 |
Time for a cuppa after a jolting ride on gravel:  |
Mundubbera to Benaraby (near Gladstone)
via Monto-Gladstone Road
After such an adventurous and restless night, I woke tired and out-of-sorts,
but eventually made it through the early morning routine. Bruce and I
rearranged the contents of the van yet again to prevent further slippage of
our possessions. I made one more visit to the amenities block only to find
it was now closed for plumbing repairs. I resorted to the ‘family’ amenities
room which was smelly, unclean and devoid of anywhere to put my washroom
essentials. I was glad to leave.
The cooler, somewhat cloudy morning saw us setting out for Benaraby, a few
kilometres south-west of Gladstone on the coast. Bruce had been unable to find a
campervan site in Gladstone itself, our ultimate destination. He took the
wheel as I was too tired to take the first shift and headed for Monto. I
slept most of the way and woke as we entered Monto, an almost invisible
hamlet where we stopped for refreshment. Being Sunday, this quiet place was
almost silent. It was mid-day as we ate ice creams in our van, noting a
handful of teenagers on the footpath outside the one open shop, all eating
ice creams, the only people around. At that moment, Ros made another of her
friendly calls which lifted my flagging spirits and soon after that we
headed for the only service station available to fill up with fuel for the
next leg of our journey.
By this time, I was fully awake. Once the van was refuelled, I took the
wheel and drove on. For a while, the road was bitumen but before long,
became a gravelled trail, obviously under repair. Bruce was a trifle
concerned as we were not supposed to take the van on gravel, but it was too
late to turn back as we had a tight schedule to maintain. We were in
somewhat mountainous terrain now and the road became a winding, steep
decline. I selected 3rd gear and kept my foot ready to depress the brake as
I negotiated the large and heavy vehicle to the bottom of the gorge we were
now in. Strangely, I was not concerned. After all, we were the only vehicle
there, all was quiet and the scenery attractive. We reached the almost dry
creek at the bottom of the gorge and decided it was the perfect place for
lunch.
After we’d eaten hastily prepared rolls and sipped fresh coffee, we couldn’t
resist going for a short walk through the nearby bush. There were a few
ducks on the remaining mud pools and signs of grazing animals in the cow
dung heaped everywhere, so we stepped carefully. Now and then a vehicle or
two would pass so we felt we were not completely out in the Styx. Bruce took
some more photos.
Bruce took the wheel for the final stretch all the way to Benaraby. Soon we
reached the coastal highway near Gladstone, turned right again and drove
south for the 2 or 3 kms to our selected caravan park at Benaraby. Once
there, I waited while Bruce checked us in. We drove the van over an unusual
entrance barrier which dropped as we approached it rather than rising up or
opening and parked in our allocated spot which, thankfully, had its own en
suite. This small room had a flight of wooden steps up to it, giving us a
chance to scrape off the ubiquitous grass and dust from our shoes before
entering its pristine cleanliness. I sighed with the relief of being able to
freshen up before we set up camp for the evening.
As I sat sipping tea later, I noticed the laundry block a couple of hundred
metres away. By now, almost a week into our trip, we had quite a pile of
outer clothes, damp towels and other items in need of a good wash. I walked
down to the laundry to see how it worked and noticed the washers needed
three $1 coins to operate. I walked back, got the washing, all the
necessary pegs, soap, rubber gloves, bucket and coat hangers and with Bruce
to give me clues about operating the cash slots, returned to the laundry. I
began to feel heavily tired again but kept going as there was still much to
do. I put the big load of washing into the machine and we returned to the
van. After enough time had passed for the washer to finish, I dragged
myself back to the laundry and proceed to hang the wash on the line. I
forced my feet to take me back once again to the van and under the now early
evening sky, prepared our tea, enjoying that with Bruce under the stars.
Then it was back to the laundry again to check how the wash was drying in
the pleasantly warm air. I knew I’d have to leave it there overnight and
calmed my fears about it being stolen by reassuring myself that no-one else
would be interested in such daggy old clothes and tired linen. We had
deliberately chosen our oldest clothing for the trip, sensibly realising it
would be under duress in such unusual circumstances.
Already, I felt at home in this caravan park. It was pleasantly set out with
just enough palm trees to allow a sense of privacy. Its dry dustiness did
not bother us too much and its relaxed atmosphere was to allow us some
‘down’ time and space to rediscover the pleasures of eating outdoors and
restoring a sense of order to the van. We’d been rearranging our possessions
so often that my system of mnemonics, usually so reliable, just imploded.
Thoughts of Patrick White’s ‘Voss’ setting off into the Australian
wilderness and all his privations came to my mind. In this reflective and
very fatigued frame of mind, I considered what might be ahead of us, but I
knew my passion to see more of our country before it was too late would see
me through these moments of doubt, fatigue and discomfort. We went to bed
in a hopeful frame of mind.