The New Year was much like the Old. Bright, sunny, and close
to 30 degrees at 6 o’clock in the morning. We moved quickly and silently about
our business and got off to a record early start. The Canadian/Aussie couple
were also at an early breakfast and promised to be about a quarter of an hour
behind us. Our intention was to move as far as possible westward through the
remains of the high causing the hot weather and seek refuge under the clouds of
the dissipating cyclone which was heading towards us across Western Australia.
Hopefully, we would travel far enough to miss out on the extreme afternoon
temperatures we had had on the last day of 2013.
So besaid, so bedone* as the Dutch would say. Our racist Ceduneran
of yesterday had scoffed at our cyclonic theories, his sneer at our dumb
tourist ideas clearly visible. We would see if he was right, or not.
Breakfast at Penong. The Canadians scooted past while we
were trying to keep the flies out of our muesli. Diesel at Nundroo. We scooted
past the Canadians at a rest stop. Then through the endless forested region of
Yalata where the road seems to be peppered with signs and warnings relating to
the aboriginal community there. Gradually the forest became sparse and stunted
until it petered out all together and we were on the Nullarbor. The temperature
outside was still reasonable and it looked as if our plan might work. More
diesel at Nullarbor roadhouse as well as an interesting cup of coffee. Also
interesting were the first set of Tasmanians we had seen on the road this
holiday, folk from up Ulverstone way going east.
We rationed ourselves as far as lookouts over the Bight were
concerned. It was now lightly overcast, so the view, though spectacular as
always, was not great. And anyway, we said, we can always take a look on the
way back. We had lunch at the one lookout we did stop at, wondering at the
interesting odour emanating from the surrounding bush. A quick look outside the
caravan confirmed that it was part of what we had come to regard at a
peculiarly South Australian problem. They are too niggardly to provide tourists
and travellers with proper facilities. So South Australian rest stops and
tourist stops distinguish themselves by being surrounded by used toilet paper
and worse. Yecch!
At least the road was good and so was the going. Gradually
the cloud cover increased, though still very thin, but enough to keep the
temperature down. Finally Bordertown hove into sight. Ah, there was a petrol
station: better tank up! 209 cents a litre, thank you very much! After going
through another annoying quarantine inspection, we toured around the roadhouse
at Eucla. Diesel 197 cents a little! Note to self: don’t buy diesel at Border
Village, SA!
Driving across the Roe Plains toward Madura where the road
finally goes up onto the Hampton Tableland, we noticed a much heavier cloud
formation, long streaks of low cloud lying across our route, moving in from the
south west. No rain, just cooler weather, and very welcome. There was more wind
which became quite noticeable by the time we passed Madura. We were aiming for
Cocklebiddy. The road after Madura is quite rough compared to the section
between the border and Madura and the wind became increasingly gusty. Various
electronic correspondents were telling us we were going to cop the ex-cyclonic
low shortly. It started to drizzle, and we counted down the kilometres to
Cocklebiddy. We arrived there in good order and checked into the Caravan Park
next to the roadhouse. We chose a spot well away from the generator shed, but
close enough to the toilets.
We just finished setting up when the rain came down in
earnest. In 10 minutes the whole caravan park was a lake, and our choice spot
was one of the few dry bits, although I had to move the caravan forward a metre
so that our doormat would not be under water. At least there was a dry path to
the ablution block and to the restaurant, but it was raincoats and hoods to
keep out the rain. Strangely enough it rained mainly from the south-east, even
though the weather was supposed to be coming from the north-west. Ah well, we
were high and dry and well fed and slept the sleep of the innocent while the
caravan rocked to and fro. Occasionally we wondered briefly how the couple in
the Subaru were going. They were parked in the lake and had a precarious
rooftop tent which towered high above their car like the mainsail of a clipper.
Then we turned around and went back to sleep again.
*Zo
gezegd, zo gedaan.
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