A Morning of Relentless Wind
At 5 a.m., I woke naturally to the faint light seeping through my tent.
With a can of coffee and some tuna, I had a simple breakfast before folding the tent in the chilly morning air.
But the road that day was merciless. A headwind pressed against me, pushing me back no matter how hard I pedaled. It felt almost like someone whispering, “You don’t need to go anywhere today.”
Still, I kept moving forward, one slow pedal at a time.
Minnipa and the Weight of Closed Doors
By midday I reached Minnipa, a small town of about 150 people, known as the gateway to Mount Granite.
I had expected to buy supplies there, but to my disappointment, every store was closed for Easter.
The streets were silent, the doors locked. All I could do was borrow the restroom and move on.
It was one of those small frustrations that come with long travel—moments when the road teaches you to shrug and say, “That’s just how it is.”
An Afternoon in Wudinna
Later I arrived in Wudinna, a larger town with about 600 residents. It’s known for its granite sculptures and the impressive “Australian Farmer” monument.
At the caravan park, I asked a staff member if I could rest for a while. She smiled warmly and said yes.
“Do you need food? Enough water?” she asked. Her kindness sank deeply into my tired heart.
I sat in the shade, letting my body relax. Then I felt an urge:
“I want to say thank you properly.”
So I pulled out a small piece of stationery and wrote a note of gratitude. Putting the words down made the connection feel real, as if it would stay with me long after I left.
The Storm of Flies
As the afternoon wore on, the wind grew even stronger. And with it came a new challenge—flies.
They swarmed my face, tried to crawl into my mouth, clung to my eyes and ears.
For a moment it felt like hell itself.
But then, strangely, I found myself laughing.
“Maybe being surrounded by this many flies, just once in a lifetime, isn’t so bad after all.”
Travel has a way of turning hardships into stories worth remembering.
Ending the Day in the Trees
By evening, both my body and my bike felt worn down. The rear rack groaned, and my legs were heavy.
“It’s enough for today,” I thought.
I set up camp beside a quiet line of trees. The sunset painted the horizon in soft orange, and even the wind seemed gentler as the day faded.
“It wasn’t such a bad day after all.”
That thought carried me peacefully into the night.
