Ric headed down one of the tracks along the river, and managed to cross it in ankle deep water about a kilometer from where we had camped. He continued running along the far bank, saw a small shack, then a sealed track, followed it and (re) discovered the mythical Kajabbi, and the Kalkadoon Hotel. Sadly the pub was shut, and looks like it has been for a while. With a couple of locals cruising by with guns as the sun went down, Ric decided not to explore much more and headed back to the river bank across from the main camp. Hailing the team with the good news (ie, we could cycle 120 km not 140 km tomorrow), Ric paddled and waded back.
After another cool night by this lovely river, we saddled up again to follow the newly discovered route to Kajabbi and beyond. The track across the rock strewn riverbank was tough going - too tough going for Ric - who came off twice left and right in the space of 5 metres!
We toured Kajabbi for 30 seconds, stopped to take a photo at the pub and read about the local warriors who forlornly stood fast against the white settlers in the 1800s. After one false trail heading out of town to the WWII era airstrip, we struck the right route and knuckled down to a 40 odd km stretch on dirt.
The first 10 km rolled past uneventfully, but then the going got tougher as we hit unsealed track torn up by cattle hoofs in the recent wet. Ric managed two more spills in the morning taking his total to 9 stacks for the trip - surely an unassailable lead? With morale flagging on the dirt stretch, we had one more challenge to overcome with the final 7 km into a blustery headwind.
As we hit the highway again, we were pleased to see Julie, Alan and the troopie again. After a quick pitstop of dried fruits and snakes, we turned north again and enjoyed the sealed road and a tailwind.
We had paused by the side of the road on one of our 10 km stretch breaks when Dom inadvertently flagged down two obnoxious tradies. Apart from giving us some "encouragement" they gleefully let us know the troopie had pulled off the road up ahead with some mechanical problem.
We arrived on the scene about 10 minutes later to see that the trailer had thrown it's right wheel. Alan had noticed smoke and the wheel wobbling just before real disaster struck, and pulled to the side of the road just in time. Alan's practical mechanical skills in rebuilding the Model T (and heaps of other things) meant that he had the bearings off in another few minutes. Alan and the troopie then departed back to Cloncurry in search of the critical spares. Julie of the Desert was content to remain behind with the trailer, and 83 crosswords, so the boys cycled on the remaining 50 odd km to the roadhouse.
We arrived just after 3 pm - another long day for us, and treated ourselves to a couple of plates of hot chips and some cold beer. AP recorded a dissenting vote, enjoying a salad roll and a fruit juice after washing the dust away with a single beer.
Alan, Julie and the troopie arrived just on 5pm and the world resumed its normalcy, well, at least for us.
Some of the boys switched tyres back to our road combination, and then enjoyed a typical roadhouse meal - burgers with the lot. And then, once more, it was early to bed.
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