At such a moment one forgets the teachings of experience. I threw myself down, and drank, and drank.
* * * *
And so, though saved, made another stinging lash for my aching back. For I drank and drank until I found myself seized with the most dreadful cramps I have ever had the satisfaction of getting the better of. On trying to rise I was, somewhat to my amusement, unable to do so, as during the tussle one of my bootlaces had become entangled with the hooks of the other, and the recurring cramps would not allow me to reach down to undo it. So I had willy-nilly to lay quiet where I had fallen, ignominiously hobbled and hors de combat.
It would not be particularly difficult for one who does not know the country to perish hereabouts. Just take the wrong turning, or meet with a disabling accident, or lose the indistinct track, and in one single hot day the business may be done. Solitary graves are plentiful. When a man gets the bad taste in his mouth, and fancies he hears water flowing ripplingly over gravelly beds, he realizes how very simple a matter the perishing may be.
Towards the end a cyclist would leave his bicycle (now become a burden to him) while he staggered over to search what, from the distance, seemed a likely-looking place for water; and on coming back he would be lucky indeed if he could find again his silent steed. This second search would not be prosecuted coolly: madness would then quickly overtake the distracted seeker; he might drink from and bathe in imaginary streams, throw off his clothes to let the surging waters touch and cool his parched skin, but ever uppermost in his distorted fancies would be some form of his elusive bicycle.
* * * *
Crown Point, 20 miles from The Goyder; much sand, but a well-defined track. The last five miles fair for cycling on; but for nearly a mile along the bed of the Finke River (approaching Crown Point cattle station) is a terribly heavy white sand bed.
After my previous day's experiences in the sand I succeeded in crawling thus far before the next sundown, and remained for the whole of another day before proceeding onwards. At the Crown Point station I fed, I fear, like a wolf.
How soon the drooping spirits revive! I set out for Horseshoe Bend hopefully, even gaily.