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.
