This officer added, cheering me on my way, that he knew the country northwards well, and he ridiculed the idea of a bicycle being ridden through it.
Ah! well, we shall see whether one cannot be pushed through in that case, I thought; and so moved on.
* * * *
The road from Hergott was far from pleasant and there raged that disheartening drawback to cycling, a head wind. All flat country; soft, sandy loam, covered with loose stones of varying sizes, known as "gibbers." We shall know them better presently.
Travelled only 21 miles, and camped at Canterbury waterhole. Here was a Callanna sheep-station boundary rider's tent—a temporary shelter until the water evaporated; and I was made welcome to tea, salt mutton and—my first damper.
Before arriving at this waterhole I had to walk through a very soft, marshy salt-lake; sometimes having to shoulder the bicycle, and frequently sinking almost knee-deep into the mire. The subsequent sleep beside that camp fire was a re-creation to remember.
* * * *
At a deserted hut a dozen or so miles from Hergott I met a "hard case" of the bush who had been camped there for three days, and intended remaining there for four or five more. He was "spelling," he told me. I suggested that it was a strange place to recuperate.