Month: April 2022

Up early, sneaking around trying not to wake neighbours, we packed in preparation to head home. Try as we might, the science of metal on metal spun rapidly whilst winding caravan legs up, does not support silence. It was about time the neighbours got out of bed anyway.

Packed, sorted and motivated, we headed out of the van park with Warwick for breakfast on our minds. A quick Google made our bellies ache and empty ache. Nothing in Warwick, save a couple of servos, opened until at least 7.30am. If there is one thing worse than a good café not open, it’s waiting for a good café to open. We decided our time would be best spent motoring on to Gatton.

We turned at about Clifton after Allora towards Heifer Creek. The driving environment was perfect. Just on the cool side of comfortable. Panther rolled along; G-String clung on gamely. The tarmac squeezed in, became steep, then twisted tightly for a good half an hour. We recalled being stopped here at one of those pesky unattended red lights a few years ago. We prayed today we did not enjoy the same experience.

Parking in Gatton was a breeze. Just across the road from the Google recommend café of the now forgotten name. Peter walked in to have a menu gaze and was greeted by a smiling woman half his age desperately trying to get his attention. Fleetingly, despite being within touching distance of 60, he realised he still had what it took, and this poor darling was simply reacting to her natural instincts. Reality was she was a former work colleague from Mackay who genuinely wanted to say hello after all these years. A quick chat, a menu recommendation and breakfast was on its way.

Following a couple of plates of bacon and eggs, helped on their way by bitter coffee and fairly average tea bag tea, we headed for Kilcoy.

The Kilcoy showgrounds was the perfect spot to dump our dumplings and replace the now spotless toilet cassette back in the van. Next stop was the untried caravan and truck wash. Google took us the scenic route as is sometimes her wish. The wash was as good as a wash gets, with $20 lasting for a full wash of the van and the car with still more to go. We’ll try our luck with $10 next time as it did not look like shutting down anytime within this solar cycle.

Clean and smelling like roses we headed towards Landsborough to put the van in a new storage place. Red Hot storage is exactly what its name implies. We met Phil the owner. He guided us to the super convenient undercover van storage and had us on our way in no time. This was a god send as the existing storage required a reversing manoeuvre that Peter was dreading. Up a narrow lane way then kick at 45 degrees between two other vans with less than six inches either side to play with. Red Hot is our new favourite. And it’s far closer to home and cheaper.

Panther flew home now she was not wearing a G-String. It was as if she was sailing with extra wind in her skirt. Once home, reality hit. Unpacking, washing, preparing cricket gear and answering e-mails. Still it was a fantastic week away that will be followed by many more.

Another alarmless day greeted us as cool but cloudless. We drove the two kilometres into town, across the bridge and around the corner. Our planned morning walk was brisk to say the least. When the sun shone without wind, it was tantalisingly lovely. In the shade it was desperately cold. We dodged the shadows as best we could. G sank shoe deep in mud.

After forty or so minutes enjoying the beautiful creekside walk where we stood in wonder at white galahs hanging upside down twisting small branches to breaking point, we headed south for exactly nine minutes to meet a friend of G’s.

We chatted, laughed and passed the time eating arguably the best scones we have ever eaten at Jamworks. After an hour or so we decided this was a must see if visiting Stanthorpe. We visited next a couple of wineries including Tobin Wines where we learnt a fair amount about making good wine. We followed this with a quick drop-in to Symphony Hill to keep the economy alive. Wined up, we headed into town for lunch at the place that made the very best pies we had eaten for a very long time.

The day done, we crawled back to G-String. We packed up ready for an early start tomorrow and chatted to the people next to us.

As our fleeting visit winds down we pretty much agreed we would be back to Stanthorpe to experience all it has to offer.

Pleasantly surprised with the lack of cold in the town known for its fridge like climate, we woke at an alarm free hour and slowly got ready for the day.

A short drive of about 20 minutes had us firstly visiting the Storm King Dam for a look and a few ooohs and ahhs. Particularly we ahhed at transformation of this place. Having only ever seen it on TV when it was bone dry with water being trucked into town to sustain it, it was now full. Bird life had returned, deep green grass grew everywhere. The area was alive.

We cruised on for a bit, missed the turnoff to Girraween National Park, then came back. Given Girraween is hidden way out in the bush, it seems a good dollop of people seem to find it. The place was packed. We grabbed the last available car park, read the track signs, remained totally confused and set off. Today we would see the Pyramids.

Hats off to National Parks, their tracks are first class although not easy to follow. We trudged along at a brisk pace, side-tracking to the Arch, taking a few pics and kept going. More than a few rock steps greeted us as we began climbing. G noted that the steps were set just far enough apart that you used the same leg to step up each time. She was right, requiring a goose step every now and then to readjust save walking home like a lame duck.

Steps gave way to track, gave way to ‘holy big rock Batman’. At an obvious bail out spot complete with bench seat we looked up. In anyone’s language the rock in front of us was massive. Massive, totally dominant and bloody steep. Without a handrail or safety feature in sight, Peter set off following but a sporadically dotted white line towards the top. G sat contemplating what she would do with Peter’s fortune should he not make it back.

Peter trudged foot after foot ever up hill. He popped out above the chasmy thing to march across the face of a rock with only a 150m drop to rocks below for company. After about 20 minutes he emerged on top of the Pyramid to be greeted by stunning views. Stunning views and a balancing rock.

This balancing rock was no ordinary one. It was huge and balance on not more than one metre square of its base. People pushed it, lay under it, hugged it and basically played with it like it was their own. Peter could not help but think, that all of the massive rock falls in these areas happened at some time on one day in history. Do these people ever stop to think that for this balancing rock, today may be the day?

After sympathising with the bloke who was trying to console his wife because her legs were jelly with only half the journey done, Peter set off back down. The views were magnificent, the knees were on fire. By the time he got back to G, she had made friends with a growing group of people who agreed her elevation was enough for them.

Heading back to the car we did the somethingorother loop, passing around, over and through a beautiful creek with freezing cold water. We had a yarn to anyone who came out way and listened carefully to the accents each had. Peter got it horribly wrong though when he asked a Scottish gent if his accent was English. Whoops.

By now our stomachs were singing a might song with base rumbles setting the beat. Lady Google directed us to Jersey Girls. This tin shed is a quirky little place with horrible service just off the Warwick road from Stanthorpe. Its name however is a cracker as it is a cheese making enterprise. The reference to Jersey and girls is that of Jersey cows. A great play on words and a brilliant business name. We ate some nice cheese. G wined. Peter had a salty caramel hot chocolate with marsh mellows and cream. Poor service forgiven!

With not quite enough sugar swishing around in our bodies we jumped the highway to munch on home-made apple crumble and ice-cream at Suttons juice factory. It’s amazing what crossing a road does. The service was outstanding and friendly. The crumple equally so.

We waddled to the car. Moved out seats back a notch to fit and headed back to G-String. The afternoon pleasantly wore on with snoozes being in order.

As dusk set, we noticed the temperature start to dive. It must have had scuba gear on because it continued to dive and dive. Tonight would be cold. At least by sunshine coast standards. It could even get down to 20 degrees.

Despite the odd grain carrying B-Triple road train threatening to slide into bed between us, the night in the middle of the bush was peaceful and without drama worthy of A Current Affair.

Morning wasn’t welcomed with much zest leading to us finally heading towards Monte Cristo about 9.30am. As alluring as the name sounds ‘the Cristo’ turned out to be naught but the intersection of two major roads. Still we can now boost our stocks at a BBQ by nonchalantly mentioning the day we travelled to Monte. (That’s what us locals call it).

Goondiwindi was as Goondiwindi is. Frankly a really decent, vibrant large country town that welcomes visitors. G, as always, boosted the western economy by visiting at least seven shops for stuff we desperately needed and could not do without.

After coffee and better than decent scones we headed towards Texas. After heading towards Texas we did a u-turn in NSW and headed back towards Texas. First however we dropped into a weird metallic art set up on the side of the road just east of Gundi. Obviously some people have an over-abundance of skill and an equal measure of time to produce these structures. The results are quizzical and entertaining at the same time.

At stop at Yelarbon to photograph the painted silos followed. These are magic. We wondered a very long wonder as to how the artist mega-sized a small picture to its current dominant size. There is obviously some vision involved there. And a ship load of paint.

Inglewood was next, producing the worst pie of the trip. Soft, soggy and doughy it barely left the brown paper packet before it back flipped into the nearest bin. The rest of the town was spectacular. The entire town was freshly mown. Not a piece of rubbish to be seen and toilets that were not the makings of nightmares.

Texas. Yes not only have we been to Monte Cristo, but we have also been to Texas. Seasoned international travellers no doubt. Unlike the USA equivalent, this Texas was small, tidy and a place we will definitely spend more time in on another trip.

The road from Texas to Stanthorpe was a cracker. It climbed, twisted, turned, folded back, dropped into causeways and was plain fun to drive. Panther dug deep; really deep on some of the long hills. Steep and unrelenting they stretched the elastic between the black beast and G-String. Peter thought long and hard about how wonderful this road would be on a motorbike ridden with vigour. Vigour until the multiple signs warning of people being killed from animal strikes hit home. Fifteen in five years apparently. Three per year……..calculating the odds.

We ambled into Stanthorpe about threeish or a bit after and dutifully slowed for the school kids to cross the road to meet their lovely parents who dutifully parked in the No Standing Zones to pick up the little darlings. Our van park at the top of town advertised they were a 20 minute walk to town. After driving the long way out to it we were not sure which town they were referring too, but it wasn’t Stanthorpe.

We settled in. Peter met the Dashhound in desperate need of a date with Jenny Craig stationed within patting distance behind our van. The dog was just lovely. The owner a step to the weird side of just lovely. All was good in the granite belt world.

An hour or so later we went for a walk in the opposite direction to town happening upon a dead end near the show grounds, another dead end near the new housing estate and a hundred or so of the little school kids trying to kick a soccer ball. One such future star had the whole delayed reaction thing going on in the goal mouth. The ball would fly past and without fail the goalie would give no reaction at all until the ball hit the back of the net. At that exact point she would launch her substantial girth horizontally in an attempt to save a certain goal. You pay good money for entertainment like that at the Ekka!

G is still recovering from Peter cooking pork chops for dinner. Not that the chops were off or anything. Just the fact that Peter cooked. Tomorrow looks like a trip to Girraween National Park is on the cards unless Stanthorpe turns on the now very late cold snap.

Panther sat waiting a patient wait outside the new apartment. In real terms, totally unprepared for what lay ahead, she had been barley washed, quickly checked over, then thrown into towing duties. The recent house move had put car things on the backburner. Easter was upon us. Easter in the country at Roma was beckoning. G-String was hooked up and a willing partner for the journey ahead.

As far as adventure goes, Panther is a little underdone compared to Puma she had replaced last year. There is no adventure rattles, no adventure break downs, no yelling at passengers just to have a yarn. Everything just works in a most un-adventuresome style.

Accordingly Kilcoy flew past. Blackbutt popped up almost unexpectedly where the bacon and egg delicious went down a treat. Left at Yarraman and a few sentences later Dalby came into and went out of sight. We noted all roads appeared to be leading to Roma. Trailers with motocross bikes, trailers with mud dragsters, trailers with misbehaving kids strapped to the rear and after Chinchilla, three tools from the cutlery drawer.

Launching from the depths of the spoon drawer was Henrietta in her Hyundai, followed by her second son to her fifth partner in his soft top Perentie Landover, followed by a ring-in wannabe relative. All were driving at just over 80 km/h in the 110 zone. All within a redneck’s axe handle length of each other. Impossible to tolerate, impossible to overtake, our trip came to a crawl. Somewhere between backofnowhere and Roma Heights we wound Panther up and overtook in style. G gave each driver the ‘G’ stare as we motored by.

Roma was bursting at the seams. Cars everywhere, people flooding the streets and mums lunch. What’s not to like.

Saturday was the famed street parade. A fantastic affair. Good old time country entertainment viewed from the confines of the breakfast bar at whatever hotel it was. Police motorbikes, drag cars, school kids on floats, dancers, but unfortunately no goat races thanks to uneducated fools claiming animal cruelty or global warming or the dying Barrier Reef or some other rubbish excuse. Whatever, there is now at least twenty otherwise fully capable goats in Roma claiming unemployment benefits.

Family took up Saturday afternoon, as did Peter finding a couple of old cricket bats he remembered fondly. He packed them away in Panther ready for refurbishment in order his burgeoning over 50s cricket career continue to flourish.

Easter Sunday started with a visit to the now semi-famous Moreland’s nursery and café about 20ks north of Roma. Being a favourite of Peter’s mum, the food was fantastic, the plants as good as plants can get and the setting outstanding. Greeting us at the entrance was a group of ceramic dog statues. Two were obviously not with pulse, but the other being a black and tan mutt, had us guessing. Guessing to such an extent G was convinced this one, if it didn’t have a pulse, was the subject of some talented taxidermist. Convinced that it would willingly pee on the first tree it saw, if only it could walk!. Taken by its reality, G went so far as to warn the moving farm dogs that they should be wary, for one wrong move would have them stuffed…..literally. We enjoyed the rustic feel of the place and put it in the must visit any time we are back in Roma book.

Heading Somewhere:

An early morning training session for Peter at his sisters studio set up Monday nicely. Leaving Roma at about 9.30am we had no real plans other than to get to Texas or Inglewood or Stanthorpe either today or maybe tomorrow.

Panther purred along the highway between Roma and Surat, G-String in tow. Nothing had really changed since last time we had come this way a lot of years ago. Until……Woolshed Creek not far from Surat was almost a banker. The water was high and running fast. Trees submerged, water spread across paddocks and not a cloud in the sky. We were not sure where the water had come from, but it was a typical western Queensland dry flood. Water dumped hundreds of kilometres upstream making its way across the land giving new life and abundance.

Not to be outdone, the Balonne River at Surat produced more of the same, only bigger. The bridge on the outskirts of town provided the perfect vantage point. And the midges attacked!

This was obviously a planned attack. First the lookout pounced to make sure our flesh was the eating kind. Then in a flash his mates came in battalions from all angles. There was no retaliation possible. Running was the only strategy. Tactical retreat we will call it. Either way, we ran back to the relative security of Panther before dropping into town for a coffee.

The coffee was great, the yarn with the locals from Roma was equally so. We were assured the Cobb and Co Changing Station, now a gallery, was worth a visit yet forgot to visit until we were half an hour out of town.

We motored on mostly southish, before lunching under a tree at Meandarra and visiting this beautifully kept little town. We chose not to go to Bungunya, instead favouring a heading towards Westmar where we fuelled and had ice cream. Westmar ice-cream is worth the trip.

With the afternoon now wearing on and no hope of Texas, Inglewood or Stanthorpe popping up before midnight, we chose to find a gravel siding wherever we could. Ultimately we selected a solid gravel pit at Lundavra on the way to Billa Billa. With no traffic, our afternoon was one of solitude and relaxation. Just what we needed.