Our Aussie Adventures

There was absolutely no suggestion that we were going to have a second early morning in a row, so we turned off any and all of the contraptions that were capable of making a sound, battened down the curtains as best we could, and slumbered right through until 10:00AM. It was the incessant heat that eventually got us, disturbing our rest, despite Bec getting up at about 8:00AM to switch the air con on, as the morning sun beat down harshly against the side of the van.

By the time we got up, the mercury was already heading past 25^oC, on it’s way up to just a shade below 30. Not that I had too much time to enjoy it this morning. I was busy running back and forth still trying to identify any enduring problems with the fridge. I was able to locate a faulty automatic switch, that was preventing the fridge being fed with 12 volt power when plugged into the car. That means that for the entire time that we were on the road yesterday, it was essentially performing as an expensive, oversized esky. It’s no wonder we were seeing temperatures on the thermometer more akin to a sauna than a fridge when we pulled up last night. I am now running a test to see if it is working on mains voltage power. So far as I can see, the fridge is running, but seems to be working overtime, and still not providing the cooling efficiency that I would like to see. Stay tuned as there is still a good chance I might fashion a boat anchor out of it.

With a shopping list of parts I’d like to try and obtain and get the big esky working as a fridge again, we bundled the dogs into ‘The Beast’ and headed for town. We didn’t have any plans for today anyway, so decided to drive around, familiarizing ourselves with the Bundaberg township. It is a pretty town, with lots of lovely looking, old styled Queensland houses, standing tall on their stilted foundations. Originally designed to allow for a cooling flow of air beneath them, the strategy also helps during times of flood, such as earlier this year. It has only been a matter of months since horrendous flooding devastated much of Bundaberg, and there is still evidence of the deluge to be seen as you drive about town. A boarded up building here and there, or surrounded by chain link fences, some with debris still littered around the yard, with the scarily high, high water marks, indelible scarred in dirt on the upper reaches of the walls.

Our shopping expedition took us to a number of stores, but all was in vain when I couldn’t find the necessary gadgets to make the repairs to the van. A large town Bundaberg may be, but a sprawling city it’s not. Whilst every conceivable service is available, the stocks kept in store aren’t nearly as abundant as what I need.

With our shopping spree a bust, we headed for the local information center to check out what attractions are in the vicinity. I was disappointed to find that the Hinkler Hall of Aviation was one of the many victims of flood and is yet to re-open.

I had really been hoping to visit this museum, as it is dedicated to the exploits of the pioneering aviator Bert Hinkler. I am actually reading a book about Hinkler at the moment, and have to admit, that before reading the tome, I was unaware of him or his achievements. Why his isn’t a household name is astounding though. Born and raised in Bundaberg, he emigrated to England in the early 1900s to chase his dream of becoming an aviator. He earned his wings during World War 1, and continued flying in the post war years. He was an accomplished inventor, and extremely competent pilot, in 1928 becoming the first person to fly solo, in a small aircraft from England to Australia, taking a little over 16 days to realize the feat (at the time, also the shortest time to travel between England and Australia) and fulfilling a promise to fly home to see his mother.

Bert and I.

There are references to Hinkler wherever you look as you travel around Bundaberg, and I have to wonder how many casual visitors know the story. I was able to have my photo taken with a large bust of his likeness, drive down Hinkler Avenue, play hockey at Hinkler Park, stay at Hinkler Motor Inn and fly into Hinkler Airport among others. The crowning glory of these tributes to a great man though, is the Hinkler Hall of Aviation, located in the grounds of the Bundaberg Botanical Gardens, it houses an amazing array of artifacts and displays from the time of Hinkler. From his inventions to his aircraft, all is there to invigorate visitors. Alongside the museum is the house, ‘Mon Repos’, which Hinkler had built as a family home in England in 1925. Named after the beach near Bundaberg where Hinkler first took to the air in a home made glider, it was taken apart and painstakingly recreated here in 1983. This site was chosen to honour Hinkler, as it was the spot on which he landed following his historic flight of 1928.

Hinkler House, ‘Mon Repos’.

Unfortunately, like the hall of aviation, the house too is still closed to visitors following the floods, but we took a walk around the botanic gardens, and were able to view the house from outside.

Bundaberg Botanic Gardens.

Before I go this evening, just want to thank everyone who has been reading of our own exploits. I was buoyed yesterday by comments that my blog had become topic of water cooler conversation, and I can report that it has now been read as far and wide as Indonesia, Singapore, Canada, the United States, United Kingdom and The Philippines. So a big G’day (that’s Australian for hello) goes out to all of my international readers. And to everyone out there, if you have any thoughts on how we can make your reading experience better, drop me a line. I can’t warrant that I will introduce them all, but will certainly consider them. Although, before you ask, I can’t provide an exact time of publication each day, as it depends on our diet of evening television!

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

It was certainly not with joy that we reacted this morning, when the shriek of the alarm awoke us at 5:45AM. Having become used to the van being already bathed in sunlight upon our awakening, it was a strange experience to wake to the dim pre-dawn light, stumbling about as our eyes grew accustomed to the darkness.

Outside, as I began the required chores to have us on the road, it was cold, and the grass was slick with a thick coating of glassy dew. It was actually quite invigorating, a good thing considering the day we were about to embark on.

Leaving the park at 6:40AM, only 10 minutes behind schedule, we were soon cruising down the motorway, pedal to the metal, with a score to settle. We were on our way to show our fridge who’s boss, and I’m hoping that the fridge mechanic at the caravan repair place we’ve had recommended to us will be up to the task.

It was an uneventful trip into town, crossing the border into Queensland at right on a quarter past seven. Apart from a few breath stopping queues of bumper to bumper traffic as we negotiated our way through the early stages of peak hour and a couple of wrong turns as we searched for the right address, we arrived at the repair center at 8:30AM. We were now half an hour behind schedule.

After an hour and a half, and nearly $100.00 lighter off, we were sent on our way with a kiss your nuts and hope for the best. The gas flu has been rectified, or to be more precise, fitted, but there is no firm guarantee that is the source of the problem. Short of parking the van for 24 hours to allow the fridge to be emptied, dismounted and checked on a test bench, there is not quick way of diagnosing any further issues. We chose to take our chances and instead of staying in Brisbane, without the van, let alone a fridge, continue on our way. A quick check confirmed that there is another service agent located in Bundaberg, which is our next intended stop anyway. Whether we make it the whole way today, having now wasted an hour and a half, is yet to be seen.

Leaving the repairers, we set Shazza to take us on a course north, out of Brisbane. Knowing that Brisbane has a system of toll roads, we trusted in Shazza to proficiently navigate us around them. It was with surprise therefore, that we entered a tunnel. Just as I was about to remark to Bec that had we still been in Melbourne, we would have had to have paid for the privilege of driving beneath the earth and not getting to see anything, I saw the ominous signs indicating a toll point. There was much honking of horns as I jumped on the brakes, but to no avail, we rolled on beneath the cameras, and we were done for. There was no point in reversing back out of the tunnel now, even if it had of been a plausible option. Our photo, I was certain, was already being sent over the digital airwaves to some customer service officer, no doubt smugly smiling at yet another out of towner getting caught out and having to help expand the coffers of some doubtlessly already hefty corporate entity.

To hold the vultures at bay, Bec was already hitting the internet as we emerged from the end of the costly hole in the ground, finding out how much our error would cost us. Apparently we are now going to have to find an extra $6.00 in our already skimpy budget.

Before we left the confines of Brisbanes outer suburbs, we paused briefly when I saw a sign proclaiming a shop to contain all manner of western wear. We used the unscheduled stop as an excuse to grab an early lunch, being that by this time we had already been on the road for nearly 4 hours, and had breakfasted on nothing more than a protein shake.

Bec, deep in conversation with her work mates on a video call.

We did have plans to visit tourist attractions, that were home to anything ‘big’ such as the ‘Big Pineapple’, which we knew, was up this way. Unfortunately, by the time we looked up where it was, we were already several klicks past it, and decided that rather than back track, we would knuckle down and keep on motoring. That was until we hit Gympie and saw a car yard with a couple of huge fifth wheel type caravans in it. We decided to stop to let the dogs out and have a quick look. For the princely sum of only $140,000.00, we could have been driving away with a palatial 40 odd foot castle on wheels. I had my wallet already out, and pen in hand to sign the contract of sale, when I noticed that the fridge was strangely reminiscent of the one we have in our own van. I’m not trading our van in because I’m not impressed with the fridge, only to buy another just like it. “Sorry sir, but no sale, now we really must be off!”

No time to stop, but look, there goes an Ettamogah pub!

From Gympie, we jumped back on the well maintained highway. Well, it would want to be well maintained, as there seems to be road works every couple of kays. I don’t think there has been a day gone by yet, that we haven’t had to negotiate umpteen number of road work zones. We have decided that this is a bad season for travel, as all of the councils seem to be spending the last of this financial years budget on road maintenance. There doesn’t even appear to be any rhyme or reason behind some of the works, with little more than a couple of hundred meters between zones. We might just be coming out of one zone, clicking over triple digits on the speedo after slowing generally down to 40Km/h, only to have to engage the brake pedal for another stretch of walking pace hell.

Passing through the undulating fields full of tall green sugar cane stalks, we cruised into the tiny outpost of Childers at just before 4:00PM. If the town name strikes a chord, it may be due to the horrifying events of 23^rd June, 2000, when an arsonist set fire to the Childers Palace Backpacker Hostel, resulting in the untimely death of 15 backpackers. There is now a poignant memorial to the 15 victims, in the since renovated building. It was a stirring experience, which caused a lump in my throat and even had me removing my ever present hat in reverence to those lost.

The renovated ‘Palace Hotel’, Childers.

The plan we had discussed between Gympie and Childers was to spend a little time while in Childers, to pick out a road side camping area between there and Bundaberg, to give us somewhere to rest our weary bones for the evening before making our way into Bundaberg tomorrow. Looking at the map and seeing just how near to rum land (as in Bundaberg rum) we decided that instead of wasting time searching for a campground, we would spend the extra time driving and strive for a caravan park in Bundaberg. To spur us on, and ensure we kept going, I had Bec ring and book us into a site, and off we went.

One last leg, which just happened to be over the worst roads of the day, bouncing us roughly about the cabin of ‘The Beast’. It was just what I needed to keep me awake, while Bec was sitting across from me, deep in reverie of the earlier baby bottom smooth tarmac we had traversed.

It was almost 5:30PM by the time we drove through the ominously broken boom gate of the caravan park, and then listened tiredly and un-heedingly to the long list of rules and regulations, before we went to locate our site. Joy of joys, all of the sites here are en-suite sites, and so we have our own little bathroom oasis, mere metres from our van. At the plot, the park manager guided me professionally onto the concrete slab, having us lined up with the minimum of fuss. Our parking exploits may well have preceded us however, as he remarked that wives guiding hubbies onto sites can be a constant source of amusement, a knowing smile spreading across his face as he eyed the little radio that Bec was gripping nervously in her clenched fist.

Leaving New South Wales for Queensland, the XXXX can come out of hiding now!

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

We luxuriated with a generous sleep in this morning. Even the dogs were happy to let us lie in until well after 10:00AM. When we did eventually rise, it was to be greeted by another fantastic northern New South Wales warm, sunny morning.

With nothing more than a day relaxing by the van planned, we took our time making breakfast, then getting cleaned up ready to face the day. By the time I got back from the showers, Bec had already finished one load of washing, and was in the midst of loading the machine up with a second. She seems to have an unhealthy obsession with wearing a clean set of clothes each and every day, which sees her burning through the laundry powder at an alarming rate every chance she gets. She has also been fastidiously maintaining the van, sweeping up the never ending torrent of dog hair that spreads quickly throughout.

For my part, I did last nights dishes up, then we plonked ourselves down outside, joined by the dogs, happy to enjoy the glowing warmth of the sunshine. I buried my head in a book, while Bec hit the Internet in search of dog friendly lodgings for us tomorrow night, on the off chance that we get stranded without access to the van. There are not too many options, but we shouldn’t find ourselves without a roof over our head.

Off course, our idleness couldn’t last, and we were soon itching to be doing something. So we laced the dogs up to their leashes and went for a stroll along by the river. We managed to find a flight of steps that led into the water and while Alvin wanted none of it, Bethany was happy to follow me down, although not to sure about getting wet. I ended up holding onto her, as she kicked her legs crazily in the water. We both ended up saturated.

Back at the van, with Bethany still sopping wet, we chained them up outside again, and busied ourselves with a bit more relaxing. I did make us some toasted ham and cheese sandwiches for lunch, hoping Bec wouldn’t notice the small green spots growing haphazardly on the bread. If I wasn’t so lazy, I might have considered going down the street to pick up a fresh loaf, but figured that it was hardly worth the effort. It wasn’t like the bread was covered in green. It was literally just a couple of spots.

Green? On the toast? What green?

Following lunch, which I might add, we both survived to tell the story of, albeit with a slightly upset tummy, I would have been happy to sit for the remainder of the day, reading my book and moving no further than the kitchen to grab an occasional drink or nibble. Bec on the other hand, not being too big on the whole reading for fun thing, was soon looking around edgily for something else to occupy herself with. It was thus that I soon found myself cleaning the inside of ‘The Beast’, with a whole lot of help and direction from Bec of course.

I can’t say that it didn’t need a tidy up, the dogs seemingly leaving half their coats floating about inside after 2 weeks of constant travel. I honestly don’t know how they stay so hairy, with all of the hair that they seem to lose. Bec has come up with the theory that she is going to shave them when we get a bit further north into the warmer climes, in an effort to help them endure the heat, as well as minimise the volume of loose hair we need to cope with.

With ‘The Beast’ tidied and suitably prepared for travel, and the dogs looking on morosely, we decided to give them another promenade along the river bank. They were in their element as they strode proudly along the banks, Bethany even daring to take another plunge, not that I gave her much of a choice. Alvin on the other hand still resolutely remained a fair distance away.

Bethany relaxes following her swim.

By the time Bethany had dried off this time, the sun was going down and the afternoon was rapidly chilling down. That meant that it was almost time to withdraw to the confines of the van. Before we did, we quickly packed up all that we could from outside, pulling the awning in and getting ready for an exceptionally early morning tomorrow.

As well as doing that, we had to ready ourselves for dinner. We are going out tonight, to a nearby club, meeting up with a friend who lives frighteningly close by. We didn’t even realise that he was only 5 minutes down the road until we got in yesterday and looked at the map. As such, we gave him a call and organised to catch up over dinner.

Dinner and drinks were taken at the local Ocean Shores Country Club, where we went to what is known colloquially to the residents as ‘Tight Arse Tuesday’. That had our name all over it, and for $14.50 a head, it was as good a meal as you could expect, with a choice of over a dozen dishes. Bec and Bobby had the steak, while I went for a whole baked fish.

Bob and the Byron Bay Cowboy.

A fun couple of hours were had, before we bid our farewells and returned to the van. With our expected departure time slated to be about 6:30AM tomorrow morning, we were in for an early night.

So, that was pretty much our day. Hmm, reading back over it, despite my assurance yesterday of entertaining parry, it was quite a boring day. It was the sort of day where we sat around saying how great it was to travel for weeks, to get to somewhere as beautiful as here, only to sit in the shade of our caravan awning, doing nothing. Such is the life of a caravanner, that it made for a perfect day. And despite being sedentary for the most part, I am exhausted.

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

We awoke early this morning, at about 8:00AM not just to the rumbling of trucks on the nearby expressway, but also to an oppressive heat which had enveloped the van overnight. It was sensational. This is the sort of weather we are hoping to experience plenty of.

It was with a bit of anxiousness that we arose however, as late last night we realized that our fridge seemed to have gone the way of the heater in a ways. That is, whilst it is designed specifically to keep food within it cool, the temperature gauge indicated it was doing everything but. A quick look at it last night found that there seemed to be bits missing, and no indication that those pieces had ever been installed. I am hoping it is merely the absence of these bits that are causing the lack of cooling efficiency.

Upon checking it this morning, the temperature had at least dropped to a scarcely acceptable level, although the thermostat was set to deep freeze. Being that we have been running it on gas overnight, and the omitted parts are related to the gas operation, I am partially confident an easy fix ought to be realized if we can find some place with the required spare parts in stock.

In any case, after a big days drive yesterday, we were well rewarded with an easy drive today. We left the rest area at about 9:40AM, a whopping 20 minutes ahead of schedule. Yes, you read about it here first, but we were running early today! That puts our latest ETA back in Melbourne at 7:25PM on the 11^th of October.

As for our drive today, we arrived at our chosen caravan park by 10:00AM, the time we had in fact aimed to be leaving our overnight stop. 20 minutes on the road and that was it for the day. So essentially, we are now an entire day ahead of schedule!

We are camping in Brunswick Heads, about a 20 minute drive north of Byron Bay. The caravan park is perched right on the banks of Brunswick River, and if we strain just a tinsy little bit, we could say we have a river view right from our van.

With everything hooked up, and the park amenities explored, I returned to the problem of the inadequate cooling being provided by the fridge. A call to the company, revealed that we will in all likely hood have to have an entire new vent put in, a job that involves cutting into the van wall, and is beyond my capabilities on the side of the road, with only the meager set of tools I have brought with me. I would have thrown a few others in if I knew that I was going to have to perform major surgery on the van.

Thankfully, there is a caravan repair company located just south of Brisbane, who can see us on Wednesday, when we were due to be driving through Brisbane anyway. The operative words there are ‘driving through’. That day we gained this morning, I think we have just lost by now having to stop in Brisbane, and at this point in time, we are still keeping our fingers crossed that it will actually only be the single day. We could be holed up there for longer yet if it’s a bigger problem than what we think or if the parts aren’t available.

There was no use dwelling on the subject though. We knew there would be issues such as this that would crop up from time to time. I had hoped that they wouldn’t rear their ugly heads so soon, but there is naught that we can do about it, but roll with the punches.

My ire about the fridge having dissipated (sort of), we made our way towards Byron Bay for a look at what all the rage is about. As it turns out, not much. Byron Bay is the eastern most point of the Australian mainland, so it was a must visit destination for that reason. There was nothing else that endeared the place to us however.

The main street is full of tourist agencies, selling all manner of activities ranging from mild to wild, and funky new age hippie joints selling second hand hemp underwear and those much maligned activated almonds. As we strolled around, we mingled with a range of backpackers, tourists and downright bums. Those that were wearing more that the pre-requisite pair of tiny little shorts were adorned in a mixture of flowing linen wraps and fisherman pants. And none of these garments appeared to be sexually discriminative, worn by both males and females alike. Admittedly, they all probably looked on agahast as I strode down the main street, possibly wondering who’d let a cowboy through the front gates! We did happen to see another normalish looking couple sneaking around a back street, as were we. So surprised we were to come across each other, we gasped a quick hello, then continued heading in our opposing directions. As a young surfer or beach bum, Byron Bay may well be the epitome of cool, for us on the other hand, it felt like being stuck unwillingly in an episode of  ‘Jersey Shores’. It certainly was not to our liking.

Eastern most point of the Australian mainland (or thereabouts).

Being that it is the eastern most part of Australia, we drove up towards the point on which the Byron Bay Lighthouse sits. The roads we experienced yesterday were like multilane freeways in comparison to this. There was one bend in particular for which I was overjoyed that ‘The Beast’ has been converted to right hand drive, because I wouldn’t want to have been seeing what Bec was seeing out of her side window. I’m sure that there were mere millimeters between us and a sheer drop into nothingness. I’m not sure about Bec, but I had my eyes tightly closed and I was in the drivers seat. Once at the top, I baulked at the $7.00 fee to drive right up to the lighthouse, so after a natty little 3 or 4 point turn, we descended back to a lower vantage point, from which we were able to get some fantastic pics of the beacon.

View of the light station, and didn’t cost us a cent!

Leaving Byron Bay with nothing more than a few supplies for dinner and another drink for ‘The Beast’, we vowed never to return and commented on how delighted we were that we had chosen not to stay right in town like originally planned. Credit for that must be given to Bec, who looked at a brochure the other day and said that Broken Head looked like a nice place to stay. Not being able to find Broken Head on a map, I figured she meant Brunswick Heads, and the rest as they say is history.

It has worked out for the best however, and on the way back to the caravan, we stopped in at the actual township of Brunswick Heads, where there is a dedicated dog friendly beach. This is both a blessing and a curse. Alvin and Bethany both love the beach. It’s the other dogs that they don’t love so much, and it can be a bit of a handful to control them both, especially when you have other, unleashed dogs running about. For the most part they weren’t too bad, only trying to savage one or two of the other canines.

Beach Bums.

Back at the van, we kicked back with a frosty beverage (or 4 in my case), and lamented the fact that the fridge issues have persisted during the day and may well be terminal. Time will tell.

As for tomorrow, we have a grand day of absolutely nothing planned, but be sure to tune in. It’s days like those that generally become the most entertaining.

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

It was with a heavy heart that we left Tamworth this morning, being that we have enjoyed ourselves so much. There is plenty more to see in this wide brown land of ours however, so it was of no use dwelling on it. In an effort to see all that we can, it was an early start for us, hitching the van up and driving out the gates by 8:15, another 15 minutes behind schedule. The early start was necessitated by the big day of driving we have ahead of us.

Our aim is to reach a small camp ground just north of Byron Bay. On paper, 500km doesn’t sound too bad, but in reality, I’m expecting a 7 or 8 hour day on the road.

Waving goodbye to Tamworth, we headed in the direction of Glen Innes. Our first stop however was only an hour or so down the road for the requisite toilet break. I really ought to remember to go before I leave.

By 11:00AM we were in Glen Innes, where we stopped at the information center to collect more brochures on our upcoming breaks. In particular, I wanted to find out what the recommended route was, across to the coast. There seemed to be 2 choices. Either via Grafton, or via Tenterfield, although both required passage over the Great Dividing Range. The consensus was that the route through Tenterfield was the favoured course of the locals, so we decided that if it was good enough for them, then it would do for us also.

Whilst in Glen Innes, we also decided to have an early lunch. Not used to being up so early, our bellies were already protesting the lack of sustenance. It felt a lot later than 11:00AM already, which didn’t bode well for the remainder of the day.

From Glen Innes, we got back on track, with the plan of pretty much driving right on through until we got to our camping area. According to Shazza the GPS, it shouldn’t take more than a few hours. She had us arriving at about 3:00PM with a cold beer in hand by 5 past.

She unfortunately doesn’t come this way often, because while the road to Tenterfield was pretty good, as we wound our way up the ranges out of there, they got worse and worse.

Some of the views were spectacular. Pity about some of the roads.

Not only did the roads seem to consist more of pot hole, than actual road, but the twists and turns were obviously designed with a much more nimble vehicle in mind than ‘The Beast’ and our nearly 3 ton van. With switchbacks, hair pin bends and other tight curves to be carefully negotiated, it may have made for great fun on a motorbike. It was just plain tiring for us though. For about 120km, I had to wrestle with the wheel, all the while making sure to keep our speed up, whilst going uphill, only to have to bleed it all off again each time we came to a bend. With the narrowness of the roads, it was even an effort at times just to make sure the van was not encroaching on the oncoming lanes, or about to fall off of the road on the other side. It was a tough gig, but we came through the other side unscathed, or so we thought. I was exhausted, and my shoulders were aching from having to continually man handle the steering wheel. Bec’s back and neck were a bit sore from the constant jarring of the pot holes, while the dogs seemed to be just plain over the whole idea of getting tossed around the back seat like corks in the ocean. So rather than drive non-stop, we took a breather at a small rest area, where we could stretch our legs, go to the bathroom and refresh the batteries a little before embarking on the final leg of todays journey. We still had another 130 something kilometres to travel and by the time we left the rest stop, it was already getting on to 2:30PM. So much for getting into camp at 3:00PM. At least the roads straightened out a little, even if they were still appallingly rough, right up until we got close to the coast. We joined up with a main freeway there, and then it was smooth sailing for the final 10 or 20km.

The views as we came down toward the coast, almost made up for the horrendous trip we’d had though, as the ribbon of black top snaked down the valley, lush green hills rolled upwards on either side of us, and the deep blue of the ocean was stretching out in front of us to the horizon. Absolutely stupendous.

As it turned out, it was 3:55PM by the time we pulled into the rest area where we are spending the night. Much unlike the lush free camping spot we stayed at in Wallabadah, this is an expanse of concrete, with a freeway on each side and the clamor to match. There were already a couple of vans here when we arrived and a driver reviver kiosk, so we are confident it should be okay. On the plus side, with any luck I can get a cheap coffee to get me going in the morning if the kiosk is open.

Once we parked, we threw open the door of the van, only to have another of those ‘Oh, f… gosh’ moments. The floor was littered with the contents of our cutlery draw, which was now also on the floor. It must have rattled open during the drive through the hills. As Bec cleaned that up, I went to check out the exterior of the van, finding that we must also have left our mud flaps behind somewhere. Both have been torn clean off. My only consolation is, that if it wasn’t for the lack of time before we left, I had intended to replace them with expensive R.M Williams ones. I’m glad I didn’t waste my money. Apart from that, we’re looking all good.

As I was unpacking ‘The Beast’, an old guy in a 1928 Plymouth rolled up. He was as much in awe of ‘The Beast’ as I was of his old rattler. As it transpires, he is writing a book on the Jeep/Chrysler history in Australia, and wanted some information about our rig. Naturally, I was happy to oblige, and before I knew it, I’d spent the better part of an hour chatting to him and a few others that we doing the rounds of the camping area. Meanwhile, Bec was inside having an afternoon nap, no doubt wondering where I was.

Now, as I write this, I am sitting in the dark, the sun having set, thinking that it might well be time to get dinner on, before setting up the generator. I’ve been told by Bec that my life won’t be worth living if I’m going to drag her 500Km across the countryside in a day, to a nasty, noisy free rest area, only for her to miss the final of ‘My Kitchen Rules’ on the tele, when there are perfectly good caravan parks only a matter of minutes away.

As it turned out, after firing the gennie up, and carefully aligning the TV antenna, then tuning the TV, we were successful in getting 23 different TV stations tuned in! We had every channel you could imagine, except of course good old channel 7 and ‘My Kitchen Rules’. Therefore, it was off with the TV and the generator, for a quiet night of reading and planning. I even got Bec involved in the planning, although she wasn’t too happy about it. A wing and a prayer is more her style of course.

Bec hits the books.

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