The First Post

Well, here we are in the Munall campground of the Blackdown Tablelands National Park. If I had known a few hours ago what I know now, I might not have chosen to stay here tonight. The steep climb from the highway was not too much of an issue, but the corrugated gravel road shook both the van and me thoroughly. I hope all the important bits of the van are still attached as they are meant to be. I hope all of my bits are still attached as they are meant to be! The sliding door of the van has been modified for some reason, so that sometimes it does not stay open, which is a nuisance when I am entering and exiting the van regularly. I have been using a black rubber doorstop to keep the door open (the doorstop came with the van – a handy extra) and, when not in use, the doorstop has been wedged very snugly between the side of the van and the awning housing. The doorstop has gone – a victim of the shaking and jarring caused by the corrugations. Maybe I will see the doorstop on the way down tomorrow, and retrieve it. Maybe I will see other people’s doorstops and collect them. I hope I don’t see anything else from the van on the road on the way down.

Still, for the moment, I am appreciating the peace and quiet of the bush setting. I am also appreciating the drop in temperature that comes from being eight or nine hundred metres above sea level. Two other groups have arrived since I did, but the kookaburras are way noisier than them.

I was in no rush to leave Rockhampton this morning. I wanted to deliver something to a friend at school, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to do that until 8, so I casually went about my business at the caravan park until it was time to go. I packed everything away neatly (a relative term) and checked the fluid levels in the various receptacles in the engine bay, wanting to look after the van which, I hope, will be my home for many years. After dropping off the item for my friend, and chatting briefly with a number of acquaintances from my time at the school (a significant proportion of whom have had their gall bladders removed, it seems), I drove off, heading for the road out of Rockhampton and into the west.

It would seem that by checking the level of engine coolant this morning, I triggered a chain of events that lead to a warning light illuminating just as I was to turn on to the road out of town. The details are unimportant, but it took an hour or two to sort out that issue, and I was reminded that I need to know this vehicle better. Ours is an important relationship, and I have work to do in that regard. I don’t expect to be able to fix all of the problems associated with the van, but I will attempt to look after it well enough that some issues will be cut off at the pass, and perhaps be able to logically diagnose other issues. Back in 1991, I was reasonably self-sufficient in looking after the Kombi camper I drove around Australia, using just a book written by an American hippy, I think. Now I have the internet, so I should be much better off. That assumes, of course, that my phone can receive a signal, which it cannot here in the Munall campground of the Blackdown Tablelands National Park.

I think of today as the first day of my grand adventure, so I couldn’t stop smiling as I drove out of Rocky, heading west. Having to stop at roadworks within the first few minutes did nothing to spoil the moment.

My family used to live in Biloela, and drive to Rockhampton every now and then for some city fun. One route from Bilo takes you through Mount Morgan and is quite a winding road. We preferred to travel the flatter route, which is a little longer, but easier on delicate constitutions. That route meets the highway about 50 kilometres west of Rocky, and that is as far west from Rocky that I have been in the twenty years that I have lived in this area. So, when I passed that turnoff to Bilo, I was in unfamiliar territory – and very happy about that. Soon after the turnoff, the speed limit changes to 110, and I think about how my steady 80 will be that much more annoying or inconvenient to the other drivers.

I drive at conservative speeds. There’s no rush. I am aware of traffic building up behind me, and understand that others have different timetables, so I pull over when I can. There are regular overtaking zones, and when the vehicles behind me (predominantly four wheel drives) go past, they remind me of young dogs being let of their leads.

I have decided to stop at every town over the next week. I knew a few of the towns I would see today are small because I read about them on Wikipedia last night. In the “History” section for one of the towns, an entry was about a ball held in the town in 1950, and which had been attended by people from Rockhampton and other surrounding towns.

The sign for Gogango took me by surprise because it is very unassuming. I drove past, thinking I’ll turn into town a little farther along. A little farther along, there is no more Gogango, so I turned back to the turnoff, and headed for the smudge of buildings set back from the highway. I know there is a school here because I once knew the Principal of the Gogango school, and as I headed for it (it wasn’t difficult to find), I wondered what the reason was for this town being here. There seemed to be no commercial premises, and everything looked quite drab, except for the immaculate and shiny Rural Fire Brigade truck which poked its nose from its shed.

Dunphy Park, a Gogango Ladies Auxiliary Project, was where I had morning coffee. The air was warm and still, the earth baked and the grass crackled under my feet as I walked around. I sat in the provided shelter (thanks, ladies) and could think of nothing but snakes. This just seemed like a perfect setting for snakes. I didn’t see a snake, but I wondered how far away the nearest one was. We often hear supposedly knowledgeable people say “snakes are more afraid of us than we are of them”, but I find that difficult to believe. I wonder if snakes lie in the grass thinking “they are more afraid of us than we are of them.” If they do, I would agree with the snakes. I just know that I have had an encounter with a common brown snake, and it didn’t seem too afraid of me.

In the park was a large granite memorial, remembering local residents who had passed away. Their names were engraved on small plaques attached to the rock. Many of the plaques were for Dunphys. Sadly, quite a few of the Dunphys had died relatively young. There were other names on the memorial. I assumed Vida Alice Ohl and Nelson Sidney Ohl were married. They were born one day apart in 1913, and died three months apart in 1998. I wonder if they had been born in the district and grown up together.

I love the fact that Australia is “the wide brown land” and I understand that not many people live here, so there are few towns and lots of bush, but that all means that some of the driving is somewhat boring, so a few twists and turns in the highway were most welcome. Some of the longish straight stretches have double whites, but I can understand when some people overtake then because we can see almost a kilometre ahead. The van has so many bits and pieces, and many of them make noise of some kind, but one rattle was particularly annoying. I removed the small metal rack that goes over the burner on the stove and the difference was amazing. Occasionally, I heard a noise that is not regular, and I am concerned.

As I drove along, I tried to predict when the low coolant light might illuminate again, based on the number of kilometres travelled and the volume of coolant added the last time. Also, I try to work out when the first light might go out on the lpg switch to show that the lpg system is now working, based on the lpg to diesel ratio and the distance travelled. I used to explain to the kids in my maths classes that people with number sense do those sorts of things regularly. Most of the kids thought I was weird.

Out of nowhere pops Wawoon Creek, surrounded by lush green grass and populated by a multitude of birds. A veritable oasis!

At one intersection, you have the choice of going left to Baralaba or right to Boolurra. But I am heading west this time. Maybe I can visit those places another time.

Over the past few weeks, I have used a lot of different taps in various bathrooms at caravan parks, service stations, etc. A few have been that type that you press the button on the end and the water stays on for a predetermined amount of time. A couple of weeks ago, I used one that ran while I washed and dried my hands, and only shut off when I was leaving the bathroom. One at the last caravan park I stayed at stayed on as long as the button was depressed. I have to say that whoever programmed the tap at McKenzie Park in Duaringa was spot on. Perfect timing!

The soil at the park is a lovely red colour, and a sign commands “Enjoy Your Stay”. The local information centre was closed, but I still learned that the Lioness Club sold Christmas cakes last year, that Brant sells honey and that the local store has real fresh coffee. Looking very out of place beside the highway are two sculptures made from old tyres painted white. One is a snowman and the other what looks like a Christmas ice cream cake. I was to see almost identical sculptures at Dingo a short while later, and wondered if that was a sign of competition or one of unity.

It seemed that in quite a few streets in the town, the footpaths were wider than the roads! I noted that there were no trucks stopped at the truckstop.

The town of Dingo is home to the World Dingo Trap Throwing Competition, as proclaimed by a large sign at the entrance to town. Another sign at the school farewelled Miss Dahl and the grade 6 students, who will both be missed. Strangely, a street sign on the school corner points off to another part of town saying “School”. In the school grounds, the groundsperson was preparing for the return of the students next week. Dingo was generally neatly presented, but the tennis courts were immaculate.