organiser . That statement , and a few bourbons , helped me decide that I would carry on . In any case , I was halfway there , going home was just as far as completing the journey .
Ironically , one of the conditions of the ride was to raise sponsorship and funds for the Royal Flying Doctor Service . I could have used their services right then .
I couldn ’ t disappoint my sponsors ; I had raised a tidy sum on the basis that I would complete the journey . So , I battled through the pain and onward . Dinner that night was a stew , the only meal I could eat with one hand .
The next day ’ s ride was the Eyre Highway , not that ribbon of boring bitumen between Port Augusta and Perth , no , we chose the Old Eyre
Highway , the road that had existed as a dirt track between the two towns until the early 1970 ’ s .
The track was unmaintained and untraveled except for a few intrepid four-wheel drivers and the odd crazy motorcyclist . And of course , us .
Fortunately , it wasn ’ t bad , and my shoulder was holding up quite well if my upper arm remained in its socket . A small jolt and a shooting pain ran from shoulder through my body . Dropping my arm gave temporary relief , but I risked losing control of the handlebars . We stopped at Koonalda , a former roadhouse now abandoned , with a massive graveyard of old cars that never made it across the Nullarbor , now rusting in peace amongst the ruins of an old homestead and petrol station . A little further along we camped for the night in the wilderness , and I single handedly erected my one-man tent and cooked dinner .
Next morning , I had to rip the lining out of my damaged helmet , as I could barely lift my left arm enough to drag the thing onto my head .
We set off on a rough bush track , more rocks than dirt ; a track so narrow that I had saltbush regularly whipping my sore shoulder . Every bone jarring jolt sent more pain down my arm and through my body . I hit a large rock , large enough to hit the engine casing , which on a postie bike isn ’ t difficult as ground clearance is not a prominent feature . The bike stopped , not the engine , the engine was revving its heart out , but no forward progress , as if the
TRAVERSE 42