Around Oz the First Time - Chapter 7 - Mitchell to Barcaldine

Harry Chapin once said you can travel 1,000 miles but still end up in the same place. Today could be said to offer the same thing – driving – only more of it. Something like 500km (499 to be exact). We get on the road early. It won’t be a direct drive, there will be stops along the way. It would be silly to attack the full drive in one go.

Tambo, reputedly the oldest town in the Central West of Queensland is our first stop. Silver Leader has been here before and there is a shop we MUST visit. The Tambo Teddy shop and with good reason. Handmade these Teddies are individually named and numbered. Some have ended up in the arms of royalty as the pictures on the walls suggest. The ladies behind the counter take great pride in giving their spiel Teddies and shopping can only interest a male like me for a certain amount of time. I leave to look for the others.

Along the way from time to time the UHF had been broken by an unknown voice. When we had left a small town, we had split 2 caravans and we had been going “in convoy” ever since. I asked “where was CW McCall” when you needed him. Forbsy commented he was listening to Driving Wheels and the Silver Leader piped in with some obscure song he was listening to as well. As we pulled into Tambo a voice said she had enjoyed the banter along the road, and we wished her and her friends safe travels.

Robyn spots our first Brolgas in the distance. Quite a distance but they are definitely Brolgas. I have an uncle nicknamed Brolga and I think I see the resemblance.

Like the signs say – Fatigue Kills. I suspect also, that fatigue leads to complacency. We had our first “wake-up” call today. Not early in the trip but later, about 100 kilometres from the end. It was the perfect storm, a downhill corner, a truck and another vehicle. I have found vans will sway violently regardless of the emergency items you might have in a violent deceleration situation. This we had coming down hill into a sweeping curve with a road train coming in the other direction and the vehicle in front taking an unexpected braking manoeuvre to compensate. The van went into violent swinging and the emergency equipment took over and locked up the brakes. Trying to accelerate out of the swaying as the brakes acted against me.

All a bit scary really. But now the van is not travelling the same. There seems to be some residual effect. I call for a stop and Silver Leader finds the next possible place and we pull over. We had been talking about the incident and the issue for some time on the UHF radios, so everyone knew what I needed. When we stop there is nothing apparent to the naked eye. Not really comforting. I decide to call the Missing Link – perhaps as an electrician he has an insight. He is difficult to get to, jaded by the incessant jibes and photographs we hurl his way for not being with us.

His suggestion is a hard boot. Uncouple everything, leave it for a minute and recouple and see if that makes a difference. Makes sense really. It has the desired effect and for the next 100kms into town the van tows as well as it has at any time. Even the fuel consumption is better. The Missing Link suggests we find an auto electrician in the morning to give it the once over.

Finally, into Barcaldine, it’s been a long and eventful day. The showground is our target and we wander in and set up for the night. But there is more to do and see here. The vans are split and between us is a camper van which holds a lady and her dog. He is a big thing – security I suspect. She confides in us that the dog would only lick you to death. He looks very much like a dog one of Robyn’s cousins has, Zeek. He also is very friendly having been a part of a charity walk from Cairns to Melbourne he had done raising money for a cause close to his heart.

Barcaldine is the site of the end of the Great Shearers Strike and where under the Tree of Knowledge the execution of documents creating the Australian Labor Party. We spend the time of the setting sun wandering the exhibits here and marvel at the history.

Across the road is a hotel. Along the road today Forbsy has been musing about the need to have a drink at a bar. We satisfy this urge with gusto and return to the park for the schnitzels promised last night. The cars unpacked, tables erected, condiments and ingredients sourced. Forbsy is given the job of crushing the two packs to salt and vinegar chips but thinking one is for crushing and one is for eating we only end up with one and a half – oh well we will make do. Silver Leader provides a mallet to which we need to add some Glad Wrap so we can thin the chicken by bashing it.

Once the ingredients are readied outside, Rose creates a salad and by the time the schnitzels are cooked everything is ready and the repast is devoured with vigour. Another day down and we hit the beds early.

Just before we hit the sack a train (we had seen lots of train tracks but no trains in our travels) leaves the Barcaldine Station. It’s a quiet night and little or no wind or any wind there was, cam wafting from the direction of the station. The smell of diesel and the associated grease of the wheels stays with us until we go to bed. Just before I head off, I take some spectacular pictures of the moon rising between the clouds.

My last effort of the day. Sleep comes easily