Stray Tag-a-long Tales: Robert 'Cowboy' Rowley

My Honey Went Moonshine On Me.

Sheila cuddles up to me smuggling her glass of 'moonshine' next to my lips. I smell her liquor breathe. I see the light refract to a prism of molten TNT as she kisses me: the moonshine staining her tongue infiltrates mine.

Sheila goes down deeper and deeper into my mouth. She stops, comes up for air and takes another sip of this 100% pure grade alcohol. Fumes of it come out from her nose.

Her body presses close to me. I'm getting drunk from her. She is speaking to me in so many different Aussie slangs that I'm lost in the sight, sound and feel of my Shelia. I break apart from her and sing:

"Pardon me Miss

But I've never done this

With a real live girl.

Stepped off the farm

With an actual arm

Full of real life girl.

Pardon me if your affectionate squeeze

Shot straight to my head

And buckled my knees

I'm simply drowned in the sight

And the feel of a real live Girl."

"Come here Teddy Bear, and I'll show you what a real live Sheila can do"

So I did!

PELLETON - "RUSH, RUSH, RUSH,"

Swan Hill to Euchca - Victoria

     "Rush,rush,rush, Robby," Col says to me at 6:50 A.M. "Yes, I am in a rush every morning." All of us me included wake up before dawn and leave when the sun rises 45 minutes latter. In this duration, I have to pack, dress, eat, groom and roll to the starting line."
   7:15 A.M. Tim Hack clicks his feet into his pedals. We're off on a 158 KM ride down a wet smooth highway. I feel calm though I have miles to go before I sleep.
   7:35 A.M. As we pass the city limits, the lead cyclist speed up ahead of the rest of the group. I attempt to ride with them but am quickly left behind. I soft pedal and lead the second group for 25 KM. I dodge the cold puddles of water, the pot holes and listen carefully on my ear phone of cars and trucks driving up behind us. "Car passing me now," Ray says. I count, "One thousand one, one thousand two," and hear the car behind me. Countless cars and trucks zoom by us at over 100 KMPH. My road sense is fed by Ray. He's the angel looking over us by speaking to us on our radios.
   Frank, Mandy, Yolande, Rod and myself ride as far as we want and then relinquish the lead to each other. Minutes and hours go by quickly as we ride single file. Partnering occurs intermittently.
   8:45 A.M. We stop for our first break. They come after every 25 KM. Fruit Juice and bananas and assortment of other lollies are on the table. I reach for a Tropical Fruit Punch and slurp it down. Less than ten minutes passes and we're on our bikes. My body cools down in the 14 degree Celsius in seconds. I must keep my engine warm.
   10:20 A.M. "You're half way!" Ray says excitedly. "We averaging twenty - seven an half KMPH," Yolande says.
   11:35 A.M. Lunch comes and goes quickly. I drink three hot chocolate energy drinks, nibble on Roast Beef and drink Chicken Noodle Soup.
   12:00 P.M. "Wind is shifting to the nose," I say over the radio. Pedaling becomes labored. As I strain to keep up in these next twenty - five KM to Rod and Mandy and Frank who pedal at over 3o KMPH my hamstrings want to give up. I am a little guy who doesn't cycle with power like these people. I simply spin.
   At the fourth 25 KMPH break I am winded. I can't talk. I merely drink some water and get back on my bike and pedal to Euchca, Victoria leading the group.
I had fun today. At our camp, the rain falls on the Murray River. I sit inside a warm cabin peacefully. I look forward to tomorrow!

PELLETON - A Kangaroo Jumps the Fence

A condensed version of four days into one.

                                                               (2nd. article)

      Boom,crash, clang, goes the sky above me! My pen rattles on the desk as the volcanic thunder shakes my teeth as I eat rice at dinner tonight. The clothes pins fight to hold their grip on the clothes lines as the twenty - five knot wind blows. The red dust swirls up into a tornado three meters high slithering towards me - Piddle, paddle, piddle, paddle, wish, wash, whew, blurrr, bluuu, blow woh,woh, woh, blow, woh, woh, blow, woh, woh! Dit, dat, dit, dat, titter, titter, titter, gurr, whish, whish deafens my ear as the rain pours. Thirty - two wheel, sixty - four wheel, hundred wheel Road Trains pulverize the puddles of H20 sending geysers of cold four degree liquid ice over the highway. As the sky darkens I chew the last morsel of lamb and prepare for bed.
     I sing:

   In the blackest of nights
When that cold North - West blows,
I feel my baby holding me tight,
    Telling me in jest to hold
On through this cold dark lonely night.
   Even though I've been told,
   I'm still waitin' for the morning light
   When my heart awakens to be bold!

     Five - fifteen A.M. the alarm rings to the sound of rain falling. I climb out of my warm double sleeping bag, desperately groping for the flash light. "Where did I put it last night?" My fingers search through twelve different pockets. It's not there. "Oh, gosh, where could it be?" Crash, clang, splash, bang goes the thunder as I look up to the roof of my one man tent. I spot my flash light hanging by a hook. I turn it on. My chest tightens as I chew my way out of my warm cocoon. I only have 45 minutes to dress and pack until breakfast. Clothes are disorganized around me. Outside I look to the left at the dark trees and listen to the scary cries of the Magpies. Every morning starts this way for me!
I shake my hands, swing my arms, jibber, jabber with my lips, say a few lines from my Shakespearean monologue to warm up. Shatter, clatter, matter does it matter my cold lips mumble as I crush the ice inside my icy water bottle so I can wash the battery acid coffee down to wake up.
   Twenty - five other foots steps crunch the frost around the breakfast table. Feet sink into the five MM of mud around me. I feel the cold West wind against me. "Cowboy, how'd you sleep?" asks Col. "My nights are your best nightmare!" I cry.
   At 7:15 A.M. dawn breaks. Reflections of red light shines on puddles of water. The twenty - five mm black tires glisten in the grey orange streaked sky. Click, click, click I hear around me as we attach our feet to our pedals. Minutes go by and I watch Tim Hack steer at a forty - five degree angle across the rail road tracks. Suddenly, he falls. These death cookies are slicker than goose shit through a tin horn. "Man, down! Man, down," I say into my radio phone. Tim grabs his left shoulder and writhes. He is a stationary paper weight. Minutes go by before he stands up, he climbs back onto his bicycle and continues cycling East.
     We're cycling up Horrock Pass into the Flinders Range. On the way to the summit eighteen KM above me, the storms clouds dissipate. Sun shines and highlights the mountain meadows. Red ruby birds fly around me. Magpies scream. The 7% road grade steepens. Breathing's labored!
     At the top, green fields roll across to the East in this Garden of Eden. I am in Wheat and Sheep grazing country. Cycling down this pass to the fertile valleys below and beyond over the horizon passing towns such as Melrose, I see giant twisted Gum Trees. Magpies dive bomb on me. "Only the American," yells Mandy. "It's only the American they want!" Almond trees blossom in front of me. These sweet smelling pink and purple trees live here in this Eastern Part of Australia. Fruit orchards are every where.
     Sheep graze, wind mills spin, sun light shines here in this promised land! I dodge puddles of water feeling the puffs of wind beat against me. My cheeks and hands feel like pins and needles. Slowly the land thaws.
     Mid morning comes. There's fourteen KM to go before lunch. With the wind at my back, I fly from Bryan to Burra at over 50 KMPH. My RPM's 125. I catch the wind! "I am impressed," Ray says to me over my radio as I am speeding along.
   As I arrive in Burra, Simone tells me, "Lunch is twenty - five KM or forty - five KM from here." "That was a blast!" I say. "Keep going," she says. I didn't need to be coaxed to keep pedaling.
   What's left is a down hill decent into the scrub brush country of Australia that we have cycled through much of this trip. I amp up my pedaling and surge over 65.3 KMPH until lunch. I unchain my self. I catch the wind!
   After lunch, I ride with the group. Issues come up. I give Tim Hack my Gel Pad to use. He gives it back to me after 25 KM. The road is bumpy and rocky now. Our speed's only twenty - three KMPH. We're tired! We've just spent the morning cycling out of our comfort zone. As we pedal we enter into the more fertile country.
     As the hours and minutes pass by Almond orchards appear. Bright pink and lavender trees obliterate the sky line. In the foreground are orange trees and lemon trees. I see against a sky blue - sky pink, lavender, orange and yellow.
     Suddenly, a pod of kangaroos jump along beside us hopping over the fences like acrobats. They dart right and left out of control. One lands right in front of me, I swerve to the left and stop my bike. These critters turn on a dime. I wish I could hop around with reckless abandon.
    In the evening, after cycling over 180 KM, all of us celebrate over a memorable day!
"It's my shout," I say to every one!

The Pelleton

Almond blossoms

I tried a different position.

The Parrot

Swan Hill Pioneer Village

They finally got me!

PELLETON

   "One, two, three, four, Lets pedal more, five, six, seven, eight, Who do I appreciate?, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, Take me to the dell," I say to keep my rhythm. In fact I sing, "I can spin with discipline, I can spin with no amends, I can spin with M and M, I can spin with S and M, I can spin with rin tin tin, I can spin with....". My breath's ragged. My legs ache. My minds weary. My eyes are bleary. Will I catch up? I push the pedals harder and harder. Finally, I catch the leaders. I pass Col, Jessie and Nick and take the lead. The wind blows in my face as I pedal uphill. I start to diminish. "You're working to hard," Nick says, "Go to the back!"
     At this point, I realize I can't be the RUGGED AMERICAN INDIVIDUALIST. I have to join the 2 Pots Pelleton cycling team so I can cycle 4000 KM from Perth, Western Australia to Bairnsdale, Victoria, Australia. I am a rag-tag cyclist who journeys to find meaning in life.
   The core of the Pelleton are eight members who have various abilities. All of us are not whole unless we become a band of brothers spinning across the Nullarbor toward Kalgoorlie, Eucla and Port Augusta in South Australia through the Western head winds. They alone sap the energy out us. Mandy, Darren, Tim, Yolanda, Frank, Cow Boy (Rob Rowley), Simone, and Barry make up the 2 Pots Pelleton. We pedal at 90 RPM and over hills and flats against the wind while dodging the Road Trains. Our support crew drive in back of us radioing up to us.
   "Road train coming up fast," Paul reports over the radio. "Get off the road," Tim says,
"Now!"
     "Vroom, busssss, bushshshsh, wah, wah, wah," deafens my ears as it passes. A tail wind pushes eight of us backwards. Tasting and smelling the exhaust gags and suffocates me. These 64 wheel monsters will crush and pulverize us and flatten us into a Sausage Pizza. The support crew will only have to scrape our remains off the rock pavement with a shovel and pour us into a small paint can.
      In these first two weeks our efficiency improves. Nick teaches us how to rhythmically spin with one another. None of us is ever filing for divorce. We are one!
      Our final test occurs yesterday, when we had twenty KM to ride on the Eyre Highway into Port Augusta. Tim says, "Wide load coming up fast." Man

My choice of beer.

dy says, "Can I ride over the bridge before I get off the road?" "Yes," Tim says. She rides like the wind. We single up and follow each other. On the other side of the bridge she exits onto the curb. The Road Train passes. It has over a hundred wheels because it is carrying a rail road car. As it passes, I shake. My feet rattle inside my shoes. My teeth bite my lip. My heart looks up to the sky. "Yes," I say, "the 2Pots Pelleton is World Class."