Lost Highway

Kakadu is superb but the next leg of the Odyssey is entirely unappealing. The interior of the Northern Territory is immense and punctuated only occasionally by rundown roadhouses and tiny towns. We have to cross 1500km of desert and even during winter it's intensely hot during the day.

Dave is concerned about his tyres and insists on riding really slowly. I prefer riding quickly and standing into the oncoming wind to cool off. After lunch we agree to separate for a bit and use our phones to catch up later. There's only one possible direction for the next several hundred kilometres so it's not like we'll lose each other.

That night I managed to lose Dave. Woops.

There's no mobile coverage so I can't contact him by phone. However he will be at one of the roadhouses near where I'm staying tonight and he'll probably reach Mt Isa by tomorrow night. It's no big deal. I'm awake early the next morning and I'm making great time when I pass Three Ways. I briefly consider stopping for fuel but I've got enough to reach the next roadhouse.

When I reach the next roadhouse there's a big red sign saying "Sorry, No Fuel". 

Oh shit. It's too late to turn back to Three Ways. I slow right down to conserve fuel and when I see the green sign that indicates 20km remaining to the next town, I breathe a sigh of relief. That's when the engine goes suddenly silent. There's no sputtering or coughing; the engine just stops dead and the bike rolls to a stop.

Well this is a fine mess. Middle of the desert. No fuel. I wonder briefly how this will be written on my tombstone: "Here Lies Nathan, Eternally Resting, Just Like His Bike, Which He Didn't Refuel at Three Ways, What An Idiot". I'm not actually worried about thirst or hunger - I've enough food and water to last a week - but I feel like dying from embarrassment.

Fortunately this is a well travelled road so I start waving down passing motorists. Every single one of them stops and offers to help, although every one of them only has diesel. It takes a dozen failed attempts before a Queensland farmer named Brian stops, and he keeps a jerry can of petrol on the back of his truck. Hooray.

Brian generously refuses to accept payment for the fuel. He just seems pleased to help me out. I'm back on the road and only a few hours behind schedule. I make it into Mt Isa as the sun is setting and I catchup with Dave at the campsite. I tell him about running out of fuel and he has a good laugh at my expense. I'm still not seeing the funny side.

Over beers at the nearby pub, Dave says he's not that keen to travel much of the eastern coast because he's travelled those roads heaps of times. He wants to start heading home. I'm not entirely convinced - I haven't seen much of anything above Sydney - but it's something we can work out tomorrow.