66 shades of grey

66 shades of grey
66 shades of grey ... this pic of me was shot by Kim, of Kim Thomsen's Photography at Daly Waters in the Northern Territory. Kim just wandered over and asked whether it was OK to get some character shots.


The cross is in front of the church in Karumba and it seems TV antennas have a greater reach for the sky.


I went fishing out of Nhulunbuy on the Gulf of Carpentaria. We anchored in a bay about 10 hours from Nhulunbuy and went ashore. This poor fella had been snared in the locals' overnight net and then had a run-in with the resident 14-foot saltwater croc - named Nike by the local indigenous fellas - and came off second best.

the rock

the rock

oodnadatta track

oodnadatta track
What a tough place to live ... this is out on the Oodnadatta Track


My photo
G’day, I’m Michael and I have two fantastic grown-up kids. I’m a jeans and singlet/T-shirt, cowboy boot, tattoos sort of fella, who knows a bit about this and sometimes a lot about that. I'll have a crack at most things, although having a relationship? ... well that ship has sailed. I'm past my use-by date anyway, so I'm gonna make it all about me and surviving life as I know it ... or make it.

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

At last, a bit of road chatter

Getting free of Victoria has been the toughest of tough gigs ... and yeah, it took just over three months, including times at The One's house, Skenes Creek, Pomonal in the Grampians (where The One came to stay) and Port Melbourne.
Saying farewell to the love of my life was the toughest of tough things I've ever done, leading to plenty of tears from both of us, but not before we had shared some wonderful times together, including our third visit to Balgownie Estate where good food and wine, wonderful service, beautiful room and so, so much love in the air took the visit to AAA rating. Oh, and an early celebration of my birthday, thanks to The One.
Then there was EIS, our favourite restaurant in Albert Park, where mine host Hiro and his team treated us to a memorable meal ... it was the new degustation menu ... before a couple of farewell drinks with the team at Lina's Wine Bar. It was tough, but we did it in style.

Finally, D (for departure) Day arrived and Liam and I did our final checks (OK it was packing last-minute style) before leaving my brother, Phillip, and his wife, Alexis, to enjoy their Grampians property while we made a beeline for Colac for an appointment with mechanic Ben for a couple of must-do things ... I had an inverter and a 12-volt power point installed in my trailer kitchen (I need the inverter because, yeah, I have a stick blender for food preparation) and some 120-watt solar panels, which, when added to the 75-watt flexible ... yeah it's made of rubber and you can hit it with a hammer ... panel will give me unlimited power for as long as it takes. Liam grabbed the same solar panels, had a battery regulator installed as well as a 12-volt plug near the back of his ute. It was money well spent. The service wasn't half bad either, Ben organised the office receptionist, Sally, to take us into town so we could grab a bite, do a wee bit of shopping and then she picked us up afterwards.
Knowing that we were now bullet-proof in terms of our power needs, we made our way to Skenes Creek for another farewell with the crew there.
Charlie, who runs the place, cooked dinner for Liam and me, along with five backpackers who are there doing work for him. Snags, steaks, lots of onions from the barbie and a huge salad did the trick ... OK, a few beers helped. JoJo, a recent arrival, had also cooked an apple crumble (yeah, I whisked the cream ... a bloke has to do his share) but dessert proved beyond us. She had it for brekkie in the morning.
Charlie did the right thing and organised coffee for us before we hit the road. It was then he brought his laptop to the table. "Check this out," he said, "I'm pretty happy with it."
He then started an episode of Game of Thrones, something I know bugger all about (as in never seen a second of it). There he was. Yep, Charlie was an extra. He was in four scenes, looking resplendent in his yellow robes. "So, what's the story, mate," I asked.
Seems he was in Croatia to visit his daughter and it just so happened that the set manager was a mate, so Charlie made his screen debut. Well done, Charlie.
We hit the road after saying goodbye to Sharie, Rachel, Lewis, JoJo and another bloke whose name escapes me.

We cut a swathe through the countryside, bound for Millicent in South Australia. The fishing there, according to a friend, was sensational. We camped for free not too far from the beach at a site we shared with an untold number of mice.The only real highlight was at nightfall one day when a ute pulled up for the driver to let down his tyres so he could do some four-wheel-driving in the sand. He was fishing for salmon. "Reckon they might be running tonight. I'll stop on the way back and give you some if you like. My missus won't touch 'em." We thanked him for the offer as he headed for the area dominated by the sounds of crashing waves, a sound that aided our attempts to sleep. Later, at about 9.45 when Liam and I were having a quiet beer at the campfire, the ute duly arrived and out popped the driver. "G'day, Gary Howe. Call me Howie. Got about a dozen decent fish. Grab what you like," he said reiterating that his missus didn't like them. "I use 'em for bait. Reckon salmon love salmon.""Fancy a beer by the fire (yeah, there was a chill in the air)," we asked. "Yeah, just as soon as I finish this cider I'm havin'," he said as he made his way towards the fire. That short walk made it apparent that this wasn't his first cider of the night. "I've had a six-pack already," he said, “Know I shouldn't. I've been done for drink-drivin' twice and the missus doesn't too much like it."Howie was a good, knockabout sort of bloke and told some good life stories during his switch from cider to our Carlton Draught. At about 11, he decided that the missus had waited long enough and used his compressor to re-inflate his tyres and he jumped behind the wheel and opened a cider traveller. He bade us farewell. It was a pleasant interlude.The mice number at the site was lessened the day we moved out, when Liam jumped from the tailgate of his ute. He saw the little fella and expected him to move with the speed of the one that ran up the leg of his jeans a night or two earlier. Alas, a size 10 steel-capped boot put paid to his food scavenging escapades, but in a glass half-full moment, he provided lunch for at least one of the regular feathered visitors.The campsite, despite being just 11 kilometres from Millicent, had zero phone services (take note, Telstra), so chatting to The One was impossible.Would I return to Millicent? Nah. About the only bright spot was when we were in a sport shop (looking for fishing tackle) and we asked a young girl for directions. "Sorry, I'll have to draw you a map. I'm not a very good explainator." Her map worked perfectly, so thanks. Oh, and after a check of the packing I realised that I wouldn't need a DVD player and made it a gift to a lovely helpful woman at the tourist information centre where we'd called and asked about dumping the rubbish we'd brought out of the bush. She was chuffed: "I don't have a DVD player." I smiled and said: "You do now."
We filled a water tank on the trailer and moved on to the peaceful seaside village of Beachport for a couple of days R'n'R (can you have that when you are on permanent holiday?) to tend to things such as washing clothes, rechecking the packing for the umpteenth time and some time trying to relieve the bright blue briney of some fish.The score on those three tasks was: washing ... 100 per cent; packing recheck ... I found another DVD player in the electrical goods storage tub in the trailer (you can never have too many DVD players, eh?). This one I presented to the non-smiling woman at the front desk of the campground. If she was chuffed, she hid it well; the fishing ... we spent two nights (one in the rolling mist, which is not rhyming slang for anything) fishing off the 700-odd-metre jetty (you almost needed a bag of sandwiches for the walk. OK, we did take some cans of beer) having a crack at the whiting. We knew they were there because we could see them in the water, swimming around our baits, no doubt chatting in whiting talk among themselves and saying shit like "I'll have a nibble on this bait just to get them excited".Once, and only once in the two nights did one nibble hard enough to warrant a line retrieval, something it managed to escape the moment it got its head above water. Yeah, the fishing was a "bightmare".Not to worry. Beachport is a pleasant enough beachside place, which, no doubt, would be a nightmare in summer, such is its popularity.We spent our last day there just fidgeting with last-minute details until they were all done. I was sitting beside my trailer enjoying a beer when a woman (she and her husband had just arrived) walked by to survey the place. "I'll have to go the long way around," she said of the (small to me) daunting little hill in front of her. "I'll give you my arm," I said as I hauled myself from my seat and walked towards her. "Thanks," she said. "All part of the service," I replied as she took my arm and made it safely to the bottom of the hill (OK, fair dinkum, it was a bump).She walked past about an hour later, this time with her husband in tow. "I brought the old man this time, so I'll be OK," she said as they laughed their way down the bump.It was about this time that Liam suggested a walk around town, which meant another trip to the fishing tackle shop to look again at the rod he'd been eyeing off. He didn't buy the rod but we did grab some other bits and pieces and as we walked from the shop he said: "Why don't we have a beer at the bar at the end of town opposite the jetty?" Does a bear poo in the forest? So we relieved a woman of two stubbies of Cooper's Pale Ale and headed outside for a beer and a smoke. "I reckon, given that it's our last night here, we should go to the pub up the hill for a feed. That'll mean no dishes," he said. No argument from this little black duck, so we emptied the stubbies, made a beeline to the general store to buy some tobacco and headed up the hill to the pub to get some takeaway beer supplies for the trip."We may as well have one while we're here," Liam said, and he asked the barmaid for two pots of pale ale while I was putting the coins into the pool table. He wandered back with said pots, took a sip and said: "Jesus, this tastes and smells like shit. Have a go at it." He was right. He took the offending brew back to the barmaid and made her aware of the predicament, "Sorry," she said, "but I don't drink beer. I can't tell whether it’s good or bad. Can I get you something else?"Two pots of Carlton Draught and a game of pool later (yeah, Liam won) we headed back to camp to grab some warm clothes that would sustain us on the later walk home from the pub.We returned to the boozer and Liam asked a different barmaid for two pots of pale on the proviso that he could have a smell and a taste. He explained why and she offered him a taste. "Nah," he said, "that's off."The barmaid replied: "Hang on, love, I'll have a go. It's the only thing I drink." One sip and she blurted out : "That's shit. I'll give you blokes some Carlton Draught." She then went to get the publican, who came armed with a plastic bucket. He agreed that it was off and drained a bucketful and then had a taste.God knows how long it had been sitting in the pipes, but now it was OK, as was the plate of housemade rissoles, mash, veg and gravy. Each of the four rissoles was the size of an avocado and an empty plate plus several pots ensured the walk back to camp would be a big ask. It was.Morning dawned all too quickly and we pulled down our tents, said goodbye to the neighbours and hit the road bound for Robe, where we camped (about 7-8 kilometres) out of town.The site had plenty of firewood and wasn't too far from the angry sea. The drive in was on a narrow, winding, up and down rough track that was almost a tunnel through the scrub. And, yes, there was phone reception, so I was able to chat to The One every night.We had a good clearing for our site (it was sheltered) and there was a drop dunny nearby, which was almost home to a black (OK, it was very dark fur) wallaby.We had a couple of cracks at removing fish from the ocean, but all I caught was seaweed ... and I also lost a couple of lures. Given that we had driven the almost a kilometre to the beach in my LandCruiser, we decided it was time to put the old girl into four-wheel-drive and have a crack at one of the bloody rough tracks that ran through the dunes and down onto the beach. It was really my first serious crack at sand driving and I reckon I did OK over some pretty hairy terrain. Liam said: "Well done, old bean, you showed it who was boss." It was very exciting and I felt proud to have gotten 

through it. Well done, me.
Again, Robe wasn't to be a long stay ... just a few nights before we packed again and headed to the Adelaide Hills to catch up with our great friend, Simon, and his lovely partner Liz at their fantastic 20-acre property at Hahndorf. They have two dogs, Elle and Bella, a few cattle, a big red cat, a couple of horses and the most beautiful rolling green hills split down the middle by a river.We had a sensational time there ... the one downside was that Liam had to find a dentist and have two wisdom teeth removed.We arrived on a Saturday afternoon to warm greetings from Simon and Liz, who then showered us with luxury: i.e. I slept in a beautiful stone self-contained cottage with a balcony out onto the pool while Liam had a converted shed ... age takes priority in the luxury stakes. And then there was dinner. After a few quiet drinks beforehand (they were getting noisier by the glass), we sat at the dining table and devoured Liz's meal of slow-cooked beef and roast veg with gravy. The beef was one raised on the property. Its name was Lina, which will strike a chord with those who know of my drinking haunt in Melbourne, aka Lina's. Liam and I provided the red for the meal ... a bottle of most excellent 2001 Peel Estate zinfandel (almost 17 per cent) ... it was a big mother and went very well with the beef. The conversation got messier as the night rolled on, courtesy of a bottle of The GlenRothes single malt, which equated to about a finger and a half left in the morning. It was a big night that also included a few games of pool on their terrific (and true) table.Sleep came easy and simply wasn't long enough. All too soon, Liam and I were out by the pool with a pick and shovel digging a petanque pitch (we'd promised to do it the previous night). At 7.30 it was the last thing either of us felt like doing but do it we did. Liam was particularly heroic given that his wisdom teeth were giving him all sorts of grief ... and the fact that he did most of the work. Age takes priority when it comes to digging.We spent the afternoon shopping ... Liam bought a water tank, a few fishing rigs, a compressor and a new tackle bag. I grabbed a new tackle bag, some rigs and assorted bits and pieces. A bit of retail therapy was just the tonic before the dentist in the morning.A trip into the wilds of Adelaide, braving early-morning traffic, was worthwhile because it got us to the dentist, but not before we'd hit a cafe and fuelled up on a big breakfast ... Liam needed food to go with the antibiotics he was taking for the offending fangs ...Pretty soon after, it was D-Day (that's dentist's day to the uninitiated) and he bravely marched into the surgery while I sat in the car park and made do with a bottle of water, a few cigarettes and a healthy dose of Billy Thorpe live.Liam soon marched out of surgery, his mouth chockers with cotton wool ... the conversation sounded all the world like the night before when beers, red wine and single malt made talk sound something you'd expect in a bar in a Star Wars film. Given that he is growing his hair and running a full beard, Chewbacca sprang to mind, both in sight and sound.I did manage to glean from him on the drive back that the woman dentist had considerable trouble removing the second molar and, with her knee on his shoulder (don't reckon that's the first time he's been in that situation) was giving it her all. As the offending item exited the gum she somehow managed to break a good tooth right alongside the stubborn one. Yeah, she had to do a rebuild job.Given the obvious pain and plentiful blood, he was in amazingly good spirits ... he has a far better pain threshold than me.It became a day of R'n'R with us both packing our new tackle bags and donating several things no longer necessary for the trip to Simon and Liz, including Liam's hammock made by a good friend in Vanuatu who died not long after making it.Liz prepared a magnificent dinner of poached salmon and mushy veggies to help the patient ... my god, the woman knows her way around the kitchen ... OK, and the farm, the pool table, et al.All too soon our last night in the paradise that is Simon's and Liz's place was over and the road beckoned. We were packed and ready to hit it. And hit it we did directly to Port Augusta along a road that holds little interest until you get with sight of the magnificent Flinders Ranges, which help ease the burden with the changing colours.
On we pressed, past Snowtown, the infamous town best known for the bodies in the barrels murders. The town is shielded from the road by a long, tall stand of trees, almost trying to hide itself from its shady past.Port Augusta was to be our base for three nights because we'd planned to do a big shop (for food, that is) and spend a whole day cooking and vacuum-packing the results before freezing them. It would be, we figured, enough meals to get us through the first two weeks from here on.Ten serves on spag bol sauce, six big serves of fried rice with lots of vegetables, a dozen sausages, some steaks, bacon etc was the result.Now for what turned out to be the hard part ... freezing the nutritional booty.I loaded my freezer and set it for -14 degrees, the best and most efficient temp to operate an 80-litre Waeco. Soon the compressor kicked into action and went on and on and on until I started to worry that I may be damaging the fridge. Surely it should take this long.It was 24 hours later and the freezer section still hadn't realised the required temp and the compressor was still whirring on, so I rang Waeco for some tech advice. While helpful, Colin couldn't quite give me an answer but suggested I call the Waeco agent in Port Augusta. I did and the bloke suggested I ring him back at about 1.30 because he had several jobs on and then bring to the fridge to him.I rang at the appointed time and he said, and this is another example of why people in the bush are so good, "Mate, I'll come to you." Yep, he would make a house call. Talk about service.Then he rang and said, "Sorry, mate, I have to tend to an air-conditioner that is leaking in someone's roof. I'll be about half an hour or so late." Talk about service.Glenn (I know it was double NN because his name was on his shirt) arrived on time, had a good look at the whole shooting match, answered all of my questions and then explained the difficulties of freezing from scratch. "You've gotta at least chill it well and the freezing will take less time. You've got nothing to worry about though. Everything is OK."He then took the time to ask about our trip so far and out plans. "What about fishing?" he asked and then grabbed his phone and showed us his photos of his latest conquest ... a 20-kilogram kingfish he'd landed the weekend before. He spent a good 20 minutes or so shooting the breeze before he got a call to do another job."Great, mate, thanks very much. What do I owe you?" I asked. "Nah, mate, she's right. You just have a great trip."I countered with an offer of some beers to take with him but he said we'd need 'em more than he would where we were going. We all shook hands and he headed off to his next job. What a champion bloke.We spent the last day washing and drying everything we could, doing last-minute checks (which included Liam repairing a leak on one of my trailer's water tanks) and packing before we retired to the local pub (it was walking distance) for a steak and a few beers to celebrate my birthday. A few pots turned into a few more before we headed back to camp to enjoy a bottle of Balgownie Estate sparkling shiraz and some Brix extra-dark, 70 per cent cacao chocolate, both birthday presents from The One. The chocolate is designed to bring out the flavour of the wine and it does. It's a marriage made in heaven, just like The One.The new day dawned, we took down our tents and pointed the trucks in the right direction.This was effectively the start of the road trip, lots of red dust and desert ... this was the Stuart Highway.
As we reached the fork in the road ... the sign said Perth to the left and Darwin to the right ... I hit the UHF and said to Liam, "Finally it's on." He was quick to respond. "And in true Vaughan style, we're starting with a hangover." True dat.The Stuart Highway is named after John MacDouall Stuart, who pioneered exploration in these parts, a gun of a man. I read a biography on him when I last did this trip ... it helped in many ways seeing things that he'd seen and named and the like. I was very pleased that Liam is reading the same book and he, too, is getting a real kick out of it.Our first port of call was a roadhouse at Pimba, where we stopped and enjoyed a big burger at Spud's Cafe. The joint is obviously making a quid because they are spending plenty on some renos, indoors and out. Diesel there was $1.90 a litre, not that we need any because we'd topped up at Port Augusta. From Pimba, it's just six kilometres to Woomera (originally surveyed by the late, great Len Beadell, Australia's last great explorer), a sleepy town that houses about (I think) 200 people. The whole town was obviously at work on the day or all asleep because the only people we saw were people like us, tourists if you like (there had to be a tag because there was certainly no one like us ... you know, a good looking strapping young fella and his ageing hippie dad.)We had a bit of a look around the exhibits outside the museum (it was closed), which included to old missiles, rockets, the odd plane and a couple of World War Two guns.We'd toyed with the idea of camping there for the night but commonsense won the day and we decided to press on to Glendambo, a bit further back up the highway.The road presents plenty of scenery changes (quite a few people we'd spoken to along the way had said it was a boring drive ... what do they know?), quite a bit of road kill providing a veritable smorgasbord for the birdlife, among it a magnificent wedge-tailed eagle and signs alluding to Stuart's past. I resisted the temptation to re-use an old movie title I created last time I blogged about this area ... Carrion Up The Middle ... just as well for that, eh?Then Lake Hart loomed large on the eastern side of the highway. It's a huge salt lake that's as picturesque as you like. We stopped to take it in and grab a few pictures and then decided to have a crack at a track that went from the highway, through the bush, and down to the water's edge.We got out and had a good look around. There was plenty of evidence of campfires and again we toyed with the idea of camping there for the night. Then we realised that there was a train line right at the lake's edge and the, right on schedule I'm guessing, a kilometre or so long train made its way past us, I'm guessing bound for Port Augusta. It took about five minutes for the train to pass.Again we posed the "should we camp here" question. It was a resounding no. "Let's do Glendambo," Liam said, so we negotiated the rough track back to the highway and gunned the trucks. Glendambo here we come.The speedo ticked over about 300 clicks between Port Augusta and Glendambo, a pretty easy drive.We parked the trucks outside the Glendambo pub and wandered in (Liam and I were the only two in the place) and ordered two pots of pale ale. I handed the barman a fifty and he gave me back $38 and a few cents. Ah, drinking in the bush, good and all as it may be, is an expensive business especially if you're planning to make a night of it. We weren't. We booked a site down the back of the campground (there were about a dozen or so other vehicles there) and set up for the night, a task that takes each of us about 6 -7 minutes. There were taps around the site but with warnings that it (the water) was OK for showering but not palatable to drink. There were, however, rainwater tanks for drinking.We were sitting and chatting when our nearest neighbour wandered by. I nodded at him as a form of greeting and Liam said "G'day, how's it going?". He was having none of it as he just stared and walked on. We christened him Mr Grumpy.Dinner was Liam's fried rice ... damned good it was, too ... and a couple of cold cans of Carlton Draught before sleep took hold. Driving will do that to you.The following morning, while I was in the bathroom, Liam chanced again upon Mr Grumpy and looked him in the eye and asked about his well-being. Liam continued the Julie Bishop-type stare until Mr G finally said "Good, and you?" It's not that hard turning into Mr Pleasant.
And there was more driving to follow as we did the 250 or so clicks to Coober Pedy. I stayed there for about 10 days the last time I passed through ... I just loved the place met lots of good people and generally had a ball.We decided to stay at the Opal Inn Caravan Park (there's no free camping around these parts due to the inordinate number of bloody big holes in the terrain), which was an easy decision given that there's a pub attached to the place and it's close to whatever the town has to offer. It was (I think) $20 a night for an unpowered site, so we set up along the back fence not too far from the dunny.It was a case of arming ourselves with cameras and doing the town because Liam (the builder) was keen to check out just how they manage to get these joints up and running underground.Logic suggested that we make our first stop at the underground pub for a cold beer (it was 28 degrees). It's a pretty amazing feeling having a beer somewhere on the way to the bowels of the Earth ... an altogether not-too-unpleasant thing.Then we wandered the retail strip (such as it is) and checked out a few joints (again underground) before we climbed to the top of a lookout to get an overall picture of the landscape ... here a dugout, there a dugout, everywhere a dugout.
The heat of the day soon won the battle and we headed back to camp for a cleansing beer or two before deciding on a chicken parma and a beer for dinner at the pub. Well, it was Saturday night and we were hoping to maybe hook up with some people and paint the town ochre.Alas, we were the only two people in the dining room. The bar wasn't much heavier populated ... I found out later from a local that there was a footy match on and most of the town, it seems, had opted for it, after all the drive-in cinema was closed. It opens every second Saturday.Sleep won after I'd won on the pool table.After Liam's big breakfast ... he cooked bacon, eggs, snags and tomatoes and toast ... we spent the day doing bit of noodling (that's the title for scavenging on the mullock heap at the end of town. I did manage to find a couple of small pieces of opal, which I proudly pocketed).Afterwards, we did a drive around the outskirts of town, took a few pictures and headed to John's Pizza Shop (I'd promised Liam that I'd shout him one) to try its specialty pizza ... the Coat of Arms, which I'd had on a previous trip. It was a nice thin base, a cranberry sauce layer, then smoked kangaroo, emu, camembert and plenty of spinach ... it's a bloody cracker. Cold beers didn't hurt the experience either ... OK, it was 31 degrees.Then it was time to get a few staples at the supermarket, pack the fridge, pack the rest of gear that we didn't need for the night and then sit down to a feed of bangers, mash and some veg to prepare us for the next day's drive to William Creek. It was to be our first long (OK, it was just 163 kilometres) drive on the dirt, a prospect that excited us both.But before we headed off, Liam had to get some electrics checked after tracking down the local auto electrician. Sam, formerly of India, Melbourne and Adelaide, was the man. He was busy repairing a windscreen chip for a wild-haired Czech and his wife when we arrived. Pretty soon he was all over Liam's truck, checking all the bits that may have offended. It all looked good after about 20 minutes of Sam's time. Liam said: "Thanks, Sam, what do I owe you?" "Nah," said Sam, "have a good trip. I'm off now to Port Augusta for some training." What a champion bloke again.As Liam and I walked to our trucks, the Czech fella yelled to me: "Hopefully we'll see you on the road. We are both wild men."
We topped up the fuel tanks (plus a jerry for me given that my LandCruiser is not the most economical vehicle going around) and headed back towards Glendambo on the bitumen before hanging a left-hand turn at the sign for William Creek.The road had been well graded, so it was about 90kph all the way as the road snaked its way towards the Dog Fence, an amazing structure that runs all the way to Queensland.Corrugations on the road were few and far between but the gibber plains (OK, stretches of dirt covered in smallish rocks were plentiful, giving way occasionally to (not to high) sand dunes, the odd creek crossing (ya gotta slow down for those), a cattle grid every now and then and generally beautiful if mostly very flat country.We stopped various times along the way to check out creeks and the like, the vegetation and the views before the sign to Anna Creek Station (no there's no train there save the odd road train ... it runs cattle), which signalled that it was not too far to William Creek and a cold beer.There's not a whole lot at William Creek. A pub outside which stand horse rails, a parking meter stolen from Melbourne, a couple of Telstra pay phones (which cost shitloads to set up), a campground, a golf course (not a lot of grass on the fairways and the greens are officially the browns), an airstrip and a few remnants of the space age (read old rocket and satellite bits). Oh and there's a newish cafe at the front of the campground.There wasn't a whole lot to do but hit the pub, drink some beers and strut our stuff on the pool table. I won the night.We were up at sunrise, packed within 30 minutes and after a couple of cups of tea and a smoke or two, we pointed the trucks towards the Oodnadatta Track and another 200 clicks of dirt before we hit the home of the Pink Roadhouse, Oodnadatta's best-known landmark.Again, the track was in crackerjack shape with the exception of about 10 or so kilometres where a road crew was giving its grader an outing.We had probably done about 100 clicks when Liam suggested that I look out for landmark and ruins: "Apparently, we've passed four already.

No comments:

Post a Comment