Today began with some humour. As we took off from our spectacular camp, G announced that the station track we were on was a good road. Indeed it was, if it had been a station track and not the main highway. It appears her internal GPS had malfunctioned and she had little idea of where she was. It was the Duncan Road.
It’s a great pity G was not right with her road description. Almost from the get-go we hit corrugations like we had not seen in a very long time. This time they were to last for 170km. There was no escape. They covered the road, rarely letting up. Peter pointed out an entire family camping in the bottom of one; or so it seemed.
We swore words we didn’t even know we had inside us. We repeated them. We repeated them softly, loudly, often and with gusto. Puma hated every minute of it. She rattled from head to toe, making a racquet neither of us had ever heard. Our ears hurt. The concentration required to drive the road meant there was little chit chat for the duration. On we went sometimes choosing to ride the steep bank on the left as it was less painful than the designated surface.
Only necessary stops were undertaken as the desire to get off this nightmare road was incredibly intense. As we crossed out of WA into the NT we took the mandatory pic opportunity on the grid that separates the two states. COVID border checks in this location were not on the cards. We hoped with all hope that the new state would bring a new road surface and free us. We drove onto the Buntine Highway and it got worse!! We were belted from pillar to post. No speed was satisfactory. No prayer worked.
We finally came upon Wave Hill, being the first town in NT across this way. As we entered we noted the electronic COVID signs that said, ‘Please report to the Wave Hill Police Station’. We didn’t, as an earlier phone call to the police let us know that the signs we just left up from last time the world had a COVID panic. They were not checking anyone, but if we felt like visiting we could drop in.
Our intended stop at Wave Hill was longer then anticipated. Puma and G-String had a few loose things that needed tightening. Trevor and Sue’s rig required the same attention. The road had taken its toll.
In a move of ultimate stupidity, Peter ventured over to the indigenous art gallery to have a look. Even more stupidly he let G know just how nice some of the art was. Within half an hour she had walked out with a genuine piece, having spoken to the artist and all. Bugger! Apparently it would go well with the Jabiru we picked up in Broome. Peter wondered if he need to put Puma into neutral on the down hills to save fuel, as he doubted at this rate if he would have enough money to get home.
Leaving Wave Hill we were greeted with a couple of hundred ks of bitumen. We got excited, then we got a reality check. For the most part the road was so old the road trains had dug two furrows into the surface making the trip a fight at the wheel like no other. It was almost ‘bring back the corrugations’.
We rolled into Top Springs late afternoon for a fuel splash and dash. At 2 dollars per litre we filled the least we needed before continuing on 30 odd ks to a lovely fly filled camp spot near a dry creek.
All in all as days go, today was high on the crap scale. After a relax and dinner under the stars we realised the crap scale had no bearing out here. We were blessed to be here with many others praying for the opportunity to swear at corrugations. We were now on the Buchanan Highway.