave me a lesson in baking an apple cake in the coals. He was such an amazing man and I learned a great deal as he spoke to me with honesty. He offered me some dirt to set up my tent next to his, but reluctantly I refused. In all probability I would have been safe with him, but he had mentioned that one particular character in his head was known to have a temper, and I didn't want to be around for such an event.
As I rode off into the darkness once more thinking about what had just transpired, I came across a street sign that read: (I will upload the picture when I arrive in town in a few days!)
It had been an eventful day.