In the morning, after I had my revenge against the annoying teenage kids by stealing their shoelaces and locking them inside their tent while they were still passed out, I rode down to the ferry. The next service across the Spencer Gulf to Cowell left in just a few minutes so I quickly purchased my ticket and hopped on board.

The ferry was large but nowhere near the size of the one that took me to Tasmania from Melbourne. There were several other motorcycles on the parking deck, mostly Harley, and many cars. The passenger deck was more like a café and had large windows for a brilliant view of the water. I sat down at a table, ordered a couple cappuccinos' and conversed with an old couple for most of the two hour journey.

When the ship docked and rode off of the ferry I followed the other motorcycles because I wasn't sure of which direction to go to reach the main highway. They led me to the main road east to Lock; about 100 kilometers. At Lock I went north about 50 kilometers to reach the main highway called A1.

It must be said that I don't enjoy riding my motorcycle on these roads. Simply put, they are boring; straight, flat, bushes on the left, bushes on the right. And it's hot, very hot. Having not slept too well the night before and only driving three hundred kilometers I decided to find a place to camp near Ceduna. I couldn't find any proper campgrounds so I just pulled over, entered onto a large field through a gate and pitched my tent on private property.

One thing about Australia I cannot stand, and the number one reason why I would never live here, are the flies. They're bastards. If they land on my hand and I try to shake them off they won't budge. They also know when both of my hands are in use, like when I'm setting up my tent and take advantage of this knowledge by landing on my face and buzzing inside my ears.

Once my tent was erected I crawled in, zipped myself inside and killed all the flies that made it in. Since smoking regular cigarettes is too expensive here I bought some loose-leaf tobacco. I spent an hour teaching myself how to roll them and being satisfied with one of the results I lit up and blew smoke at the flies sitting through the mosquito netting of my tent. Later I read a book until it became too dark. The rest of the evening I lay staring at the sky searching for falling stars and satellites.

I woke to the sound of buzzing. It was light outside when I opened my eyes. Every square inch of my tent was covered not in flies but mosquitoes; thousands of them. I sat inside at least a half hour deciding how best to exit my tent and pack up my gear. The only idea that came to mind was to put on a jacket to cover my arms, slap myself repeatedly in the face every two seconds and wave my arms frantically, while I run in circles screaming swear words once in a while. It wasn't a good morning.

Stats of the battle: 2 bites on my neck and over 50 mosquitoes killed. Not bad.

The rest of the day didn't go too well either. The chain on my bike was sagging badly and there was no room left to tighten it. I also noticed that my rear sprocket was wearing. I figured that I would still be ok to get to Perth without changing them out. I was wrong.

My chain fell off more than a few times. The first time it happened I thought a link had busted. I coasted to the edge of the highway and noticed that it had simply fallen off because it was too long. I put it back on and took off. I didn't make it ten feet before it happened again. After a while I found that I had to accelerate slowly, very slowly, and couldn't go more than 50 miles per hour.

I made it five hundred kilometers to the border town called Eucla (on the states of South Australia and Western Australia - another 45 minute time zone change). I made it to a hotel, the only hotel in this town of 50 people, and asked the cute Irish receptionist if there was a mechanic in town.

"There is just one mechanic in town and he lives just up the road there. I don't know if he works on motorcycles but you can ask. Hopefully your problem isn't too big because he's booked with work. My car is at his place and he's still getting around to looking at it. I was just passing through, like you, and my engine blew. I decided to take a job as receptionist here because I couldn't find anything else to do with my time. May as well earn a bit of money, right?"

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"Oh, about six weeks now", she smiled.

I stared at her. I'm so screwed, I thought. "He's the only mechanic in town?"

"He'll probably let you use his tools if you have parts and know how to fix what you need. But it's Sunday, he might not even be working today."

I had al