My Simpson Desert crossing Part 2

They rotated the passenger gig, so that they all got a ride in every few hours. One bloke got out of the passengers seat, onto a bike, vroom, vroom and fell over. I got out and asked if he was Ok. Yep, only my pride damaged he said. No big loss says I, rather stupidly.
“It is when you’re supposed to be the Australian Desert Racing Bike Champion,” says he. Oops!
Then, just to prove a point, he gunned the engine, stood the bike on it’s back wheel with the front one in the air and off up and over the dune. He came back over the same way and grinned at me.
Down to the airstrip, up to the Knolls and the French line. Camped somewhere and the 40 mob offered me some snags for tea in the firelight. “Hello”, I said. “These snags have sand on them.” “Oh that’s just the flavoring,” they replied.
I put my tent up and retired. They put a tarp down and pulled one corner over the kids. I had been drinking water about every 30 seconds that afternoon, it had turned “warm”, even though it was only September / October.
The next morning they had covered up; there was ice on the windscreen.
The dunes just kept getting bigger and more difficult. Had to get the shovel out twice, but the biggest problem was the shot lines. Luckily the bikes scouted ahead. We came to a drillingcamp, which was staffed by two aboriginal chaps from Toowoomba. They organized a beer and soft drinks for the kids. They didn’t drink, which is why they were in charge of the camp while everyone was away I guess. Drove the wrong way out of their camp (1 beer can do that), but lots of arm waving and yelling we turned around. It was time for me to have a red face.
Up across the salt lakes to People’s Corner, and sign the guest book. Then across the WAA to try and find Birdsville.
A biker stood in the middle of the track waving his arms, so I slowed and stopped. Eyre Creek had gouged the dune so there was a drop on that side. I crossed further down.
They have a film somewhere of me with 4 wheels on the air…or so they claim, personally I reckon that’s rubbish. I don’t drive like that! (I do admit to having a bit of tree come in a window somewhere, but it shouldn’t have been in the middle of a dune with a dog’s leg)
I remember a passenger telling me that I’d just crossed “Big Red”, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was to get to Birdsville; I’d discovered that I had half a jerry can of petrol left!
Into town eventually to find a camp on the river, I didn’t even know there was a campground in town until we needed more fresh water.
Ten thousand (Ok, slight exaggeration but at least five thousand) blokes camping there for the races. (And two women but one was hiding and the other was an undercover policeperson flown in from Brizzy for the race crowd.)
That night I edged my way through the crowd at the bar. I had been dreaming of a cold Coke (remember Coke a cola…it’s a drink ) for days.
Finally made it to the bar and when I asked for it, a huge space opened up around me. You could almost hear them thinking, “Hello. Another one of them Sydney fellas! Don’t turn your back on him.”