Condobolin to Tottenham

Day 13

Jones Street Large, long, fat, flavoursome Gourmet sausages for dinner last night – supplement them with more potatoes, carrots and peas than would normally suffice for two people- sounds like meat and three veg! Pull out the steamer – get the vegetables goes – great device – even a mug like me can handle it – off to the barbeque with the sausages – works like a dream – timing is pretty good – vegetables cooking time faster than the enormous sausages!

Return with the sausages – try to open the van door – down go the sausages onto the concrete hand stand – in a flash Tom picks them up – there is no way he is going to wait any longer for tea! – we approach the meal with slight trepidation – if I do say so myself the meal was delightful – we both commented on the lack of any grit on the sausages – we are both relieved – I compare the quantities consumed by the two participants – sausages 3 to 1 – potatoes 6 to 2 – peas – 2 cups to .5 cups – the man can eat!

I suspect that the tentacles of that southern weather are really starting to lose their grip on us – 10 degrees and bright clear skies when we awake.

Tom heads out to set up his bike – a puncture to be repaired

The culprit identified – a cat-head from the lawn outside the van.

He heads off – “don’t risk riding across that grass again Tom “ – “better carry your bike Tom”

8am – Tom is Off – “see you in Tullamore!”

The van remains impeccably behaved! – after seeing her and Tom's bike snuggle up last night I think she is in love! – I cannot explain he sudden good humour any other way!

Head off in pursuit of Tom – on the Parkes Way – Turn off on to Fifield Road – kilometre and kilometre of lovely straight road – the effects of the occasional climb negated by near perfect weather.

Eventually catch up to the rider at the Trundle intersection.

Leave him promising to meet him in Tullamore.

Onwards on Fifield Road – arrive at Fifield – oh dear – “the pub in the scrub” – nothing left but the pub, a church and a number of dilapidated but occupied houses surrounded by broken down cars, dogs and “collectables” of extremely dubious value. Who would choose to live here!

I arrive in Tullamore

Tullamore is another small (as opposed to tiny) town – tired – battling – surviving as a local source of medical and educational services – limited shopping – the size of both the medical centre and central school both seem out of proportion to rest of the town. The remnants of the Irish who named this town for their former home district line up their cars up outside the enormously large and relatively modern catholic church for Sunday Mass – times have changed in the relatively short time since the new church was conceived, designed and built – by count of cars there could only be 10 or 12 people in a church that clearly has the capacity of hundreds more! - If the pioneers of the town had aspirations for it to become a peer with its Celtic namesake then their aspirations are yet to be fulfilled

I sit in the nice park in the centre of Town – thinking about Tullamore -  relaxing – this is nice – almost asleep – how long will Tom be? – check again on Google Maps – oh hell – this is well past half way – Tom will be starved – scold myself – pack up and head back out of town towards Tom – meet him 12ks and set up lunch in a farmer’s drive way.

The farmer cannot miss the opportunity for a chat with us – out he comes on his Suzuki Quad Bike – he talks and he talks “they are mining for Scandium on the block over the road” say he – “the trouble is they have no market for it” says he – “ – “they offered me 400,000 shares in addition to their other compensation payments if they go into production” says he. – “That’s great” says I – “Not so great” says he – “their shares are only worth 11c” – says he with a smile – “there is some gold mining going on as well” – says he – “the area is really picking up”

“What is Tullamore like – it looks a little tired to me” says I - “all our workers that lived in town have gotten old and retired or died” says he – he opines and at the same time bemoans that they have been replaced in town by “Centrelinkalutians” and that Tullamore’s geographical location minimises their requirement for job discovery

I think back to Fifield and those occupied but dilapidated houses – perhaps these are Centrelinkalutians who have taken the job distance criteria to another level.

Tom pushes on – still 70 ks to go to Tottenham

Through town – turn on to the Bogan Way

A long – flat road – narrow – cars few and far between – the weather still near perfect – a long steady ride towards Tottenham.

What in the hell is in Tottenham – we had asked the caravan park at Condobolin what we should expect – the reply? – not much – don’t bother to book – probably an IGA and not much else.

Arrive in Tottenham still in Wiradjuri Country

The caravan park is on the approach – neat – tidy – neat cabins and facilities fashioned from shipping containers – only four powered caravan sites – not to worry – we are the only caravan one anyway – set up wherever you like – sounds terrible – reverse is true – facilities really, very good – very quiet. This is a strange place this caravan park – in talking to manager it becomes clear that it not really a caravan part at all but rather general purpose worker accommodation – it is accommodation for shearers – for road workers – for electricity supply companies – for school medical officers – it seems to have taken over from hotels as providers of low cost general purpose accommodation and as an alternative to farmers providing meals and accommodation for shearers and other contractors.

Set up the former miscreant – again she behaves impeccably – it is clear to see she is anxiously awaiting the arrival of her friend the bike.

Wander into town – it is alive – many, many houses that look alive – only a few that look tired – and even less that are derelict – enormous silo complex with extremely unusual central design

Clearly this place has at least an inkling of its remoteness – I had to laugh at this sign – people here clearly have an ambition to retire to some place less remote – like Byron Bay.

Tom arrives – for the first time he looks a little tired – he hoes into his pasta and his orange juice and soon is back to his old self – it been a long ride of 132k without the strong tail winds of past days.

Worry that I can keep up the food supply – take the opportunity for access to a decent kitchen to recover the stocks of pasta to their former levels.

The van seems content – the bike has finally been tucked neatly under her wing.