I could probably summarise todays events in just a few dot points.

• Awoken at some God forsaken hour by the alarm.
• On the road, leaving Mt Isa.
• Stop for fuel.
• Stop at the Queensland/Northern Territory border.
• Stop at our chosen roadside campground.

In doing so though, would be to deprive all of my readers of what turned out to be not only our biggest day, kilometre wise, of the trip so far, but also one of my most memorable days behind the wheel. To enlighten you further, I shall start from the beginning.

We were indeed awoken to the unwelcome screech of the alarm this morning at 6:50AM. A mere few seconds later, the alarm clock was undergoing flight training as I threw it across the van. Well, not really, but it did cross my mind. I really did not want to get up.

I’d had a reasonable sleep, despite being woken up by Alvin barking some time during the night. He really went off, alerting us to someone walking about outside the van. We couldn’t see anyone however, and guessed it was just someone out of the tent that had set up camp on the site next to us yesterday afternoon. We could certainly find nothing untoward this morning upon closer inspection, so all was fine.

The early morning didn’t bode well however, with our time being unceremoniously eaten up as we fought the clock to get on the road. I had hoped to be on the road by 8:00AM, but as that time came and went, we were still busy trying to get everything ready for a day of driving. We’re not sure where we wasted the time, everything just seeming to take a little longer than usual, which saw us departing the park a whole ¾ of an hour late. That will put a dent in our estimated time of arrival back in Melbourne. If memory serves me right, we will be pushing to be back home by 8:55PM now.

As we bid farewell to The Isa for the final time, we decided that it was not the nicest stop we had made. With the township in our rear view mirrors, it was out onto the open road, heading west along the black ribbon of macadam that lay in front of us. Even Shazza had decided to have an easy day, announcing: “Drive 566 kilometres, then reach your destination”.

As the scenery changed from the rolling red hills that surround Mt Isa, to scrubby bush land of low lying brushes and shrubs, to flat plains of yellowy grey spinifex, the only constant was the bright red rubble that made up the road side verges. Only in the outback do you see this shade of dirt, and it is beyond description, either in words, or photographically, the deepness of the hue that pervades the earth around here.

It was only a couple of hours after having left the confines of Mt Isa, that we entered the small township of Camooweal. Mentioned to us as before we left home as being a worthy place for overnighting, it will forever be known to us as Camel Wheel, after Bec noted the name down incorrectly. A lovely town it is indeed, however, being that we were only two hours into our day, it was much too early to be stopping for the night. We therefore reluctantly filled the tanks of ‘The Beast’ with the most expensive diesel that we have thus far encountered. At $1.899 per litre, we were glad that we only needed 40litres. It was then back out onto the open road.

It was only a matter of 10 kilometres further along the road, that we stopped for photos under the graffiti covered sign, which wished us a warm welcome to the Northern Territory. And a warm welcome it was, as the sun beat down upon us from the cloudless sky, raising the temperature to balmy 30^oC. A nice dry heat, it was almost bearable. It was also here that we won back some hard fought for time, as we crossed into the central Australian time zone and wound our clocks back ½ an hour. 11:30AM became 11:00AM and we will see you at just before 8:30PM on October the 11^th, so don’t forget.

On The Border.

Queensland one way…

…Northern Territory the other. 

On crossing the otherwise invisible line on the road into the Northern Territory, there was a change in speed limits, that saw the maximum allowable pace open up to 130Km/h. I did nudge ‘The Beast’ up to the big one, three, oh, for a short time, the engine purring like a pussy cat and the van bouncing along behind. It was unsustainable however, as the needle on the fuel gauge took on the appearance of the second hand of a clock. Throttling back to a much more sedate 105Km/h seemed to be the best compromise between speed and bankruptcy. As I wound it back, Bec pleaded for a short stint behind the wheel, a devious gleam in her eyes. At the price we were paying, and will likely continue to have to shell out for diesel to feed ‘The Beast’, there was no way I was giving up my spot in the drivers seat, as I know for a certainty that Bec would have pegged the speedo on 130, and not let up.

As good an excuse as any to stick the boot in.

The further west we travelled, the harsher the landscape became. Even the regular sighting of flocks of meat eating birds, surrounding chunks of road kill became a rarity. It’s as if nothing more than the hardiest of flora can survive out in these parts, as not much else can be seen. For as far as the eye can see, it’s nothing more than plains featuring clumps of stringy grey grasses, and even the sky takes on a reflective grey hue, compared to the glorious azure to which we’ve become accustomed.

With nothing about to give us an excuse to pull over for a break, even lunch was prepared and eaten at 105Km/h. Bec expertly plied together a couple of chicken sandwiches for us, which were devoured while still punting down the road.

Becs Cafe De Wheels.

At about 1:00PM, it became apparent that we were approaching some kind of civilisation, when Becs phone chirped to let her know there were messages. It was Barkly Homestead, nothing more than a speck of dust on even the largest scale maps, it is a mixed business of caravan park, general store, service station and airport, all rolled into one. We sailed on by with nary a glance, but it did give Bec 5 minutes either side to hurriedly tap out a number of text messages. Her fingers were a blur across the keypad when I looked over, as she battled to fire off her dispatches. (She does say sorry to anyone that may have missed out.)

A quick rest stop and a few hours more on the road, we were finally pulling into the 41 Mile Bore Rest Area. After nearly 600Km and a total of 7 hours on the road, we had indeed, reached our destination.

A wide expanse of cleared scrub, revealing the sun tarnished red earth, there were already a few other vans pulled up for the night. Despite that, we still managed to snag what we agreed to be the best location in the grounds. Snuggled in between some low shrubbery, there was even a concrete slab upon which to park the weary wheels of the van. With no need to muck around therefore with leveling the van, we were set to camp, as well as ready to make a hasty get away in the morning.

With the sun having been striking the flank of the van for the whole day, the inside was on the hot side of stifling however, so we threw open the windows in an attempt to get some fresh air flowing through, then sat outside, enjoying the breeze, the sliver of shade that the van provided and a close enough to icy cold to be enjoyable tinnie or two of XXXX. The dogs treated this whole scenario with much disdain, as the flies congregated about us, almost in a thick black swarm. Bethany wouldn’t settle, and Alvin soon found himself to be quite adept at catching the flies.

Trying to cool down at our camp for the night.

The outdoor relaxing idea soon went out the window, as Bec and the babies beat a retreat for the warm, but fly free interior of the van. I was soon to join them, using my time, as they all napped, to scribe my thoughts for the day.

Until next time, stay safe, have fun and don’t forget to write.