Day 132 | Somewhere past Irving Creek: looks like I'm beyond where Lassiter died back in 1931

71 km | zzOz total: 6,765 km

I changed all the clocks, actually all digital devices, to NT time so I no longer have to contemplate the sky lightening up just after 4am.

There’s an hour and a half difference which encourages movement on my part at 630, not the 5am of yesterday. Now I’ll be springing up earlier, and having lunch at lunchtime not 11am.

It feels good to return to the NT after my 2 year absence. I’ve good memories even if the creeks unusually flow through the ranges not down the valleys and there’s not a lot to distinguish it from what I’ve traversed for the last 3 weeks.

There’s a ban on the sale of alcohol for much of the Territory which makes it marginally safer on the roads. It’s only been in relatively recent times that they instituted a 130 km/hour speed limit on the Stuart Highway, before that you could drive autoban style, except I don’t believe the Germans have to deal with wandering camels, or kangaroos and emus appearing from nowhere.

Despite alcohol bans the per capita intake is double that of the nearest state, the activity confined to the bigger towns in the main.

I’ve now confined myself to my palace, completely shagged out, the road is taking its toll and for the first time my forearms are feeling it. The road has been mostly sandy, but all rideable and often with that you get total bumpiness of the underlying red dirt.

A fair proportion of the day was spent riding the harder, smoother sloping banks where the cars seldom travel, an activity tinged with anxiety when encountering a softer patch, the bike slithering sideways, rider fully tensed up.

There was another return today.

Yesterday a truckie, Scotty, stopped and we had a chat, him bringing out a cold can of Coke, albeit the sugar free version, I mean, what’s the point for a bike rider other than not having to swill the warm, salty, fluid from my own bottles and later insisting on burdening me with two more.

He’d been following my tracks and noticed a silver object in the middle of the road. Oh, my stainless steel water bottle that had evaporated yesterday.

I flag down the next westward 4WD down and explain about the waterbottle and exactly where it would be found: between the border and the Docker River. I get into precise detail. 5 minutes later the lady says: No English, please speak slowly.

Humm, maybe this will work.

First car eastwards this morning stops and John gets out. I’ve already had a chat with the driver back on Monday when he handed out a cold water bottle, plastic that time.

This time, the recalcitrant bottle, water warm.

I knew I could trust those Germans, apparently they almost caused an accident in enthusiastically waving down John and the team.

There you go: that’s the nature of the Great Central Road.