The Pilliga pub was very welcoming and had a couple of powered sites out the back, so I paid up, got a key to my own bathroom (since I was the only one there) set up, and had my first shower in a week. Had a couple of beers and got talking to Max from Sydney, who had walked a km from the nearby hot bore spa camping area to have a drink. So we had a drink and he told me about his bike and his caravan and his shooting and how they like the Pilliga and opal fields area and how they come here often. Well that was a good yarn and before ya know it a few coldies had gone down so he bought another in a brown paper bag for the road and set off on his (by now 2 km) walk home to his wife and caravan at the spa camping area.
It was pitch black by 6pm and while I was not scared of the dark it was more pleasant to chat with the locals (one or two dropped in at a time) and I had been on Steve rations for a week so I splashed out on a steak and chips with tomato and tartare sauces.
Yummo. And another beer. Then I called it quits and was asleep by 9pm.
The next morning I woke with the dinosaurs again and learned the true meaning of Three Cornered Jack (Emex Australis)
They look like little vampire bats in that photo from Wikipedia and when you step on them they waste no time in puncturing the skin and lodging a thorn in the fleshy part of the foot, well any part of the foot. They were embedded in my feet and in all six tyres. I hope I didn’t unintentionally contribute to the spread of pesky and painful exotic flora across northern NSW.
So I left Pilliga to its three-cornered fate and ambled for an hour or so eastwards to Wee Waa, en route to Narrabri where I was to meet Janice & Rex, and spend three nights before going to the Wee Waa Show then heading north. Passing through Wee Waa I had to stop and rid myself of the early morning herbal tea, so I decided to refill and refuel (myself not the ute) so went in search of an eatery. The search was quick - the shopping centre finishes almost before it starts. But small as it is, the shopping centre is very attractive and very nicely kept. I found a bakery, ordered the life-giving flat white, asked what they recommended to eat, and was offered an egg & bacon roll.
Off I trotted and found a convenient table right on the main drag where I could watch all the action. And it was action I got. The table was next to a pedestrian crossing so everyone who crossed said hello and asked after my health and “just passing through?” - hadn’t realised I was so obvious! And along came the local council worker carefully blowing dust off the median strip. Nearly drowning out the chimes from the nearby clock tower, announcing each quarter hour.
It was quiet (apart from the blower-vac) and warm and slumbery - 21ºC with a very light cool breeze. A lady walking past - while I was contemplating life and imponderables and lapsing into a reverie - gave a chirpy good morning and spurred me into action to read some of Cameron’s economic history. In this warm, peaceful Wee Waa idyl it was very difficult to concentrate but I battled through and finished the eco history, finished the egg & bacon roll (egg, bacon bits, cheese, t-sauce - cold and very nice btw), finished the coffee, and got on the road again, this time to Narrabri.
Narrabri was 26ºC with light breeze. Warm and civilised. I am getting better at setting up - 20 min from finishing check-in to parked, unhitched, connected, fridge on, tv set up, awnings out (in privacy mode), windows open, and sitting with a mineral water still cool from the overnight chill in Pilliga. Having learned my lesson in Coonamble by turning up at the Show too early because I had to leave early to avoid driving distances at twilight, I booked into the caravan park for an extra night, being Saturday.
As always it was great to catch up with Janice and Rex. We had a couple of beers and very nice dinner at the RSL next to the caravan park.
Another one!
Janice bought a raffle ticket and very kindly donated her prize to the cause (a breakfast pack of bacon, smoked sausages, and eggs - enough for six meals)
... but by 9pm I was falling asleep and headed back to the van. A peaceful night, broken only by the the distant thunder of a freight train - presumably transporting part of the cotton harvest - as it neared, every wheeze and grunt then the muffled wheels for several minutes with an occasional surge as a misbehaving cotton car trundled over a rail join, with a clock tower vaguely chiming over the rail grumble. But as I said I was tired and pretty much slept through.
Narrabri was my opportunity to reassess what I had packed, buy new stuff, and restock the pantry.
I bought some practical new work clothes. It appears that trousers these days have all sorts of labels and stickers and many jeans and work trousers have plastic strip labels stuck down the leg displaying size and style. In my case it was “97 Stout”, and for some reason I don’t think it was referring to 20 year-old dark beer. So of course I omitted to remove the sticky strip and off I trotted through downtown Narrabri proudly sporting my new work trews with the “97 Stout” label looking something like a speed stripe and suggesting that the wearer was anything but speedy.
Passers by passed me by at increased speed and of course I was oblivious to my sartorial inelegance. People in shops talked to me very slowly and clearly which was very helpful, although I wondered whether it had occurred to them that by talking faster they could probably increase efficiency and reduce unit transaction costs. In fact other customers were being served at speed, but my service assistants seemed to be shouting and exaggerating every expression and waving hands more than normal (which I didn’t notice for a while because it was similar to my own arm-waving). I concluded that this may be a local characteristic, so I slowed my own speech and exaggerated my own facial expressions and gesticulations. That seemed to have some effect, as my interlocutor’s efforts redoubled, followed by an extended and very slow interaction “One coffee please, Large? Large. Cup or Mug? Mug. What style? Flat white. Flat White? Flat white. One or two shots? One shot. Have here or take away? Have here. Have here? Yes. Any sugar? No sugar, thank you. No sugar? No. Was that a cappuccino or flat white? Flat white. Would you like something to eat in the meantime? {“how long was this going to take, I thought. Is starvation a real possibility?”). No thanks. That’s four dollars please. Won’t be long, deary. Why don’t you sit down over there and I’ll bring it over to you. We just have to wait for these other five coffees to be made. When we started our deep and meaningful conversation I had been first in the queue.
I also bought a daggy old-man thermal t-shirt which proved its worth the following morning as I slept through a cool dawn with the temp hovering around three degrees.
I made it out to Sawn Rock, recommended by Janice and Rex. Very impressive.
I packaged up Janice’s winnings into a pack-of-meat-per-day and stuck it in my freezer. I had been looking for a vege chopper and still couldn’t find one although I had been getting faster chopping the veg with a knife and didn’t know how much difference a chopping gadget would make unless it chopped straight into a waiting freezer bag. So I still do it by hand, with a sharp knife. The problem is that cauliflower and broccoli consist of florets (cauliflower, but not broccoli, is fractal, with a fractal dimension about 2.8) with each floret made up of a thousand tinier fractal thingies. When chopping even moderately vigorously those tiny pieces flee across the chopping board and bench into places unknown, to be rediscovered months or years later. So while perusing in Target or Crazy Sam’s I happened upon a partial solution being a cookie baking tray (non-stick) with high sides. About the same size as a medium sized chopping board. So now, so long as I am playing suitable music the cauliflower and broccoli fragments stay pretty much under control. Smooth jazz, chinese folk, and 19th century romantic seem to work best. Trad jazz, rock and blues and anything with moderate rhythm continue to cause some fallout. When I listen to flamenco, 70s metal or punjabi the chopped up fragments become ballistic and I’m lucky to be left with any veg - or fingers. But when depressing bloody Mahler and Wagner start on the playlist I make sure I put the knife away. Just in case.
So I survived my weekly vege chopping challenge and on Friday afternoon my part of the caravan park started to fill up, until there were 15 closely packed caravans all around me fitted in nose to tail like sardines. The other end of the caravan park was almost empty. Apparently I was caught in the middle of a convention. I didn’t ask what the occasion was, and nobody volunteered to tell me, or even talk.
On Saturday they all left for their gathering at 9:30am. I waited until 11am then headed off to Wee Waa for the Show (separate post).
I was back by 4:30pm, had a cuppa, put on a special Stevie Breakfast Hotpot Kilpatrick (the usual chopped vege mix plus Janice’s breakfast bacon, smoked sausage, egg, plus 4-bean mix and Worcestershire sauce) watched some rugby and retired.
I left Narrabri early on Sunday, just after 8am.
The drive north from Narrabri was pretty uneventful. The Newell Hwy was quiet-ish being Sunday morning, but I was happy to leave it after 120 km at Moree. From there I headed NNW on the Carnarvon Hwy to Garah, then on a tertiary road to Boomi, across the border at Boonangar and on to Talwood.
Along the way I passed some unpicked cotton fields ...
Avoided running into the local populace ...
And dodged some seriously big boys' toys ...
Talwood is a very nice little town that has fitted power outlets behind their sports ground amenities block and asks for donations. The average donation seems to be $5 a night which should more than cover their electricity and cleaning costs. Very nice and very friendly
It was very nice until the place was overrun by half a dozen other like minded vehicles. One ageing child of unmarried parents and his partner meticulously reversed their caravan between the trees so the door at the left rear of their caravan was at an angle 5 metres from, and directly facing into, my rear door. Then they set up two chairs and a table at their door so they were facing my van, and proceeded to settle in, bring out their hobbies, and chat to each other about their day.
The unpowered area on the other side of the oval remained quite uncrowded, so that’s a pointer for future stays.
The next I started to pack around 6:30am, stopped for a cuppa, and by 7:30am was winding up the awnings and lowering the roof - an increasingly noisy activity as I travel into dustier areas. So I was on my way before 8am.
As soon as I left town I found myself involved in some sort of highway danse macabre. There were fauna pancakes everywhere - some aged, some freshly ground - the road trains having done their overnight jobs rather efficiently. Red-brown polka dots on the grey bitumen. Then I was passed by a cattle truck, no doubt delivering its cargo to premature fates. The cattle truck was shadowed by a fine mist as its passengers no doubt emptied their bladders in terror, eyes bugging out and quivering in fear. I heard somewhere that cattle are starved for a day or two before shipment, so they have already emptied their bowels before they start travelling. A bonus for other road users. So next time you are about to eat a nice juicy steak, picture those frightened beasts with bug-out eyes and fearful screams, ignorant of their fates, emptying themselves in terror along the highways of Queensland. I know I will. Then I’ll pick up my knife and fork and tuck in. No point in wasting a bit of prime beef.
I passed a sign: You Are Entering Western Downs Country. No welcome, simply You Are Entering. And quite suddenly everything - the wide blue sky, the road, the birds, everything - even the trees - looked ... well ... just the same. No - wait there was less prickly pear. Then I turned a corner and the prickly pear was back again, just as plentiful and perhaps a little bit taller.
Well I stopped at Westmar to admire their facilities. All there. More of a truckies’ stop with single toilet and shower catering for one or perhaps two tired truckies at a time, rather than a motorists’ stop catering for the hordes of disgruntled are-we-there-yets. As I remounted the steed a couple of flies decided to come inside to hitch a ride, so they were shown the way out. Another two decided to sit on the outside of the windscreen, facing forward and downward into the wind. They stayed on the windscreen as I started off and accelerated to 80kph, crouching in the turbulence, clearly enjoying the adventure, perhaps daring each other.
After a few km I sensed that they may be getting somewhat bored and I’m sure I saw them stretching their legs, one at a time, like desert geckos on hot sand. A few minutes later - and I’m positive my eyes were not playing tricks - they started stretching two legs at a time, at the same time. Like synchronised swimming for invertebrates. On my windscreen! At 80 kph! I’m sure I saw them winking at each other, complicated compound eye winks almost like semaphore. H-e-e-y! Put ya left rear legs up mate! Put ya left rear legs down mate! Put ya front right legs up mate, and shake 'em all about! Now do the hokey tokey ……. Wink Wink (secret 4,000 wink semaphore message). ALL do the hokey tokey, mate! ALL do the hokey tokey, mate! That’s what it’s all about! Mate! …. Complex 4,000 Wink! Wink! WInk! … Now, put ALL the legs up. MATE! … What-the- … ? Eeeeergh! Wheeee-eee-eee! And with that one of the flies departed over the top of the windscreen and presumably over the top of the van.
The other fly - let’s call it Flash - remained secure on the windscreen. Did I detect a sneaky smug look in its complicated eyes? Flash stayed there, not moving a limb, for another 30km. Then I slowed down to have a scout around Meanderra but found nothing of interest for the moment (I will go back there for the camping some time in the future - it looks good) and by the time I got back on the highway Flash had gone - no doubt looking to hitch a ride 70km back to Westmar. Without a ride it would be a long fly, even for a deceptive winking little musca vetustissima named Flash.
I sauntered into Condamine after checking out Caliguel Lagoon but concluding that the screeching birds would drive me nuts.
Hitchcock had nothing on this lot
Condamine, like many of the towns I had passed through, is on the junction of north-south and east-west roads. Meaning lots of trucks passing through.
As is becoming my habit, I arrived at Condamine too early to check in to the caravan park. So I went to the petrol station to fill up. I pulled up next to the bowser, wrastled with the filler cap, and took the nozzle out, waiting for the litres-dollars score to reset and the pump to start. A lady came hustling out of the servo. Have you got cash? She yelled. Our EFTPOS isn’t working and we can only take cash. I looked in the treasury (front pocket) and found $30 so I said Yes I’ll take $30. So off she went and turned on the pump. So I was careful for the first $20 worth, not wanting to go over the $30 mark, then as usual my brain dropped into alternate gear, working on different things like “what’s the tune to ‘two flies on my windscreen’? is it like ‘red sails in the sunset’?”. And by then $30 had come and gone and I was looking at $32 then + then ++ so I stopped the pump and went to retrieve my precious reserved stash of laundromat coins in their special little case. I parted with two of My Precious coins, ordered a large coffee to deal with the stress, and sat down to catch breath and update the blog. Except of course the reason the EFTPOS wasn’t working was because the Telstra (telco) digital signal wasn’t working. Apparently this has been happening every Monday from around 9am until around 1pm, then it comes right. Hmmm. Now, where else have I heard of that happening? (It was working again for me, at full speed, by 2pm)
The caravan park is quite large and has 40-ish powered sites sprawled from the main road, mingling with twenty or or so cabins and along the Condamine River. I figured that the river end would be popular and anything (even all-night-long truck noises) would be better than more close-company caravaners. So I set up camp next to the main road - a fairly accurate summation of my state of mind after Narrabri and Talwood.
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