What is typical is the sound. Along with the unseen lorikeets you could hear that ever present hum of an idling truck's engine at the servo, with cars rushing by on the highway. Leading down the side road a Give Way sign was framed by two 60's and a Hilux coming the other way.
I stood in the middle of the road, taking it in. Looking forward to a week in the bush.
Now, I'm lying in my tent listening to the pelting of rain, the bass of the fake U2 band has ended and people are heading back to their abodes in this insane tent city. We've built it from a sheep paddock, the softness I feel below my buttocks is really just Roo Poo.
It was a beautiful day, firstly riding in the sun, enjoying the serenity of being on holiday, alone (with 4999 strangers). I looked out over the wheatfields as I rode (I won't pretend to know what they really were, but shell refer to everything as a wheat field). Along their edges native trees remained, or had been allowed to grow, but sometimes only in a comically designed pattern, or a pattern of no design. Some tall and others skinny, and yet others doing a lean-to resemblant of a pushup. Their shapes are so familiar but I could stare all day, even at those that stand as burnt out husks without a leaf, but a testament to endurance.
Occaisionally a fellow rider would remind me I wasn't alone, but for the most part, being here with no seatbelt, windscreen, timeline or expectations gave me such a sense of peace from a busy overactive world.
Day 1 is done, as I rest in Dookie, so tomorrow let the road take me to Euroa!!!