Graham, the Dalhousie volunteer ranger, is a great man. A great man with continued bad news. Friday, he told us that if it did not rain, we may get out Sunday. Saturday, he told us that they would revaluate road conditions on Monday. We were at Dalhousie Springs for a fair stay.
All was not lost. We had toilets, rank as they were. We had a hot spring to bathe in each day; multiple times. We had fine weather and we had Adam.
Adam was the leader of a group of campers in a similar predicament to us. Arriving just ahead of us on Thursday, it was their tracks we had followed. Adam was a Queenslander, being the owner of an earthmoving business. He only drank rum, but brought some beer for Justin, as he called it. (Just in case).
Adam liked a chat. Adam loved a chat; with Adam doing the chatting. We learned of his busines, his life and a lot about his vehicles. He had a massively raised Jeep on this trip, a Toyota Tundra at home and five show level Harley’s.
He told us in detail of his Harleys. How the wheels were coated in rose gold, how they had been bobbed and raked and built. The detail was not skimped upon. Adam was a great bloke with a love of life.
Adam, his mates and all the other travellers stuck in this desert paradise, made the best of a bad situation. We were forced to relax and enjoy good old-fashioned conversation. Life was good.
Sunday, like the days prior, presented with a cold wind, but cloudless sky. Our hopes for escape rose considerably. Being ever the romantic, Bernie whipped out a stunning compliment to Annette to kick start her day. In his mind, the showerless days in the desert, combined with a daily dip in the hot spring had given her a radiance he had not recently seen. This, combined with the alluring wispiness of her unwashed hair, the likes Rod Stewart would pay thousands for, was obviously tickling his fancy. This was the foundation for lasting love.
Sunday turned to Monday, each day with the almost promise of the roads opening. Graham, the volunteer ranger, was a gent. He politely told us the bosses in Port Augusta had decided not to open the roads……again. We questioned the foolishness of this decision as the camp had now grown to over 50 people. Another week here and we collectively were going to be a big problem to the SA government.
Monday turned to Tuesday with the same news. Adams mob and another could bare it no longer. With no smokes or alcohol left, they decided it was a genuine emergency to leave. They did so via closed roads. Their fate is at this stage still unknown.
More swims in our very own heated spring followed. Yarns with other groups increased. Newcomers from the closed Oodnadatta end did us no favours by arriving via closed roads.
With clouds gathering heavily on Tuesday afternoon, nerves were getting on edge. We needed to get out before the roads got drenched again. Time was not on our side. Topping off confusion and poor management of the situation, a group came to camp saying they had left Mt Dare with not a road closed sign in sight and had been invited along the road by a grader driver working on it. Puma was starting to get a bit catty over the entire situation.
