The music was rubbish. The screaming like dying hyenas was hideous. The Landcruiser driving into a dead tree was bloody funny. It was 11 pm and the ringers were in town.
It wasn’t till Sunday morning when talking to Sharon and Stefan that we learned the ringers are not allowed drink in the town limits so head over the other side of the water hole for festivities. In Stefan’s words, “it always ends in tears”. Tonight, was no different with one of the young guns ending up with his bicep protruding from his arm. At least he got a flight ,without all the COVID checks, as the flying doctor came to pick him up.
After a chat, we grabbed a fantastic bacon and egg roll washed down with French plunger coffee and some tea from the tin shed beside the service station. Local girl Gemma, has set up a burgeoning little business and is going great guns.
We turned Puma east for the 630 kilometres hike to Quilpie. Since last passing we noticed that the countryside was considerably greener, looking most unlike western Queensland. Road trains were the order of the day with at least six heading towards us and four heading our way. They were only outdone by a group of hopefuls driving a Jucy Van towards Birdsville. Natural selection has many facets. They should be found in the next month or so, we suspect.
Finding ourselves behind one such beast towing three double decks of cattle, we sat patiently. Then with a flash of his indicator it was on. We knew there was an opportunity to overtake. Puma wound up ,headed off the narrow bitumen onto the gravel roads edge. Noticing a fast approaching guidepost wanting to share our territory, Puma headed further out. She rounded the post on the bush side and began to move back to the bitumen just as an unseen erosion hump loomed. Puma jagged left, clipped the hump, got a bit of air then settled back down to normality. Puma Airways – guaranteed to get you there one way or another.
A call on the CB to the truckie suggested we had not seen the hump. He replied with a raucous laugh that he had not either and noted that Puma was pretty good at off-roading.
The day worn on. Somewhere along the way we came across the hole in the hill again. It became apparent that the local councils had not yet had a chance to fix the hole, so it remained, as the sign said, a point of interest.
Not much more happened as the miles accumulated. Puma hummed along. Peter and G feasted on a four-course meal for lunch; Chicos, Minties, Raspberries and Cashews. Four of the five food groups in one meal. We were on fire.
Quilpie arrived in good time. We set up camp in town, ate at the Bowls Club, coffeed at the Empire Café and headed off to sleep.
Our trip to from Quilpie to Charleville started with a brilliant bacon and egg sandwich at the equally brilliant Empire Café in town. Some good coffee and tea. We were set.
Any other travellers would head down the lovely bitumen to the big city; not us. We headed the Black Road to Adavale. Adavale is not for everyone. Built on a flood plain, it has few buildings these days, but the cemetery was recommended to us as a must see.
We headed a kilometre or so out of town past the new sign saying ‘Patisserie’, finding the paddock strewn with graves in mostly disrepair. Reading the engraved headstones gave some insight into Adavale bygone. Most who had died had not made it past about 50. A disproportionate number had died as children. Hard not to feel saddened by the tough life they must have endured.
A quick yarn to the local police officer and we were off on the 180-kilometre trip into Charleville. Nothing stood out on this section other than road works with no signage or direction. We picked our own path, not raising any swear words from the workers so it must have been the intended road.
By the time we reached Charleville we were famished. We entered one café and said, ‘no way’. We entered the next, ordered food and wished with all our wishing power that we had eaten at the one G and Pete rejected. The burger stayed hardened in our stomachs for the remainder of the afternoon. There are no words to describe how bad this swill was.
As we pulled up at the bush somethingorother camp, G mentioned something was squeaking. Given, when the Atomic tests were conducted at Maralinga, G turned slowly and said “did you hear something”, Peter knew something was not surely right with his beloved Puma. A quick look revealed both rear brake backing plates had cracked and shattered with the thousands of kilometres of corrugations. A better than good time removal of the plates brought Puma back to fully operability and ready to take on the next stage of our adventure.
Exhausted we went to sleep; and it rained! That bloody ancestor!
