I left the Alyn Motel in Gunnedah at 9.30am. I spoke to Mark, who said it had pissed all night. The road to Narrabri was long and straight. Wide. Pale grey. Flat. There was water by the side of the road, in the paddocks, across the low lying gravel roads. It began to rain, for the first time. I wondered if they were the first spots of something much heavier, or if it was just rain, water falling naturally.
I wondered if my “the newell, more than just a highway” map was manifestly inadequate and that I was being ignorant and just plain foolish in attempting to take roads that I knew absolutely nothing about, was my ignorance shining like a beacon in these times of heavy rain and flooding.
Were the blokes who knew this country bound to say, you gotta be kiddin mate. Get across there, in your car?
What would happen if all the roads were cut off, if I was cut off and that I had to go back to the border and retrace my steps, every last one of them.
I, actually, hate it when I don’t know what I’m doing.
But, as I drove from my failed stop to the new beginning of my adventure, I thought, I have two weeks before I have to be anywhere at all. Who cares.
The heavily pregnant “Information” woman in Narrabri, though my planned route was perfectly acceptable and that no, she hadn’t heard that any of the roads I proposed to take were, in fact, washed out.
The very next turn off to Bingara appeared to be a narrow alley wending its way across the rain soaked pasture, but I was soon comfortable with it and it had morphed into something more substantial.
There were mountains in front of me, all the way from Narabri, maybe from as far as Dubbo, I couldn’t quite remember. But I suspected I’d have to cross them, at some stage. And I was soon winding up hills on narrow goat tracks, which made my vertigo play up behind the wheel, for the first time. I crept along slowly, as my psyche got used to no safety rains and sheer drops, while I stopped myself from shaking
The roads criss-crossed the country side, with me criss-crossing them. Causeways and spillways and signs saying prone to flooding.
Bingara seemed nestled in the hills and the people seemed to be nestled into ruraldom. I got cedar cheese, white bread toasted ham and tomato sandwiches, where the cheese oozed like puss. The coffee spilt in the saucer. And the local paper offered when I enquired about a newspaper. Simple folk. Was I an arrogant prick?
Inverell slept peacefully. The road moved freely from one to the other, not flooded at all.
In Glenn Innes the gran shop keeper told me how she kept the V’s out of the fridge because of the kids, with that knowing look. You know, nothing is questioned if it had anything to do with kids.
I headed to the main street, up the road and around the corner from gran’s shop, the bakery and drank my first ‘Mother.’
I nearly left without getting petrol. Half a tank was as good as empty. I’d just left town, just passed a big servo, as the highway flew out of town. I doubled back and filled up with 98 octane, one of the petrol picks, just like that. I used my credit card for the first time and asked the register chick if she could put my empty can in the rubbish.
She hesitated.
Have I upset her?
She laughed and asked me to repeat what I’d asked.
Do you have a bin you could put this in?
Yes, sure. She looked relieved. Then she laughed.
She took the card and the eftpost machine from my hands.
In case you were wondering why I looked confused?
Maybe, I thought.
I thought you said something about fondue, that’s what I thought you asked.
I thought I had insulted you by asking you to dispose of my waste. You know, find a bin yourself buddy.
No, she said. I thought I heard fondue.
SMS. 14.17. (Shane & David) Still driving. Took a wrong turn, listened to an idiot who sounded like he knew what he was talking about. To add insult, that lead me to a flooded road and I had to turn around. Now I’ve got a map and aren’t asking any fools. Next stop Tenterfield – Christian
SMS. 14.28. (Shane) One of us should have stalked, at some stage – Christian
I stopped at Deep water and bought another ‘Mother’… what can I say, I liked the taste of them. I bought an apple pie too.
Turn left on the highway for Tenderfield and you’ll get there… um, smile… eventually.
I think Tenderfield was pretty and more historical than most of the towns.
I raced down the windy roads from Tenderfield to Lismore in the rain, followed by a Mazda X9. We passed everybody. The slow truck, the P-plate girls from Victoria in the Hyundai, the high powered 4wds with caravans on the back, the old chick in the Daihatsu Pizar. We did 120ks in the clear bits of windy road, as the rain fell. Well, the straighter bits, the longer parts coming down the hill of the windy road. He kept up behind me; we were heading over the black spur in tandom. It was cool. I wondered what he thought.
It took me all day. I got to Lismore at 18.00.
Glen Innes, Deep water, Lismore, seemed to be on the flat, the kilometres of unwashed.
Up the Bangalow Road to Eureka, seemed to become greener and more lush. Luke met me on the corner. I followed him seemingly into a fairy dell.
It rained all night.
Luke cooked bbq and salad.
I had to go lie down early, I was buggered. I slept under netting with my outside doors wide open.
No comments:
Post a Comment