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Shortly before five and we're riding off, refreshed, with renewed energy, and ready once again to take up battle with the road. The first sign of life below the horizon comes soon as light approaches. The sky becomes a beautiful pallette of changing and blending colours, the yellow at the horizon shades upwards perfectly through light blue and into the blackness of night up overhead where the stars are being put out one by one as the light grows. The distinctive trees of the Outback are silhouetted by the spectacular rainbow lightshow and we behold the scene with wonder. Regular stops to snap a few pictures interrupt our riding but nevertheless we've made an impressive start to our day by the time we pause at a picnic site in the shadow of a huge cranking windmill. Originally used for pulling water from boreholes, they now make for about the only exciting sight along the route that we follow. We laugh and joke as we enjoy the relaxed temperatures and mozzie-free stop.

Out on the road we are treated to our first sighting of the Outback's biggest mammal. A Big Red Kangaroo bounds out from the bush on to the road, and along a few hundred metres. As we ride behind, it suddenly pulls up to look around and check out his pursuers. Unsure of quite what to do at this point we continue towards him. His ears twitch and rotate, their big cup like shape picking up distant noises from well off the road. Just as we begin to get dangerously close, he winds up, and bounds off down the road, bouncing comically on and off the road in such an unpredictable manner. Its not hard to see why there are so many accidents involving these crazy animals. We laugh out loud at the springy creature as it hops off as high speed with perfect balance from its long curved tail. One couldn't design a more outlandish creature if one tried - surely!

We cross our first flood waters as we approach Soudan Cattle station. We don't have too much to worry about. Our feet are just about submerged at the bottom of their travel, but with little movement in the water we are able to pedal through easily. Having met one of the Police Officers out on the road, we have been told that our stop for the night is just past the flood. The strange thing is that out here we find ourselves in the middle of a huge grassy plain without end, and without any buildings in sight. This is another example of the Australian phenomenon of distance. Whilst in England we might say that just after the flood might mean a hundred metres, or even up to a kilometre, here it turns out to be another ten kilometres. Of course when there are distances of over a hundred k's between landmarks or buildings, its easy to see how distances become blurred. Nevertheless another ten k's at the end of the day is a hard slog for us.

Clayton the farm overseer welcomes us in to the farm, and shows us to our rooms for the night. We're staying in the accommodation usually reserved for seasonal labour, and it's a great place for a night's sleep, complete with cooking facilities and a/c in the rooms. We're all set for the night.

Our next two days rides are shorter and give us the opportunity to recuperate a little. We easily reach the Police Station at Avon Downs. 'B-J' and Chris, his assistant, regale us with amusing tales of life as an Outback Policeman, and they also look after us fantastically well in the Visiting Officers Quarters. We fill them in with some of the missing details on the expedition and we make our arrangements for tomorrow when we shall come up against the infamous Georgina River that has halted all road traffic from Queensland to The Northern Territories for over a week now.

We ride over the border, and take the obligatory snap of us entering a new province. In times of the British Empire, each one of Australia’s separate states functioned as an entirely different country under British rule. Of course those days are long past, but still a well defined identity and pride exists within each state. Crossing from 'The Territory' into 'The Sunshine State' is akin to changing countries, and certainly we have ridden far enough to have crossed a whole country since we left Darwin. Over the border and after not too long, as we had been warned, the wide graded asphalt road narrows sharply into a red sand fringed desert back road. To think that this is one of two main arteries that connects Darwin and the NT, to the rest of Australia, it's quite amazing. Just a few kilometres more and we crest a hill and can pick out the buildings of Cammooweal. A few moments later and we can see the queue of traffic backed up along the road. There's more traffic here than we have seen since leaving Darwin. The people here have been camped out for days, and the area looks something like a refugee camp. Tempers are a little frayed and the homeless population are beginning to despair at the situation that confronts them. The women take shelter in their vehicles whilst quite a few of the menfolk drown their sorrows on the obligatory small bottles of VB or Castlemain. A couple of guys make their way over and start to give us the full run down on the scandalous neglect of Queensland's rural roads that has led to these innocent people being stranded in the outback at the festive season. We try to be as diplomatic as we can as our bicycles are loaded into the Police Boat that whizzes them across for us. Of course we feel a deep sympathy for the individuals out here, but on the other hand, it's a triumph for our 'Human Powered' mode of transport, being able to travel where cars and lorries are stopped in their tracks!

Later in the afternoon, the flood waters have subsided further and Andrew and I are able to make the crossing on foot, wading through the river. Having made the whole journey form London except the infamous crossing from Indonesia without powered transport, we are glad to be able to complete this stretch. The water sluices around us and does its best to carry us away, but we take slow and deliberate steps and make our crossing safely in the late afternoon sun.

Here in Camooweal we chance upon a couple of Brisbane news reporters covering the flooding, who as a side article agree to running a piece on the expedition. Chris, is a laid back beer drinker, who writes the stories. Well before even meeting us, he has selected the angle for his piece; 'Only The Stupid Pommies, would be out here cycling in the Wet Season'. Nathan on the other hand is an energetic, attention to detail photographer who eagerly explains the secrets of his trade - and of his impressive digital, mega-zoom, unfeasibly expensive camera. As night falls and we get ready for our well deserved sleep, Nathan has other ideas. He drags us out into the biting swarms of flies, mocking up a New Year's Eve celebration. The four of us wonder whether he's for real as he asks us to scream, shout, pop our streamers, blow our Christmas hooters and shake and spray our beer cans around all at the same time and whilst being eaten by swarms of flies. At just after ten we retreat to our room with just five hours until we shall have to be up again and back out on the road.

The following morning at three a.m. Nathan is not our best friend. Bleary eyed, crotchety and not pleased at the prospect of what lies ahead, we stumble around getting ready for the road. The flies are still out, and still biting. In our haste to get underway and avoid the tiny enemy, we don't secure our panniers or water bottles properly. On the road Rich loses one bottle, Tim's rear left pannier flies off into a puddle and a water container hits the ground in the darkness with a depressing thud. We're all ready for a proper rest. The last four days have pushed us to the limit. Our final day across the Barkly however, will be another hundred and ninety, and so we face up to our toughest challenge yet.