We drifted off to sleep rather early last night to the omnipresent patter of raindrops thumping rhythmically against the tin cladding of the van. It is an almost hypnotizing sound, although we had hoped to escape the cold and rain of Melbourne, only to thus far have been greeted with more of the same.

It was then an early morning, as we strove to leave the campground by just after 8:00AM. Our initial plan had been to have a sleep in and then head off at our leisure, knowing full well that we have a pre-booked patch of dirt in a Port Augusta caravan park set aside for us. Yesterdays little accident by one of the pooches saw us decide to make for Port Augusta a whole lot earlier, in a mad dash to drop our woolen underlay off at the towns only dry cleaner in the vain hope of it being cleaned before we are due to continue on our travels.

Five kays of dirt road brought us out onto the main highway, where we nudged the rig up to speed and settled in for the two and a bit hour drive to the town that sits atop the Spencer Gulf. With little traffic about, it was an easy drive, until I heard a call over the UHF radio from a truck we had not long overtaken. The news was not good as the Good Samaritan informed us that a tyre had blown out on the van. Apart from Bec hearing an odd noise, there was no other indication of the impediment, the van still pulling as straight as an arrow.

I pulled to the side of the road, perching precariously on the soft shoulder, thankful that I had just yesterday confirmed that the jack I have for years been carrying in the van is actually competent at hefting the ‘tin can’ far enough into the air to change a tyre. Getting out to survey the damage, I found the front tyre on the drivers side of the van looked a little worse for ware. That is to say, there were barely two narrow rings of rubber preventing the rim from gouging divets into the road surface, the edges of what was left of the rubber shredded to wispy tassels. An inspection of the undercarriage showed that we had gotten off lucky, with no other obvious damage.

Shredded.

All Jacked Up.

Off With The Old.

On With The New.

About Ready To Hit The Road.

Whilst it wasn’t an overly difficult task to swap out the old tyre for the spare, it was a job that necessitated emptying the contents of both the caravan boot and the back of ‘The Beast’ in order to get access to the required tools to complete the task, all the while keeping a close eye on the cars and trucks barreling past at close quarters.

Losing about three quarters of an hour to the repairs, we sidled gingerly back onto the blacktop, wary that we still had a bit over an hour before reaching Port Augusta with no further spare tyre should another unforeseen calamity strike. Safe and sound we made it however, pulling into the first tyre joint we seen on the way into town. We pick up the wheel tomorrow, shod in a brand new shoe, all for the princely sum of a hundred and sixty bucks. Probably a bit more than I would have liked to have paid, but with no time to go shopping around, I had little other choice.

Our next stop was the dry cleaners, where a further bit of good news was dispensed, with the kindly gentleman behind the counter telling us he would rush the underlay through, allowing us to pick it up tomorrow afternoon. That will enable us to keep motoring on, right on schedule.

Pulling into the caravan park at 10 minutes past the lunching hour, I was crestfallen to find that our booking was not in the system. A check under my name and Becs failed to locate any record of us ringing to make the booking. I was about to go into melt down mode when I was told by the young girl behind the counter that it hardly mattered any. Sites were aplenty, and we could pretty much have our choice. Thus, an easy to maneuver onto drive through site was selected to be our resting spot for the next couple of nights.

Drive through or not, we still made a hash of getting the van lined up to my satisfaction, mainly because of the trees overhanging the site to some extent. But get it all lined up we did, without even the need for any ramps to level us out. I was impressed, given that the ground consisted of rain sodden sandy loam that the dogs are going to relish dragging throughout the van on their paws with each outdoor excursion.

Dragging out hoses, power cords and an assortment of other accouterments, we busied ourselves in setting up our home away from home, only to find a fresh gouge in the tin siding of the van. Having come not even close to colliding with anything, I was at a lose to explain the ugly dimple, until I noticed a ghastly black smear in close proximity that could only be flakes of shredded, melted rubber. It suddenly dawned on me that the tyre carcass had obviously been thrown high, impacting the van on its way into the great big blue beyond, causing the damage. My own melt down and explosion was swift. But fear none, I am over it now and the show must go on.

While I continued setting up the van, pulling out the awning and checking over ‘The Beast’, Bec busied herself within ‘the tin can’, giving it a much needed spruce up. She has been amazing, continuing to battle what she is calling a bout of the dreaded ‘man flu’, while still managing to keep a sense of humour about our string of misfortunes.

The remainder of the afternoon was occupied by a trip into town to buy some much needed supplies, before we headed back to the van as the warm sun gave way to an ominously dark sky and another dampening downpour.

Then, as Bec took a late afternoon nap, I cracked open the first of possibly many tinnies, drowned my sorrows and relegated my pains for all to read (and laugh at).

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