I slept well, the best of the trip. I did wake up at around 5.30am, which given the timezones was a good sleep in itself. I rolled over and managed another two hours. Coffee then I hit the road.
The road was not a fun place. The first two hours I averaged under 40km/h, and that included half the distance in 60 or 80 limits. The speed limit never went above 80km/h the whole time, even driving in the mountains.
I do now though understand where the film Mad Max comes from. Anybody having to drive through Sydney traffic would struggle to avoid road rage, the desire to inflict painful violence on other road users. The driving is worse than Morocco.
The car I’m in is also terrible. It’s a Toyota Corolla and includes idiotic design. The accelerator pedal is to the right of the wheel, making you sit slanted towards the kerb instead of facing the road, stress on the knee. There’s no room for a size 9 foot on it either, my toes continually catching the carpeting above it, inhibiting my pedal use.
The cruise control is an old fashioned design, press to set, no adjustment after that. Worse than this it doesn’t brake on hills so I have to disengage it frequently, the mountains unsurprisingly not flat.
At 10.30am, finally clear of the stop-start traffic of Sydney and Richmond I get stopped anyway, by the police. It’s the first time I’ve ever been stopped and breathalysed, and I’d have lost a bet on which time of day that would happen.
They weren’t targeting me, they’d set up a checkpoint, were pulling over almost everybody. The policeman asked to see my driving licence too, read it while I counted to ten into his device, told me, “Thank you, have a great day boss”.
In the mountains an occasional gap in the trees. I had one quarter second glimpse of Sydney through haze but nowhere to stop, the similarly just rare chances for other landscapes. Mostly it was just trees, some agriculture, the occasional field with sheep. What the map had promised would be a town was spread over 8km, houses hundreds of metres apart.
There’d been one sign warning of wildlife, and several warning of koala bears crossing the road. I stopped for coffee, asked how prevalent they are, was told they tend not to be near the road and perhaps I should head further inland. Cool, I’m doing that. The cafe did proper coffee, a long black, with banana bread, sliced an inch thick and warm enough to melt the butter I’d been given to spread on top.
As with all the cafes I’d seen in the mountains being a cafe wasn’t the primary business. This one was called The Hive and sold honey, made on site. I would have bought some for my cat sitter, she likes honey and this did look nice, but I have no idea whether I can take honey into New Zealand, the US, other countries I’ll be passing through or visiting.
A bird flitted through the trees, disappearing into the woods, its bright red body catching the sun. I was left annoyed, not sure if I’d just seen a wild parrot for the first time.
A few miles later the road I’d wanted to explore was closed, so I found another, a random turn to the North. It led to a village, spread lazily over a large area but supporting a population of 218. I stopped at a signposted lookout, a sheer cliff edge above a landscape full of trees and gorges.
Another signpost took me to the other end of the village, almost 5km away. I like the population density in Australia.
A campsite there was full of small pop-up tents, backpackers with no cars. I wondered (still do) how they got there. The location is called the Cathedral of Ferns but it’s just natural woodland, with ferns. I’ve been in plenty of that before. One track led to what was described as Giant Tree, a Eucalyptus that was the size of an old oak.
Sadly on the way out I decided I didn’t have time to stop at the Turkish Bath Museum.
Reaching the main road I was delighted to see the speed limit jump to three figures. Ok, 60mph is barely moving but it was enough to get the Corolla’s tyres squealing around the bends.
My first wild hoppy marsupial. Dead, by the road. I saw a few others, in a similar state. Other animals seen today include donkeys, goats (one of which was a large horned beast roaming free, no signs of domestication), horses, llamas, a few hundred sheep and even more cattle. Nothing (alive) unique to Australia, except maybe a few birds. There were a lot of birds, including pretty green specimens and possibly three parakeets which hid in a thick tree, preventing proper identification.
I reached Lithgow, a small town on the far edge of the mountain range. Another random sign suggested an interesting museum so I popped in, invested $10 and was happily surprised.
It’s a tiny museum but does include over 800 handguns and an extensive range of rifles. As someone that greatly enjoys playing WWII sniper games I was amused and interested in finding a copy of pretty much every rifle offered by such games, including even a Carcano. They have so many bren guns I found one tucked under a display, no space to actually put it on show. There’s less information about the factory and production side than I’d have preferred but I do now know how to straighten a barrel.
Leaving Lithgow the mountains gave way to farmland spread over rolling hills. I had a quick run to Bathurst, a town I’d thought about staying in. A large sports ground on the way in had a cricket match on it, the players all in whites. Behind them I could see another cricket match taking place, and behind that a third, all on the same expanse of mown grass. Further down the road another match, these players in One Day colours. Research suggests the 43000 people in Bathurst do indeed have no hobbies other than cricket.
Soon after leaving Bathurst I see signs telling me I’m entering the Orange Wine Region. Orange is the name of the next large town and there are indeed many vineyards by the road to and from the town. Before I reach Orange I’m forced to make a stop.
It’s a sweetshop hiding behind a cafe. There is indeed a nice selection of lollies but the prices are artisan level so I get back into my car without buying anything.
Junctions in Australia seem to have two signs. One tells you where it’ll take you, the other the name of the road. If the road doesn’t go to a town or village, you just get the road name. Half an hour out of Orange a sign tells me the road to the left is called Scenic Drive.
I wanted to get to my hotel but some challenges have to be taken. I couldn’t let that one pass, but you judge:
2km down the dusty unpaved road my satnav told me to turn off, head back to the highway. I ignored it, thoroughly enjoyed the next 5km.
A while later I found the town of Parkes, checked into the hotel. Reception had a menu for the hotel restaurant and it looked good, very good. Seeing me look at it the receptionist told me that the restaurant was closed that night, booked for a christmas party by a local mining company. I went out for dinner instead.
Parkes is a grid pattern cluster of one and two storey buildings generously scattered over a hillside, wide boulevards and large gardens. The town centre has some beautiful buildings, brick built in the late/post-Victorian style.
The court house, post office and methodist school are all just adorable, and other buildings are similarly picturesque.
Dinner was at the restaurant the receptionist had suggested I try instead. Although an Italian their offerings weren’t really working for me so I went for garlic bread and pizza.
I forgot to photograph the pizza.
In a move certain to endear Australia to me when I asked for coffee the answer was ‘cup or mug’? At last, a country that understands the need for proper coffee in proper volumes. The restaurant was full of teenagers, more 16 year olds than a town of of under 12000 should surely have.
Returning to the hotel I was asked if I’d eaten, or just filled the car. The fuel here is expensive, 40c/litre more than in the Blue Mountains (but only 20c/l more than Sydney). It meant filling the tank cost me around £32 – expensive for Australia is still 3/4 of the UK price and the car has a tiny tank.
The reason for the query was that 18 of the mining company’s guests hadn’t shown, so I was welcome to help eat their food. With regret I declined, but got to hear the party from my room. I mentioned the hordes of teens out on the town and got a laugh. “Well, their parents are all out so why not them too?” the receptionist asked, a sweep of her arm indicating the restaurant full of miners.
Only 4km walked today but that’s because I spent most of it driving.
Tonight’s hotel is the promised Gracelands.
Apparently Elvis will be here in January, if you want to pop over. My room has a microwave.
Late edit: I was promised the Christmas Party would be over by 10pm. Indeed, the music stopped at a minute past, the poor cover of a five minute rock song having lasted six minutes. Sadly ten minutes later the live band started up again. Their choice of track is good, their execution.. less so. Sleep will not be happening until they give up for the night.