"Murif, unlike most cyclists, prefers to travel in loose pyjamas, using clips, rather than the knickers, the former being cool and comfortable for this semi-tropical climate."
* * * *
Myself, writing from Alice Springs, begged for assistance "to give expression to my deep feeling of gratification for the many kindnesses I had been the recipient of on the road. They are thorough white men up this way—the most generous-hearted, the kindliest, the bravest I believe any country in the world could produce. Knowing them, one realises of what noble stuff our pioneers are made."
Now I call at the telegraph station to try and express my thanks to the last of the men—the men out back who know and show what brotherhood is; wheel thoughtfully through the ranges 14 miles, and——
* * * *
As Diamond and I passed into the heart of the land we picked up a great deal of information regarding the most suitable equipment for the journey. Pretty well everyone had something to suggest.
"Ha! yes," said one, "the thing is to keep up your strength, and for that there's nothing like good sleep." So I should have carried an inflatable mattress and pillow—a simple affair, planned on the pneumatic principle, to be pumped in every night at bedtime.
A shot gun or a rifle—"never can tell, you know."
A kodak—"That would have kept your mind occupied."
A tent—"Something light, of course, and easily rigged."