To Derby, from Derby, back to Derby, away from Derby...again...

I awoke in Broome on the day of my departure to the devastating realisation that Tim's dog Ernie had desired my muesli-bars a little more than I did. Unfortunately they were enclosed within the pocket of my camel-bak (water container) and he had ripped through it to get at the goodies within. Bummer.
The ride into Derby was uneventful, however the sudden appearance of Boab trees were a much appreciated addition to the scenery. Each tree seemed to hold its own character, size and history. Like old gnarly men after a life time of hard work.
I had decided that it was time to proceed to the next level in difficulty by attempting a section of the famed Gibb River Rd. This meant dirt, corrugations, river-crossings and wild country. I was very excited by this. So I made my way to the visitors centre where a chorus of voices condemned the idea and told me it was not possible with my set-up. The problem with telling someone they can't do something is that they then have to. So I set out to prove them wrong... and then returned days later hanging my head in shame...
To be honest the road condition was not so bad. Passing cars sent up a wall of thick dust, and the corrugations kept my speed to a minimum, but I was prepared for this and plodded along as best I could. The scenery was unique and beautiful, and the feeling of riding a push bike through such remote country was refreshing. I was thoroughly enjoying myself.
But eventually the words of the nay-sayer's ate their way into the very core of my bike and... snap! The trailer was suddenly dragging along the ground and my rear wheel was wobbling. That bloody axle again!!! Luckily I had a spare, but with the road condition forecast to deteriorate and many km's to go, it was time to bite the bullet and head back to Derby.
Luckily I was not too far from Windjana Gorge, and made a side-trip in to experience the stunning landscape. Windjana was simply amazing. I will let the photo's do the talking, because my ramblings could go on forever.
I should mention also that these events took place over many days, and that the camp-spots were awesome.
On my return in Derby I slithered back to the caravan park taking special care to avoid the visitors centre, and then went to the Boab-Inn, the very rough pub in Derby. There I sat with a hard-earned beer to feel sorry for myself and watch the locals behaving badly. It was a relaxing end to a physically and mentally draining failure.
It was time once more to hit the highway.