watched in horror as his motorcycle summersaulted over to the righthand side of the road . I turned my old girl around and raced back . By the time I reached him , Justin was standing upright , dazed , but moving his limbs and cogent . Peggy had been catapulted into the air and lay on her side twenty metres away . The B-Double meanwhile had braked hard , pulled off to the side of the road and the driver was running hell for leather back to us .
“ I thought you ’ d gone under ,” the driver , out of breath , exclaimed . “ I thought you were a goner !”
A couple in a caravan stopped too to check that we were alright too , Justin seemed remarkably unscathed with nothing more than a bloodied upper lip , adventure gear torn to shreds , a broken visor , and a very sore knee . The motorcycle , once righted , started first time , with only cosmetic scratches and breaks to the plastic fairing . He was extremely lucky .
We didn ’ t get far that day , making only about fifty kilometres before Justin , clearly in shock , needed to rest and take care of his knee .
Explaining what happened , it seemed he ’ d got about a quarter of the way in overtaking the truck when the steering wobbled severely . Instead of accelerating through , he ’ d backed off , caught the truck ’ s turbulence and the rest was history . The peripheral damage to Peggy was patched up , and Justin had to duct tape his visor on , which isn ’ t great when you ’ re in a constant fortydegree temperature . Imagine if we ’ d been riding in summer !
The roads were easy going for the next few days including scenic spots like the 90 mile straight . Although a little maudlin , we each took a side of the road and made a competition in counting the number dead kangaroos to pass the time . Justin won , that right hand side is a damned bloodbath ! At ninety kilometres an hour though my chum found that Peggy caused vibrations through his broken knee , so we weren ’ t as rapid as before . We were pleased though that he felt he could keep going , and we eased our way into Western Australia , a little worn .
We camped that night just off the Dundas Nature Reserve at the Frasier Range rest stop , setting up near a salt flat . An idyllic spot . I spent the night listening to Justin snoring , writhe in pain , snore a bit more , and then wombats scuffling about the undergrowth .
It was wombats or the colossal bull ants , that made me extremely glad of having tight mesh on my swag . The things that can get in your sleeping bag out here wasn ’ t worth considering , and I was beginning to enjoy my tight little cosy coffin – no interest in sharing , no sir !
Dundas broke the geographic monotony of the outback , and in
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