Author: downunderdefender

Today was meant to be just another scoot day. Destined to be 750 kilometres of not very much at all. Travel sometimes has its own ideas. It’s these times that makes it such an alluring attraction. Today was such a day.

The chilled air of Roma at 7am did nothing to boost ourspirits, but we knew that getting a few kilometres under the belt early was the secret to covering a decent distance in a day. We set sail for breakfast at Morven. Here we encountered the first of very many road trains that rule the west. It is difficult not to admire the drivers of these beasts as they keep three seemingly uncooperative trailers, travelling in generally the same direction, on a strip bitumen but a few meters wide.

Whilst admiring one such beast parked opposite the Morven truck stop, Peter decided to take a photo of Puma lined up beside the bigger version; just for comparison sake. Photo taken, Peter jumped back in the car and we headed off with Peter’s favourite cold weather jacket on the roof. Arriving at Windorah many hours later, we concluded that there would be a very warm roo somewhere near Charleville tonight! The favoured jacket was nowhere to be seen.

Trust is an amazing thing. There is a massive difference between country people and city folk where trust is concerned. Whilst at Morven, Peter called the manager of the Windorah Hotel, just to let them know we would be in late in the afternoon and that we still wanted our pre-booked room. With the necessities out of the way, Merilyn asked “you can’t pick up some meat in Quilpie for me can you and bring it out? The butcher missed the truck and there is not another one for two weeks.”

Into Quilpie we went. Grabbed a coffee, were met by the owner of the café who turned out to be someone both Peter and G worked within Mackay, then headed to the butcher. Imagine entering a butcher shop in Brisbane and announcing, “I’m Peter Flanders, you should have some meat for Merilyn at the Windorah Hotel”, and being met with a friendly, “no worries, I’ve just got to get the sausages packed.” Then being handed four big boxes of fresh meat to take a few hundred kilometres west to someone you have never met with not a cent being exchanged!

You have to love that this form of human decency still exists.

The rest of the day was pretty ho hum, save having a bit of fun heading bush to avoid road trains in an effort to give the big guys the entire road to play with. We did try to photograph a huge eagle, but those in the know will realise their level of awareness is such that they are long gone before focus begins.

Windorah greeted us with the long-standing solar farm and a bit of new artwork. The pub was a pub without locals funnily enough.

Half-way through dinner the barman came to our table and said “the boss told me to give you a couple of rounds of drinks for bringing the meat out, but I forgot.” You had better come and get some more. Now there is only so much Coke a man can drink, G was already on her second wine, so we copped out. Although there wasn’t, if there had been the offer of a room upgrade that would have fallen flat as well. We already had the flashiest donger in the Barcoo Shire. We were destined to just be good Samaritans.

Today was always going to be a scoot day. Just get in the car and scoot the 530 odd kilometres to Roma. Reality was, we left late, scooted to Coles for last minute groceries, scooted to Autobarn to get cloth tape (fixes almost as much as Silastic), scooted to Supercheap to not get some desperately needed camp lights and finally scooted to BCF to complete our purchase itinerary.

On the road, we noted that Puma revelled in being loaded and just purred along. The sky was cloudless, our tired and frazzled minds slowly started to clear. All was good in the world.

Entering Goomeri, we just had to drop into the bakery and delight in some of their very fine pies and pastries. This place is an outstanding oasis on any sweet tooth’s bucket list. With full tummies we hit the road again for the very long, boring slog to Roma. The short cut in Chinchilla was met with a huge road working machine blocking our path necessitating a bit of off bitumen initiative to get around.

Miles for coffee, Wallumbilla for a quick look to the left and we were there. Day one done. Gets interesting from here on in.

Messages from our travelling companions revealed Annette and Bernie we all set for a 3am take off tomorrow morning with plans to meet us at Birdsville on Sunday, whilst Trevor, Sue and Maxi were camped for the night on the banks of Cooper Creek at Windorah.

The desert is becoming a reality now. We might just make it.

Well isn’t packing for a big trip just the most fun thing you can do short of pouring acid into your eyes.

If you are like me, you start off convinced that this time you will take only the necessities, forget the ‘’just in cases and totally disregard the ‘but imagine ifs’. Reality is, you end up with so much stuff to pack into an impossibly small area, that you throw the hands in the air and almost reconsider the entire venture. The swear jar fills at an alarming rate.

Then your significant other walks in………

Call me old fashioned, call me unable to accept change, call me whatever you will. Let me tell you however, that men and women just don’t pack the same! Women have an incredible ability to find a spot for that little thing that only she knows you will need. Men, on the other hand, have a desperate need for that little thing to be able to be located within the first hour of searching a fully loaded car. My experience is that it is not common the two packing philosophies mesh in beautiful harmony.

With that said, Puma is now almost fully packed. Each piece of stuff has its own hidey hole. The mess that was the shed floor is but a distant memory and adventure beckons within just a few short hours.

None of this means I won’t wake tomorrow morning, bounce out of bed at 2am, race to the shed and pack that one tool that I know I’ll never need in a pink fit.

But what if I do need it?