Adventures of Panther, Tigger, Puma, Scarlet, & G-String
This little beauty is for comical purposes only. Situated outside one of the galleries in Silverton, it brings together everything that is this quaint, yet slightly weird township.
Whilst its usability rating is bottom of the table, its view from without and within are unmatched. Topping off the listing is the lack of any stench emanating from deep inside.
One for the coffee table book for sure.
Not often we have ever slept in past 7am. Today we did just that. Maybe it was a combination of the van being totally dark and the cold dictating being cuddled up under a doona. Whatever it was we were off to a very late start to the day.
Touching 11am we headed out to have a look at the Pro Hart gallery. Not being a paid member of the art appreciation society, we thought we may be swimming out of our lane. Nothing could be further from the truth. This bloke can actually paint! His art appears to have meaning, and it is completely entertaining to view and interpret. We reckon he might be famous one day.
Being in the same general area was the sculptures on the hill. Not sure this one has the same connection to our great country as did Pro Harts creations. If one was to be totally objective it appears someone got a government grant, paid a few stone hackers to chisel some sandstone and whacked them on top of a hill to create a tourist attraction where there was none. It worked. In a weird freezing cold, pelting rain sort of way, we enjoyed it. We met Bill and Bob (not their real names) atop the hill. They told us of all their African photographic adventures, not missing one we’re sure. Tired and beaten we headed back.
A visit to the information centre pointed us to Silverton. This place is a cracker. Full of galleries, old tumbled down buildings, Mad Max memorabilia and those sneaky individuals escaping life. The pub grub was outstanding. Being a true connoisseur of all things Parmigiana, Peter rated lunch as up there with the top few percent of that ever experienced. One escapee, full of local knowledge, told us that the pub does 400 meals every day of the year. Interesting where good money can be made.
The late afternoon was spent again freezing at the miner’s memorial atop the highest hill in Broken Hill. This is a sombre place made more so by the darkening clouds and spitting rain. The price paid in human life to reap the earths riches is difficult to comprehend.
Back at camp we flew through some housekeeping before Peter started some university work on human behaviour. Sleep came easily!
As the first entry to our Pies and Pees category on the 2021 trip, the tin shed 55ks east of Wilcannia is a fair shot for the title.
As to location, it is a winner. There is no doubt it is placed a middle aged bladder distance away from the previous conveniences, so earns points easily on that score. Having a wet paint sign emblazoned next to the door however, brings tears to the eyes of any desperate traveller. Thankfully the paint must have been the quick dry variant as touching the door was not the nightmare anticipated.
Entering the tin can standing a good flood height above the surrounding landscape was an experience not often met, or survived. The waft from deep within the earths surface as the lid was lifted was well within the ambit of CIA chemical weaponry. Peter’s eye lashes instantly took flight. He fell back with buckled knees, gathering his composure moments before crashing into the back wall. All before firing a shot in anger! Nothing within his arsenal was going to make this fo retreat.
If you really must, drop in for a visit. If you value your health, keep driving. This one plays for keeps.
This morning was cold. Windy and cold. We packed early, having now gotten into a bit of a routine. Fairly straight forward with Peter rising early to make G a cup of tea in bed. Breakfast followed by a few checks, and we are off.
We knew today would be boring as the map showed but few corners in an otherwise straight few hundred ks to the mining giant of Broken Hill. As the kilometres wore on we discovered some beautiful little beast called fantails. Bright yellow with speckles of black resembling the letters of the alphabet upon their bodies, they were quite the site. Indeed, they were scrumptious. Thank God we got the big packet for they are definitely an endangered species.
Cold mornings bring on predictable bodily reactions. So, like it or not we had to call into the lovely roadside amenities about 50 km east of Wilcannia. Ominous was the wet paint sign, yet it did nothing to hide the hell hole within. It was a short stop that took our breath away for some hours afterward.
We stopped in Wilcannia for a coffee at the great little coffee house we had visited last time we were through. It was closed. On we went.
The artic wind was rising fast, becoming stronger as each kilometre passed. Puma was making really hard work of the trip and guzzling fuel like never before. We arrived in one piece at Broken Hill just on lunch time. Our plans to head into town for a lovely cup of Wilcannia coffee were put on hold as we again entered the ring with Telstra. This time it was a cage fight and G was in the cage. Oh, poor Telstra!
The afternoon was spent doing the things you just have to do on a trip. Things like tidying up around the van parked in the saddest spot in the Lakeview Caravan Park that is not within a year of a lake. We think it’s Landrover thing. Maybe we can add the letter ‘L’ to the list of those discriminated against and march upon parliament for no good reason.
With news of a cold front about to descend upon us over the next day or so, we are preparing to hunker down. Still, we will try and check out the Pro-Hart Gallery, Silverton, the big rocks on the hill and the mine lookout. Should be a treat in 70-km/h winds with rain added for effect.
Waking well before daylight we realised that Jobs Gate rest area was just as sparse in the morning as it was at night. Still, it had served a purpose and we were soon underway towards Bourke.
We noted that the road was straight, the cattle were fat, the goats were fat, and the roos were nowhere to be seen. We did however, come across one really big goat. As we slowed for a couple of cute little kids (goat kids, not human kids) checking out the centre of the road, a huge billy goat came over the horizon flat out. He was clearly not happy. Peter flashed his headlights to warn him that he was about to skittle two innocent kids, but to no avail. He ploughed on towards us, tempting doom.
In seconds the billy goat in his Landcruiser ute had passed. He missed us and the two littluns by mere inches. In fact, Peter was convinced it was just one inch, as G raised her finger to indicate same to billy goat as he flew by. Yes, goats are pests and a declared feral species. Billy’s deliberate attempt to kill them with his ute though was pure idiot, eroding our faith in decency. Perhaps he a member of the NSW Origin team.
Bourke was Bourke. We fuelled up and continued to Cobar.
This is one town that belies its reputation. Known for everything bad, it again impressed us with its services, cleanliness, and quaint persona. Whilst fuelling in Cobar, Peter noticed a bloke in a Ford Ranger towing a caravan. He was reefing his bull bar back and forth. It looked, let’s say, unstable. Peter jokingly offered him an Ocky strap to fix it. He turned and said in a very frustrated tone, “I can’t believe I just did that. I drove in here and drove straight into the post over there. I didn’t even see it. I’m going to Alice. I won’t %$%^& make it if I keep this up.” Peter made sure he laughed with his newfound mate, not at him. It was bloody funny!
Road works were the highlight of the afternoon. They were not fantastic roadworks; however, they broke the boredom of long straight roads as we headed towards Wilcannia with no intention of camping within 50 km of that inland icon. We set up shop at Baden Something rest area, settling in for a quite night among the short stubby trees just of the highway.
Puma had performed well today. She is pulling like a train on the hills and Gstring is tenaciously hanging on like; dare we say it, a Gstring. All is good in the mechanical world, yet not that good we don’t say a little Landrover prayer each night before hitting the hay.
Day Two: Chinchilla to Cunnamulla or thereabouts.
We woke following a fitful night’s sleep assisted from our slumber by the six o’clock workers heading out of town at about five. Our position, beside the stunning weir complete with its now nearly frozen old Pelicans coincided with the natural gear change from forth to fifth for a Landcruiser under hard acceleration.
Peter headed off to the weir again to take some more images, hoping the morning light may spin some magic. Try as he might, this icon of the outback kept her secrets well hidden amongst the pelican poo and rotting timber, lapped by smelly water.
At about eightish we clambered aboard Puma and headed southwest towards Meandarra. After a short while we pulled left, waited for a road train to pass, executed a U-turn, and headed back to the road that headed southwest towards Meandarra!
Nothing much eventuated that required us to rip out a post card and post it back home, although two roos sprinted across a little too close for comfort. As we drew breath and got back up to speed, their lone cousin, having seen the game, decided he would set the bar just that bit higher. He came from the right at ridiculous speed. He landed directly in front of the Landrover bonnet badge. Just when all reasonable assessment had him dead to rights, he lost footing, fell to his right side, and executed the most magnificent untouched slide into third base and headed for home.
St George appeared at about the time our bellies were screaming for lunch. We ate our fare beside the beautiful Ballone River adjacent to immaculately manicured park lands. We tried to contact Telstra……………..
Onwards we marched toward Cunnamulla. We had some thoughts of making good ground and getting to Barringun by days end. Reality was the kilometres worn on slowly. Roads were not conducive to good averages and the distant cousins to the earlier roos decided to come have a look at Puma and Gstring pass by. Not to be outdone, their mates from the coat of arms turned up in all their feathered glory to keep us on edge.
Ultimately, we ended the day intact at Jobs Gate rest area, a decent weeks walk south of Cunnamulla. We arrived late, ate early, and fought another twelve rounds with Telstra, losing on a technical knockout as one bar of coverage just didn’t cut it.
Some brief conversations with fellow travellers revealed most were Victorians. Collectively they were escaping, COVID, the cold and the mouse plague. We feigned a genuine look of understanding, but quietly chuckled within for who in their right mind would live down there? Things will be quiet for a couple of days now as we will be off grid till Broken Hill.
Friday, 4th June 2021. We always new the morning would be manic. Dog to the kennel, last minute pick ups, jab in the backside at the doctor, final packing and last minute checks.
The aspirational set off time of 10.30 was just that. 11 came and went. 20 past the hour seemed just right.
Puma turned right out of the drive and headed for adventure accompanied by her new partner Gstring. The adventures of Puma and Gstring were about to begin. Begin they did.
Arriving in Eumundi, all of 20km away, we noted that Puma was performing admirably with a full head of steam. We were mighty proud and just a little impressed. As we pulled over to cram a bit more air into the airbags to make the ride a bit nicer, Puma let us know she indeed did have a full head of steam.
The steam billowed out from under the bonnet in what resembled a new borns first magnificent vomit. Following the steam was a grizzly green fluid spewing onto the tarmac below. The incredible sight was only eclipsed by Peter’s utterings at peak volume. His beautiful girl had let him down again!
But no. Puma had simply, in the most indignant way, let Peter know that he had over filled the radiator fluid earlier and she needed to rid her full belly of the excess. We headed off north to Gympie for our first stop to get a new radiator tank cap; just in case. We didn’t need it, however the warm feeling of assurance is now present. Who knows, we may be able to help a stricken Toyota owner out with our spare part.
Wondai came and went with nought but a quick wee to spark our interest. We turned west at Tingoora and set sail for Chinchilla. We were now far later than anticipated so had to drive Puma a bit harder than normal to make up a bit of time.
Through the ever rotten rolling hills Puma truly felt the weight of her new boy. When Peter asked her to give a bit more she was reluctant. She simply stood with a bemused look on her face and said “have you ever tried to pull a fully loaded Gstring up a long hot bitumen hill?” Peter had to admit that he had not a good deal of experience in that endeavour, hence a truce was called and we toddled on at Puma’s happy pace.
Late afternoon we arrived at Chinchilla Weir prepared for all the beauty the iconic stop over promised. If two broken down old Pelicans, a pathetic puddle and a huge slab of concrete is your heart pounding thing, this place delivers in spades. For the rest of us, it was a passible place to camp, but thats about it.
As usual G delivered a truly splendid dinner of special rissoles and exquisite mixed vegetables that went down a treat. Internet fighting was the entertainment of the evening. We fought with Telstra for a full 12 rounds before finally getting a sceptical points win and a hint of a signal. The epic battle weakened us extensively, so bed looked the goods with sleep being a fitting reward for a long day.
Funny how things happen. Last September, Puma, the dirty little stop out, went on the hunt for a partner to follow her around. Being the modern adventurer, she started on the internet, swiping right or left or up or down. There were heaps of potentials, mostly over rated, under performing money suckers. Nothing of substance or suitability.
Early October 2020 things changed when Puma found one with class, potential, solid standing and no flashy bits. Affordability was also a selling point. Right, left, up down, who cared. It was a deal.
Come April 2021 the new one was due to come live with us and keep Puma company. Sadly he got cold feet and his attendance was delayed till May 21st. The final day did come however, and Puma got her mate. The internet being the internet though, Puma and ‘it’ had never exchanged names. So a name was needed fast.
Friends, being friends, have a way of helping you out when in need. An Instagram call out had all two suggestion piling in. The winner was a combination of a family nickname and, well I’m buggered if I know what. But, regardless, we will now enjoy the adventures of Puma and G-String!
G-Sting is actually a Zone RV 17 foot base model. It’s all we need, being selected for its build quality, style, price and the fact it will not make Puma work too hard for her money on long hills. The honey moon will be eight weeks in Western Australia very soon.
It’s been a while. We’ve sort of gotten to know one another, but I suppose I haven’t really told you anything about me.
Gidday, I’m Puma. I think I’m a girl!
For the techies out there, I’m a 2009 Landrover Defender 110 wagon in Izmir Blue. My heart beats through a 2.4 litre Ford Duratorque engine, cradled by a ladder frame chassis, held up by skinny tyres, supported by beam axles. I’m about as old fashioned as a modern 4-wheel drive can be. You might, however, be better served thinking of me as a rescue dog, as opposed to a car.
I’m not exactly sure where I was raised, although I do know I was conceived in a large litter in Solihull near Birmingham in England. Maybe I played up as a pup, I’m not sure, but I ended up in a North Ryde in a well know penal colony called New South Wales. From here, the scant records I’ve been able to find, show I had a number attached to my front and back and was sold into a life poor treatment and hard work.
My vaccination certificates show me being taken to the vet on occasion in the Alexandria area of the colony until I was turned three. From there I was whisked off, I think to a new owner, in Western Australia. Here I moved from home to home and from vet to vet. Most of my critical needs were met however there was never any love handed my way. I worked, I drank and I tried to sleep under a shady tree in the stifling heat of WA.
In December 2017 my records vanished. I was unloved, worn out from hard work and ultimately sold to a nasty unscrupulous man in Melbourne.
I will never know why. I will never question why. But……in September 2019 my forever parents found me and bought me on faith. They had never seen me, save a couple of doctored internet pictures. Yet something told them I was the one. G apparently loved the colour of my coat.
I won’t say our beautiful time together started off brilliantly. I vividly remember Peter uttering “what the hell have I done”, as he cast his first glance upon my shabby coat. We stumbled home, I met G, and life in my real home began.
There is no doubt I was sick back then. I hadn’t been washed or vaccinated since I don’t know when. I had the worst case of incontinence. We had to make excuses, for I left a puddle wherever I stood or lay for more than a minute. I had obnoxious body odour. I was doubtless the ugly pooch on the block.
In what was a labour of love, Pete and G set about nursing me back to health. I got washed what seemed a thousand times, to the point where I had not a speck of dust left. I had the most expensive skin revitalisers rubbed into me. First the exfoliating lotions, then the delicious body creams that felt soooo good. They made me look young again. I felt fantastic.
Pete spent countless hours renewing all of my important bits. He bought me new shoes and convinced G I needed multiple day surgeries to bring me back to the way I always knew I could be. I even had some cosmetic enhancements to make me really stand out in a crowd of well-groomed mutts. What’s really great is we’ve found the most caring vets in Redcliffe.
We have been together for well over a year now. Our relationship has blossomed to where we now trust each other to go on long drives and not embarrass the family with puddles on the floor. We’ve been to the Simpson Desert. We’ve climbed sand hills together; we’ve waded for hours in chest deep water and we’ve camped in the middle of nowhere for days on end.
These days I walk with my head held high. Men, young and old, turn their heads in admiration as I stroll on by. Even a few young women have shortened their stride to take in my beauty. Pete is ever present ,presenting nothing more than a knowing smile. We are a team.
So why am I a girl?
I love being pampered. The long spars, the body lotions gently massaged into my coat, the cosmetic enhancements and the looks from the boys, all make me feel so loved.
But more than anything, when times are tough, Pete reassuringly and whispers ‘come on sweetheart, you can do this’.
I’m Puma. I’m a girl in my forever home. Hope to see you soon.
It’s not until a trip ends you realise just how much ‘stuff’ you can fit into a vehicle and how much ‘stuff’ you may not have needed to fit into a vehicle.
Puma demonstrated the ability to swallow gear like no other vehicle we had ever owned. Being a big rectangular box, packing the beast is deceptively easy. What this meant was that it is equally deceptively easy to pack stuff we just didn’t need.
The unpacked Puma covered almost a complete garage floor. Cleaning each piece took days, not hours. Thank god Peter had a full week after our trip before he had to head back to work.
In one final stumble of our trip, Peter grabbed the partially filled porta-loo from the roof rack of Puma, lost grip and was categorically clobbered on the head by the big black box……..Shit!
