Lockhart to Narrandra

Day 10 - Lockhart to Narrandera

Last night was cold, cold, cold – the bloody van thought it was a joke – too cold to contemplate going outside to cook on the barbeque – change the sequence of the menu – curry and rice in the microwave – Tom smiled so I assume the meal passed the Martin test – I was then most unwise – under my breath I said to the van “told you so – even if you let all that cold air in I can still survive” – I should have known that she would not appreciate the jibe.

If it was cold at meal time then 30 minutes after bedtime it was freezing – freezing – in fact I need a word worse than freezing – Once again my inner self claims to have heard the camper-van laugh yet again – I grab a tracksuit – grab the beanie – grab an extra jumper – sneak deep down under the doona – eventually the protections do their job – I feel warm enough – I ask myself “how in the hell do mountain climbers survive in the cold” – once the rate of heat generation by the body equaled or exceeded the heat lost through my protections sleep came long and fast!

I wake in the morning – suddenly I remember the instructions issued by Bernie – make sure he is well fed – why do I remember? – because I forgot the provide for one of the staple snacks for all bike riders – no bananas – thank god this is the shortest day of the entire ride – just 60K – Tom seems unconcerned by my errant ways. He has his standard ration of wheat bixs and orange juice and heads into the distance towards Boree Creek and Narrandera.

I remain to pack down the van – this is a short day so meeting for lunch is not a priority! – a women appears – she has walked from the other side of the park to ask me to help her put down her van – what on earth makes her think I am competent enough to assist her with her ill-tempered van – my inner-self claims he heard my camper-van say – “be careful - you are struggling to handle me so what on earth makes you think you will be able to tame a creature much larger than me” – my inner-self was considerably disturbed by this comment while my outer-self was considerably empowered by it – after all the camper-van statement to my inner-self indicates that she has at reached the stage where she considered me a worthy adversary – maybe – just maybe – I am starting to gain some control over her dastardly self.

I complete the pack down – it goes strangely well – very well – so well that I decide to crawl in through the door of the packed down van to add some additional things into the refrigerator. I make the additions and retreat from the van.

Over to see the women with the van problem – I look like an expert – her van problem is solved in an instant – my inner-self reflects a feeling of wellbeing – my outer-self is somewhat amazed that the problem could be sorted so quickly.

Off to Boree Creek – heard the name so, so often but never knew anything about it save for it being the stamping ground for one Tim Fischer and for references to the “Boree Log” in John O'Brien poems

When I arrive Tom has just finished his brief tour of the town and is about to head off along Strontian Road propelled by a chilled but strong tail wind – the man is a machine in the mould of Graeme Moncrieff and Tony Mitchell-Hill.

Boree Creek is a real town even if it doesn’t have an official welcome sign – we are now in Federation Shire which itself mustn’t have any tidy towns because Boree Creek is just as tidy as Pleasant Hills and Burrumbuttock and all those other towns in the adjacent shires that have “tidy town” moniker – perhaps it is just that Federation Shire is so new that it has not had time to dream up something to put on the sign of every point of population, no matter how significant, within its domain.   

While the town is well past its prime as a residential domain – it remains silo central – newish galvanised steel silos – aging but impressive sheet steel and concrete silos – all serviced by the Oaklands - Melbourne grain rail line – an impressive reminder of the what this area is all about.

I pass Tom as he makes his way along Strontian Road – the tail wind is picking up – the sun is ameliorating the effects of the chilling winds – the smooth road and the lack  of traffic makes for a pleasant fast run.

I stop – must take a photo of that – Fischers Road – it has to lead to the residence of the tall man!

He must be have everyone on his side for even the wedge tail eagles are patrolling his farm’s perimeter.

Further on – on no! – Oh how I remember that dastardly native pine forest – Buckingbong – the stumps that line the sides of the forest’s road have, like the van currently following along behind me, a propensity to take every opportunity to exact damage, be it physical or physiological,  on any human that comes within their domain – in the case of the stumps of Buckingbong their favourite tactic was to position themselves  such that they could cause the front left strut of any passing rally car to be completely torn away – I hate the place!

Avoid the main roads wherever possible – off Strontian Road onto the unmade The Gap Road - wait for Tom!

The Gap Road has suffered from the recent weather – well that is not completely true – it has suffered from the passage of tractor over muddy surface which has subsequently dried so that that hardened imprint of its tread pattern attempt to shake Tom’s teeth from their strong alliance with his jawbone -  quickly the road improves – the errant tractor must have  turned into its home gate to afford its drive rthe comforts of home on a rainy night – the still strong tail winds push Tom into Narrandera.

I dash off to the caravan park in Narrandera - Tom arrives before I have managed to check in – he insists on helping me set up the van – I try to refuse his help – he is insistent – my inner-self is stressed – “What happens if she takes a set on Tom? – it could ruin his whole trip” – My outer-self is more confident – “I am on top of her now – nothing has gone wrong on the whole trip” – “I think we have finally broken her”  - raise the roof – amazing – perfect – not a problem – slide on bed out – perfect! – I can see the look on Tom’s face – “what in the hell has Mike been talking about – setting up this van is a piece of cake!”

Open the van door – oh no! – she has opened her fridge door and dumped the contents on the floor – my inner-self sinks into another depression – my outer-self utters words under his breath – words that would have been vocalised save for Tom’s presence - A quick inspection of the distributed contents has my inner-self returning to his former level of confidence – “she tried again but everything is safe and sound in their containers – nothing is spilt! – I am winning this battle of wills – I have outsmarted her again! – the food containers are returned to their rightful pace in the refrigerator – I move with renewed confidence to the next stage of setup.

Attempt to slide out the second bed – comes out easily then suddenly stops – “screw loose that is catching the slide” says Tom – My outer-self is devastated – once again the miscreant has outsmarted me – we examine the slides for loose fittings – we push the bed in – we pull it out again – no luck – we repeat the cycle over and over – we pause – look below the bed itself – “ah – that is it – just a rope hook catching” -  lift and pull the bed – out she comes! – the rest of the setup proceeds without incidence – my inner self contemplates that latest attempt at disruption – he concludes that it was a pretty poor effort and that the breaking-in process may well have reached its final stages – there cannot be much more sabotage than the miscreant can manufacture.

Tom sleeps – after seeing this machine ride his bike it seems somewhat offensive to describe his unconscious relaxation as a “nana nap” – I leave him to his relaxation and head into town to experience Narrandera.

Park outside the tourist centre – visit the Tiger Moth memorial – remember in my childhood seeing Tiger Moths take off from Benalla into the wind – seeing them sit in the air mid climb – completely stationary against the wind – their engine power insufficient to enable them to progress until the winds receded.

 Wander the town – feel comfortable here – the town feels comfortable in its own skin – feeling like it has achieved some sort of equilibrium – far enough away from Wagga to be its own entity but close enough to leverage off its bigger brother upstream on the Murrumbidgee.

I think about the outlandish claims of Walbundrie that it is “The Cross Roads of the Riverina”  - It is a claim that rightly bellows to Narrandera – the cross roads of the Newell and Sturt Highways! – I can image some shire staff in Walbundrie trying to brainstorm a catch-phrase for the hamlet – “Well we do have two roads that cross and we are on the outskirts of the Riverina!”

I return to the van to find Tom up from his period of horizontal relaxation – spaghetti for dinner – his ability to consume vast quantities of carbohydrates before tomorrow’s 135k ride to West Wyalong is a surprise – I will need to amend quantities when preparing future meals – any thought that tonight’s cooking would provide sufficient leftovers for tomorrow night’s meal evaporated with remarkable speed.