sculptures , B-Double Road Trains sped past to snap us back to reality , our first glimpse at these dinosaurs ruling the road . The best memory from the day lay in the magnificent view of the Flinders Rangers to the north-east , the snow-covered mountains glistened in a rose-tinted sky .
It was bitterly cold at night in Whyalla , and whilst I was toasty warm in my coffin and downsleeping bag , Justin certainly felt the chill . The night was interrupted by the campground being next to the local airport . We learnt that this was Justin ’ s forte ; if you want a quiet retreat , this guy can pick out a hidden trainline or airstrip without even trying !
We scraped the ice from our tents at sunrise and gradually defrosted whilst packing up . The dirt at the campsite was that deep red , atypical of Australia , iron rich bulldust possessing the adhesive prowess of stubborn barnacles . All campgrounds from here to just past the Nullarbor are made of the same stuff . It ’ s relentless !
By now we ’ d become accustomed to one another ’ s foibles such as poor campground choices , needing to take a colossal leap to mount our packed iron steeds and the fact that the Peggy needed to refuel often – Justin had bought a spare five-litre Rotopax , but only needed it once as fuelstations appeared quite often .
We also realised we both had a streak of schadenfreude in us . Whenever we stopped , the first to get on their bike , usually Justin , would have to sit and patiently wait for the other .
In my case I ’ d have to put in my earplugs , take off my glasses , put on my helmet , squeeze my glasses back in , buckle the helmet strap , semi-frog-march onto the packed motorbike , put on my gloves , drop
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