Broken Hill Blowout

Departing Menindee, we head towards Broken Hill. En route we talk about how well our trusty camper, Bluey, has handled all the dirt tracks, and I mention how we have done well so far with expenses, but will need tyres at the next rego inspection.

We pass through Broken Hill at lunch then take the road south towards Wentworth. Half an hour later, Gen is driving when suddenly in quick succession there are a series of louder and louder thumps and bangs from the back of Bluey. Looking in the mirror, I see large clumps of rubber sailing all over the road.

We stop and discover the rear driver side tyre is totally stripped of its tread and miraculously still holding air.

The cavalry pulls over behind us in the shape of a 4wd ute with three blokes I instantly recognise as the fishing lads from Pooncarie riverside campsite. We gingerly nurse our van off the road. Then the lads set to replacing the tyre which is still holding air thereby making the extrication of the spare from the underbody much easier.

Knowing the lads' fondness for liquid refreshment, we chat for a while about all our Oz travels, then hand them two bottles of chilled white Pinot Grigio which are clearly a hit. Given we now have no useable spare, we say goodbye to our saviours and motor back to Broken Hill, pop into a tyre shop, order a new set of tyres for the next day, shop at the mall for more grog, then treat ourselves to a room at the Red Earth Hotel. What amazing good fortune that the tyre had held on all our dirt track adventures! 

Lurking on the side of the road are reminders of roos who didn't learn the highway code fast enough. When we saw this skeleton, it brought to mind the wedge-tailed eagle we saw the day before who had swooped in front of us to make off with roadkill.