If we could drag any pleasure from our awakening this morning, it was that today marks five weeks on tour and we are yet to return home. A small consolation, given that it had rained heavily again overnight, so packing up the van, in readiness for another big day upon the road was a cold, wet and miserable affair. The cold worked its miserly way into my joints, the sprightly wind only adding to the picture, chilling me through to the bone as my near enough to frozen phalanges struggled to grip, grasp and grab as I grappled with icy hoses and tap fittings. Everything seemed to take an eternity, on a day on which I had envisioned packing up with an eager zeal, hoping to be pulling out of the caravan park by about 9:00AM. As it seems is always the case, this was not to be. Not only due to the slowness to which I set about my chores, but once we did get the van set for travel, we found ourselves almost locked into our site.

A caravan club has descended en masse upon the park for the weekend, seeing us surrounded by doddery old fools with no regard as to how we are to maneuver our largish sort of rig from its parking space. It took a herculean effort to hook ‘The Beast’ to the tin can on just such an angle, to allow us room to exit, and even then I had to ask the not overly convivial gent next door to move his car. It was 30 minutes late that we finally withdrew the van from the site and swung out onto the highway.

It was then only five minutes later that we were listening to the click clack of the indicator as we pulled over to the side of the road, almost, but not quite adjacent the Tanunda Bakery. I’m telling you now, one visit to this place just isn’t enough, and today we stocked up on some freshly baked bread rolls covered in a handsome selection of grains and seeds, that will form the foundation of our lunch. And since we were there, we also picked out a custard filled streuselbun, which I declared would make a perfectly fit breakfast when shared between us. I was even more delighted with my choice when Bec had a first bite and decided that she didn’t much care for it. Yum, more for me.

Bec Didn’t Like It…

…So I Ate The Lot.

Whilst the plan for today calls pretty much for an entire day of driving, we had forced ourselves from beneath the covers at an unnaturally early hour so that we would also have enough time to visit the much lauded Barossa Farmers Market, held weekly in nearby Angaston. It was a case of travelling a few kilometres backwards, but we had been well advised that it made for a worthy stop. It nearly didn’t come to pass however, when parking with the caravan in tow was fraught with a little more difficulty than we had anticipated, leaving us to perform a sweeping U-turn to get a car spot. No easy task in a 14 metre long rig when the road would have been lucky to be half of that in width. A sneaky, but strategic pirouette at a fortunately located crossroads soon had us pulling onto a sandy roadside shoulder though, a rivulet of water sluicing through the mud, forcing us to dodge the puddles as we wandered across to the market grounds.

A Promising Sign.

Not so much the typical outdoor market I was expecting, the stalls were all set up within a large old tin shed, where at least there was dull warmth created by the jostling crowd within. While the crowd helped increase the temperature a degree or two, it was not so assistant in allowing us to contemplate longingly, the delicacies on display. As we sauntered around, we found stalls selling all manner of farm fresh produce, homemade cakes, stone baked breads, pressed juices, roasted coffee beans, elegant dips and sauces in both sweet and savory varieties and the list continues. We quickly managed to procure armfuls of goodies, before sitting down to a Barossa Breakfast Burger, which in more common terms would be referred to as a bacon and egg sandwich. Far from being ‘just’ a sandwich however, this burgeoning beastie was filled with fantastically fresh produce sourced from the surrounding stalls, from the crusty ciabatta roll through to the glossily fried free range egg.

Surrounded By Our Produce, Bec Enjoys Breakfast.

Our time at the market at an end, it was now, well and truly time to get motoring, if we are to make a timely arrival at tonights terminus. Thus, we flicked another natty U-turn to put us on the right track, and off we went, following it seemed, the contours of the ranges as we crossed from the Barossa to the Adelaide Hills. The path we wove through the highlands was picture perfect, full of scenic postcard worthy vistas, but short on time, we sadly forged an onward path at a relentless pace rather than stopping to add to our blossoming collection of photographs. It was not until we passed through Murray Bridge did we unite with the main Adelaide to Melbourne Highway, where the going was easier on my tired, stressed and sore steering wheel spinning shoulder muscles. Easier going it might have been, but boring it became, with nothing of note to enhance the view, as we passed through diminutive country towns, sustained by a meager local workforce and the occasional stopping tourist.

It was a twitch past 2:00PM when we fired up the flux capacitor, strove to hit 88 miles per hour and just like Doc and Marty, flew through time, jumping half an hour ahead. “Snap”, 2:15PM became 2:45PM and we were back in Victoria, our trip shortened in a flash by 30 minutes, an ominous sign that our expedition is nearing its conclusion in way too few a number of days for our liking.

A couple of hours later, having driven non-stop, Bec even preparing our ham rolls (delicious by the way) for a late lunch as we cruised the highway at a hundred or thereabouts kilometres an hour, we were pulling into Horsham, where we will be staying with some of Becs relatives for a few nights, and using our time here to catch up on all the happenings and goings on since we last visited.

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