The Adventures of Stubby - Part II

Day 14 – Sunday 27th October 2008
Greenvale, Melbourne – Torquay, 75km
Our intention to depart on the Saturday was scuppered by an impromptu afternoon spent in the spa with the eski which turned into a BBQ party when the family decided to call in sick to the restaurant and instead spent the night on the decking around the spa with a bottle of JD and Port drinking their restaurant stock dry.
So it wasn’t until the Sunday that we actually left, tearing ourselves away from the luxury we had got accustomed to and setting back on the road where we gave up Chartreuse fry-ups, patisseries and evening dining for our two gas rings and cupboard of tinned and packaged Safeway basics.
To break ourselves back in gently to living in a two metre squared living area we only drove 75km from Melbourne to Torquay (passing through the satellite of Geelong) to where the Great Ocean Road begins. Torquay is famous as the surfing capital of the region and is well known for its great beaches as an urban escape for Melbourne residents owing to its easy commute from the city. We set up camp for the night in the Torquay Caravan Park in a site on the beachfront and immediately went to explore enjoying a walk along the sandy shores in the dusk with a cloud of pesky flies for company before easily slipping back into our routine of dinner and DVD as night set in.

Day 15 - Monday 27th October 2008
Torquay – Warrnambool, 163km
Was as if we woke up in England today! The sky was grey and sullen, the winds snarling and attacking our poor flimsy pop top and our fisherman chairs had been coated in a layer of dirty mud from the rainfall through the blossom trees. We were only just able to recline the pop top when the morning rain arrived, aborting our plans to spend the day exploring the beaches and surf of Torquay, and instead hastened our embracement of the Great Ocean Road.
In spite of the British weather which lingered all day like a wet March Monday the Great Ocean Road proved to be as spectacular as everything we had heard about it. The road literally hugs the coastline from Torquay to Warrnambool, following the stitches of the golden yellow sand and turquoise foaming sea. We had to alternate the driving more frequently than usual so that we could take it in turns to ooh and aah at the scenery and taking motion pictures while the other person grappled with pulling Stubby up u-bend gradients at 25kph with a trail of angry drivers queuing up behind itching to overtake owing to his refusal to climb anything in more than third gear. It was also a novelty to find that we had entered the category of “slower” vehicles and had to pull into the purpose built lay-bys on the sides of the road to allow the nippier and younger cars to pass us by!
We stopped off in Lorne, supposedly the most chic place on the route, for a cake break at The Ovenhouse and struggled with a Blueberry Turnover, which even by my experienced patisserie standards was too big for a single eating, before passing through Apollo Bay (‘Paradise By The Sea’) and the Otway National Park marvelling at the bubbles of surf, deserted beaches and greenery that provided a stark contrast to the heavily water-restricted Melbourne.
We didn’t stop then until we reached the Twelve Apostles. It was one of the recommendations that Dad had given me before leaving and which had stuck in my mind. It was a place he had visited on his travels around Australia with Nic and said I should visit and it was strange to stand on the cliffs and think that this is what they had done when they were about my age. Owing to the awful weather we would have probably driven past it unless I had insisted we stop and it was worth braving the icy cold. The Twelve Apostles are a dozen gigantic rocks off the Port Campbell coast which stick out of the water being battered by an ocean that stretches into the horizon and gives credence to the flat-earth theory. Formerly named the Sow and Piglets they are being eroded at a rate of 2cm/year so that some of the Apostles are little more than underwater stumps, but those that remain visible are an impressive phenomenon that drew in the clouds even on the most intemperate day we had yet endured.
From the Twelve Apostles it wasn’t far winding through the Bay of Islands (littered with poor man’s Apostles) through Port Campbell and ending up in Warrnambool where it seemed impossible to find a campsite for under $30 a night until we ended up in a tiny plot that seemed to be the owner’s converted back garden with a suspiciously lush lawn!
Day 16 – Tuesday 28th October 2008
Warrnambool – Grampian Mountains, 225km
With the whale nursery being sadly out of season our explorations of Warrnambool, an industrial satellite, were confined to our two favourite shops: The Salvation Army and Aldi’s! A pit-stop at the former was required to pick up replacement bowls, the first casualty of over-manning in a confined space, while the latter saw, what was supposed to be a quick stock up on staples, us emerge with a $5 bottle of port, pack of yoghurt and apricot muesli bars and several other unforeseen luxuries...A quick, and reluctant stop at McDonalds, to use the wireless internet was the final detour before we hit the road heading north from the coast for the first time to reach the Grampian Mountains.
Lunch was one of those disappointing Australian venues which according to the map looked like a buzzing hub with plenty of potential for picnic spots but turned out to be little more than an intersection with a handful of shops, requiring us to park up on the main road and make lunch on the pavement. Suffice to say, Dunkeld, held little to captivate and only hurried up our arrival at the Grampians which we reached, by our standards, in good time, ie, turning up only five minutes after the information centre had closed but with our winning smiles persuading them to unlock the doors, let us in and advise us on where to camp.
The Grampian National Park is one of Victoria’s most outstanding natural features with its arches of rugged mountain ranges and forests full of a rich diversity of flora and fauna and was in complete contrast to the open coastal route. Poor Stubby wheezed and huffed his way up the narrow roads as taking advantage of arriving in sunlight we headed to our campsite via two spectacular lookouts. Boroka Lookout is like a real-life Pride Rock with a natural jut out ledge that soars above the valley in which Lake Wartook is sunk and provides a vista of jagged mountain tors as far as you can see whereas Reid Lookout faces the other way and sits in the perfect position to catch sunset.
Dragging ourselves away from the Lookouts we persuaded Stubby to take one more journey before allowing him to collapse in the Smith Mill campsite, a small enclosed clearing in the middle of the forest with a hole in the floor taking place as its amenities block. However, this was compensated for by the sighting of our first emu loitering in the trees surrounding the entrance to our campsite and which looked like a strange hybrid of peacock head and neck upon an ostrich’s body. It was certainly our most remote and adventurous site yet and when the sun disappeared we were cast into utter blackness with a handful of other campers that afforded a sky studded with stars and the necessity of the comedic head torch to provide the most basic of functions in or out of the camper.
Day 17 – Wednesday 29th October 2008
Grampian Mountains
Somehow we managed to sleep in so late that by the time we woke up all but one of our fellow campers had departed so that when Stubby, in protest of being dragged up innumerable vertical climbs the previous day, refused to start we were forced to push him up the incline in the clearing, let him roll and hope that he started. Fortunately, and perhaps sensing the downwards advantage of gravitational pull, he spluttered back into life and passed the seventeen kilometres back to Halls Gap, the ‘hub’ of the Grampians, without any further tantrums.
Treating ourselves to the luxury of showers and electricity we were more than happy to pass the afternoon in the bowels of the mountains enjoying our first proper day of sunshine. With the awning up and fisherman chairs out it was a chance to plough through the sheaves of reading material I had accumulated during our roadtrip and which was threatening to sink poor Stubby. The problem that has emerged is that our daily routine has followed a pretty set pattern of getting up and having breakfast before spending all day driving to our next destination and spending whatever precious daytime (and warmth) remains exploring our new home before locking ourselves back in Stubby when night falls and using the fading light of dusk to cook dinner so that by the time the washing up is done we are cast into pitch black and pass our nights watching a dvd on the laptop. With no time in the day and no light in the evening my reading has sadly fallen by the wayside and so on top of the library of accumulated books I also have an impressive array of magazines, newspapers, cut-out crosswords/su dokus and information desk freebies from three cities and several smaller towns. So it was a most enjoyable evening spent reading outdated Time magazines and The Age newspapers and working out how much my poor saved pounds are devaluing on this trip.
When the sun began to cool we set off for an evening walk doing a lovely loop around the foothills of the brilliantly named mountains (Mt Difficult, Mt Abrupt, Mt Zero) that took us through the botanic gardens, Venus Baths and Splitter Falls. Emerging at the top of the waterfall on the precipice of the black granite rock in the depths of a huge crevice surrounded by giant rising cliffs of rock it was as if setting foot in Jurassic Park such was the archaic desolation and I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a horde of velociraptors emerge out of the bush. On our return the kangaroos had come out to play in the campsite and we spotted our first joey, a fat little whippersnapper who was somehow upside down in his mother’s pouch so that at first we could only see his hoppers before he performed a well-practised 180 and obligingly popped his snout out.
Somehow during our absence our new campsite had been taken over by a horde of OAPs who had commandeered the open BBQ and sunk several gallons of wine and forced us to revert to our speciality of turning yesterday’s carefully saved leftovers into a succulent brand new meal. Sadly, we were deprived of lettuce with our tacos as during the process of removing it from its bag a black spider sprung from the heart causing mayhem in the dark as we tried to figure out where it had gone (and whether it could get back into the camper) and secondly whether it was one of the poisonous redbacks we had been shown during house removals. We also experienced our first theft when a guy passing by our camper asked for a cigarette and somehow in the dark managed to steal our saucepan, sieve and odd bits of cutlery stacked ready for washing up. When it came to do the washing up and we couldn’t find these items it wasn’t until we had hunted everywhere with the torch in the dark that we worked out what had happened and tracing the guy back to his camper to claim them back found them stacked outside his door while he was busy with his girlfriend stole them back and quickly locked ourselves away in the protection of Stubby!
Day 18 – Thursday 30th October 2008
Grampians – Mt Gambier, 243km
Realised today that I have started to develop campervan snobbery! Sat outside having breakfast this morning the comments regarding the neighbouring vans that had arrived or departed overnight just kept falling out of my mouth. Colour (Stubby is the only cream van I have seen yet!), model, accessories, cleanliness all came under surveillance though the biggest culprits were the big, glossy, spick ‘n’ span rented vehicles. After a couple of weeks under the protection of Stubby I have suddenly become contemptible of those less hardy ‘tourists’ who have opted for virtual Winnebago models with complete mechanical and breakdown cover in their hefty rental payments. In contrast we are hardcore travellers rattling around in our vintage van with various parts dropping off in each place we pass through. Commending myself on opting for the “full experience” package I received the inevitable egg on the face when Stubby once again woke up disgruntled and with a flat battery and only when we both pushed him down a hill and our mad Aussie neighbour jumped in the front did to start him did he whirr into action though for a horrible moment it looked like the driver was heading straight for the boom gate of the caravan park and only missed it with a last moment swerve that took him hurtling into the main road where fortunately there was no traffic and we were able to catch up and take over the reins.
Not wanting to stop lest our battery deflate again it was a solid journey through to Mount Gambier which was unremarkable except for crossing over the border into Southern Australia. Spotting the heavy quarantine warning signs we pulled over 2km prior to the border and taking an impromptu lunch, not wanting to waste valuable reserves, devoured all the fruit and veg we had on board except for the last remaining carrots...
Our entrance into South Australia was bizarrely paved through plantations of dark green pine trees, not something you automatically associate with the arid, scorched bushland of a desert state, and Mount Gambier being the first major town across the border we weren’t long driving. Having discovered the campers trick of getting up early and arriving at your destination early enough to make the most of the day we had a leisurely afternoon exploring the electric blue (almost purple) volcanic crater lake that is its feature point (complete with monument built to a local depressive who jumped horses up and down the crater for kicks before throwing himself off into the waters one day) and then a more ramshackled walk around the town looking at the less aesthetically grabbing, though supposedly equally infamous, caves. Overgrown and cut-off to tourists they stand as gaping caverns in the middle of high streets and residential suburbia that are neither particularly interesting to look at or well maintained. Still, it was our first proper exploration of small town Australia with its ancient high street of niche retail outlets, snail-pace atmosphere and genetically odd-looking locals. Its charm did begin to grow as we accustomed to the hum-drum ambience and nestled in a delicious cafe sampling the local beef pies before heading back to our genial caravan site for reading and yoga.

Day 19 – Friday 31st October 2008
Mt Gambier – Adelaide, 450km
Stubby might have cracked the egg on my face yesterday but today he bought a baker’s dozen and smeared them all over until the yolk was pouring back out of my eyes...For the third successive day he refused to start and once again calling upon the unqualified helpfulness of our fellow campers had to push him down a hill to get going. When he finally did decide to start it was with a big red warning light around the brake sign...Concerned about our imminent crossing of the Nullarbor Desert we decided we couldn’t keep risking it and pulled into the garage on the opposite side of the road to get it checked out. A top up of brake fluid banished the red light but while we were there we decided to test the battery: the reading came back a quarter of the strength it should be and so a week after replacing the weekend we had to kit Stubby out with a new battery (which fortunately was on super special offer and didn’t dent our pockets too much).
Two and a half hours and 200metres since we left the caravan site we were able to get on the road. The 450km journey was the longest we had undertaken yet and required multiple swapping overs of driver and passenger to prevent boredom on the long Roman roads cut straight through the Coorong National Park. Lunch was endured by the pelican observatory just past Salt Creek with no pelicans and an overpowering salty-swamp smell that permeated the van even with all the doors and windows closed. In fact little remarkable can be said about this particular route boring through miles and miles of scrubland spruced up with the occasional roadkill carcasses at various states of decomposition providing an detailed anatomy of the kangaroo and explicit governmental (road signs warning against drowsy driving with a myriad slogans, fonts and pictures to put you off ever wanting to drive with the slightest fatigue. As with all Australian campaigns (smoking, obesity etc) the advertisements are overzealous in both their graphic depiction and warmongering attitude which is leant a bit of humour by the unusual sponsorship – a tad hypocritical that McDonalds fund warnings about roadkill whilst pumping people full of cholesterol packed, artery choking goodness...?
The only other point of note was the unseemly weather. I will never tolerate listening to an Aussie criticise the British weather again after weeks of miserable, cold, wet days since leaving Sydney. Back in the full regalia of trousers, hoody and hat with the heating turned up it could easily have been a typical winter day back in the UK. Where yesterday the cross winds were so powerful that every time a lorry passed on the opposite side Stubby got sucked in and then spat back out by the vacuum effect today it was the perpetual showers that burst out of nowhere and smeared the windscreen and were especially problematic while trying to change the battery in the garage forecourt.
It was a relief to get to Adelaide and fortunately having rung ahead to book a spot, the last site, in the city’s most central caravan park we avoided the frustration of having to find somewhere to spend the night. It meant we had plenty of time to unwind and make dinner before having a night out in north Adelaide on the buzzy Melbourne Street strip. Taking advantage of the special offer $5 schooners in a deserted sports bar we then headed to a chic and trendy bar at the other end of the strip gaining an insight into both ends of the spectrum.
Day 20 - Saturday 1st November 2008
Adelaide
Warnings from the scary woman at the Adelaide Caravan Park had us up and early and raring to go without even taking into account the extra half hour gained by crossing a state border that we had been oblivious to. Parking in the city we set out on foot to explore, rummaging around Rundell Mall, the main shopping precinct, snoozing in the afternoon sun (which after all my grumblings yesterday was shining in full bloom) and stopping for lunch in the bustling Central Market where I sampled my first “delight” – fruit juice served with natural yoghurt.
My only knowledge of Adelaide prior to visiting it was that it is the birthplace of the indomitable Lleyton Hewitt but a night and a day spent and I had fallen in love with it, gaining a homely attachment that I hadn’t yet felt in Australia. I don’t quite know why that was but a combination of warm sun, quirky shops and cafes with student prices and a good balance of concrete and greenery probably had something to do with it. Such was the attachment that we aborted our plans to depart today and instead returned to the caravan park to linger for another night.
Dinner was hand on the swanky Gouger Street in a fantastic little Chinese restaurant with giant portions for dwarfish prices and a cheap and cheerful selection of wine carafes. Trying to find some of the live music that the city is renowned for we ended up stumbling into a student packed night at The Astral where there were generous servings of beer pitchers and club remixes. Because of its compact size we were able to walk everywhere throughout the night taking in the different sectors and discovering that Adelaide is a city without the big city frustrations.
Day 21 - Sunday 2nd November 2008
Adelaide – Port Augusta, 325km
Mass in the St Francis Xavier Cathedral was replete with the Viennese Choral Society which was a pleasant start to the day before packing back into the Stubster and heading north-west although only after having had the unique privilege of discovering that private newsagents add an extra fee onto the sale of newspapers; buying a $2 The Australian Weekend I was charged $2.40 and when I pointed to the printed fee on the front page strapline the woman simply shrugged her shoulders and said they had to make their money somewhere!
Arrived at Port Augusta in the evening and were duly entertained by a pair of kite-surfers with their combi van on the lake outside our site. Sadly this was all by way of entertainment that the campsite, lauded in our guide book, could provide as even the Great Flying Doctors base seemed to have disappeared since it was last updated. Having read up about the great BBQ facilities we treated ourselves to Coles’ finest selection of reduced meats before closing time, our latest budget-saving lightbulb, only to find ourselves cooking in a swath of swirling red dust blown up by the vicious winds in a dodgy BBQ machine that only took one dollar pieces and ate our last one without even turning the sausages brown. Finishing off the meal in the frying pan back in Stubby we were forced inside by a combination of the weather and the screaming couple next door having a domestic through the wafer-thin canvas of their tent.

Day 22 - Monday 3rd November 2008
Port Augusta – Mikkira Station, 393km
Given the impending crossing of the Nullarbor which will require relentless driving we decided to treat ourselves to a few more days grace and pootle up and down the Eyre Peninsula rather than cut across the top and hit the desert directly. Named after the 1841 expedition by John Eyre who completed the first overland crossing between south and west Australia it is aAtriangular mass of National Parks, rugged landscapes, gorgeous beaches and the whole caboodle of Australian flora and fauna the Peninsular combined everything we were looking for in our roadtrip.
Our first stop was at Whyalla, the state’s second biggest town, which isn’t saying much as apart from its hideous steelworks it had all the buzz of Oaklands Grandstand on a Tuesday night though it did give us a taste of what to expect crossing the desert as the farmland gave way to a landscape as afar as the eye could see of red dust broken up only by the occasional stubborn small bush. This was more than compensated for by a lunchbreak at Port Neill, a true smalltown Australian village in every sense. With a long jetty jutting out over the white sand and turquoise sea and a scattering of bungalows along the coast it was both picturesque and relaxing.
Following the coast all the way down to the tip we reached the more bustling Port Lincoln which is famous for its annual January Tunarama festival where locals do everything possible to the abundant shoal of tuna from caber-style tossing to fancy dress... We only stopped for chocolate gateaux and coffee before heading to the Mikkira Koala Sanctuary to camp. Our plan had been to spend the night in the National Park but this was advised against by the friendly Sheila in the Tourist Information Shop as the Park is designed for 4x4 rather than twenty-five year old collectible campervans...So instead we opted for the far more intriguing prospect of sleeping with the koalas! Not knowing what to expect we had to follow a run of unsignposted dirt tracks leading away from the Park and into the ubiquitous scrubland so that for kilometres we were unsure whether we were even lost or heading in the right direction. All of a sudden a signpost popped out from behind a gum tree and letting ourselves in through the gates we entered the sanctuary. Formerly a homestead for the shepherds to look after the land’s sheep the area has been privately owned by the Theakstone family since the 1920s who in the late 1960s took in two koalas from Kangaroo Island and now have a thriving wild population of 150 which acts as a massive tourist attraction for those people who want to see them in a wild and natural environment and be able to camp amongst them. With no-one being in the tiny little office we signed ourselves into the permit book, left our money and took the map to try and find where we could camp. As we entered further and further into the sanctuary we realised that we were the only residents that night and ended up, somewhat eerily, parking Stubby in the middle of a grassy field surrounded by gum trees. Fortunately, the current owner, a glamorous granny called Bett, was on her way back from the sheep pens with her dog Emma lolling on the back of her truck and stopped to have a chat and advise us. As soon as we had set up camp we went for a stroll and within minutes had spotted our first dozy koala. Once you knew where to look you seemed to find them in every tree; from grumpy Grandads annoyed at being photographed to greedy guzzlers propped up on the flimsiest of boughs stretching out for the eucalypt leaves not yet munched to mothers with babies clinging to their backs. We completely lost track of the time wandering around the field, following the nature trail and walking down to the old homestead and windmill and not once losing enthusiasm for the spotting of every koala. Having spent all day driving it made every minute of the journey worthwhile and completely vindicated our choice of route. There was something magical about this forest of gum trees with their guardian bears with tufty ears, stick-on noses and big fat bottoms nestled in crooks of trees in the fading light. Combined with the olde worlde feel of the sanctuary, which was an antidote to the polished cities we have mainly spent our time in and the fantastic Bett who single handedly manages the whole sanctuary it was one of the best days I had enjoyed yet since touching down in Australia.

Day 23 - Tuesday 4th November
Mikkira – Streaky Bay, 363km
The cuteness of the koalas had slightly lost its appeal after their pig-like grunting throughout the night had made us feel like we had spent a night surrounded by wild rutting boars but jumping back out in the daylight and going on another koala watch they were soon redeemed. The weather had changed and rough winds picked up so that the poor things were clinging on for dear life in the nippy gusts.
It was sad to have to say goodbye to Bett and her sanctuary but continuing our Attenborough pursuits we were aiming to drive up the west coast of the Peninsular to where the only Australian sealion colony lives.
This route wound up the opposite coastline and unfortunately our planned lunchbreak in the tiny little village of Elliston was marred by a gigantic thunderstorm. Venturing out only to the bakery for dessert we were suitably scared by the strange spaced out look of all the locals who eyed us warily and quickly carried on our way. As we took the turn-off to Point Labatt, home of the sealions, we left behind the tarmac and vague notion of traffic for gravel dirt tracks and only the occasional squashed lizard for company. Stopping off to visit the spectacular 1500 million years old Ingelstone rocks hewn out of pink granite we found ourselves plunging further down the off-piste paths as a full tropical storm broke out with bolts of lightning crashing down seemingly on top of poor Stubby. As we reached the crossroads that divided us between Port Labatt and Streaky Bay, our intended night stop, we realised we had less than a sixth of a tank full of petrol with no spare canister on board. With the storms still threatening and evening catching up we reluctantly had to give the sealions a miss and hope we had enough fuel left to get us to the nearest town. Gambling on taking a small detour to Sceala Bay where a pump was listed in the guide book our hearts fell when we turned up to see an ‘Out of Service’ sign nailed above it. With no other choice but to head back into the maze of dirt paths and try and navigate our way back to Streaky Bay we turned poor Stubby around. As mobile network failed to appear and the constant hammering of the uneven roads bounced various screws out of their holdings (so that I spent 20km holding onto the clock that fell out of the ceiling and was smashing against the windscreen by its dangling bare wires) we were prepared to have to sleep the night out in the middle of nowhere and hope to hail down a friendly local the following day when with the last ounces of petrol we rolled into Streaky Bay!
Sadly we had arrived so late that the famous streaks of seaweed for which it is named weren’t apparent though the appearance of a flock of pelicans helped compensate for the absence of sealions and we enjoyed a lovely evening walk along the beach under the stars before turning in for a well earned rest!

Day 24 – Wednesday 5th November 2008
Streaky Bay – Border Village, 611km
Stubby embarked on his most gruelling test yet as not only did we tackle our longest kilometrage yet but we also left behind the Eyre Peninsula and with it all semblance of civilisation, amenities and aid as we set out into the Nullarbor Plains.
The first leg to Ceduna was still within the remit of the Eyre Peninsula and was a good chance to test Stubby out as in spite of his new battery he had refused to start again in the morning... Stopping off to stock on all the essentials for crossing the desert (including a brand new petrol cap as Rich had somehow forgotten to put it back on at the last petrol station...) it was a relief to hear him start without a grumble and so with tyres pumped, water tank filled and petrol tank full, plus a jerry can containing a spare 20 litres of petrol, we set out.
On our way out of the koala sanctuary we met a seasoned Aussie caravaner who, admittedly in his super-duper deluxe caravan with extension, 4x4 and boat, advised us not to rush the Nullarbor as it was a beautiful attraction in its own right. This was in stark contrast to every comment from other Aussies we had received when mentioning our plan to drive across it and as we started out we realised he had been right. Known as the treeless plain (null arbors) the landscape suddenly gave way to a flat plain of scrubland with a tarmac road running straight through towards the horizon. To be able to look as far as the eye can see in every possible direction is an incredible opportunity, especially compared to the claustrophobia of London, and instead of being bored by the route we both found that it passed much quicker than anticipated and were astonished that when we stopped for the night we had travelled over 600km. Just before we reached our nightstop we pulled over to the clifftops running almost parallel to the road and picking our way through the dusky thickets of gorse-like bushes almost fell down onto the beach. It was one of the most spectacular views I have ever experienced. As we looked towards the setting sun we could see it drowning in a plume of magenta nestling against the silhouetted bays and crashing seas. I felt as if I was seeing a land that no human had ever touched such was its perfection as looking in one direction provided this incredible sunset the other stretched out across the acres of flat blue sea stretching to the seeming end of the world.
It was a lovely way to finish our first day which instead of being the trial and danger everyone had scared us into believing had actually afforded a beautiful panorama of a unique landscape that in itself offered that rare opportunity to think without distraction. Pulling up into Border Village (marking the boundary between South and Western states) we set about making a gigantic burritos mix of all our vegetables before quarantine confiscates them tomorrow that will also fuel us for day two of the crossing!

Day 25 – Thursday 6th November 2008
Border Village – Norseman, 741km
Stubby made it! We made it! After nearly 750km of driving through the barren scrubland of the desert we emerged back into civilisation unscathed and actually having quite enjoyed this part of the journey.
It began early in the morning as we hopped from the Border Village campsite to quarantine where we passed with flying colours and a bellyful of fresh fruit salad breakfast and then sallied on into the plains. I thought we had encountered some straight roads on our travels but they really aren’t joking when they say that the crossing to Western Australia is one big road across the desert. With barely a deviation of curvature to break the seemingly neverending stretch of tarmac we relied instead upon the creative entertainments provided by previous travellers in the form of dead roadside trees decorated with either various garments of underwear or bric-a-brac. We also adopted the Nullarbor road of etiquette by madly waving at every other vehicle passing by in the opposite direction and being particularly pleased by reciprocate gestures from Ironman cyclists crossing the plains with their haversacks strapped across the back wheel. Our adventures could have been spiced up by picking up the over-bearded hitch-hiker found at various points along the road as we overtook and were overtaken by him on his innumerable carriages but sadly I’ve watched far too many horror slash-flicks to indulge in such generosity and so our amusement came instead from the smalltown Australian banter experienced at the roadside pitstops we made. Stranded in the absolute middle of nowhere the attendants all verged on the edge of eccentric from the unfortunate appearance of being inbred to the desperation at seeing new faces outside of their regular passing-through truckkies. Suffice to say two random British guys pulling up seemed to be the highlight of their day and without knowing they also acted as a much welcomed distraction.
The actual journey itself was one of those incredible once-in-a-lifetime opportunities where your surroundings are so unbelievable that you cannot quite believe what you are seeing and experiencing. It felt as if the $36 million road was an insignificant tributary traced onto the sprawling red rock and scorched gorse scenery that at times looked hallucinogenic or like the landscape of a video game such was its surreal quality. This was enhanced by the mirage effect of the heat which at times turned the end of the visible road into the same colour as the sky so that it felt if we continued we were going to soar into the sky a la Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Factor in a couple of gigantic eagles feasting on kangaroo steak and the bulbous kamikaze lizards dragging themselves across the road and the day had ended before we had even realised it had begun. Even my leg, which included the indomitable 150km line of tarmac that proudly announces itself as the country’s longest straight road, seemed to defuse the physics of time and space continuums as the vast swathes of the fearsome Nullarbor were soon behind us and we were tucked up into the Norseman Caravan Park making the most of the extra hour and a half sleep gained by crossing the state border.

Day 26 – Friday 7th November 2008
Norseman – Fremantle, 763
Twenty-six days after leaving Sydney we completed our coast to coast route with one final gruelling leg of driving taking us all the way to the setting sun just south of Perth. We left the desert behind for lusher climates though the warnings about wild camels crossing the road prevailed. The camels were brought over by the Afghans during the goldmining rush and when they realised they were too expensive to take back home set them wild in the desert so that they now serve as hazards for motor vehicles droning down the highways. We stopped off in Southern Cross which was typical of one of the many ghost towns built up during the gold craze and now stands desolate with only its archaic mine shafts providing any point of focus for drivers passing through.
In the car all day for the third day in a road by the end of the afternoon we had become a bit blasé about it all to the extent that when we pulled off after an exchange of drivers we drove for several minutes down the highway before realising the side door was wide open and all our worldly belongings perilously close to tipping out onto the road! Suffice to say, landing in Fremantle couldn’t arrive sooner and so when we finally reached the Fremantle Village caravan park it was a relief to finally stop and even the office’s failure to register our prior booking by phone didn’t matter as we collapsed into our swanky campervan site.