The town has a cute pub. No beer on tap but they do sell milk and bread and that's how you can tell Gregory Downs is a real town. Unlike Burke & Wills Roadhouse which only sold postcards and stubby holder shaped memorabilia.
We had even more beers when we got here. It might make today our most drunkenly day of the whole trip.
We found a pretty caravan park with roos and sprinklers and ants and caretakers from Melbourne. One of them offered us one of the empty cabins if it got too cold. She said she wouldn't tell anyone else - presumably meaning her fellow caretaker and husband. It was quite lovely of her. It was about 35 degrees today.
As we settled down and started to reflect on our small-scale, high-mobility pack, I realised I'd removed every sort of dinner flavour from the kitchen bag. Alice was gracious and forgiving but insisted I never be permitted again to make serious spice decisions without supervision. I agreed that was only fair. Fortunately salt and olive oil are great even in fairly remote isolation from other flavours. And peanut butter on a spoon makes both an excellent entree and dessert. So the night was no Desert Dinner Disaster by any means.
We both like cycling almost 10.
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