Looking back on a few of those priceless moments from 2023

Grenfell, NSW: Woody walks over to Spannerman coffee shop and returns with a cappuccino instead of a long black. He’s blowing steam out his ears when a car zooms into the RV park. It’s the lady from Spannerman with his long black and profuse apologies. Now that’s service!

And in Grenfell again, We’re captivated by the needlework of the community-created quilt that depicts the town’s colourful history.

Before our leg from Wellington, NSW to Coolah I ring the caravan park manager to book our sites and she tells me that one of the roads to Dunedoo was closed a few days ago. The GPS sends us in the direction of Gulgong so we take VeeWee’s GPS advice which heads us to Dubbo. We pass a closed road. Another turn or two and all three GPS finally agree that we’re on the right road. Although not the best it is busy with local traffic and trucks. After about 20kms we come to a washed-out bridge. And with nowhere to turn the caravan around without great difficulty. We walk the damaged bridge. What’s left of the bridge has concrete bollards to stop traffic and we can see that it’s littered with metal from vehicles that have tried to cross. We watch how the locals are gunning their Toyota utes and crossing the creek. Now it’s our turn. We all get through ok. Our GPS, whose new name I now won’t repeat, wants to now take us down a meandering back road. We manage to turn back onto the ‘closed’ road and have never been so pleased to see Dunedoo.

Beyond Surat, Qld: Bottle trees, prickly pear cactus, mulga, red dirt, tufts of cotton caught in the roadside weeds. Sheep, feral goats, and emus grazing. Yep, it’s sheep country now and there’s a restful feeling that gently envelops you in this part of Queensland. But we must be on KEG Watch now, for Kangaroo, Emu & Goat and any one of them is likely to decide, on a whim, to cross the road.

Overheard in the Narrabri Showgrounds: “Let Gary know ‘e can’t leave ‘is ‘orse ‘ere.” I’m guessing the H is silent around ‘ere.

The Gravo, Gravesend Pub, “You walk in we’ll carry you out” says the sign and there’s a coffin over the bar. The publican lights the fire for us and the dining room is warm and as homely as Grandma’s even though we are the only occupants sitting at a very long dining table. We buy tickets in the cricket club meat raffle while we wait for dinner to be cooked. A cat sits at the glass back door and the publican tells us that one cat is theirs, another who has a black patch on his top lip, adopted them and is now called Adolph Hitler. A third cat, grey with unusually short legs, was just hanging around. When they asked a neighbour if it was hers, she replied “Oh, that’s Jimmy Short Legs”. Sadly, our amusing and very hospitable host died a week later.

The amazing Cistern Chapel in Maryborough. Who would have thought that a public toilet could look beautiful, amusing, and dreamlike all at once, and with a golden throne.

Dare I mention that crazy ‘bush camp’ in Howard: Where we booked to have a group dinner at the Howard Hotel and at 5:30 (we’re oldies remember) we stroll up to the gate to await the pub courtesy bus. At the first glimpse of the bus, it’s on you marks everyone for the courtesy bus stampede! We stand back and watch as folks push their way on as if the world is ending and we’re being evacuated. Five minutes later the bus is back again and we board, the passengers are as noisy as a bunch of corellas on a hot afternoon. I can see we’re going to be in for a noisy evening because no doubt, most are deaf. There are 2 tables reserved for the bush camp mob undercover outside where gas heaters do a half-decent job to keep the chill off. We’re here because of the advertised Thursday $16 T-Bone, but as VeeWee gets to the counter to order they announce that the T-Bones are off (the menu), they’ve run out. Funny that, as the park had booked for 30. Guess we should have fought for the first bus. Anyway, the salmon is good, Woody’s crumbed steak ok and so too Elle’s rump steak. Poor old VeeWee, who was hanging for the T-Bone, is about at the end of her tether and is disappointed in the veggie burger. By the time we are served both the indoors and outdoors of the pub are packed. Where there are walls, there are murals of stockmen, horses, and cattle (they’re just rubbing it in VeeWee). In the gap between the roof and the walls, we can see Venus and a sliver of moon (ok, that’s a waxing crescent). To the side of us over a low brick wall is the laundromat lit with fluorescents and beside that the butcher. I’ll bet there are plenty of T-Bones in there.

The dunnies of Howard: Was it only last week that we were marvelling at the gold-plated toilet in Maryborough and now we’re holding our breath over a filthy drop toilet at the bush camp. I’ve got nothing against drop toilets and have visited more than I can count, most are in pretty good condition, considering, ok there are some shockers but they’re usually in remote but busy places where there is no one to maintain them. But this one near us is vile and obviously cleaning isn’t on anyone’s job spec. There is a portable hand basin, but the tank is empty and has been for some time by the amount of dust and dirt in it. I visit the red long drop toilet having given up on the grey one as it is revolting. I open the door and notice that there’s no paper in there either, but at least it has been cleaned. Doing the walk of shame and returning with toilet roll in hand, I get down to business. Suddenly there’s a thumping and banging and I fear for my exposed nether regions as two fighting lizards drop from the ceiling! The next night I relate the story to our neighbours and quick as a flash Roy says ”I’ll bet that frightened the shit outta ya.”.

Tarra Valley Caravan Park, Gippsland Vic: Where the check-in process involves patting 3 very friendly dogs and scratching a cockie’s head. We’re allocated our choice of site down by the river that is babbling over the rocks. Across the road, there are 6 tent sites on a spacious riverbend lawn dotted with English daisies. There’s a bridge near us and sometimes a car goes by. Up on the hillside, there are 6 rustic cabins with names like platypus and koala. I only hope that I can describe what a delight this fern-filled valley is. We make a coffee, put our chairs on the riverbank, and just drink it in. Tall mountain ash reach for the sky, ferns dip in the water, and tree ferns frame the scene. Dotted along the banks are buttercups and forget-me-nots, no doubt escapees from long-lost gardens. There’s a small dark shape moving about on the tent lawn and on closer inspection it’s a young echidna who spends the day aerating the lawn with his long proboscis. We can only hope to see a platypus in the river, but I don’t like our chances.

Goovigen, Qld: At 6:30, activity at the tennis club ramps up. It’s at the back of the camping area, floodlights are on and cars are arriving. We meet the ladies in the kitchen and buy our drinks. It seems that Elle and I are the only wine drinkers in town as there is only one bottle in the fridge. We join the other caravanners who are from down Albury way and they like us, also seek out small towns. A young bloke is manning the BBQ and $10 buys us the tenderest and juiciest steak sandwich that we’ve ever tasted. The meat is from Biloela, we’re told, and it’s topped with coleslaw. At one end of the table, we have a stock and station agent, who does a really good auctioneer call. At the other end, we have a contract musterer. He explains that they use dogs, horses, quad bikes, and choppers depending on the situation and that cattle these days are quieter. They use Australian Stock horses and Quarter horses, and they too are better bred. When someone asks if he ever uses retired racehorses, he says that they can run but they’re bloody hard to stop!

Hebel, Qld/NSW border: When we ask at the bar about dinner the barmaid explains what they call the Hebel Experience. As the publican owns both commercial enterprises in town, there’s no point in running two kitchens. The pub is quite small, so meals are prepared across the road. We pop over to the general store and order our meals for 6:00pm. On the dot of 6:00, Woody and Elle cross the highway (there’s only one vehicle about every 15 minutes and it’s either a truck, a caravan, or a Toyota Ute coming to the pub) and return with 3 hot dinners under cloches. Woody tucks into Crispy Pork Belly and we girls brave the Avo Pig Parmi. We’ve found parmi heaven! Avocado, bacon, and a Hollandaise sauce. As we walk back to our vans the stars are bright and a satellite is passing the Southern Cross.

Mt Hope, Kidman Way NSW: As we leave town, we see emus grazing in a paddock, feathers glowing brown in the morning light. Wattle is blooming and beside the road, we spot an emu with about 10 striped chicks.

Jerilderie Sports Club, Riverina NSW: We have a drink in the bar and grab a table in the Chinese restaurant. As Elle warned us the decor is rather plastic. Plastic tablecloths, plastic placemats, plastic flowers. You’ve gotta love it. And the place is packed. The queue to order stretches the length of the room. As Elle waits in line to order she’s trying to memorise Mongolian Lamb, Satay Chicken, Fried Rice…Mongolian Chicken…the guy next to her is trying to put her off muttering “Spaghetti Bolognaise, Spaghetti Bolognaise”, cheeky bugger.

On Lammermoor Beach, Capricorn Coast: The tide is rising rapidly. A woman is watching her kids play in the waves “How lucky are we?” she says, gazing at the view. Indeed, how lucky we are.

Thanks for following our travels, and best wishes for 2024!