Through Tucklan State Forest south of Dunedoo , I ’ d marvelled at the stillness and the beauty of the day . The brilliance of the blue sky and the opportunity to experience this landscape so close to home . With gravel changing to bitumen , the thought of a meat pie at Chad ’ s Bakery provided a new smile . It ’ s the simple things in life that often provide the greatest pleasure .
Sitting down to savour a beef and mushroom pie at Chad ’ s is one such pleasure . With the temperature of the pie just right for eating , the pastry not too hard and not too soft , a mouthful of meat and tasty mushrooms was very soon my focus . I ’ d wet my finger to pick up a few of the pastry crumbs on the white café plate . Shortly after I was contemplating a second helping . Less than 15 minutes out of Dunedoo I was back on the gravel . Rich farming land , recovering from many years of drought , a scenic backdrop . Passing machines working the land , I ’ d paused for another photo opportunity . The driver of the machine , stopped to check everything was ok .
Consistent rain had changed the
country . Water was pooling in low lying areas . Water had inundated low parts of the road .
Approaching one such location , I ’ d stopped and hesitated to make a brief and somewhat foolish assessment of my forward path . Without getting off the bike to walking it , I pressed onward .
Side stand redundant , I easily , yet very gingerly , stepped off the bike to survey the predicament . My boots sank in the mud . A small grin spread across my face – this was going to be a good story to tell the boys over a beer .
Black soil had sucked my bike to a depth where it rested on the skid plate . The beak of the bike pointing skyward .
Mud covered me and the bike . I began the arduous task of wrestling my bike from the boghole . After 20 minutes , but what seemed like a lifetime of pushing and digging , I was approached by a stranger .
George , a local farmer , the quintessential farmer . Broad brim hat , a weathered and rugged appearance , a warm smile , and driving a white tabletop farm ute . With hand extended he ’ d said “ G ’ day ”, that relaxed , laconic Australian greeting .
“ Would you like a hand mate ?”, I attempted to show some resilience and stammered a reply .
“ I ’ ll be right mate , I got it in here , I ’ ll have to get it out ”.
George simply replied , “ I ’ ll get the winch ready .”
Without too much further ado , George came to the rescue , using his winch cable to pull the stranded GSA from the boghole .
Conversation started to flow a little more easily . George had been in the area for a few years . Nudging his mid-60 ’ s he ’ s a firm believer in giving back to his local community . As the local Deputy Captain of the local Rural Fire Service , George was recognised with a Commendation for his part in fighting a large bushfire and had saved several local properties a few years back .
After a huge dose of gratitude and thanks , George continued on his way . I repacked my bike . Almost !
In my haste to get moving , I ’ d failed to secure my top box . Thankfully , when it eventually came off , nothing was damaged .
Arriving in Coolah , a little tired
TRAVERSE 32