A @#@#>>> Dog and the Lasseter Highway

A scream, yelling and profanity slice the air. A dog snarls, growls and teeth snap. I look up as Brian staggers towards me. Blood is pouring from his hands and right calf. A squat brown dog of dubious pedigree slinks away – ears back and tail between its legs. One or possibly two of its ribs have felt the impact of a cycling shoe aimed at the solar plexus.

This is bad – blood poisoning and an aortic heart valve transplant are not a good combination. We are in Mt Ebenezer, one of the few Aboriginal-owned roadhouses in the Northern Territory. Civilisation is 200 kilometres up the Lasseter Highway.

Our cycling adventure started with an innocent proposal.

“Lets go camping in the Australian desert,”

What a romantic idea - the two of us under the stars, sharing a bottle of wine at sun set.

Reality, of course is huddling together in our tent – breathe condensating, down sleeping bags, thermal underwear, ink black nothingness and below freezing temperatures. The sunset is a huge orange cut out sliding into a rust red landscape. And yes, the stars are like diamonds painted on the sky.

At night Dingoes howl and in the morning my hips ache. Outside ice covers the bike seats and our water bottles freeze.

A new day - the earth seeps pink and ochre hues. Discarded toilet paper litters the dunes and attaches itself to green Spinifex and Mulga bushes like balls of cotton!

The proprietor of the Roadhouse suggests she take Brian for treatment to the medical centre at the Aboriginal settlement of “Imanpa” some 17 kilometres away. Off the main tourist route, this remote community is conveniently hidden from the prying eyes of tourists and media.

The local nurse pours Iodine directly onto the wound!

“I normally suggest a Tetanus shot, however, medicines are no longer kept at the clinic because of theft”.

We are given dressings, antibiotics and a warning that the wound should be kept covered from the flies.

“I bet you’ve never seen anything like this place before?” the Nurse says.

Outside garbage is piled window height – stinking, a mass of flies. Old washing machines and wrecked cars litter lawns. A small group of teenagers sit in the gutter alongside sleeping dogs and empty wine bladders. The windows in the Women’s Centre have been smashed and solar panels ripped out. Although the community is supposedly “alcohol free”, it resembles a war zone.

“Domestic violence, substance abuse, illiteracy and hopelessness breeds like wildfires here”

The dwindling community is on the brink of collapse as families drift to Alice Springs in search of work - petrol sniffers and drunks remain. The general store has closed, the nearest police station is 150 kilometres away and few of the children attend school regularly.

Next morning Brian gingerly mounts his bike. The surreal experience of visiting “Imanpa” has left us with a bad taste. Cycling along the flat Lasseter Highway, we laugh as a family of Emus struts awkwardly across flat saltpans and we stop to photograph a huge Wedge Tailed Eagle as it tears at road-kill. We are in luck and cycle most of way to Ayers Rock with the wind at our backs.