Birdsville

There are multiple hazards involved while riding a motorcycle in the Outback, the suicidal animals criss crossing the road, the chance of mechanical failure, which would be similar to being stranded inside an oven set to broil and the ever present "Bull Dust" a fine powdery dirt that covers the roadway disguising potholes and creating a glass like slipperiness to the tarmac.
After several hours of navigating detours and animal carcas I arrive in Birdsville, an authentic outback town, complete with a racetrack that bustles with excitement every spring for the Birdsville races. People from all over Australia fly in to attend.
Today, the first Tuesday in November marks one of the biggest days in Aussie sports, the Melbourne cup, a horseracing extravaganza and premier social event. Every shop in Birdsville closes around 1pm for the mass exodus of townsfolk to the Birdsville hotel to view the legendary event on big a screen tv.
That night, Sharon and Dave, the managers of the hotel I am staying at invite me to an authentic Australian BBQ back at the Birdsville hotel. I intensly listen to a man at the bar talk about the best way to round up cattle via helicopter, mush faster and more effective on these massive cattle ranges. We sit outside at picnic tables and eat pork ribs with sausage and cole slaw washed down with ample amounts VB beer!
My new posse of Birdsville townfolk have taken me under their collective wings and treat me as one of their own, interpteting Australian slang and giving pointers that may be usefull on my journey. The Australian's ive met so far, minus the cop, have been incredibly helpfull and hospitibal people. I cant think of a better way to have spent my 40th year of existence.