I am quite literally telling the truth when I say that it was freezing overnight. I got up this morning to find that the bowl of water we leave in the back seat of ‘The Beast’ for the dogs had a thin layer of ice over it, an explicit indication of just how cold it got. As for us, we were warm enough, rugged up in the van until such time that I switched the generator off, and therefore the power supply to our electric blankets. It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that we noticed it however, with the cold slowly but surely invading the confines of the tin can, like a dripping faucet filling a plugged sink to overflowing. Bethany I think was the first to realise that the temperature had dropped to a level well below comfortable, as she sought refuge on the bed, snuggling between Bec and myself, in a tight little ball of hair, trying to maintain her own body heat. Alvin, well he remained resolutely on his own couch, albeit snug in the fancy doggy jacket we had clad him in before bed last night, knowing full well that he feels the cold. As for Bec and I, it was all good and well until our conscious minds came alive, screaming a harried chorus of (insert your choice of expletive here, but to give you an indication, our word was rather robust and strong willed and started with an ‘F’) it’s cold! Oh the joys of free camping!

We quickly dressed, packed up the van and sidled into the heated seat of ‘The Beast’, making tracks through the bush back to the main road. We have a day of driving ahead of us again today, with no more than a quick stop for fuel planned as we inscribe a path along the Stuart Highway, heading ever further southward, where the weather can only promise to get even colder. Now there’s something to be looking forward to.

True to our word, we maintained an even pace through the desolate, yet alluring desert plains, where we found that in stretches, even the road was a matching red hue to the surrounding dirt. The only thing we saw of great interest was the deteriorating sun ravaged carcasses of road kill, surrounded by giant wedge tailed eagles hungrily pecking away at the decomposing flesh. Yes, it sounds slighty nauseating, even maybe a bit morbid, but these magnificent birds, standing almost a metre in height when perched on the road side are the most beautiful and graceful avian creatures you can imagine.

Oddly, Even The Road Is Red Out In These Parts, Although…

…The Resurfacing Budget Didn’t Extend To Line Marking!

It was not until we reached Coober Pedy that we took a break, where as well as feeding ‘The Beast’ another load of diesel, we decided to partake in a feed ourselves. The roadhouse had come to us well recommended, so we perched ourselves in booth by the window, overlooking the fuel stained forecourt, to feast upon burgers of gargantuan proportions. Apart from being sizable enough to satiate even my almost perpetual appetite, they were delectable, accompanied by a decent serving of equally delicious beer battered fries. Dining in also gave a spell from bouncing about in ‘The Beast’ on what was to become our second longest day on the road thus far this trip.

Get That Burger Down Ya.

We generally plan to spend no more than about 5 hours driving on any given day, which can see us comfortably cover about 400KM, while giving us time to take an occasional break. Therefore it was to be about 3:00PM that we would be looking to stop for the night tonight, at a rest area I had chosen blindly, based solely on the distance we needed to cover. A quick check online over lunch indicated that it might not be as suitable as what we desired, so the coordinates for another flat area of earth were dutifully entered into Shazza, before we hit the road once more.

An hour and a half later, we blew by the originally planned rest stop, agreeing that it wasn’t all too appealing. Purely a roadside rest stop with only a minimal chance of getting off of the road far enough to allow for a campfire. A further kilometre down the road however, we had passed the point we had instead been heading for, failing to locate an access track, so we were now looking at plan ‘C’, a further ½ hour drive to the next rest area. It was frustrating, as by this time we had hoped to already be parked up, beer in hand, sitting by a blazing fire.

So it was that we eventually pulled into the next rest area, only to find that it was too small, too busy, too close to the road and worst of all, too smelly thanks to a combination of the nearby long drop dunnies and the close to overflowing industrial sized garbage hoppers. There was nothing else to do, but move onto plan ‘D’, so back onto the highway we wheeled, aiming for yet another rest area which promised to be just as miserable as the last two, but hopefully not as malodourous. It was pure luck then, that only half a dozen kilometres down the road, down an access track to a station, we noticed a wide open patch of dirt, wheel tracks and old extinguished fires a good indication that we wouldn’t be the first, and highly unlikely to be the last, to pull in here for the night. Even luckier, as I sailed past the junction, there was a second diminutive pair of wheel tracks a few hundred yards down the road, leading back. In a maneuver that I am sure nearly had the tin can sliding sideways, we slewed off of the highway and onto the soft dirt. Sure enough, there was a great expanse of earth, concealed by the surrounding brush from the main road, and best of all there was no one else around. Oh, that and there was an abundance of dead wood lying about just waiting to be incinerated!

With the van sidled into a cozy position, we set about our tasks. Like the hunters and gatherers we have become, while Bec set about gathering the firewood, I went hunting. Hunting for the satellite that is, from which we hope to lure pictures, to be displayed on our TV later this evening. It might be camping. It might be in the middle of nowhere. But it needn’t be roughing it, without all the luxuries of home!

Hunter.

Gatherer.

By the time I had the tele set up, Bec had the fire stoked up, prodding and poking at it with enthusiastic animation, with a long slender stick in an effort to get it just right for the cooking of our dinner, all the while impressing upon me the urgent need to gather and hoard more and more timber. A feast of jacket potatoes, roasted in the coals, served with all the fixings is to be highlight our evening repast.

“More Wood” She Said.

There is nothing quite like fire roasted spuds, the enticing aroma tantalizing your nostrils before your first bite teases your taste buds, they were as delicious as they sound. To add further to the scene, we ate then fireside, the gentle licking of the flames providing a generous warmth, while in the background, through a screed of bushes the setting sun lit up the sky in amazing tinges of oranges, pinks, purples and blues, while the dogs perched themselves contentedly on their bed between Bec and I, no doubt hoping for a stray morsel of potato to fall their way. No such luck, as we almost licked our plates clean.

Spuds A Roasting…

…And Dinner…

…Is Served.

Had we of collected more firewood, I could have seen us sitting out doors all night, mesmerised by the flickering tongues of flame sprouting luridly from the ever growing hillock of coals which was rapidly amassing. Alas, with our pile of timber dwindling to just a few scant twigs, we let the fire burn down before making the most of my hunting skills and kicking back inside the van, eyes agog at the flickering and mesmerising lights, of the TV, which we can power, along with our electric blankets, for as long as we desire tonight by the generator, as there is not another soul around. Yep, it’s just us, and the beauty of the great outdoors.

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