We’ve been lucky the last few days, blessed with clear, warm days. Overnight however has been a substantially different story, especially last night when the temperature dipped to close to freezing, seeing us again pile the blankets high atop us, as we fought a nocturnal battle over sole custody of the doona. By the time we were struck from our kip, to the tone of the alarm announcing it time to face the day, it was already warmer out than it was in. Yet another perfect day lay ahead, the sun offering a modicum of warmth that thawed the still cold bones.

The reason for the alarm was due to our itinerary calling on us to hit the road and continue our journey this morning. It was so, that we slowly packed up our camp for another day of following the white line further north. There was little to be done, but we took our time as there was no rush to leave. We have only about 300Km to travel and no set time to arrive.

Slightly before 9:30AM, we bid fond farewells to Lake Hart, and turned back onto the highway. As ‘The Beast’ warmed up and got up to speed, I noted happily that the fuel gauge was again pointing to all things being right, the economy sitting right in the middle of the expected band. I have finally resolved that our earlier excessive fuel usage was a symptom of a slowly deflating tyre. And we all saw how that ended up, didn’t we? (If not, click here to read all about it.) Lesson learned in that respect, to keep a close eye on your tyre pressures, even though I had diligently confirmed the correct pressures were evident in each rubber ring on the rig prior to leaving home.

In any case, so happy was I that we were achieving a much more respectable distance as compared to the diminution of our fuel supplies, we sailed on past the hodgepodge collection of rustic buildings that marked the outpost of Glendambo, replete with a quaint sign proclaiming: “Last fuel for 250KM”. Not a worry in the world had I as we bunkered down and sped on by, more concerned I was to enjoy the views greeting us in every direction we looked. The landscape out here is something to behold, a generally wide expanse of gently undulating nothingness, with hardly a landmark on which to mark your bearings. Of course, in this modern day and age of satellite guidance, it is difficult to comprehend what a feat it must have been in days gone by to strike through the open country with nothing more than a compass and a few camels. It is no wonder that early explorers had such a tough time of it.

Another hour later, my attention had once again turned to the interior of ‘The Beast, the dashboard in particular, as my mental calculations were suddenly conflicting with my earlier cavalier nevertheless attitude, as I figured that the fuel tank of ‘The Beast’ might run dry only an agonizingly few kilometres short of Coober Pedy, the next town along our route and our planned destination for the next couple of days. I ran through the figures, time and time again, but my calculations were right and the result constant. We would fall short by a matter of 5 or 10 kilometres. With discretion being the better part of valor and with still more than 100Km to travel, I pulled safely off of the highway into a roadside rest area. I failed to see the point of continuing to the point of running the tank dry, as the threat of sucking up gunk from the bottom of the tank is too high. It would be similar to a clot breaking free in an artery, risking what could only be termed as a mechanical heart attack. Even in the best-case scenario, running a diesel dry would result in having to re-prime the fuel lines by hand before being able to even attempt to restart the engine. No, I was having none of that. Instead, I quickly unbuckled one of the cans from the back of ‘The Beast’, dumped 20 litres of diesel down the throat of the tank and off we tootled again. Bet I had you worried, but really? You really thought we were going to run out of fuel in the middle of nowhere?

Back on the road again, ‘The Beast’ happily purring along following a sufficient drink of dieseline to see us continue our travels unabated, the eccentric spectacle of huge mounds of dirt began to dominate the panorama. The piles, cast off waste from the opal mines for which Coober Pedy is world renown are both an eyesore and a marvel. It was 1:00PM when we pulled into our chosen caravan park, 5Km out of Coober Pedy. You can tell a lot about the climatic conditions of the area when the promise of free showers is a major draw card. Ribas Underground Camping and Tourist Park is literally the only caravan park in the town at which you can take a shower without having to feed coins into a shower side box to trigger running water, even though there is no water supply to your site. As well as the free showers, we like the park because it is a little way out of town, away from the hustle and bustle, if you could call it that.

Pointed to our site by the manager, after another heart stopping moment when again, our booking wasn’t immediately located, we pulled the tin can into position beneath a shade cloth clad arbor that in the hotter summer months shield the vans from the beating solar rays. As for this time of year, it is hardly necessary, but nonetheless another welcome feature.

We took our time to set up our abode, lunching on toasted sandwiches as we worked. We then took the dogs out for an exploratory wander to tire them out a little, before we secured them in the van and headed for town. Time will tell if they have got this whole stuck in the van thing figured out just yet or not.

Welcome To Coober Pedy, But Beware…

…Danger Lurks!

In town, we stopped at the public dump spot, to empty the contents of our dunny, a job I don’t relish, but which needs doing on a regular basis for obvious reasons. We then went sightseeing at the aptly monikered ‘Big Winch’ lookout, before contemplating our dinner plans as we wandered aimlessly about the well-stocked supermarket, picking up a few much needed supplies.

The Big Winch Lookout And…

…The View Of The Town Centre.

Returning to the van, we found the babies had indeed been well behaved in our absence. That was as great a relief as any, excuse the pun, to all concerned.

With daylight starting to falter, we then quickly set about preparing dinner, which saw me grilling a couple of steaks on the barbeque outside, while Bec whipped up an assortment of accompanying vegetables. We convened to dine indoors, as the falling sun saw to an almost immediate corresponding fall in temperature, before spending the remainder of the evening relishing the warmth spewed forth by the roaring heater.

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