To speed or not to speed

Driving from Coonalyn to Tailem we pass kilometres of burnt scrub on either side of the road. This definitely is a country of drought, fire and flooding rains. We have to constantly watch our speed. The GPS tells us when we go over the limit, but there is always the fear of being fined. It's so easy to plant the foot when you have a wide open expanse of bitumen, no other cars in sight and many kilometres to go before you get to your accommodation for that night.
Back in 1974 we never had to worry about speed. Our F100 ute and old renovated pickup camper with bulky Luton overhang couldn't speed if our lives depended on it. We bought the pick up camper through The Trading Post, knowing it would need a lot of work before we could take it away. My Dad and several farmhands manhandled it onto  a flat tray trailer from its resting place beside a dam at Kurrumburra.   He and Alan worked on it every night for months, attaching hydraulic legs, and fitting a larger water tank. They made extra cupboards and added a tiny fridge. When opening the door I had to be ready to catch the two eggs which consistently fell out of the egg rack. Dad and Alan also installed a pump for the sink while I sewed curtains and bed covers.

Our motel tonight at Tunundra has all mod cons. I told a man we were heading for Port Augusta the next day.
       'You won't want to stay there long', he said. I agree with him. If my memory is correct Port Augusta is a place to buy provisions and leave at the first available opportunity. However, I simply nod and decide to wait and see.

Coonalypyn

Looming up before us are the tall wheat silos of Coonalypyn. This visit we are not trying to find a caravan park or camping spot, then set up our camp and cook dinner for a family of four. Tonight we have a motel booked in Tanundra. All we have to do when we arrive is deposit our bags in our room and find a pub for dinner. However, old habits die hard and I still pride myself on being able to provide good food along the way. If we have some sort of misadventure and are stuck for any reason, I can always produce a meal. Packed away in the back of the Hyundai I have a box of 'standby food'. Rice, tinned beans, pasta and meat sauce. At the very least there is the makings for about four good meals. I've learnt that you never know what will happen when travelling and if well fed, life does not appear so grim and everyone copes much better. On the back seat of our Santa Fe are two carry bags. One contains a mixed variety of fruit. The other has travel snacks of nuts, dry biscuits, muesli bars, bottles of water etc. I call those bags my security blanket and just to see them jiggling along gives me a sense of security and well being. I feel safe. I can fulfil my role of provider of nourishing things.

Today, black clouds obliterate the sun with occasional torrential downpours. We hear that Coober Pedy had its yearly rainfall in one day. No wonder the bush and undergrowth looks so fresh and green. What will the Outback look like this year?

Where, Oh where?

For the life of us we can't remember where we spent our first night in 1974. I guess I'll just have to drag out the old diaries when I get home.
We do remember that trip had to work in with Alan's long service leave. Coles and Garrard gave Alan half his pay so that the next half went into the bank after June 30th. It would be better tax wise if it was in the next financial year. This meant that by the time we reached Mount Isa we had run out of money. To manage until the money was in the bank we bush camped at the extreme rear of a beautiful lake behind the Mt Isa mines. We used up anything we had in the cupboards on, in and under stale bread. The water was crystal clear, but we noticed dead fish floating in the reeds at the edge of the lake. Had the lead from the mines killed them? We couldn't get the chalky taste out of the vegetables when we cooked them in lake water and Alan had an immovable white film over his dentures.
We had filled our water tank from a tap at the park before we realized the consequences. We lived with the taste until we reached a little town and an Aussie China man wrapped in a woolly jumper on a warm sunny day gave us some small bush lemons. Alan removed the water tank from under the camper, attached it to a rope, threw it into the middle of a nearby stream and let the clear water run through. Filled with fresh water and with some bush lemon juice squeezed into it and the tank was back to fresh drinking water once again.

I walk into a warm and comfortable motel and turn on the tap to fill the jug.

Technology

Modern technology is amazing. Thanks to Paul and Marian we have a laptop, two ipads and two iphones plus an amazing pocket wifi which keeps us in constant communication. We know about Whatif.com, Booking.com, Google, Skype, Tom Tom, Email and Find my iphone. Paul sent a text saying 'I see you are at Tailem Bend'. Once when I had a trip to hospital he even found, not only what hospital, but what bed I was in. Back in 1975 it was a CB radio or nothing. Tonight Alan is reading the news on his ipad and I'm writing this. The mind boggles.

On our way

Getting through the city of Melbourne is a nightmare. Interlinked freeways and tollways clogged with trucks and cars of every shape and size. We left after 9am to avoid the early morning workday rush but still managed to get caught up in traffic jams. Alan claims the Monash Freeway is a moving car park. So different to forty years ago, when we headed out of Melbourne at 5am with both boys snuggled in between us, their sleepy faces highlighted by the headlights of passing cars.
Alan and I can't remember where we stayed that first night.
Today we have lunch at the Beauford pub then on to the Zero Inn at Nhill.

Memories

We both have laryngitis and the sniffles and need a separate bag for our Osteo Panadol (lasts 6 hrs) Strepsils, Fisherman's friends plus a repeat for antibiotics.  We also have a truck load of pills to keep us going on a daily basis. We sure didn't have those in 1975. It was always a running joke in our family that Mum was always popping pills and if you shook her she'd rattle. I now know how she felt.
Our cases are packed and standing by the front door. Plus a box of food, picnic case, our pillows, and two boxes of my novel Pickle to Pie. A book shop in Glenelg just out of Adelaide would like ten copies for their book discussion groups. I'm also dropping ten off at Hahndorf for the same reason. I won't sleep much tonight.

Uluru Dreaming

We start to plan, remembering dirt roads with huge potholes hidden by bulldust. Deep enough to snap and axel. Of tipped over utilities and the smell of spilt beer from a trail of glittering cans littering the red sand beside the track. A time of complete isolation with only the staccato crackle of the CB radio--Red Rover, Red Rover, come in Red Rover--the only form of communication across a windswept landscape dotted with road-kill. Shredded tyres curled like black snakes ready to strike.
The RACV map spread out before us on the kitchen table tells a different story. Black bitumen strides from Melbourne to The Rock. We both have Iphones, Ipads and laptops to ensure constant communication along the way. I wonder if the spirit of adventure we experienced forty years ago will still be there.

Ayers Rock to Uluru

At last I'm going to retrace my journey to Ayers Rock. It is forty years since I've been there. What will have changed? Will we once again have to deal with a plaque of mice or will the ever increasing numbers of feral cats have solved that problem? I roll over in bed, carefully place my feet on the floor and gaze out at a night softened Carrum. Are we being sensible? Both of us are on a stack of tablets, both have hip replacements. But the burning desire is there. To again go Outback, to journey to the heart of Australia. Once called Ayers Rock. Now by the indigenous name of Uluru.