The first 2 days

It’s been awhile since we’ve been on the road with a tent, and as a long-time city person, small-town and caravan park life has already been a bit of an eye-opener. We drove out via the Western Highway and discovered Nhill Council’s very effective anti-loutish behavior policy at work in a beautifully appointed toilet block in the city centre, where strains of Vivaldi accompanied streams of urine. Not long after, on the highway, we roared past a pink lake that I suspect will be pinker than Esperance’s famed one – but I didn’t get a photo. Driving into the sun, our sunglasses got a heavy workout, which may be one of the reasons why we both had headaches as we struggled through the Adelaide peak-hour, the other being the relentlessly upbeat noise of JJJ (which only lasted for 20 minutes before I said I couldn’t stand it any more). Once again, with the extra time and lack of computer, I find the news and current affairs via the paper and car radio intensely interesting, though it’s a slog to get through the hourly news each time on the ABC. John Faine is already driving me nuts with his sniping, smart-arsy style and his overly strong opinions on everything. It seems the drought and water issues are on everyone’s mind. tent.jpg
Weather is colder than we expected. These thongs just aren’t doing the job. We count the black and red roadside markers that are I suppose the officially sanctioned injury and death memorials, as opposed to the home decorated tributes that I read last year were being discouraged in many places. As far as I could see, there were about 3 red poles to every black one. Sometimes two side by side. I don’t know exactly where it first began, but somewhere around Port Wakefield we noticed that we’d been snubbing well-intentioned locals by not waving to oncoming cars. It first happened when I lifted some small Black and Gold licorice pieces from a bag into my mouth and saw a car react. I immediately proceeded to over-wave to all, including roadside council workers and if in doubt, would raised a single finger off the steering wheel. Kim keeps talking about how we’re nearing some famed Oyster farming grounds i.e Coffin Bay, Streaky Bay, and that the guidebook says you get a dozen for $5. Then we noticed it was published in 1999. We bought a dozen today (in Streaky Bay, where we’re staying) and I’m telling you, they looked fairly crap to me, and they cost around $10. There are Grey Nomads everywhere (we are the youngest by 15 years) and boy do they want to talk, and tell you how good they are. They all have immaculate caravans and well appointed 4WD’s, speaking of which last night I encountered an exceptionally well fitted-out set of Telstra payphone booths, which had large blue feather dusters chained to them. Keeps those arachnids away I suppose. NOTE TO REMEMBER: S.A has an awesome range of Coopers beer everywhere, including St. Pitt – apparently Coopers Green in a can. Haven’t tried it yet.