Day 151: Art Attack.

After having spent the last five days waking up, packing up and moving out, we decided that we would enjoy the rare luxury of a sleep in this morning, being that we didn’t have to vacate our overnight parking spot. It was thus that we snoozed through all manner of racket about the van as the resident early risers got underway, before we eventually rolled out of bed at a bit after 10:00AM.
When we did finally get up, it was to find that we had wasted away a good number of hours, while the sun had been shining brightly, bringing with it temperate warmth. Far from being concerned, we cooked up a generous spread for breakfast, before splashing some water over the dishes, which were still piled up from our disappointing dinner last night. On that matter, I must admit a disclaimer that the dinner was not dismal due to any fault of the cook, but rather than to the cheap cut of meat that had been utilised.

With breakfast nothing more than a happy memory and the washing up completed, we hooked the babies up to their leashes to take them for a wander over the sand dune to the beach beyond. On the way, Alvin fumbled about trying to leave his scent on a bush and nearly stepped right on top of a stumpy tailed lizard that was happily sunning itself in the garden bed. Alvin didn’t even notice it, as the lizard did its best to appear inanimate. As far as reptiles go, it was cute, as it lay prostrate, semi-hidden by the mulch and foliage.

Once we made it to the far side of the dune, Alvin decided he was in the mood for a jog along the soft, seaweed infested sand. With the wind in his hair, ears pinned back against the sides of his head, we blasted along the beach at full tilt. Bethany on the other hand, maybe a little wary after her last beach experience was happy just to slowly romp along with Bec. With the sun peeking out from between the few stray clouds scattered about the sky, the water looked much more inviting today, but on dipping my toes in I found it to be way too cold to be enjoyable.

With the dogs worn out, we returned them to the van, where we have been told we are allowed to leave them, so long as there are no complaints about them barking. Leaving them chewing on a treat and the radio adjusted to a volume loud enough hopefully to drown out any external noises which might stimulate them, or maybe even drown out any wayward barking, we headed into town.

It was already 1:00PM by this stage, so we had well and truly missed the museum, as it is only open until midday. It has been highly recommended to us though, so we will have to make an effort to get there tomorrow. We therefore found ourselves pulling over in the centre of town, where Bec wanted to go back to a shop she had seen yesterday. A kind of cooperative, staffed by genial volunteers, it stocks all manner of local arts and crafts.

As we looked about today, we took the time to browse through a few other stores we had casually passed by yesterday, finding some of them to be rather odd. The white goods and electrical goods retailer for instance, doubles as a camping and fishing store as well as stocking a range of clothes and linen. Across the road, a jewelry store was found within the chemist, while the hardware store, toyshop and newsagency were also under one roof.

We bought nothing of consequence while in town, before stopping at a little place a slight way out of the central area. A decrypt little building set in terribly overgrown and hardly inviting grounds housed an Aboriginal Arts Centre. Inside we were pleased to find was a different story, while the helpful staff were more than attentive, as we browsed through the hundreds of works of art that were all available for purchase. The walls were lined with stretched canvases, while racks and tables in the centre of the single large gallery were piled high with fluttering canvas in haphazard displays of beautiful works of original art. As we roamed about the room, carefully flipping through the pieces, a couple of elderly ladies wandered in for a look also. They took delight in questioning the merit of almost every work they looked at, as they roughly manhandled their way through the artwork hanging loosely from the racks causing a good many to come free from the brackets and fall to the floor. I was disgusted at their attitude and loudly made comment to Bec about it once they had left. At least I thought that they had left, because I saw them quickly scampering for the door soon after I had voiced my views.

After scouring the room several times, we managed to come across a few pieces that took our fancy, although they weren’t of what I would consider the traditional Aboriginal dot painting style. They were however completed in an earthy tonal colour scheme that indicated their heritage, but price and our ability to successfully get such a large piece of work home put paid to any ideas we had of making a purchase. We did scribble down the details of the canvas that we liked the most though, just incase we should change our minds down the track. We are still kicking ourselves for not purchasing some of the local artworks when we were at Kakadu and there were a couple that we saw in Kununurra too, that I shan’t forget, so I want the option of being able to secure this one if our minds are swayed.

Having spent the better part of an hour umming and ahhing about the painting before deciding to leave it in the gallery for someone else to admire, at least for the time being, we drove out along the narrow spit of land between Bosanquet Bay and Murat Bay to the Pinky Point Platform and Lighthouse. I was expecting more of the lighthouse, imagining a generous sized structure, but found only a tile mosaic inlaid podium a few metres tall. Erected in memory of seaman who have lost their lives to their love of the ocean, it was however a poignant memorial.

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Really, you call that a lighthouse?

The view from the nearby lookout provides views out to sea, past South Australia’s second busiest port and towards a series of islands that some consider to be the setting for the story, Gulliver’s Travels. Whether or not this is borne from fact or fiction I can’t answer, but it certainly makes for a good tale.

Considering it has been some while since we have left the dogs to their own devices in the van, we next made a beeline back to the caravan park. Thankfully, apart from having strewn our bedding messily around, they seem to have been well behaved whilst we have been gallivanting about. As a reward, we promised them another walk, but first we had some work to do.

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Eager for a romp.

Our trip plans had only been laid out until our arrival here in Ceduna. With barely four weeks before we are due to be arriving home, we spent the remainder of the afternoon nutting out the final stages of our ever changing itinerary. At this stage, we should be home on time, although a few more weeks, or months for that matter, certainly wouldn’t go astray.

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All worn out!

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

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Day 150: We’re Over The Nullarbor.

Well, here I am. It’s been a few days, but I’m back!

The low rolling grumble of distant thunder beat our alarm clock to the punch this morning, waking us up in just enough time to shake the cobwebs from our brains before a window rattling thunder clap unleashed its ear splitting sonic boom directly above us. Almost as quick as the bolt of lightening that caused the explosion, Bethany jumped the length of the van from her bed on the couch, to land somewhere between mine and Becs heads, a position in which she doggedly remained until the light and sound show faded into the distance. Not a fan of loud noises is our poor Bethany, while Alvin on the other hand couldn’t care less. He might have looked up to see what all the fuss was about, but quickly drooped his head and went back to sleep without moving.

Thankfully, by the time our actual alarm sounded for a second (or was it a third?) time, the thunderous tempest had dissipated, leaving only a light smattering of large rain drops falling in its wake. Just heavy enough to be annoying as I ran about outside packing away our sodden gear, ready for the last leg of our Nullarbor Trek.

Interestingly, as we slowly ground our way across the soft sandy campground to leave, we found that we weren’t to retain our crown for being the last remaining campers this morning. A motorhome was still parked up, looking for all the world like it was going to be staying put for the entire day, so I don’t think we had much of a chance of outstaying them anyway.

Onto the Eyre Highway again today, we had no plans to stop on what would be a relatively short hop into Ceduna. There was a museum and craft store in a little town just outside of Ceduna that sounded interesting, but as we drew closer, we found it to be closed anyway. With that, we motored on, concluding our trek across the wide open plains of the Nullarbor essentially at the gateway to Ceduna. It was here that we had to stop at the South Australian quarantine checkpoint, where we had to hand over any fruit and vegetables that we were carrying.

Thankfully, Bec had helpfully bundled all of our contraband into a plastic bag, so that it was just a simple matter of passing the bounty out of the window to the stern looking inspector. He was impressed with our preparedness, but was still compelled to check the fridge in the caravan. No worries, I jumped down from my pew in ‘The Beast’, unsnigging the caravan door and throwing open the fridge for inspection. My jaw dropped and I am sure I blushed to a bright hue of red, as cobs of corn, tomatoes and a bundle of carrots pretty much rolled out of the door. Flabbergasted, I might have mentioned something about it being the last time I trusted the missus to do anything, as I cleared out the newly discovered loot and handed it over for disposal. Thankfully, nothing more was said, and we were finally allowed entry into Ceduna.

It turns out that the caravan park we have booked into is on the other side of town, a few kilometres from the town centre, which suits us perfectly. It’s close enough to town to be able to drive in for everything that we need, but far enough out that we shouldn’t be bothered by the undesirable element of the local population. Not to mention that we can walk over a giant sand dune at the rear of the park, to an almost private beach for taking the dogs for a walk. Only a small park, we thought it was almost empty when we first checked in, but driving past the office block at the front, the van sites spread out amongst a bush land like setting, almost all of them hosting a van. The bush setting means that the sites are oddly shaped, but we found that ours was more than ample in size to accept our van and ‘The Beast’ while still allowing us to roll out the awning to give us a little extra protection from the weather. It is yet to be decided if we will need that protection from the sun or the rain yet though.

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The beach behind the caravan park.

With ‘The Beast’ finally unshackled from the heft of the van and everything else set up just the way we like it, we took off into town for a look around at what there is to do to keep us busy for the next few days that we are planning on spending here. Our first stop was at the information centre where we were attended to by a fantastic lady who was a font of knowledge on what to do about the area. This is the kind of service I want when I come to these places, as we were handed a town map covered in handwritten hieroglyphic scribbles pointing us in the right direction for a myriad of activities that ought to substantially fill in our time here. We were also able to purchase a certificate proclaiming our successful crossing of the Nullarbor, dutifully signed and dated to prove the feat.

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We’ve done it. We’ve crossed the Nullarbor and we have the certificate to prove it!

With armfuls of brochures, we took a quick walk along the length of the main street, finding little of interest, but enough to sustain a town the size of Ceduna. It was only at the grocery store that we spent any span of time, as we burdened the trolley with a load of fruit and vegetables to replace those that we had been forced to leave behind at the quarantine checkpoint earlier. The grocers around here must do a roaring trade on fresh produce, with everyone coming into town from the west, practically bereft of fruit and vegetables.

It was back to the caravan park then, via a scenic drive along the Ceduna foreshore, where bleak clouds overshadowed a cold looking beach, replete with bottle green water sloshing onto the grey sand.

As Bec lovingly prepared a rolled lamb roast for dinner, I set about rolling out the awning and tiding up some long forgotten about junk, which has been pitching about on the bedroom floor for the last few weeks. We then sat hungrily down to dinner. We should have known better, but the lamb turned out to be terrible. It looked delicious at the store, wrapped to its best advantage, but consisted mainly of thick slimy chunks of fat and next to no meat. It’s not often that I turn down food of any sort, but on this occasion, I had to be happy with the accompanying vegetables, which I must say were delicious, while the lamb went untouched.

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Our dinner may not have been great, but Bethany was still eagerly awaiting her feed.

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

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Day 149: Fire And Ice.

If there is one thing I will remember about our campsite for the night, other than the excitement of spotting the swimming wildlife frolicking about yesterday, it will be the howling wind. Right throughout the night and into the morning it whistled around the van, to the extent I could almost visualise it corkscrewing off of any sharp projecting edge it came into contact with. Strong enough to rock our little home on its suspension, despite having the corner stabilising jacks deployed, I was glad that we had chosen to park quite some distance from the jagged, unprotected cliff edge.

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Thankful we weren’t too close to the edge.

Not only was the wind blowing gale like across the plains, but it was bringing with it an icy chill, which I quickly found out when I decided that it would be a good idea to get up, literally at the crack of dawn, to take some photos of the sun rising majestically over the cliffs. Proving just how reliant we become on having access to the Internet, I had to make an educated guess at what time I could expect to see the sun peeking out from behind the distant horizon. Thankfully, my estimation wasn’t too far removed from the actuality, as I headed out to the orange glow of the breaking dawn.

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Dawn…

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…breaks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As beautiful as it was, I was left frozen to the bone as the wind ripped through the many layers of clothes I had donned in the vain hope of remaining warm. While I fought an intimate desire to rush back to the relative warmth of the bed I had not long left and on which the dogs would have quickly made themselves comfortable, Bec found it impossible to get back to sleep. I think she was imagining the emerging headlines: “Cliff Tragedy: A Victorian man was blown to his death from atop a cliff in far western South Australia this morning…” I did tell her that I would be careful, but it wasn’t until ¾ of an hour later when I decided that I had been beaten by the wind and returned to bed, that she was able to settle again.

It was then my turn to lay unsleeping, still fully clothed, but still shivering from the cold, as I grappled Bethany like a hot water bottle in an attempt to regain some sensation other than excruciating pain in the tips of my almost frost bitten finger tips. Not that Bethany seemed too concerned, just so long as she was allowed to stay on the bed with us, she was happy. Alvin meanwhile, was curled up, intermingled with my legs, helping warm my lower extremities.

By the time we re-emerged from our warm cocoon at 9:30AM, the sun had fully risen and was beginning to warm the landscape, even if the wind continued to sandblast the entire region with a fine coating of gritty dust. By 10:00AM as we were readying to pull out, the first of the mornings sightseers were rolling in, including a couple of vans, the couples within we have come to love to hate, thanks to their inane and unnecessary screeching chatter across the UHF radio airwaves.

It is common knowledge that caravanners generally listen in to a particular channel on the UHF radio band, so it becomes rather annoying when all that can be heard is the same shrill pitched voices calling constantly out to each other. Thankfully we haven’t publically ridiculed them over the radio, because they too have become accustomed to crossing paths with us, cheerily saying G’day at each subsequent meeting and even commenting on my lack of an Akubra this morning. There are no photos to prove this fact, but I had left it in the back of ‘The Beast’ in favor of a warmer and more difficult to blow off woolen beanie.

As always seems to be the case, we were literally climbing up into ‘The Beast’ when another old timer, travelling on his own struck up a conversation with us. He was a laugh to chat to, especially when I mentioned that we had been travelling on the road for 5 months. His only shocked query was: “And you’re still friends?” A full half an hour after we had planned to be moving this morning, we finally jibbed down the unformed goat track, out of the rest area and back onto the Eyre Highway, still pointing easterly, for day number four of our Nullarbor Trek.

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Camels, wombats, kangaroos and Becs for the next 96km.

For the most part today, we were confined to the cabin of ‘The Beast’ while the howling wind haunted us as it tried its hardest to blow us all the way back to Western Australia causing the needle on the fuel gauge to drop at an alarming rate. I tried to ignore it as best I could, glancing at it only occasionally to make sure we weren’t going to suffer a flame out and be left stranded on the side of the road. The only stops we made were just briefly at a couple of lookouts, which promised grand vistas of the Bunda Cliffs. They were nothing like we had viewed right from our kitchen window yesterday afternoon though, as we had to walk along neatly formed paths, restricted by neat fences, with neat signs posted every few feet, warning of the inherent dangers of getting too near the fragile edges. It all seemed too restrictive, almost commercialised, although not as commercial as our stop at the head of the Great Australian Bight.

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Bunda Cliffs lookout 1 for the day.

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Bunda Cliffs 2 for the day

 

 

 

 

 

 

Only a few kilometres past the Nullarbor Roadhouse, we turned off of the Eyre Highway for the 24Km round trip detour to the top of the bight. It had been mentioned that there was a newly constructed whale watching and interpretative centre there, although I was more interested in visiting so as to be able to tick the location off of my unwritten list of must see and do things. Unfortunately, arriving at the car park, some distance from the coastal edge, the only way to proceed any further was by paying $15.00 each for the privilege, a money grabbing cost we found to be outrageous. In protest of the charge to see an Australian natural attraction, we drove the 12Km back out to the main road, although not before using their toilets. And flushing twice I might add!

It was a straight through run then to our campsite for tonight, another freebie job, just off to the side of the road. Nothing near as spectacular as last nights premier accommodation, we nearly had a melt down trying to level out the van. You would think that with five months under our belts and plenty of room in this camp to spare, we would have it down pat, but maybe not. That old fella this morning might have guessed something with his question, although I think not, as we quickly kissed and made up in just enough time to get a roaring campfire started. All in the name of roasting a couple of spuds that will otherwise have to be discarded when we reach the South Australian quarantine checkpoint tomorrow.

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That’s not a fire.

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This is a fire!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

With the flames flaring to head height, and more and more fallen timber being added to the little ring of stones that was serving as our fireplace, we soon had a beautifully burning fire going. If not for the flies that swarmed around with every step you took, it would have been perfect. I counted a dozen fatalities with one swat of my hand against my chest at one point, such was the ferocity of the buzzing little blighters as the sought to invade any open orifice. Eyes, nose, ears and mouth were all targeted with great effect, as we soon sought refuge in the van for the remainder of the night.

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Fire in the sky.

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

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Day 148: A Whale Of Time.

Surprise, surprise, we were to continue our trek across the Nullarbor today. With about 1200Km to travel between Norseman in Western Australia and the eastern end of the road trip in Ceduna, South Australia, we have decided to allow ourselves plenty of time to make the crossing comfortably. I know of people doing it in just a couple of days, but I don’t see the point. Apart from the inherent dangers of striving to make too many kilometres each day, it leaves no time to stop and take in the sights.

It is for that reason that we have the luxury of being able to sleep until 9:00AM, before slowly preparing ourselves for the day ahead. Therefore, we were again the last of the campers to leave the rest area this morning as we turned out onto the highway for the short drive to our first stop of the day at Madura Pass. A turn off from the main road leads to a short, jutted, rocky road up to a lookout point. The view takes in the Roe Plains, which spread out far below, for as far as the eye can see. Photos do the scene no justice, which even to the naked eye is difficult to decipher.

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Overlooking the Roe Plains.

Not until we rolled down the hill and began to pass through the area could we see that it was dotted with stumpy trees featuring umbrella like canopies. The effect lent an African safari like feel to this portion of the journey and I half expected to see an elephant barging across the land or a tiger skulking through the undergrowth. It wasn’t to be though, although we did get to witness hundreds of growling Harley Davidsons roaring along the highway in the opposite direction. An escort of police cars and trucks completed the convoy as the motorcycle gang strode along, two abreast and holding up westbound traffic for miles. The spectacle was actually quite breathtaking as the shiny machines, flaunting masses of polished chrome and unique paint jobs, rumbled ear splittingly past in a parade that lasted for minutes. Bringing up the rear was an accompanying cavalcade of rented campervans. It was odd to see these campers occupied by burly, bearded blokes wearing leather, rather than the lily-white tourists we have come to expect to see behind the windscreens as they flash by.

It was after midday by the time we next pulled over, this time at the Mundrabilla Roadhouse to fill up with what was advertised as cheap fuel. I guess everything is comparative, so here in the middle of the Nullarbor, I figure $1.94 per litre could well be considered cheap and there was certainly no chance of shopping around or taking advantage of any discount coupons. With ‘The Beast’ topped off and a couple of jerry cans of diesel in the back, we ought to have enough fuel to see us through to Ceduna now, where we are hoping that somewhat cheaper fuel should be available.

Mundrabilla also served as our lunch break today, before we mounted up and moved out. Our next stop was to be at the border as we crossed from Western Australia into South Australia. It was over two months ago, on day 83 of our trip that we entered Western Australia, so it was kind of sad to leave the west behind us. Our journey must go on though.

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A long way from anywhere.

The border features a checkpoint for westbound travellers, but entering South Australia as we were, there was no need to stop. We did though, for the sake of checking out what was on offer at the adjoining roadhouse (It turns out our fuel was cheap as it was $2.06 per litre here) and getting the dogs out to stretch their legs. They have been cooped up now for days and could do with a decent walk. Unfortunately, we’ve been too concerned to let them roam too far, as everywhere we go, there are warning signs about the regular baiting that is carried out to keep the wild dog numbers down.

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The border crossing.

Upon crossing the border, we also had to change all of the clocks again, moving them forward another 45 minutes. That’s an hour and a half we’ve lost over the last couple of days now, and I can report that it has seen our homecoming delayed somewhat. We are now expecting to be home at 6:50PM on the 14th of October.

Despite the border being a theoretical line across the land, the scenery seemed to change drastically. This has a lot to do with the road following the coastline, at close proximity for this stage of the journey. The waters of the Great Australian Bight form a huge part of the new scenery, as the land drops jaggedly down to the ocean in ragged cliffs. This is the section of the crossing we had fully expected to be the most picturesque although we were slightly disappointed with the first stop we made at one of the roadside rest areas. The cliffs here failed to live up to our expectations, rolling towards a sandy coastline rather than dropping directly down into the raging waters of the bight. There was none of the jaw dropping sheer cliffs we had seen in photographs.

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Beautiful, but disappointing.

We moved on therefore, beginning our search for a suitable camp at which to stop for the evening. The next two or three rest areas were so far removed from the coast, we could barely see the water and so we didn’t even stop. We had one last chance, which on initial inspection also seemed devoid of the scenic outlook we were lusting after. A narrow, dusty track lead out the rear of the rest area though, so I jumped out of ‘The Beast’ to investigate on foot. Imagine my delight when I found that it opened out into a wide flat space, right atop the cliffs on the edge of Australia. I called Bec on the CB and told her to bring the rig home, I had found us a camp spot.

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That’s more like it.

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Any closer and I feared the cliff would collapse.

No sooner had Bec and ‘The Beast’ arrived we stood as close as we dared to the edge of the cliffs, looking what seemed like hundreds of metres down at the crashing waves, only to see the majestic dark form of a frolicking whale, right there beneath us. As the whale swam away into the distance, it was replaced by a crowded pod of sleek dolphins, of which there must have been dozens. A mother whale and her calf were the next exciting performance, as we stood staring out to sea in awe of our luck, Bec raving that this would go down as one the highlights of her whole trip.

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First a whale.

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Then came the dolphins.

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And more whales.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We couldn’t believe our luck, while it took us nearly two hours to set the van up, as we kept jogging back to the edge of the cliff to watch out for further wildlife. Not only that, but we were free to enjoy the spectacle on our own. Another guy did roll up at one stage, but stayed for just long enough to miss out on seeing the whales, while in the distance, closer to the road, a lone campervan was parked. We didn’t even see the tenants from the camper. Apart from that though, we could have been the only people alive in the universe.

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The view from our kitchen window.

We were out again exploring as the sun set, filling up the memory cards in our cameras with umpteen pictures of another amazing sunset, as it turned the cliffs orange and the sky purple. What an enchanted beginning to our South Australian travels.

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The colours were amazing.

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

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Day 147: Straight Into The Twilight Zone

Our friends, Eddie and Sue were long gone by the time we raised our sleepy heads from the soft embrace of our pillows this morning. We had expected nothing less and have become quite used to being the last ones out of the camp, as we exited the van to find the sun shining warmly, no breeze to speak of, nor clouds cluttering the sky. It was a majestic morning on which to continue on our trek across the Nullarbor.

It was just on 10:00AM when we bounced out of the scrub, with which we had been encircled last night, Bec carefully navigating from outside the rig to ensure we didn’t take any of the low hanging tree branches for a ride with us. Safely through the slalom course of trees, we rejoined the Eyre Highway. It was a mere 20 minutes later that we arrived in Balldonia. Marked on the map in the vision of a town, there is nothing more than a single building here which is home to the restaurant, petrol station, caravan park reception and strangely enough, a museum. You wouldn’t think that such an inconsequential dot on the map could warrant enough history to have its very own museum, but you would be wrong. Largely due to the Skylab space station having scattered chunks of debris across this entire area way back in 1979, there is also a series of other displays about the local natural history and long ago held motor vehicle reliability trials. Entry to the exhibition space was free, so having a look wasted nothing other than a few minutes of our time.

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The entire town of Balladonia!

Back on the road, it was only a few more kilometres later that we came to the much photographed sign advising us that we were about to embark along Australias longest straight stretch of road. Naturally, having made the pilgrimage this far, we too stopped to add to our own growing collection of photographs. Aptly named the 90 Mile Straight, it’s 145.6Km long in the metric vernacular to which I am accustomed, or so the sign says. If you do the math, 90 miles is actually equal to 144.8Km, so I’m now not too sure which to believe.

What ever the case may be, to give you some idea of the distance involved, I could have set the cruise control for 100Km/h, wedged some shims into the steering column to keep it on a steady heading, then had a nap for an hour an half. Well, I could of if it wasn’t for having to overtake another caravanner who seemed intent on taking a slightly longer nap as he sat on a steady 80Km/h. The distances in general around here are huge by any stretch of the imagination, but it is actually quite tiring sitting at the wheel, trying to keep it immobile as you scoot along the gentle undulations of the highway, the Nullarbor whizzing past at an alarming rate.

Even the scenery didn’t help pass the time much though, as the thick stands of trees gave way to a flat featureless landscape across which nothing much higher than knee height grew. There were a few lonely looking clumps of trees that sprouted up here and there, but for the most time it was like a giant blanket had been spread across the land, creating a rolling, undulating surface. The scene is difficult to describe, as it wasn’t desert like, as I had imagined, but it could hardly be considered thickly vegetated. It was this landscape of strangely muted colours for which the Nullarbor was named and it was quite easy to see how it transpired. For kilometre after mind numbingly straight kilometre, the bleak landscape stretched out for as far as the eye could see.

THE 90 MILE STRAIGHT IN 5 MINUTE BLOCKS (A photo essay)

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Timed to perfection with Swiss watch like precision, it was an hour and a half to the minute between turns of the steering wheel, as we pitched off of the highway for a rest at Caiguna. Like Balladonia, this spot on the map is nothing more than a multi-faceted business masquerading as a town. Nevertheless it gave us a chance to get out and stretch our legs before reclining in the van for a lunch of homemade sandwiches. It was also around here that there was a change in time zones. Such are the indescribably vast distances, an unofficial time zone has been declared, the central western time zone. We had therefore entered a kind of twilight zone between central standard time and western standard time that will last until we cross the border and pass into South Australia where the official change in time zones occurs.

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Into the twilight zone.

Depending on which clock I looked at, we pulled into our chosen campsite at either 3:30PM or 4:15PM, where we did as we had done last night. We bashed through the bush for a few hundred metres to distance ourselves from any other campers. With our piece of dirt selected, the dogs were walked, the van set up and most importantly, the big black platter that collects the television signal was carefully aimed at the sky.

With little else to do once we finish up our driving for the day and the local population of blowflies too numerous to make enjoying the great outdoors a pleasurable prospect, we relaxed in the comfort of the van to watch a little bit of TV, struggling with the fact that everything seemed to be running 45 minutes late. In a similar vein, dinnertime rolled around a lot sooner than expected and I haven’t even begun to try and figure out what it will mean to our estimated time of arrival back in Melbourne. I’ll have to get back to you on that front, just as soon as I get a chance to do the appropriate calculations.

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

Posted in Everything, The Epic Journey, The Nullarbor Trek | Tagged | 2 Comments