As I roll east out of Keith, I notice an early pioneer dwelling that seems to be available to view. I love my early Australian History, as it's possible to find bits and pieces everywhere still, so I have to check it out.
With an adjoining implement shed with an excellent range of horse drawn farm machinery.
And a well tortured long-drop dunny (waterless outside toilet)
All up, a beautiful old homestead.
But it's time to move. I've got less than an hour of daylight left and I need to find a campsite before the roos come out and make travel risky. As I'm travelling down the road at a nice 100km/hr compared to the slower pace of earlier in the day, I feel a squirm from the back end. Pulling over, I'm hit by the waft of hot rubber and this sight....
Blast! This's thrown a spanner in the works. I move off the bitumen road onto a dirt track running parallel, but this is just a roadside trailbike track with no real camping areas away from the road. I keep going a couple hundred metres further, into a farm driveway and meet a farmer refueling near a shearing shed. The farmer is friendly and suggests I make use of the shearing shed, but warns they're having a problem with plagues of mice. It's been a wet summer and a mild, mainly dry winter, which has kept mouse numbers high across all wheat/barley growing land of the State. I explain I'd prefer a campsite where I can have a cooking fire and she suggests a track I've passed about 500 metres earlier. It sounds perfect and on wobbling back down there, proves to be better than I could ever want. The track cuts across a corner of the main road, leading to the drive of an abandoned farm house. It's hidden from traffic going past by thick scrub and there's plenty of firewood, a couple of old, small fire sites and good, firm flat land.
Getting a fire going and pitching the tent, I can then tear the rear wheel out and deal with what could be a torn tube (with no spare). At least the bead's broken on one side now.
I'm actually amazed that the tube hadn't torn considering the distance ridden, repeatedly, on a fully deflated tire. The old patch has let go, probably from the heat of riding it flat travelling from the park into Keith earlier in the day. The new patch looks fine still, so I patch it and throw it in the tent to dry overnight. The Mitas is actually as tough as old boots, not showing any issues from the roasting it underwent.
The full moon rises by the time I've sorted the tube.
For dinner, I dig two cans of stew and a packet rice out as I'm starving. The evening's spent listening to music and sipping Port wine while enjoying the peace of the bush and the flicker of the campfire. Life is good.