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UNDRESSING THE DUKE
LORDS IN LOVE #7

ERICA RIDLEY
 CONTENTS

Also by Erica Ridley

Undressing the Duke

Back Cover Description
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12

Thank You
Free Books for you
The Perks of Loving a Wallflower
Sneak Peek
Thank You For Reading
About the Author
Copyright © 2022 Erica Ridley

Original anthology: Duke in a Box

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents

are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or
dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover design © Dar Albert

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act
of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed,
or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database
or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the
author.
ALSO BY ERICA RIDLEY

The 12 Dukes of Christmas:

Once Upon a Duke
Kiss of a Duke
Wish Upon a Duke
Never Say Duke
Dukes, Actually
The Duke’s Bride
The Duke’s Embrace
The Duke’s Desire
Dawn With a Duke
One Night With a Duke
Ten Days With a Duke
Forever Your Duke
Making Merry

The Wild Wynchesters:

The Governess Gambit (FREE!)
 The Duke Heist
The Perks of Loving a Wallflower
Nobody’s Princess
My Rogue to Ruin

The Heist Club series:

The Rake Mistake
The Modiste Mishap

Rogues to Riches:
Lord of Chance
Lord of Pleasure
Lord of Night
Lord of Temptation
Lord of Secrets
Lord of Vice
Lord of the Masquerade
 The Dukes of War:
The Viscount’s Tempting Minx
The Earl’s Defiant Wallflower
The Captain’s Bluestocking Mistress
The Major’s Faux Fiancée
The Brigadier’s Runaway Bride
The Pirate's Tempting Stowaway
The Duke's Accidental Wife
A Match, Unmasked
All I Want

Gothic Love Stories:

Too Wicked to Kiss
Too Sinful to Deny
Too Tempting to Resist
Too Wanton to Wed
Too Brazen to Bite

Regency Fairy Tales:

 Bianca & the Huntsman
Her Princess at Midnight

Magic & Mayhem:

Kissed by Magic
Must Love Magic
Smitten by Magic

The Siren’s Retreat Quartet

A Tryst by the Sea by Grace Burrowes
An Affair by the Sea by Erica Ridley
A Spinster by the Sea by Grace Burrowes
Love Letters by the Sea by Erica Ridley

The Wicked Dukes Club:

One Night for Seduction by Erica Ridley
One Night of Surrender by Darcy Burke
One Night of Passion by Erica Ridley
 One Night of Scandal by Darcy Burke
One Night to Remember by Erica Ridley
One Night of Temptation by Darcy Burke

Lords in Love
Beguiling the Duke by Darcy Burke
Taming the Rake by Erica Ridley
Romancing the Heiress by Darcy Burke
Defying the Earl by Erica Ridley
Matching the Marquess by Darcy Burke
Chasing the Bride by Erica Ridley
Undressing the Duke by Erica Ridley

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complete book list by series here:
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UNDRESSING THE DUKE

LORDS IN LOVE #7
When the notoriously buttoned-up Duke of
Southbury is forced to attend a matchmaking
festival, he knows it will end in solitude—just like
every soiree and ball. The duke doesn’t want a bride.
He wants his charming French valet, Vachon. An
untenable situation the duke refuses to admit, even
to Vachon. The only way to avoid scandal—and the
pull of temptation—is to dismiss his handsome valet
before Southbury says or does something that
cannot be taken back.
But Vachon has pined for his taciturn employer
since the moment they met. When the duke
announces his impending dismissal, Vachon has only
a fortnight to change his mind… and convince the
ton’s model of propriety love is worth breaking all the
rules!
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As always, ...
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
 The Project Gutenberg eBook of
From Ocean to Ocean: Across a Continent on a
Bicycle
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: From Ocean to Ocean: Across a Continent on a Bicycle

Author: Jerome J. Murif

Release date: October 30, 2018 [eBook #58206]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FROM OCEAN TO

OCEAN: ACROSS A CONTINENT ON A BICYCLE ***
 Transcriber's Note:

Obvious typographic errors have been

corrected.
George Robertson & Co.
 BOOKSELLERS,
Publishers, and Commercial Stationers.

ACCOUNT BOOK MANUFACTURERS.

Bookbinders Letterpress Printers.

Paper Rulers Engravers
Lithographers Die Sinkers
Embossers.

MELBOURNE—
384-390 Little Collins Street.
SYDNEY—
361-363 George Street.
ADELAIDE—
Freeman Street.
BRISBANE—
Elizabeth Street.
AND
LONDON—
17 Warwick Square. Paternoster Row, E.C.
FROM OCEAN TO OCEAN
 ACROSS A CONTINENT ON

A BICYCLE.

AN ACCOUNT OF A SOLITARY RIDE FROM ADELAIDE

TO PORT DARWIN

BY

JEROME J. MURIF.

George Robertson & Co.,

MELBOURNE, SYDNEY, ADELAIDE, BRISBANE
AND LONDON.
1897.

GEORGE ROBERTSON AND CO.

PRINTERS
MELBOURNE, SYDNEY, ADELAIDE, BRISBANE
AND LONDON
 FROM OCEAN TO OCEAN.

A vague longing to do something first flattered, then irritated, then

oppressed me. In vain I tried to argumentatively brush it aside, to
pooh-pooh it, to laugh it out of countenance. My arsenal of trite
well-worn sayings (so commonly the accompaniment of a weak
argument) was ransacked for ammunition to once and for all lay out
this absurd restlessness. For instance, I resolutely endeavored to
persuade myself that of course the maxim was true that "There is
nothing new under the sun." I argued that that was as absolutely
convincing in my case as a Maxim is in some others. Then I went to
sleep, dreamily reflecting that that was settled, anyway. In the
morning, I was witness that one saying, at any rate, was true: I had
convinced myself against my will, and was in reality still longing for
that formless something.
So I made a bargain with myself to strive to give my longing a local
habitation and a name—to set about discovering something to be
done that no man had yet even dared.
In my quest of a world to conquer, I bought a book of "Human
Records" (which is not to be confounded with "A Human Document")
so I might know what spheres had been already vanquished. There
inscribed were the names of the heroes who had sucked the most
eggs, eaten the most dumplings, drunk the most liquor, chopped the
biggest tree, drawn the most teeth, vaulted the most horses.
I passed these dizzy heights with a sigh. They were far above me.
Besides, cui bono?
And then, my mind revolving many things, speeding from one to the
other, passing as the bicycle-scorcher passes the mile posts on the
road-side—
Of course! Why, what else could it be?
To cross Australia on a bicycle, piercing the very heart of a
continent, facing dangers, some known and more unknown—it was
the very thing.
Now, looking back upon the task accomplished, I confess, with
becoming humility, that it was not from a splendid devotion to
Science; it was neither to observe an eclipse of the sun or the moon
nor to scour unknown country for the elusive diprotodon; not even
in the interests of British Commerce (as represented by Jones's
factory or Brown's warehouse), but simply to gratify this craving to
do something before considerate people dropped me out of sight
and out of mind—it was simply for this that I resolved there and
then to pedal from Ocean to Ocean on a bicycle.
And when, a month after my task was completed, the Jubilee honors
were announced I did not search the list in the expectation of
finding myself down for even a peerage.
* * * *
The something had at any rate taken shape at last; in the first blush
of delight the accomplishment seemed a trifling matter of detail. To
do, and to be the first to attempt the doing of it, was my object. If
that object was to be attained easily, all well. If, on the other hand,
there were many dangers and they were safely overcome, then
better still.
All I now lay claim to having done was the little all I had the desire
to do: to travel a bicycle over every inch of the ground between
Glenelg, on a gulf of the Southern Ocean, and Port Darwin, on the
Arafura sea, a portion of the Indian Ocean—and to be the first to do
it. In no sense of the word has my machine been conveyed for me;
neither has any conveyance other than the bicycle with which I set
out borne me at any time over any part of the journey.
Nevertheless in the fulfilment of my purpose I availed myself of
whatever other aids offered. Thus I took full advantage of the hotels
en route; and when, later on, the region of hotels being passed—
and these benevolent institutions are pitched marvellously far out—I
did not ride off into the scrub whenever I suspected that people
were ahead of me on the track. Not even the thought that those
persons might invite me to a meal daunted me. The proffer of a
blanket at night had no terrors for me. And if in the morning my
new-made friends could give me some fresh directions, checking my
own and serving as a safeguard, I thought none the worse of them.
But we are not on the track yet. Not even in the dressing-room.
* * * *
As the first few to whom I in part confided my intention pooh-
poohed the notion, I consulted further with no one; and as I was not
in a position to pick up much information concerning the country to
be traversed without disclosing plans which were never mentioned
but to be laughed at or declared impracticable, I decided to go
quietly at the first opportunity, and to be my own "guide,
philosopher, and friend."
Still, I was not angry with those who chided me. In common, I
fancy, with the majority of Australians, I knew but little of the
northern part of the continent; and I honestly believed that the
journey was one which it would be difficult to complete. They said
impossible, I said difficult—that was all the difference.
Men who knew the country led me in fancy into the centre of the
continent, broke my machine upon any one of the thousand
unexpected dangers of the open, trackless desert—and asked me to
consider my helplessness.
Yes; the journey was formidable. It had no attractions for me if it
was otherwise. I thanked my friends, began earnestly to regard the
excursion in a serious light, and held my tongue.
I smile benevolently now as I look back upon myself of those days.
The thing is done, it then remained to be done.
* * * *
Before this time, I had thought of securing a companion to share the
venture; and I wasted a good deal of time and money seeking such
a one.
The number of people who had the expedition in mind surprised me
—I met them constantly.
"Ah, yes, great idea! D'ye know I've been thinking about tackling it
for some time?"
"Well, co'on."
Then there was an awkward pause.
Generally I had to see them about it in the morning. In the morning
—"Sorry, old fellow, awfully sorry, but can't manage to get away just
now. Great idea, though, isn't it?"
One whom I came to know intimately (we were, and continue,
excellent friends) was at first all eagerness to join. But he too
gradually cooled off and reluctantly and half abashed, but finally,
backed out.
And in his case, why?
Not because of the expense, nor through reading or hearing of
treacherous blacks, of venomous snakes, of alligators and other
interesting things we had so eagerly looked forward to throwing
stones at. Not because of the certain hardships and probable perils
to be encountered; the likelihood of being stricken with fever; the
danger of getting bushed, and experiencing the terrors of thirst as
well as the horrors of hunger (for we knew we could carry precious
little of either water or food).
No; just this, half apologetically said, and then only with an effort
that did him credit—"The general impression seems to be that the
thing, you know, isn't to be done. When they hear of our starting
out to try it, what will the fellows say?"
And what talks we had had about our adventures in prospective! A
rousing change, too, was admittedly just the very thing he stood in
need of. He could well afford both the time and the money. An
"adventure" he was the one to thoroughly enjoy. But—the smile of
the fellows left behind, their laugh and jest in case of failure; it was
more than a sensitive man could bear to think of. And so he stayed
at home.
Two could travel in safety where one might perish. If one machine
broke down, the other at least might bear food and water to the
derelict rider. But if the derelict rider were alone, stricken ill, fallen a
victim to accident far from any settlement—
Not a pleasant track—let us seek another.
There was the continent. No bicycle had crossed it. That was my
something, resolved upon long ago. And if it had to be done alone—
it might be misfortune. Who knows—it might also be the other thing!
* * * *
It was, then, to be a solitary ride. But that the bona fides of it could
not very well be disputed, I had printed a many-paged book, ruled
vertically. The headings to the spaces were:—"Distance," "Date,"
"Time," "Presence vouched for at," "By," "Address," "Departure,"
with a blank page opposite for "Mems re road."
Being well aware that many people would certainly be averse to
hurriedly entering their names in the book of an entire stranger—a
stranger, too, who must resolutely decline to state his business, his
object, or his destination—I determined to call on and make known
my intention to two or three "leading men," foreseeing that, could I
but obtain their signatures to begin with, others would be only too
pleased, or at least would not refuse, to add theirs to the list.
Luckily the first of the notabilities I waited on took kindly to the idea,
and at once very courteously obliged me. To him my thanks are once
more repeated; and neither of the other two gentlemen next seen
demurred.
Yet even this task was not accomplished without the customary
kindly-intentioned warnings. Thus one of the three said:—"Do you
know you face Death in seriously attempting to do this journey?"
What answer could be more common-place than mine—"One has to
die some time, sir?"
"Death"!—the word, spoken generally with much unction, and I were
grown familiar.
Had the gentleman said—"Pooh! It's easy. You ought to do it without
hurting yourself, in so many weeks time,"—had he said that, I
should have been sadly disheartened.
* * * *
When in Adelaide previously I had sounded a cycle-agent as to the
reward he would be prepared to offer a man for undertaking the
trip.
Like the others he ridiculed the notion—termed it preposterous,
spoke of crocodiles, and of the rider having to carry a spare set of
tyres, bags of flour, tanks of water, perhaps an extra machine.
Nevertheless he proposed that the hare-brained unknown one be
got to purchase a bicycle (on the sale of which I, of course, would
be allowed a small commission), "and should he get through,"
remarked the agent, with a wink, "I would not mind returning him
the purchase money."
"But, stay," he added, as an afterthought, climbing down yet lower,
"it's bound to be a failure, and failure does nobody any good, you
know; so I'd rather not have my name or one of my machines mixed
up with the thing at all."
As this might be the prevailing feeling among cycle-agents (and I
have good reasons now for believing that it was) I determined on
acting independently of them also. Than this resolution nothing in
connection with the undertaking has since given me greater
satisfaction; nor was anything more comforting during the ride than
the feeling of complete independence which flowed from it.
* * * *
I knew a little about bicycles, and did not pick one at random in the
first, second, or any other agency I entered. Besides being on the
look-out for a good mount, I was also seeking a firm which I could,
if occasion arose, recommend others to deal with.
At last my choice was made. I paid the money, said nothing of my
plans, and no embarrassing questions were asked.
Being now resolved to take upon my own shoulders all the
consequences of failure—if I should fail—I erased the maker's name
and substituted my own favorite word "Diamond" in its place.
If I broke down—well, a moral might be pointed on the evil results
of riding an unknown make of bicycle. If there came success—well,
again, I should have no objection to making my acknowledgment to
civil people.
* * * *
The machine I chose and purchased came nearly up to my ideal for
this present purpose. Let us look at it.
A roadster; two 28 in. wheels; weight, 29lbs; gear, 62½; handy
interlocking arrangement; dust-proof caps over pedal bearings;
bearings not of complicated construction; tangent spokes; the
sprocket and back gear-wheels well set on their shafts.
I could not find fault with any part of the machine. Its general
appearance pleased me.
The new saddle came off, and an old and comfortable one, with an
appropriate tool bag, took its place. This tool bag was circular, and
my drinking vessel (a "pannikin," not to put too fine a point upon it)
fitted closely over its end. An old, tried, and trusty inflator was
added to this part of the equipment.
Then I ordered a more than ordinarily thick tandem tyre to be fitted
on the hind wheel in place of the one of the regular roadster
pattern, and an endless rubber strip to be solutioned on over the
tread of the front wheel.
As for the rest I did not look for gear case or cyclometer. If the
country to be traversed came up to expectations in point of
roughness, the former would be torn away—an objection which
applied also to the cyclometer, as the only reliable make I knew of
when in use protruded from the outside of one of the front forks.
Neither was missed; and I was glad I did not burden myself with
them.
The brake was allowed to remain, and a bell was added. Both of
these I intended to throw away when the beaten roads were left
behind.
The equipment was completed with a spare air tube, chain-link and
rivets, copper wire, file, spanners and plyers, solution and patching
rubber, a long length of strong cord, tooth brush, compass, and
small bottle of matches.
A pair of luggage-carriers were fitted to the handle bars; on these
was strapped a roll of light waterproof sheeting, 6½ feet by 4 feet,
containing a change of linen, pair of socks, handkerchief, soap,
towel, a small mirror—my extravagance!—a comb, and three small
waterproof bags in which to stow papers, etc., in the event of heavy
rain falling. A leather satchel slung over one shoulder, and so
fastened that it could not slip down, proved a handy receptacle for
odds and ends. A rug and other things of which I may have occasion
to make mention later on were forwarded to Hergott.
I had intended carrying front and back wheel duplicate shafts, but
did not.
A tin to hold one quart of water was strapped against the stays,
between the top of the rear wheel and the saddle.
A day was spent in riding through the hills near Adelaide with the
object of testing the new machine, and that I might adjust its chain
and bearings to my liking, learning the while what I could of its
peculiarities, if it had any disagreeable ones—in fact, to break it in.
* * * *
On the evening of my fourth day in Adelaide, my very few
arrangements being nearly complete, I rode down to Glenelg,
obtained the local post-master's promise of a signature, and spent
the night at the Pier Hotel. Next morning the P.M. walked down with
me and stood on the pier—smiling, I observed—while I cycled down
the firm sandy beach into the ocean; then, having turned about,
found myself dramatically waving my hat to the water.
That was the baptism of Diamond in the Southern Ocean.
The obliging officer entered a short statement in my voucher book to
the effect that he had been witness to the incomprehensible
ceremony. (The statement served as a preface, and so was written
on the first blank page inside the cover.)
And now northwards through a continent.
* * * *
Still having a little private business to transact in Adelaide, I
remained there for another night and well into the following
forenoon. Then the bicycle, loaded now for the expedition, was lifted
downstairs; I shook hands with the landlady (who "couldn't make
me out nohow," I dare say, good soul), told her I might not be back
for tea and not to keep it waiting, and quietly pedalled away on my
glistening Diamond, without a single person being by to see me off
or wish me luck.
But there was the glorious sense of having resolutely acted an
independent part. A glad feeling of being alive, untrammelled, free.
And so we gaily sped along. It was a very dance on wheels.
We are on the track at last!
* * * *
Kapunda, 50 miles from Adelaide, gives us shelter for the night. To
Gawler is half the distance. The road is good only to four miles from
Adelaide, thence bumpy macadam, with clay stretches, to within five
miles of Gawler. To the right, the Flinders Ranges; flat country
showing to the left. Agriculture everywhere.
Beyond Gawler, I was advised to take the middle one of three roads,
known as the Freeling; but after trying it, cut off to the right and got
on to the Greenock road. Here was splendid running—down grades,
too. Metalled with ironstone—some grand patches. So good that I
passed the words "Post Office" at She-oak Log without dismounting
to ask someone to sign for me.
About and after She-oak Log was undulating country, with the
ranges showing now and again to the right. At a little place named
Daveyston, I halted to pick up a signature and a long drink. A
resident put down the one, I the other.
Arrived at Greenock. Visited madam the gracious post-mistress, and
obtained her signature. Prized, because it is the first in a lady's hand
in the book. Then on to Kapunda. Undulating country, with good
riding all the way. Arrived about 6 o'clock—hungry.
* * * *
This afternoon I met a cyclist seated in a spring dray, steadying his
machine with one hand and himself with the other. They were noisily
approaching at a jig-jog. We stopped.
"Good-day!"
"Good-day!"
"Accident?" I asked.
"No—only this is less like graft. And where are you bound for?"
"Head of the line if all goes well!"
"Oodnadatta?"
"Um."
"Mean it—on business?"
"Oh no, merely out for a ride."
But my new mount had betrayed me to this wheeling Sherlock
Holmes.
"Ah, you'll get over that sort of thing by-an'-bye. Just after I'd
learned to stick on, I was like you—

The stiffest breeze was never too stiff,

Nor the highest hill too high.

Ha, ha! Not bad, is it? But as I was saying, I got over it. The bloom
is off the rye'-din. Ha, ha!"
"Oh, come now," I expostulated meekly.
"Never mind, no 'fence, you know. Bye-bye." Then to the driver
—"S'pose we see if we can't knock a sprint out of the old quad., eh?
Ha, ha!"
And he laughed along the Greenock road.
* * * *
From Kapunda next morning. The road excellent, built up of
ironstone, broken small. Gentle inclines, and longish down-grades.
Undulating country, fertile and farmed. Before one quite reaches
Waterloo, a cemetery is seen away to the left, remindful of a battle
field.
The track continues hilly and ironstony to Black Springs; soon after
that, at Stony Hut, a rivulet of brackish water crosses the road. Then
one gets amongst the highest rises yet encountered. Through these,
known as the Black Hills, winds the road, keeping fairly level for
eight or nine miles, and so into the Burra. Rather a pleasant ride
those last few miles, gums and peppermint or box trees
picturesquely dotting the landscape, until at the Burra the ruins of
once famous copper-mining works displease the eye.
From the Burra to Mount Bryan an excellent level metalled road
keeps close beside the railway line; but a couple of miles beyond
Hallett, the cyclist will come on unmade roads, so that he will have
only fair riding to Yarcowie and Terowie.
Tyre troubles cause a delay between Yarcowie and Terowie. Ahead
are cross-roads innumerable, and it being already sundown I
reluctantly decide to stay at Terowie the night. 145 miles from
Adelaide.
* * * *
A drought lay heavily upon the land, giving the township in the eyes
of the skurrying passer-by an atmosphere of even greater
somnolence than usual. A church, a store (often also the post-
office), a blacksmith's shop, a hotel, a school-house, with half-a-
dozen suburban tenements, constitute a township. It is affirmed that
there are inhabitants, that on Sundays they go to church
punctiliously, and that on one other given day in the week the
farmers come in from round about with their butter and their eggs to
the store, and then the township is "busy." Of the other five days
there is no record.
* * * *
An early start was made from Terowie on an absurdly round-about
road to Petersburg—unmade, too, but level, yet only middling for
travelling on Head winds, besides.
Breakfasted, and steered for Orroroo; this township appearing to be
right in the path of anyone making northwards. Much crossing and
re-crossing of the railway. At half-way, Blackrock is passed. A hard,
smooth road, running through the fertile Blackrock plains, now
withered and parched; high ranges showing afar off on either hand
—and so to Orroroo. Thence it is only a few miles to Walloway,
where another rivulet is come upon. To Eurelia the road is not good,
but it improves as one journeys towards Carrieton.
* * * *
In a blinding dust-storm blowing against us, a spring cart passed,
whose driver invited Diamond and me on board. This was the first
offer of the kind we had received, and it was thankfully declined.
My voucher-book was being signed readily. Only twice so far had it
been presented without result. One poor human agricultural
implement looked cunningly at me. A book canvasser had "had" him
once, he said, and added "I ain't a fool."
Disaster is a merciless mocker; it deceives its victims into believing
that it has sharpened their wits, whereas in general it has sadly
dulled them. Here was a case in point.
In the other case a pot boy, the only "inhabitant" on hand, was so
impertinently inquisitive that I did without his help. Perhaps another
case.
* * * *
The evening at Carrieton was more or less profitably occupied in
listening to a tap-room discussion of social, political and domestic
economy as represented by seed-wheat. No matter into what by-
ways the debate drifted, it came back inevitably to seed-wheat.
There was infinite pathos in the tales of helplessness of these
drought-harried men.
* * * *
There are abundant proofs as we steer out of Carrieton towards
Cradock that we are already on the outskirts of the kingdom of the
bicycle. The horses—bony apparitions mostly—have for the machine
none of that contempt which tells of its familiarity to the city horse.
So the bell is handy. Not so much to warn the equestrian as to
soothe the bicyclist's conscience. You ring your bell and by that
simple act throw on to other shoulders the full responsibility for all
the frightened horse may do.
* * * *
To Cradock from Carrieton next forenoon. Thirty miles. Strong head
winds. Near Yangarrie, cross a gum-lined creek of shallow running
water. Travelling stock and mail route all the way.
* * * *
And on this stage a slight mishap, and an incident. Before creeping
into a dam for a drink, I hung my satchel upon the fence. Having
drunk, a horse took my notice: it stood listlessly against the fence,
on the outside, in a paddock entirely destitute of feed—a sun-baked
waste. But for the support of the fence it must have fallen.
I remembered having somewhere seen such another animal
described as a barrel-hooped skeleton, held together by raw-hide.
In vain I tried to shift it. It quite frivolously whisked its tail—its only
token of animation. No persuasions, no beguilements could move it.
I was interested—in the cause of science, and of sport. I had inflated
my tyres a little, and now desired to ascertain whether a strong blast
from the air-pump would throw it hors de combat. Visions rose
before me. I should, if I could but succeed, tell a breathless people,
ever intent upon the amiable pursuit of killing one another and other
more harmless things, that when in the desert I had slaughtered
every one of a mob of horses with the help of a new and deadly air-
gun.
To discover something so deadly—here was a Companionship of the
Bath at the least!
Thus murderously inclined, I approached with the weapon. The
animal raised its head, cast upon me a look of mingled sorrow and
reproach, lazily lifted its upper lip on seeing the threatening inflator,
and—tried to eat it!
Of such stuff are the dreams of the bush.
Thus moralising I rode off without my satchel. Had to race back four
miles. And there still leaning against the fence, apparently unmoved
in so much as a limb, stood the animal, a pitiful monument to the
appalling severity of the drought of '96-7.
* * * *
After you leave Cradock the ranges appear to be closing in in front.
But they are escaped somehow; and Hawker, 17 miles from the last
township, is reached. Of Hawker I have two memories: one of a
barber; the other of a "specially prepared" (i.e. warmed-up) dinner.
Neither, I suspect, of absorbing public interest.
In the evening, a strong head-wind having calmed down, rode to
Hookina (9 miles); thence, being disappointed there in the matter of
"accommodation," to a place known as "The White Well," seven
miles ahead.
Was it to be the first camp out? Darkness had fallen, and lone
travellers who can give no rational account of themselves must ever
labor under dark suspicion also. But, at a roadside cottage, the rare
bicycle served me as a talisman, and secured me a supper, bed, and
breakfast. For the day, 64 miles.
* * * *
The road to Hookina goes through the ranges, and for four miles
there are rough and very stony hills to traverse. I took to the
railway-line and rode alongside the rails; but the "metal" was
destructively sharp-cornered, and the riding unsafe, because of the
steep embankments and the frequency of culverts. There was also a
tyre-tearing levelling-peg protruding at every chain or so between
the lines.
From Hookina the track winds through soft but fair riding and level
ground, with the high Arkaby ranges keeping well away to the east.
Mount Alice shows up most prominently.
* * * *
On examining Diamond by lamp-light—I made a practice of looking it
over every night—I was unpleasantly surprised to observe
innumerable burrs sticking in both tyres. The back one, being of
more than ordinary thickness, had successfully resisted their
endeavors to get through into the air tube, and the strip on the front
tyre, being new, had also dissuaded the attacking thorns from
intruding too far.
These burrs, common to many of the agricultural districts of South
Australia, and especially prolific where the ground is sandy, are
known as "three cornered jacks." No matter how they lie upon the
ground, one hard and sharp spear points upwards. They are very
plentiful in their season from Hookina up so far as Parachilna.
* * * *
The breeze next morning, though light, was favorable. But the day
was Sunday. I debated with myself, in bed, which would be the
greater sin—to not avail oneself of an inviting breeze, or to continue
cycle-touring on the Sabbath. Being unable to answer the question
quite satisfactorily, I compromised, and made a late start.
To Parachilna (40 odd miles): Bad, bumpy road, stony and soft, or
hard and guttery. Dined here.
To Beltana (24 miles): Alongside the railway line—on which trains
travel occasionally, and even then for the most part only to Hergott.
Some stretches of good track, but most of it heavy travelling. Much
walking. Some very stony miles traversed over; country broken into
low hills.
By way of change, there was fresh-looking high saltbush in the
vicinity of Blackfellow's Creek—and also numbers of diamond
sparrows. Blackfellow's Creek, a wider stream than had been
expected.
* * * *
I met the first aborigines when close to Beltana. There were four of
them, all females, fully dressed. They were walking towards me; and
by way of entertaining them I rang my bell and cavalierly doffed my
cap. For my entertainment doubtless they smiled, as only one of
their kind can, and made grimaces. So we parted the best of friends.
"It may not always be so," I thought; "the painful necessity may
arise presently to shoot some of your male distant relations."
Bush country is here fairly entered upon; the wheat-producing areas
ending about Hawker. The rainfall is too certainly uncertain further
north. To the south it certainly is uncertain also.
The everlasting hills yet last, to east and west.
The night at Beltana; 64 miles for the day; 354 miles from Adelaide.
In good fettle and with a healthy appetite.
The rough track had been very trying to my Diamond. But all was
well. Sunday cycling, too; yet no accidents! Resolved to cycle on the
Sabbath in future.
 * * * *
From Beltana Monday morning. Hilly to Puttapa Pass. The latter the
most picturesque spot yet passed. Through a jutting rocky point, a
railway cutting runs at the base of a steep and rugged hill, and at
the cutting's end a lofty iron bridge of many spans runs out across a
wide and very stony creek, through whose bed for a mile or so the
track winds sinuously; then climbs the northern bank, and so on to
country far from good for cycling over.
Saw the first mob of kangaroos—a small one.
Much creek-crossing; also much walking—tiring and very slow. Still, I
was in such good condition that I frequently caught myself going at
a "Chinaman's trot" where I could not do any riding.
In flat country now. The track (over marshy alkaline-strewn ground)
faces towards several low flat-topped hillocks, and passes close to
some remarkable metalliferous-seeming ironstone mounds. Then to
Leigh's Creek, at about 25 miles. Here are a railway siding and a coal
mine, Adelaide owned, but the prospects are not bright.
* * * *
In front of a cottage somewhere about here I caught sight of—my
first snake. A small one, brown, about 3 feet long. A frocked child
was standing in the doorway keeping tight hold of a cotton-reel. To
the unrolled length of cotton was attached a crooked pin, baited with
a piece of bread. This precocious infant was fishing—when I chanced
to come along and frighten away his eel.
On my thoughtlessly telling the mother (who, it transpired, had been
having forty winks in a back room) she exclaimed, "Drat the boy!"
Informed me that "the kid was always getting 'imself into some
mischief—could never let things be," boxed the innocent little
fisherman's ears, and took from him his tackle. "I wondered what he
was awanting the bread for," she remarked by and bye; and when
the child, who had gone to a corner to have his cry out, walked over
to bury his face in her lap—"Lord bless his dirty little angel face," she
said, as, spitting on one corner of her apron, she wiped the little
angel face clean.
* * * *
From Leigh's Creek to Lyndhurst is very heavy road—now soft, now
very stony, so travelling is hard work. Thus it was right through to
Farina, 60 miles from Beltana, where Diamond and I pulled up about
4 o'clock in the afternoon.
An enthusiastic and almost intemperately hospitable wheelman, the
only one in the place, made me welcome; advised me of an
excellent stretch of road up to Hergott, 30 miles on; closed and
locked his store door to mark the occasion of a stranger-cyclist's
arrival, and accompanied me for two or three miles along the track.
Presently some railway-workmen's cottages are reached, and here
kind people provided an evening meal. And as I started somebody
remarked—"Look out for a bit of a rut when you get about 4 miles
on."
One rut in four miles! Yet, mirabile dictu, the road to Hergott came
right up to expectations.
* * * *
Railway workmen up here console themselves for their miserable
portion by giving their residences high-sounding titles.
Somewhere up from Hawker, a row of tents occupy the site of an old
camp. A square tent standing at the top corner of the row is dubbed
"No. 1, Transcontinental Terrace." A round one further along,
"Euchre-ville." Here as everywhere is also a "Belle Vue House;" and
likewise "The Shamrock"—in memoriam doubtless.
One with the name large-written over the entrance in painfully
sprawling capitals is "Marine View Cottage!" A strapping workman
was at the door.