Morning in Tambo brought a clear and sunny Aussie day at last. The tent had moisture but dried quickly in the sunlight as Fireman brewed up coffee and I went for a shower.
We started out with a top up of diesel, then into the red dirt lands we went. At Barcaldine, where our northward route turned westward, it was warm enough that Fireman changed into shorts and flip flops. At Longreach there were flies that landed in your face and rode in your back. We crossed the Tropic of Capricorn and were officially in the tropics.
The sun was getting low by Winton, where we searched but found no wine to buy for dinner. We did find a spot in a slightly chaotic caravan park managed by a pickled old local. Maybe we should have asked him for a bottle.
After setting up camp and seeing the sun disappear behind a long horizon we were laughing about old travel stories as the moon and Venus brightened in the sky beside Leo (which is upside down from here).
The evening entertainment offered a "bush poet", who started out well with some funny poems about growing wheat and surviving a hernia. He changed from poetry to joke telling and started to fall flat. We made our escape.
A touring motorcyclist had parked his dusty bike near us and pitched his tent on the concrete pad right up next to the barbie. Mate! We need to use that! We turned the barbie around and fired it up anyway, checking from time to time that his tent wasn't melting.
On the barbie we threw snags and onions and bacon and tomato and eggs. We toasted bread slices in the grease and made enormous delicious sandwiches, all by the light of our head torches.