Cool crisp and clear with light winds, I thought once it warms up a little it will be perfect for cycling. I left early to make best use of the conditions, no shops open in Lock at 7am.

Early on the landscape today was much like yesterday, more sheep, wheat and canola, combine the three and you have the future lamb sandwich.

The pink galahs joined me for most of the day wheeling from one side of the road to the other in small raucous flocks. I always enjoy their company. More yellow fields of canola, with buttercups, wattles and gazanias along the verge, offset by the bright blue sky and green paddocks groaning with wheat.

I passed through Radall, not a town as such, just a railway siding next a nest of silos. Around 40 kms in, I stopped for brunch and a nature break outside an old abandoned farmhouse. Exploring the ruin, I was drawn to the centre of the room, in the mid morning quite I close my eyes arms outstretched I feel the buildings history seeping from the walls coming up from the ground beneath my feet.

This was a happy home. I sense the laughter of children, crops planted with hope and expectation. A family bound together, lives were lived here. No sense of tragedy, it was just time to move on.

Back on the road, I notice more traffic than normal, then the reason why, a cluster of farmers utes parked by the roadside beyond the fence line, a new combine harvester or some such machine is going through its paces. The farmers are having a field day, literally!

Outstanding in their field. (Boom Boom)

I arrived at Cleve, a small town of a couple of hundred souls next. At the bakery. I try for a lunchtime order of raisin toast, “We can do normal toast, but we don’t have any raisin bread.”

I wondered if they had sold out or just didn’t make the loaf, no use asking really. I opted for a sticky bun and a pot of tea.

Warming up, the conditions changed after Cleve for the final 45 odd kilometers to Cowell. Riding through hilly range country accompanied by a building South Westerly saw me whistling along without effort.

I passed more abandoned stone buildings, perhaps they just outlived their usefulness. They were tiny, with none of the mod cons we expect as standard today. These buildings exist now as historic romantic reminders, sentinels of a previous age.

It’s beginning to get cold as I leave the Birdseye Highway to join the Lincoln Highway for the last few kilometers into Cowell.

Cowell has a population nudging 1000, with a safe harbor. Its another friendly seaside fishing village. I did a quick circuit of town, then set up camp at the Foreshore Caravan Park. I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s sea ferry across the Spenser Gulf to Wallaroo and the Yorke Peninsula.