We spent today motoring south from Sandstone.
It was a long drive on gravel road and we got off to a bumpy start. Mrs M enjoyed the cricket on the iPad as we travelled. The Starlink Mini does the trick sitting on the dash with a clear vision of the satellites through the windscreen.
Yesterday we travelled down from Cue, stopped in at London Bridge and a few other attractions along the way.
This man made cave was the site of a brewery in gold rush times. We like to camp somewhere quiet so we took a 10km diversion off the main dirt road onto a pending lease showing a few gold prospects.
Somewhere along the way we heard a horrible screaming noise from the left side. It only lasted a few seconds but it sounded like a bearing seizing. When I stopped to find the source of the noise I noticed I'd left the fan running in the roof vent so I switched it off and thought no more of it until I started the engine this morning.
The first thing to be heard when I turn the ignition on is the big 24V Big Air compressor. This morning it was silent. I immediately remembered the screaming noise from yesterday. The suspension air-compressor had spat the dummy and here we are a million miles from nowhere with no air for the airbags. I had that tiny bit of air, just enough to raise the suspension slightly so I decided to take it easy and travel those 10km back to the main dirt road.
That gave me time to consider my options because we were still 150km from the nearest small town. Where do you find air when you have none?
The spare wheel came to mind. It was quick and easy to put the air hose into the tank fitting as usual and the gauge/handpiece onto the tyre valve and pull the trigger. Air just flowed the other way from the tyre into the air tank. It worked but still only gave us about 45psi. Another 100km down the road and I remembered a small air-compressor that sometimes makes it into the boot. Then all I had to do was repump the spare and transfer air again into the tank. We never got full air pressure but enough to continue on our way.
Tonight we're camped at the old ghost town of Mulline so that Mrs M can scratch her itch with a few relics of a bygone era.
This old dolly pot had a hole worn through the bottom.