So we pulled all the bags off again, the covers again, the seat and tank again and discovered ‘the crack’ ( not a pharmaceutical substance)
Hmmm. That’s not good considering it had a matching crack on the other side that effectively meant the spine was broken 3/4 of the way through.
While we were absorbing the implications of this rather disturbing discovery Henry asked if I’d tried the reserve position of the fuel tap.
Well, no, it’s only done 270 Klm so it can’t be near reserve.
But wait! The tank feels light, can’t be more than 4 or 5 litres left.
Okay, put it all back together, fuel on ‘reserve’ and Lo! away she goes!
Daylight was slipping away by now.
Dennis was gone, somewhere up ahead. The nearest fuel was now Stonehenge, a small hamlet about 140 Klm distant and beyond the range of the ailing Kwaka.
Nothing to do but press on and see how far it would go. I figured I’d run dry about 50 or 60 klm from Stonehenge and that’s pretty much what happened. We drained a litre out of Henry’s KLX and pressed on. Rex had meanwhile gone ahead with bladders to get more fuel. We met him about 30 k out of Stonehenge at a cattle property, he’d bought 10 litres, enough to get us into town.
When I say ‘town’, I’m being generous, here’s a ‘maps’ view of the place
But the temperature was plummeting, darkness had overtaken us and we crawled into town avoiding the cattle, the kangaroos, the rabbits and other wildlife that seemed determined to scare us.
And they did.
Henry and I were first to pull up outside the pub, the only friendly lights on the main street and never so happy to make it !