A shorter day in the saddle after making some adjustments to the rapid itinerary home. Yesterday's 611kms played merry hell with Sue's back and to be honest, problems I had been having before we left on this tour, were resurfacing for the first time.
Our night at Augathella was quiet, well apart from the double and triple semis roaring past us about seventy metres away. We dined in the trucker's cafe which was part of the road house, motel, caravan park cartel. The food was limited in range but well prepared and had a heavy accent on red meat. This was my third night of steak in a row and my colon was scream abuse at me from the moment my plate was put in front of me. The two ladies - I think sisters - who prepared the food, did a really good job. It my fussy and pampered diet that was the problem.
The caravan park section is not a place where people do more than spend a night in transit. Power and water, a hot shower in dilapidated show blocks. Dirt sites, no slabs and of course the passing parade of Macks and Louivilles. There was a nice covered area - imagine a big shed with no sides - which had bar-b-qs, a washing up sink and tables. A redeeming feature was shower cubicle doors which open outwards. Anyone who has stayed in caravan parks will know what I mean when they stop and think about it.
Anyway. Anyway.
On the road at 8:00am and an hour later we stopped for old times sake at Morven. Ten years ago, Morven was the first stop we made on the second day of our big adventure to Western Australia and short though the stop was, it was memorable because of the shop there and its owner, Jill.
Sadly, the shop is no more, replaced by the Pick A Box Motel: so called because each room is a separated corrugated iron clad "box" and when you check in by calling the mobile number on the sign, you pick your box. Even more sadly, Jill passed away last year. We got the low down at the new shop and the Post Office, where the post master made us a cup of tea and provided a biscuit. Ah Qld. I shall miss you.
Across the road is a shed constructed entirely of flattened kerosene tins. In the Depression, five of were constructed and arranged in a circle, with one tap placed in the centre of the circle. They prided homes for the homeless and men traveling through looking for work.
The next stretch was a solid two hours to Roma and lunch at the well known Big Rig. No sightseeing - no time - just lunch and moving on. Alas, not even time to go and see Bottle Tree Lane. After listening to Rod Stewart during the led to Roma at Sue's request, I was no mood to be generous with time. I was as though part of my life that I won't get back had just been eaten by ballads designed to seduce teenage girls.
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Soon outside of Roma we tuned south for the remaining two hundred or so kilometres to St George.
Lots of trees again, paddocks and more than one cow per forty hectares.
The outback was long behind us.
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