Charlton Travellers Rest

A favourite spot of ours is the Travellers Rest at Charlton, Vic. It is on the Calder Highway halfway between Melbourne and Mildura and it caters well to tourists. The manager Phil Brock makes everyone welcome. There are camp areas for those requiring power as well as ensuite sites and at the far end of the park there is a donation box area with water available for those free camping. A swing bridge crosses the river and links both areas of the park. Near the bridge there is a small herb garden for campers to use. There’s plenty of parking … Continue reading Charlton Travellers Rest

Upon Reflection

Our first set of towing mirrors were reasonably priced but almost instantly developed a severe case of St. Vitus Dance. On our first trip up the Hume Highway the driver side mirror shuddered and trembled so much that whenever a large truck passed the wind would force the car mirror inwards and leave the driver feeling somewhat blinded until opening the window and pushing it back into place, at 90kms an hour. We strapped it up heavily with gaffer tape which seemed to reduce the number of times that it happened. Ideally a set of Clearview mirrors that are permanently … Continue reading Upon Reflection

Sheep Washing

We’re ambling south through New South Wales and I decide to visit the Mudgee museum. I meet a charming old gent who proudly shows me their collection of wedding gowns and flat irons, but I’m a girl who is more interested in the sheep washer. I’ve never seen anything like it. Apparently in the old days they had no way of washing the shorn fleeces so the poor old sheep was put into a box, with its head poking through a hole, while water was poured in then he copped a jolly good scrubbing before being lifted out for drying. Continue reading Sheep Washing

The Legend of the Elephant

We are spending a few days in the charming little town of Stratford in Victoria. As we wander along the Avon riverbank in the early morning chill of spring we find a small blue sculpture of an elephant and learn that it is a memorial to an elephant that was decapitated when the circus was driving under Stratford’s very low railway bridge back in 1950. Apparently he was too heavy to move so they buried him by the river. One wonders what became of the circus after it lost its star attraction. Continue reading The Legend of the Elephant

Knock, Knock, Who’s There?

We’re in our first van and stop for a pie in Colac, Vic. An older couple walking by wander over to admire our caravan bra (obviously they are caravanners) and we get talking. He asks what we think of the Ford Territory and if we’ve had it in for the front end knuckle warranty replacement yet. We both have an “Aaha” moment as we realise that this must be the cause of the unresolved front end knocking that we’ve had for so long. Continue reading Knock, Knock, Who’s There?

Cattlemen’s Cutlets

It’s lunch time and we’ve stopped for a break. We’re actually making good time on a dash down the Newell Highway heading for Victoria. Heaven only knows why we are in such a hurry but I’m lured by a sign outside of the West Wyalong butcher advertising Cattlemen’s Cutlets. This is a term that we’re not familiar with but I can almost taste them sweet, juicy, crumbed cutlets, beef I guess not lamb. The two old butchers wander around the shop looking for the cutlets, none in the cabinet, none out the back, finally one declares “do you want ‘em … Continue reading Cattlemen’s Cutlets

Oh, There’s Nothing in Blackall

We have stopped in Barcaldine, Qld and chat to a couple who tell us that we should stay the night in ‘Barky’ as there is little to see in Blackall apart from the wool scour and that the free camp would be too wet from all the rain. But we had been intrigued by the humorous brochure for Blackall so we turn south. Through 100kms of gidgee (or Gidyea) scrub to Blackall and what a charming little town it is. There are avenues of bottle trees and lots of green grass. We set up at the free camp on the … Continue reading Oh, There’s Nothing in Blackall

Beyond the Black Stump

We’re in a charming country pub on the Black Stump Way in NSW. We order a chicken parma. At the bar there is a cowboy, perfect fit jeans and cowboy hat, he nurses a beer and says not a word. The well dressed publican looks like a grazier and in fact he is and he has recently acquired the pub. His mother in law chats happily at the bar and knocks back three schooners while we have lunch. She’s visiting from Newcastle but dreams of the times that she has spent in Broome. They both know Nick Paspaley, a good … Continue reading Beyond the Black Stump