Making miles and almost dead

Day Twenty Two, Three and Four: Middleton to Home

If the Middleton sunsets are outstanding, we’re not sure how to describe the sunrises. Devoid of afternoon haze, the pure morning air bathed in deep orange light punctuated only by the silhouette of a windmill, is Australia at its best.

After enjoying the cool morning air we mounted up to head into Winton to have a look at the new (new to us) Waltzing Matilda Centre. The trip in over a couple of hours was brilliant. With countryside changing almost as often as roos, emus, wild pigs popping up to say g’day, it was never boring.

Arriving at Winton, we fuelled and headed to the centre. After handing over $38 each we entered with great expectations. We had previously visited here a couple of times prior to the old centre succumbing to a fire a few years ago. Back then we loved it for its good Aussie content and authenticity. What it lacked in flashiness was its strong point.

Well if ever there was a case of some loony from the big smoke stuffing up a good thing, this was it. The centre was full of everything but authentic Waltzing Matilda material. At one point we stood with a group of others inside a curtain like structure trying to see a light show about a dust storm. Not only was it almost impossible to see, but it was also obvious the fool who designed it had never had a speck of dust on their boot let alone been in a decent storm! We left extremely disappointed and $76 per couple poorer.

On we went to Longreach. The 175 or so ks was frankly pretty boring. The roads were good, the road trains interesting and that’s about it.

We settled into the Longreach Caravan Park for the afternoon. After a few chores, we were joined by Billy the Brolga who hung around for ages looking for as sucker to give him some food. ‘The Branch’ was our choice for dinner. What a splendid little restaurant this is. With the food making some of the coastal and city offerings look pretty average, we ate heartily. Billy would have loved it.

G and Peter planned to head off reasonably early the next morning, so an early night was in order.

Breakfast was nearly as good as the previous dinner and also at The Branch. By 7.50 they were on the road having said good-byes to Richard and Denise who were staying another day or so.

The plan was to get to Bauhinia Downs on a good run and maybe Moura on a fantastic run. With only one option in Peter’s mind, Panther was instructed that this was not an economy drive. She dug deep from the get-go with the speedo nudging 100 all the way. G-String understood, strapped in tight and clung on.

We flew through Barcaldine and Jericho before fuelling at Alpha. Next stop was Springsure for fuel and lunch. No not just lunch. The worst toasted ham cheese and tomato sandwich and bacon and egg sandwich money could possibly buy. With tomato still cold, cheese not melted and ham next to frozen it was pure hell. We did not have time to whinge for a better offering as Moura was now firmly achievable.

Out of Bauhinia with 76ks to go we were motoring along nicely through some hills. For a second Peter could not make sense of the picture ahead. He could see a van in front and was catching it fast. Way too fast. Then all become deadly clear. What he could see was the top of a van on the other side of the crest but could not see the tow vehicle, for it was much lower. The entire unit was coming directly at us on the wrong side of the road, overtaking over the crest of the hill, and fast.

Panther buried into the bitumen under hard brakes as Peter jagged left the few feet available before a ditch spelled major crash. G-String all but disappeared into the rear of Panther with the full expectation she would leave some significant skid marks. The car being overtaken managed some braking and a sidestep left to allow just enough room for the idiot in his 79 series ute, towing a dual axle van, to angle between us at speed.

It’s not often Peter or G get flustered on the road. This one was different. It was close. Really close! And to rub salt into the wound, old mate in his 79 gave us a friendly wave. Not an ‘I’m sorry I almost killed you’ wave, rather a ‘how are you mate’ wave. He was lucky we had nowhere to turn around for he would have found his lodgings for the night included a hard bench to sleep on and an iron gate for a door.

Not long after we came up behind a road train hauling cotton. Initially Peter was trying to figure out how to get around him to keep the average up. It was not necessary. We will never know what engine was in that thing but once he had seen us he parked his right foot against the firewall and motored. Only one hill of mountainous proportions slowed him down. All others we just bumps in the road as his speed matched ours easily. It was entertainment plus.

Moura for the night in the Apex park was a treat. Just us and a few others in a huge paddock for a donation of $5 each. Adding to the experience was a decent sunset and an all-night symphony of V8 79 series Toyotas accelerating out of the mining camp opposite! What’s not to like?

Moura to home was uneventful save a stop at Kilkivan to have lunch and catch up with our good friend Katie. With G-String parked up we reversed into the home garage with a sense of relief. Our experience with our good friends had been amazing. We had loved re-visiting the country we hold dear to re-kindle memories and make a few more.

Bring on the next adventure.