MORE SURPRISES – BOOKED OUTBACK HOTEL AND A UTE

It was half past four when I walked into the Parachilna Hotel where I was told that the place was booked out. Quite frankly, I did not believe that the place could possibly be booked out but I only had myself to blame! Publishing this diary many years after the event, I have to add a very important note about the Parachilna Hotel: The managment has changed and the hotel has improved vastly!!! In 1990, cycling in the Flinders Ranges, I had been told in no uncertain terms that the place was booked out, a few years later I enjoyed an exceptional service by the new owners! Ever since then, I can only recommend food and service! Stop for a meal, stop for a night. You will not regret!

In July of 1990 things were different. It was late in the afternoon and I could not stay. Well, now, what to do now??? Hawker was 50 km to the south (going back in other words), but Copley lay another 70 km to the north. The day was nearly over, I had cycled quite a bit today, and I was tired. I disputed this with myself over a sandwich and a coke and made my mind up to give the long, straight road to Copley a go. A phone call confirmed a vacant on-site van at its caravan park and at 5 o’clock I was heading north on a virtually straight road. The country to the left of the road was as flat as a table and upon this table the sun was about to set, flooding the now lower mountains to my right with spectacular light. There was hardly a car on the road, so l had ample time and peace to follow the intense light show. However, when the glowing red ball had nearly vanished, a totally unforeseen interruption came along.

I had just greeted the one and only car overtaking me within the last 3/4 hours when the yellow ute came to a dusty halt on the side of the road. It then reversed, stopped, and two people got out, one of them shouting:”Horst, if this is you, I’m going to have a fit!” By now I was sure that I was hallucinating. Just as well, I was not suffering from a persecution complex! Within five days this was the third time that I met friends on the road. It just couldn’t be true! I couldn’t believe it! But true enough it was. An employee who worked at the Port Augusta office of Stateliner, the bus company that runs a twice weekly service to Arkaroola, had heard from passengers that I was on my way from Adelaide to Arkaroola, by bike. Right now, herself and a friend were going up to Arkaroola for a kind of a “dress-rehearsal” of a big party that was to happen tomorrow. I was as speechless as I had been a few hours ago. Despite the distance still ahead of me, this asked for another can of beer and I just hoped that I would be on my own tomorrow, or else I would end up drunk on the roadside. When Jenny and her friend left – I had sternly refused a lift – it was time to pull the bike lamps out and put them on. After that followed a solitary, monotonous 3 hour cycle into quickly growing darkness.

Judging by the looks thrown at me upon my arrival at Copley’s caravan park, I must have looked even weirder than the cyclist in Max Mannix’ painting “Here he comes”. I couldn’t have cared less, for I was too happy that I had made it without any problems and I was determined I would make it tomorrow. After a quick sandwich and a couple of beers at Copley’s pub I went to bed early, tired enough to turn a blind eye to the fact that the caravan, still months away from the tourist Season, had not undergone the spring-cleaning session.

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