Latent leadership qualities emerged in the Wedge as he hatched a plan for a perfect pelaton. The riders aimed their machines toward Broome, and sped in stunning formation for the final 250 kilometres.
Upon arrival, a symbol was sought to document the moment as testimony to the completion of the ride. Broome does not possess a gateway image (we photographed ourselves under a roadworks sign), rather it is all about the beach, Cable Beach.
Breakfast on the beach was the fitting reward for our efforts, and the team feasted on tasty morsels and regaled stories of a spectacular ride. Self congratulations was short lived as there was still much work to do.
The local population was indifferent as the team unpacked and repacked the support vehicles, rearranged the gear and rushed the ailing trailer to emergency. On this penultimate day of the trip, much preparation for the handing back of the vehicles and bikes was required using precise logistical strategies, something that had deserted the team to date.
Collectively the group shifted mentally into cruise mode as the formal part of the mission was completed. Our next destination for some R& R was Cape Leveque, situated 201 kilometres to the north. The Wedge had been commanding like a demented dictator, and in a final moment of madness both he and Wolverine led the troops directly up Cable Beach into the sandy yonder. The truck and trailer both came to grief, bogged in the murky morass at Nudie Cove.
Gal snapped back into action in response to this decay in discipline. He installed Frodo and Evel as the new crack unit, charged with the responsibility for leading the rabble up Cape Leveque Road.
Road was probably a generous description. The track was more a red sandy luge, furrowed out of the landscape. Our intrepid heroes ground and slid the Suzukis north, while Wolverine, Teflon and Gal whimpered in the Toyotas. Wedge fought back and flayed the Landcruiser up the walls like a half pipe, while Squeaky calmly plotted his course through the motoring madness.
Retired General Gal finally slipped into a sea of senility. He was arrested for grog smuggling by the local constabulary. Gal, a confirmed teetotaler, had been running the evil fluid for years, hidden behind his mask of propriety. Squeaky tried to help and is seen here reaching for the satellite phone to call legal aid.
We hobbled into Cape Leveque, and were transformed by ethereal qualities in the landscape and an evasive attitude to resort planning and time structures. We had reached our own dreamtime, lazing in the lap of true beauty.
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