Uluru

Date:	07-10/04/2017
Location:	Uluru (Northern Territory)
Distance Travelled:	246 Km
Temperature:	Min:	9.1
	Max:	36.8
Distance on foot	26.5km

WOW! Now, that was four days of sheer magic! I’m not even sure how I’m going to squeeze everything we saw and did into this blog… but I’ll try.

Uluru, here we come!

Leaving Eldunda Roadhouse, it wasn’t long before the landscape began to change. No longer simply brown and yellow, the earth changed to a mix of brilliant reds and oranges, highlighted by darker tones of burnt-umber and chocolate. I’m not sure if it was the contrast between the vibrant sandy soil and the almost glowing plant life - but every bush, shrub and tuft of grass stood out unambiguously against the landscape - brilliant neon greens and lemony yellows met us at every turn. Even more stark against this back drop were the many desiccated salt lakes we passed on our travels – each gleaming brightly in the harsh desert sun.

A land of stark contrasts

As soon as the landscape changed, the boys took up their look-out duty in the search for Uluru (we didn’t have the heart to tell them it was still a few hundred kilometres away). There was a flurry of excitement when the kids thought they’d found it sooner than expected, as we made our first pitstop for the day overlooking Mt Conner. This strange mountain, which looks like it should be much bigger than it is – if only someone hadn’t cut it in off at the knees – was the object of the kids’ excitement. Not quite Uluru, but at first glance, to the untrained eye at least – it did a jolly good impression of the iconic rock.

Mt Conner, an Uluru impersonator?

It wasn’t long before the real object of our expedition came into view. Ben was the first to spot it, as the magnificent monolith emerged in the distance. Of course, this initiated another photo stop. Here, however, Nat and the boys got a lesson in the value of sensible footwear. In the hot afternoon sun, the dark red sand drank up the heat and generously splashed it out on any tender foot that happened to touch it. Thongs, it turns out, are not good desert shoes. But, despite the pain and the blisters, we all made it to top of a sandy rise to be greeted by our first glimpse of the famous rock. As for me, my dainty little tootsies were well protected in their gore tex and leather bound casings… In my world, thongs have no place other than when braving communal showers and for those quick dashes to the loo in the middle of the night!

Uluru emerging in the distance

Arriving at the caravan park, a bit of grunt work was required to get the caravan into the space we’d been allocated. The concrete slab was on the wrong side of site for our door. But, with the help of a few new-found friends, we managed to get the trailer in – back to front – and levelled up ready to be opened for business. There’s nothing better than a caravan wrangling situation to bring out that previously mentioned comradery in our fellow travellers.

We recognised our campsite neighbours, as they had also been travelling the same route as us for the past few weeks; with no less than four kids in tow. Ben and Daniel became fast friends with these kids and spent the next three days hanging out, playing and chatting.

The first night, we were early to bed – so we could get up before dawn to see the sunrise over Uluru. Waking up, bleary eyed and dodging the kicks and scrappy protests from at least one weary traveller (aka Daniel), we braved the frosty morning to witness the magnificent view.

Welcome to a new day, Uluru

As the sun rose higher in the sky, the frost quickly burned off and the day warmed up rapidly. The sight of the sun hitting the world’s second largest rock was awesome (FYI, Australia also boasts the world’s BIGGEST rock, Mt Augustus, which is approximately 2.5x bigger than Uluru – situated in Western Australia).

Arriving at the crack of dawn had certain advantages. Firstly, being awake at that hour (on purpose, that is) counts as yet another thing I can now cross off my bucket list. Secondly, the oppressive heat of the sun (not to mention the oppressive cudgelling of the flies) was kept at bay for the first few hours.

The majestic Uluru!

At this point, I really don’t know what to say about the experience. Uluru is, as many have said before, something that simply must be seen to be believed. Imagine, if you will, a barren landscape dotted with grasses, shrubs and an occasional lonely tree. Then paint the whole scene with brilliant reds, oranges and greens. Now, pull back your frame of view and suddenly become aware of a monstrous obelisk looming into sight. This gargantuan monolith, which seems both smooth and craggy at the same time continues to loom into view – until all that fills your view  is a sheer sandstone rock face disappearing upwards towards the most electric blue sky you’ve ever seen.

Smooth and craggy

Now, zoom in... as you look closely at the scene, you see weather-worn lines, cracks and crevasses. Occasionally a tree has found purchase in a time-chiselled gash in the surface, and has plunged it roots deep into the heart of the rock. Sand surrounds the base of the giant undulated red sphere, heating up like a frying pan and scorching the hardy plants that make this nook of the desert their home. There is a well-worn track around the base of Uluru, snaking its way amongst the scrub. But here and there the path diverts from its main route and you dive, suddenly, deep into the pre-history of ancient indigenous peoples; as alcoves and grottos from thousands of years ago appear before you. Many of these were sacred places for the people of the land in times gone by, and remain a place of reverence today. Places of shelter from the unrelenting sun, where stories and ancient lore were shared – with their paintings left to illustrate the knowledge of years ago…

Tales told millennia ago…

…and still the track continues. Round and round it goes; seeming to go on – with little in the way of markers to show how far you’ve come or how far you have left to travel. Then, out of nowhere, the scene changes. There is shelter. There are places hidden from the harsh sun. Black lines are stained on the massive rock face, where streams of water have cascaded down the face of the monolith. The rock has no use for the water. Nothing grows on its barren surface. But far below, the water has pooled into deep underground reservoirs and is tapped by those plants quick enough to send down roots searching for this precious liquid. Occasionally, the water stays. There is at least one pool we came across, where finches in their hundreds flocked to drink, and guzzle whatever nectar or insects that were on offer. Each bird, not larger than Daniel’s hand, careened through the shady gorge ferrying water and food to their nests.

Apart from the melodic chirping of the birds, no one who visits this place makes a sound. Even the youngest of children who wander into this area suddenly fall silent – despite their weary legs and lack of access to YouTube. And they sit, and they watch. This is a very special place indeed.

Water in the desert – a true oasis!

Then, wending our way past more ancient paintings, the track winds its way further around the colossal obelisk until we arrived back at the car park. It was a long journey, and one that was made even longer by the countless photo stops, jaw dropping moments and time spent just soaking in the scenery. But despite the effort required of us uninitiated hikers making this pilgrimage, no one left unsatisfied.

Veni, Vidi, Vici – or, at least for us, we made it round the world’s largest round-about

There were those who chose to climb Uluru. Indeed, there is still a path, with ropes and hand rails leading to the top. But, all around the rock are plaintive signs from the indigenous people of the area asking that visitors make the choice not to climb on this place that they hold as sacred. Amongst the warning about the 35 people who have died attempting in the ascent, as well as a host of countless others who have been injured or needed to be rescued in the process, the argument that swayed me the most was the idea that many who climb Uluru do so with the mindset to conquer the rock (or, in the words of Sir Edmund Hillary, ‘Knock the bastard off’). However, in this day and age, where the colonial spirit of conquest is slowly being replaced with a more gentile sense of appreciation for the world and all of its inhabitants, conquering a piece of the earth just didn’t seem to sit right. Being there was magic enough. No need to trample over the hearts of others in the process.

Happy campers

And so, our first day at Uluru came to an end. We returned the next day (slightly after dawn this time) to meet a park ranger and an indigenous guide to hear stories of times gone by and learn the meaning that this small corner of the world has for the people who live, and have lived, here.

Uluru – stark contrasts

Later that day we ventured further down the track to the equally stunning, but altogether unique geological marvel known as the ‘Olgas’ (KataTjuta). However, I think, that is probably enough for one blog post. Let’s leave something for the next instalment.

New trails await us at the Olgas (Kata Tjuta)

Until next time,

Bye ‘d bye.

Gregg

Erldunda Roadhouse

Date:	06/04/2017
Location:	Erldunda Roadhouse (Northern Territory)
Distance Travelled:	489 Km
Temperature:	Min:	34.6
	Max:	11.3
Dead Things Spotted	13

We left Coober Pedy early on Thursday morning, continuing our quest northwards in search of new adventures. The sun was kind to us and only peeked into the low 30’s that day. We were thankful, as always, for the wondrous invention of air conditioning, we pressed onwards.

This was to be another lengthy car trip, serving mainly to move us from one location to another. But that didn’t mean it was destined to be lack lustre or devoid of fun and frolics. Oh no, not when there are borders to be crossed and grand vistas to behold!

Our morning started simply enough – pack a lunch and buckle in for a long car trip. MP3 players were charged and podcasts were downloaded; all ready to provide a fitting musical backdrop to the scenery as it went whizzing by.

Hearty lunch ready for weary travellers

No more than a handful of hours on the road and we had hit our third border crossing in less than a week. We arrived at the border between South Australia and Northern Territory somewhere around lunch – just in time, it seems, for the flies to warm up their wings and come out in force. I must say, crossing into the Northern Territory was somewhat more auspicious than our entry into South Australia. Travelling down the road, we were met with a large sign announcing our arrival, proudly adorned with sculptures and rest area for travellers to bask in the glory of this momentous crossing.

Hello, Northern Territory!

Leaving the rest-area, we were met with our first treat – the speed limit suddenly changed from 110km (Victoria and South Australia), to a whopping 130km on the Stuart Highway!! Unfortunately, pulling our trailer meant we were unable to take full advantage of this new found speedy freedom… So, we resigned ourselves to tootling along at 95km (especially after our still fresh shenanigans with our ford), while all manner of vehicles whizzed by us. C’est la vie – or rather, ‘La vie d'un escargot’.

Go speed racer, go!

The rest of the day passed quite merrily in the car. Our destination was Erldunda Roadhouse about 95km from the NT border. Our ultimate place of rest this week would be Uluru, nestled in the red centre of Australia. However, rather than making it in one day, we decided to split the journey in two. Pulling in late afternoon, we were really glad with did!

The Erldunda Roadhouse was a lovely green oasis surrounded by dusty ochre deserts. Being out of the peak season, we had our choice of sites – so we chose a shady patch of grass, well away from the bulk of other travellers. The boys went off exploring, as Nat and I set up the trailer for the night. It seems that several of our fellow travellers from Coober Pedy (especially those with kids – who, like us, didn’t fancy being trapped for a full nine hours in the car with their offspring; no matter how delightful they are) had also decided to follow suit. We all converged on a viewing platform at sunset, overlooking the wilderness, to watch the sun go down over the scrubby desert.

Luckily for all, the dying sun didn’t signal the end of our day; our little gang made its way to the roadhouse pub for a couple of drinks and a game or two of pool. By the end of the night, an amicable draw was called between the fearsome pairing of Nat and Ben, and the ever-trying duo of Gregg and Daniel.

Pool Shark Daniel, showing us how its done!

And so, with beers drunk and pool played, it was time for dinner a bed. An early start awaited us in the morning, so we could make the most of our time around the iconic and postcard-worthy Uluru. I can’t wait!

Bye ‘d Bye

Gregg

Coober Pedy - Opal Capital of the Universe

Date:	04/04/2017
Location:	Coober Pedy (South Australia)
Distance Travelled:	538 Km
Temperature:	Min:	11.0
	Max:	29.5
Dead Things:	16

So, early on Tuesday morning we left our stopgap lodgings in Port Augusta and buckled up for a lengthy drive to the centre of all things ‘opal related. Yes, we were on our way to none other than the world famous (in Australia, at least) Coober Pedy. I’d heard a lot about Coober Pedy – mostly shady tales of drunken ruffians roaming the streets, blazing heat (the likes of which would give Death Valley a run for its money), ramshackled houses and ramshackled people. I am glad to report, that Coober Pedy in real life did not disappoint. But, I’ll get to that shortly.

These are your choices… take it or leave it!

The drive up the Stuart Highway towards Coober Pedy was spectacular. The view was resplendent with vast arid salt plains, a discordance of gnarled but somehow thriving plant life, and all manner of dead things strewn along the side of road (fun to poke a stick at – but pretty pongy in the baking hot sun) . Seriously, there is a lot of death out there. Thankfully, we didn’t encounter any of the human variety – but, by the end of the day, we had counted a grand total of 16 poor beasties that had met an untimely demise. This seemed momentous enough to warrant its own special 'dead things' page in our kids’ diaries – as well as inclusion in this blog…

 …For those wanting to play along at home, on this stretch of our journey we came across the following dead things: Kangaroos (x5), Wallabies (x5), Wedge Tailed Eagles (x2), piles of bones (x3) and a 'big fat cow' (x1) - thanks to Nat and the boys for dutifully cataloguing all of the carnage in its full splendour, to be replicated here). Be sure to watch out for future updates on the nature based road toll. We can’t wait to see what’s lying squashed around the next corner!!

Daniel checking out a salt lake

The forlorn animals whose lost lives became our drive-time folly also became islands of great excitement – inasmuch as they also attracted other (possibly yet to be mown down) wildlife of their own. Along the way we were lucky enough to get up close and personal (albeit whizzing by at 100km an hour) with at least half-a-dozen wedge tailed eagles. Of these, there is one whose image is now emblazoned in my mind. This steely nerved chap, who happened to be feeding on the carcass of a fallen wallaby in the middle of the opposite lane, didn’t even flinch as we sped by. No, instead of taking to the air in a majestic display of grace and power – it stayed put until the last moment; raised its head and glared at us. I swear, it seemed to be trying to pierce our car with its intensely brilliant yellow eyes. Perhaps it was sheer stubbornness, or an absolute sense of certainty that he was the king of this domain – but either way, I can’t help think that this was perhaps the reason two of the bodies on our dead things list were sadly beautiful specimens of this bird’s kinfolk.

Cuppa time on the road

We arrived at Coober Pedy late afternoon. We knew we were getting close when the landscape suddenly became dotted with mine shafts and towering piles of cast-off mining rubble. These mounds, robbed of their precious milky-white stones, grew into ever more massive pyramids the closer we came to the township.

Piles of cast offs from opal mining at Coober Pedy

Nestled on the highway turnoff towards to town sat a curious sign, topped with an old mining truck, announcing to weary travellers that they had made it to this strange little hamlet. Driving through the streets, it was clear this wasn’t an affluent patch of the world. Shops and houses were boarded up, standing dejectedly next to vast parking lots of broken down and rusting cars. There were two supermarkets, both with their own peculiar smell, to serve the locals and passing tourist trade; and a handful of mechanical services to keep us all chugging on our way. Otherwise, Coober Pedy seemed to be devoted almost entirely to the reason for its very existence – opals. All manner of opal related shops, mines tours and trading posts lined the surrounding areas; as well, of course, as a seemingly thriving opal mining industry. All of these were interspersed with caravan parks and other accommodation for us outsiders, who had come to gawk at this place and the people who make it their home.

Welcome to Coober Pedy!

Pulling into the dusty Oasis caravan park, our little Jayco Eagle was dwarfed by a row of massive trailers and camper homes that were parked alongside us. There were large gates at the front entrance to the caravan park, to keep the gawkers and the locals safely separated after dark. But inside the little gated community in the middle of nowhere, there was a sense of comradery amongst those who had made the pilgrimage across the dusty plains to get here. Having arrived late in the day, the first evening was spent setting up and cleaning out the trailer, having a few beers and chatting to our fellow travellers.

Popping into the local bottle-o that afternoon to pick up a couple of drinks, it was a new experience to not only have to show ID – but also for it to be scanned by computer and checked against a database to make sure I hadn’t been banned from buying alcohol in this region.  It turns out, I was fine. Phew!

After a good night’s sleep, we were up early the next day for a wander around the township itself. Luckily, everything that was on offer for the intrepid tourist who wanders into this dusty corner of the world was well within walking distance – even for those family members with shorter legs than the rest of the troop. Well, mostly...

Why did you bring me here dad?

It was hot, but luckily the cunning residents of Coober Pedy have come up with an ingenious way of beating the lashing blows of the sun. It seems the tyranny of the sun can be thwarted if one lives far out of its reach – and the best place to do that appears to be underground. So, underground we went. First stop was the Old Timer’s Mine.

Being the first site to be mined in this area, the Old Timer’s Mine has now been preserved as a museum. Wandering up the dusty road, passed another graveyard of dilapidated cars and broken mining equipment, it was almost surprising to be greeted by a very chipper and welcoming women at the gift shop desk who explained a little about the mine (dissuaded us from spending extra for the audio tour) and ushered us into a little nook to try on hard hats before descending down a flight of wooden stairs into the opal mine. Actually, it wasn't entirely that simple. Daniel took one look at the large “WARNING” sign posted at the top of the stairs and decided that going underground was a ridiculous idea and there was no way he was going to wear one of those horrendous looking hard hats…

Obligatory safety sign, which nearly curtailed Daniel’s underground experience

Eventually, with much coaxing, Daniel did join the rest of us at the mine entrance. Despite his initial uncertainty, in the end he was begging to go through again (if only to get out of the heat).

The hand carved mine was stunning to behold. The scars on the wall left visual echoes of where each blow of a pick axe had landed over a century ago. There were still seams of opal lying in situ, where the miners either hadn’t uncovered them fully, or had abandoned their mining for some unknown reason. It was cramped, dark and claustrophobic, but mercifully clear of the dust and arid smoke the original miners had had to cope with. Moving through the mine, the shafts and caverns gave way to a gentle slope ending in a large landing. This was full of old mining gear, as well as a host of paraphernalia from everyday life of the era. The journey through the mine also ended with a glimpse of what life in an underground house would be like, with the miner’s original dwellings still available to see. This consisted of a series of four or so rooms (complete with bedrooms, bathroom, kitchen and living area) all carved into the rock, the electric wiring for lights and other appliances dangling from the ceiling. This house had in fact been occupied by a family until late last century.

Returning to the surface, blinking in the bright daylight, Ben and Daniel tried their hand at opal hunting (noodling, as it’s known) in a pile of mining cast offs. And so, with a fistful of opal chips, quartz and other shiny rocks, we made our way back to the camp site for lunch and a well-earned break.

We made our final foray into the surrounds of Coober Pedy later that afternoon. We set off in the car and took the 75 km drive to a place known as the Breakaways, which are a series of rock formations that became separated from the nearby mountain ranges many millions of years ago – and now seemingly float in the middle of a desert all alone. Arriving just before sunset, the colours were magnificent – striations of an array of colours stood out in the dying light of the day. It was a shame the flies also seemed to enjoy the spectacle, as they came out in force and seemed to be trying to chase the hapless onlookers away.

Ben admiring the majesty of the Breakaways at sunset – Coober Pedy

Before the sun left us entirely, we managed to make our way down to the dingo fence – which we were informed earlier by a very helpful gentleman in the Coober Pedy Information Centre, was the longest man-made fence in the world. Stretching over 5,300km in length, this fence seemed to add further credence to my earlier supposition that South Australia will stop at no lengths to keep out unwelcome pests. I’m not sure how effective the fence has been, but it certainly made for a lovely photo!

World longest man-made fence (dingo and cattle fence)

 After wending our way along a hole-pocked dirt road, we made it back to the caravan in time for dinner. Tomorrow we would be saying goodbye to the intriguing, if not somewhat slightly unsettling, Coober Pedy – with its troglodyte dwellings, boarded up buildings and magnificent scenery. I’m still not sure what to make of this small town in the middle of South Australia – but I’m certainly glad I came and joined the gawkers - simply to experience it for a few days.

Bye ‘d bye,

Gregg

Port Augusta - we hardly knew ya!

Date:	01/04/2017
Location:	Port Augusta (South Australia)
Distance Travelled:	413 Km
Temperature:	Min:	12.9
	Max:	24.1

Ok, this will be a quick one. Just an overnight pitstop on our way to our first real destination, Coober Pedy. Port Augusta was a nice place park up for the night. Good facilities at the camp site and a booze shop and petrol station just across the road. Not sure if those two services are meant to go together so well, but they served our purposes just fine.

Unfortunately, we didn’t get to see much of Port Augusta. In fact, we didn’t even get the camera out as we were driving hell for leather to make it before the caravan park reception closed for the night. We did however, manage to take a couple of hurried snaps out of the window – just to prove we were on the road again (it sure is flat out there!).

On the way to Port Augusta

Still, it broke up the journey and left us feeling rested to carry on the rest of the way to Coober Pedy in the morning. By all accounts, I’m sure I’ll have a lot to say about that destination in the next blog entry.

Night.

Bye ‘d bye,

Gregg

Hanging with my bro!

Date:	01-02/04/2017
Location:	Adelaide (South Australia)
Distance Travelled:	437 Km
Temperature:	Min:	21.6
	Max:	11.0

Waking up in the motel, after a good night’s sleep (especially in a comfy bed that we hadn't constructed ourselves in the middle of the night), was brilliant! The van was still in disarray, but check out wasn’t until 10:00 – so we had time to move a few things around and check that we hadn’t left anything behind at home in our rush. Unfortunately, a quick check of the inventory revealed that one of Nat’s bags hadn’t made it into the van. On the up side, most of her clothes had been stuffed into an assortment of bags – but her swimming gear was nowhere to be found. After a moment of panic, we resigned ourselves to the fact that a shopping trip would be on the agenda over the next few days. As we repacked the van, it was also clear that a good few hours would also need to be devoted to sorting it out before we could really consider ourselves ready to face the harsh interior of this massive continent.

Luckily, our first major port of call would be at the home of my brother (Gareth) and partner (Rosie). At least we knew this would be a calm port; a welcome place in an otherwise frantic storm that had been tossing us back and forth for the past few days. We just had to get there first.

So, leaving the motel (a little less bedraggled than we had arrived), we dropped our car off at Nat’s sister’s house (Linda) – and left the boot filled with all the things we had packed in our rush, but didn’t actually need.

Now, we were off!

It was a beautiful day -  lovely, warm and clear. The car was towing the camper van like a champ, and there were even times that you could forget there was a huge hunk of trailer bumbling long behind you (although, it took me at least half an hour to realise that the thing in the rear-view mirror wasn’t some jerk tailgating me).

Feeling peckish, we stopped off for a quick picnic in a small town called Kaniva. We called into the local IGA and stocked up on some ham and cheese to slap into a bun, as well as a bunch of fruit to keep us going for the next few days. Now, this may seem like a pretty mundane detail to put in this blog, but it soon featured in another life lesson that we quickly had to learn.

You see, the thing about Australia is that there are lots and lots of rules… and many of these rules can be quite different from State to State (or territory). In fact, going interstate can sometimes feel a little like you’re crossing into a different country. Not least of which are those laws pertaining to quarantined goods. New Zealand, for instance, has some pretty intense biosecurity laws (and fair enough, it’s a lovely place – who needs a dose of Varroa mites (Varroa destructor) decimating your bees, or German wasps (Vespula germanica) landing head first in your martini on a lovely summer’s evening?). Now that’s all well and good for a smallish island hanging out in the bottom of the South Pacific, but for a land mass that is connected to its neighbours by little more than a white dotted line on the road – closing the borders to invading hordes of bugs takes real gumption! South Australia, I have come to believe, likes to consider itself an island all of its own. Not even a humble insect can casually drop by without approval. Especially if that bug happens to be enemy number one, the dreaded fruit fly (Bactrocera tryoni).

In retrospect, it was silly of us not to have fired up the old computer and googled “fruit fly AND South Australia” (using a proper Boolean searches, of course).  But, with the chaos of the weeks preceding our trip, it must have kinda slipped our mind...

…but not having had the forethought to conduct the aforementioned Google search, 20 minutes after leaving the sleepy hamlet of Kaniva, we found ourselves at the border; facing massive signs advising that our children could be taken from us and our finger tips broken if we were found to be carrying any fruit, vegetable, or plant material within our car or camp trailer (although thankfully in our bellies seemed to be OK).

The Dreaded South Australian Quarantine

Egads, we thought, that’s a bit of a pickle…

And so the next few minutes were spent forcing slightly unripe bananas and very juicy apples down our throats. To be honest, I think I took one for the team on that occasion, as my bowels have never seen so much fruit at one time before.

Oh, so much fruit...

And so after entering a food eating contest with only one contestant, we wended our way serenely towards Adelaide. “I’d better just give Gareth a quick text message to let him know we’re on our way” I thought. “You said you were arriving on Sunday” came the reply… followed by a great deal of  texting silence…

I now realise that this texting silence was probably because I’d stuffed up and had given him the wrong date – meaning that he and Rosie were likely experiencing their our house tidying panic, as we were turning up a day earlier than expected. To be fair, I had originally told Gareth the right date (he even had it on the calendar on the wall),  but in follow up texts (as my mind began dribbling from my ears) this morphed from Saturday into Sunday.

So, with the casting of one text message, their lovely leisurely Saturday morning was rent asunder, and we (somewhat ironically, given the goings on of days just previously) became the invading mobs from the south – come to wreak havoc on their tranquil patch of Adelaide.

Never one to be phased by such things, Gareth and Rosie took it all in their stride – and everything was spick and span by the time was chugged into their driveway a few hours later. There was even nibbles, drinks and dinner waiting – how awesome are they!

The next two days were spent stealing a few hours here and there to make good on our promise to finally sort out the camper van once and for all. This was interspersed with the boys playing with their new bestest friend in the whole entire world, namely Cooper the dog. On one trip to the beach, Nat even managed to pop into the shops and replaced the missing swimming gear that didn’t quite make it into the van; before ending the day with ice creams on the foreshore. This was all topped off with an epic game of Jenga, the likes of which will likely never been seen again (seriously, it was a massive teetering stack by the end!). And sadly, it was time to say goodbye to our lovely, quiet waystation – and move onwards into the unknown…

Four boys and their best doggy friend in the whole universe!

With the camp trailer stocked full of water (nicked obligingly from Gareth and Rosie), food and assorted goodies to keep us going, we eventually left the warm embrace of the familiar and headed out to trails unknown. Hitching our travelling home onto our car once more, we drove gingerly out of the driveway and onwards down the road. It was awesome to see Gareth and Rosie, and catch up on their lives for a few days. It was also very cool to be able to skype our folks while their two sons were together in the same place once again – if only for a short time.

A photo for mum and dad's fridge!

Onwards we drove, onwards towards the sunset. Onwards away from Adelaide and towards Port Augusta just over 400km ‘down the road’. On the way, I also received my first lesson in paying attention to the mundane moments in life. Driving into Port Augusta as the sun went down was pure magic. I must admit, even the kids stopped fighting for a few moments to watch the sunset through the car window, as the plains rolling away from us were bathed in a soft pink hue.

Ahhh, the joy of the open road.

Bye ‘d bye,

Gregg

We made it out of Melbourne (but only just!)

Date:	01/04/2017
Location:	Horsham (Victoria)
Distance Travelled:	328 Km
Temperature:	Min:	7.4
	Max:	20.6

Well, we made it out of Melbourne… but only just!

Ok, perhaps that’s a little too dramatic for the start of only the second entry in this Blog. But, it feels like this has been a hard-won victory – and one, which I am proud to say we achieved.

But, before I get ahead of myself, perhaps it’s only right that we look back over the past fortnight to see where this tale began.

In short, it’s been a hell of a couple of weeks! We were lucky enough to have a family rent our house for over a third of the time that we’re away; I was lucky enough to get a new job/role within my organisation; I said farewell to some very dear colleagues and patients, whom I’ve come to know well over the past two and a half years; Nat and I have cleaned and scrubbed and fixed and moved and stacked all manner of things to get our house, car and caravan ready for our grand departure.

I am grateful for all of these things – but, I must admit, I am now starting to realise that there is such a thing as having too many good things happening all at once… In fact, too many good things can feel a little overwhelming, and it’s easy to forget why they are so good at the time.  My new role at work is looking like it will be an enormous challenge, but one that I’m very excited about getting my teeth stuck into when I get back. It will be an awesome opportunity and I can’t wait for it to begin. However, that is about all I intend to say about work-related things for now, as returning to work will come around all too soon and I certainly have better things to thing about in the present. Right now, my mind is firmly on the here and now; living life with Natalie and my boys. Otherwise, if it wasn’t I’m sure many of the perfect moments we might encounter along the way would be lost, simply because I wasn’t paying attention – and when you’re travelling, even the mundane times can still be one of those perfect moments.

Renting out our house was another mammoth task. Don’t get me wrong, it was amazingly lucky to be able to cover a chunk of the mortgage while we were away. But, getting to the point where you can hand over the keys to your home, particularly a place where you, your partner, and your two boys have been living in for many years – complete with all of your glorious mess – is more than a little daunting.

In the end, every room was swept, every dead lightbulb replaced, that laundry renovation that was half finished was brought to a swift conclusion… Drains unblocked, showers scrubbed, packing done, locks fitted, gutters de-leafed, more packing, stoves cleaned, stains removed, gardens tended… not to mention packing, packing and more PACKING! It was a mission! Nat and I worked our fingers to the bone (while the kids mainly played on the Xbox or casually toppled over piles of clothes, rubbish, garden cuttings, or other assorted flotsam and jetsam that had accumulated around the house like aliens circling the mother ship).

Perhaps that’s not entirely fair... No, in fact there were moments of what can only be described as sheer pre-adolescent altruism. Those moments when our wee cherubs actually stepped around the various piles of clothes, without scattering them across the lounge… Oh, and I think they also may have helped to clean out the fridge – but, then again, they might have just been hungry and it was one of those serendipitous win-win situations.  We were also lucky enough to draw on the kindness of Nat’s folks, who helped more than we can ever acknowledge. Thanks for stepping in to pick up the piles before we ended up going insane!

Who knew tidying could be so much fun?!?

So, there we were on Friday morning. Feeling like we were on top of things one minute, and in a blind-panic the next. I now realise that depending on how you look at a stack of things that need to be packed, it can either look like a manageable mess – or a down right terrifying tower of terror. Unfortunately, as the day progressed towards ‘leaving time’, the previously manageable stacks quickly morphed into such looming towers of terror that we got to the point where we simply didn’t know what to do next…

But, the aforementioned tenants were already well on their way… whether we were ready or not. The clock was ticking and they were barrelling down the freeway at a hefty clip towards us. In the back of my mind I had a sneaking hope that they would be curtailed by a blown tyre, tummy bug or (and this is when I knew I was losing my mind) a natural disaster of biblical proportions. I had heard there had been a cyclone up north – at one point I caught myself thinking “perhaps, just perhaps, that would buy us a few extra hours”. But, thankfully for the tenants, the skies parted and they made it through safely (damn you mother nature – stop toying with me!!). 

At 3:30, with a driveway full of travelling gear and a house that still needed sweeping – the tenants showed up. We had even decided to pay two chaps to clean our house for us in the morning – but, after going around and re-doing nearly everything they did - needless to say, we won’t be using their services again in the future. The tenant on the other hand, I must admit, were wonderful people. Not at all perturbed by their frantic hosts still running around the house like chickens with their heads cut off. In the end, I figured if they could battle their way through a cyclone to get here – a bit of extra chaos would easily be taken into their stride. And, to their credit, they sure did. In fact, if it wasn’t for them asking us what those bags were doing sitting in the kids’ room, the boy’s clothes would have been left behind in neat pile on the floor… Oh, and the laptop I’m writing this on would have still been gathering dust on the mantel piece (a second near miss).

And so, with our caravan crammed full of belongings that had been thrown in as quickly as we could, we finally managed to hit the road… just in time for rush hour traffic. Oh joy.

The plan was simple, head towards Nat’s sister’s house in Horsham. We knew they were away for the week, but they had been kind enough to let us pitch up for the night in their driveway and also leave our second car there to be looked after while we were away.

… But, tuning in to the 4:00 news bulletin, we forlornly listened as the reporter described a major crash on the very motorway we were traveling upon. Well, I say we – but as we had to drop off our second car at Nat’s Sister’s house, the radio listening occurred in two separate cars. Likewise, the gasps of horror and sighs of frustration were also heard to emanate from two separate cars. This was shortly followed by a buzzing from my mobile phone, with a message from Nat to veer into the left lane and take the off ramp for a different route. Sure thing, easily done with a caravan attached. I noticed the message on my phone just as the 1km warning for the freeway exit flashed by. But veer I did - and as luck would have it, to the astonishment of myself and the cars previously occupying the lane, I found myself heading off into uncharted territory – only about 30kms from home.

I’d like to say that the rest of the trip to Horsham was pretty uneventful. But, at one point our little detour had us ending up on a dirt road (heavily corrugated), with the locals whizzing past the intrepid duo of Melbournites at break neck speeds. To top it all off, we had to pull over a few times to troubleshoot questions from our newly autonomous tenants about how to get the washing machine to release their clean clothes from its clutches – and also how to get the stove to work (an important question when you’re starving after a long trip). But, in the end, we did make it to Horsham. Both boys asleep, getting close to 11:00 at night, and heading for a dark and cold driveway with no one at home in the attached house. But as luck would have it, our guardian angels (in the form of Nat’s folks) took pity on us poor fools who couldn’t sweep, or clean, or pack, fast enough to get on the road at a reasonable time. The lifeline came in the form of a prepaid motel room, which was waiting for us to check into for the night. Perhaps it was just coincidence, or perhaps there was a greater force at work. But all I know is that as I drove into the motel carpark, the soft dulcet tones of Leonard Cohen singing “Hallelujah” were playing on the radio…

As we pulled up our camp trailer alongside our motel room and put our two very weary boys to bed, Nat and I figured that this didn’t really count as the first day of our grand adventure. No, surely this was just a packing day. A trial run, so to speak. The real trip, we assured ourselves, would start tomorrow…

So, let’s wait and see what tomorrow brings.

Bye ‘d bye.

Gregg