Day 20 - Stuart Highway

Friday, 18 June 2021

A rosy sky-flowing sunrise, a return to my morning routine (meditation, qi gong – absent for the last few days), a kind and appreciative email from a far-away friend, no head pain. All make the morning bright.

Johan failed in his mission to find the right-sized propane tank late yesterday afternoon so we decide to head back into Alice. But this time we’ll do it slow, and include some fun.

We happen upon what could be the funnest place in town – a funky coffee house full of diversity, in its clientele and décor. We order long macs and toasted fruit bread and spend over an hour lounging in art deco chairs situated on a slight rise from the rest of the café. King Johan and Queen Sui.

The second set of chores gets accomplished, the gas tank found. We drive north on the Stuart Highway, along with a string of fellow travellers – caravans, camper trailers, the ubiquitous 4WD. We’re still wearing our beanies and mittens at noon, the heater cranked up in the car. We’re all heading north to escape the cold. Weather forecast says 32 in Darwin, 19 at night. Summertime!

We stop at memorials and old ruins – what else is there to do for entertainment on a long straight highway in the middle of nowhere? -- taking it easy and getting a flavour for the early settlers’ history of this region. At the Red Centre Farm – growers of outback mangoes and table grapes – we treat ourselves to a late afternoon homemade mango ice cream. The young man behind the counter is friendly, thin and puts on a broad-brimmed Akubra hat when he goes outside to pump fuel, taking care to lock the shop. We wonder how such an indistinct little shop can make it out here in the boondogs, but he says business is great. Tourists stop and the local Aboriginal community uses it for provisions in between their trips to Alice.

There are small Aboriginal communities on side roads, but fences and cattle signs line the roads. This is station country. Unlike the desert country, Aboriginals here are parcelled out sparse areas, small towns really, while the white settlers run cows on thousands of hectares.

Fences make off-road camping a challenge. Most dirt tracks end in locked gates. But eventually we find one with a cleared area between the road and the gate, a small rise protecting us from the road. A fellow traveller arrives shortly after us and tucks his 4WD in a nook not far away. We don’t mind -- there’s a sense we’re all in this together, we northbound nomads. It’s good to share space. We step out of the car and feel the warmer air. Still cool, cloudy with a threat of rain. But the heat is coming, and that makes us smile.