With just 50 days before we are booked to arrive at Exmouth in WA on June 10, we really are now on-the-road.  Casual meandering from Sydney to Brisbane has been replaced with a chipped-in-custard schedule that allows plenty of time to see plenty of things, but with the general intention of driving west without too much hesitation, deviation or repetition.  So, as The Minute Waltz faded away, we arrived at Millmerran Golf Club (emblem: magpie) and pulled up on a flat, grassy, peaceful spot 50m behind the 4^th green.  Don’t be concerned if that sounds busy – we didn’t see a single golfer all afternoon! 

It’s only 9 holes (play ‘em twice) but a delightful country course in good nick and only surpassed by the hospitality of its members.  We were invited to join them for drinks and hamburgers on Friday night – they conduct this knees-up every second Friday night; other times, only the bar is open and then, only if a member happens to come by and open it.  All members have the right to run the bar when they’re there!  We had a great time talking with farmers, builders, butchers, teachers, pilots and electricians…all sorts.  I know more members at Millmerran after one night than after five years at Manly!  No judgement – just the country way.  I didn’t check but I reckon most of the cars still had their keys in them.

This was a great opportunity to find some answers to our perpetual “small country town” question: what does everyone do here?  Well, Millmerran is much smaller than it used to be – it’s certainly smaller than my long-ago memory from soap sales rep days.  But there’s still stuff happening.  A relatively modern and locally supplied coal-fired power plant is possibly the last one ever, but it employs plenty of people and uses almost no water?  There’s a regional abattoir, privately held and quite deliberately attracting almost zero attention.  My personal favourite was the operation aiming for 2000 acres of organic olive trees with chickens foraging beneath them – I don’t think they’re there yet but at 1500 birds an acre, that’s 3 million organic chooks!

Our plasticene plan was about to take us to Goondiwindi, Diranbandi and Lightning Ridge before Bourke.  But capriciousness took over and the promise of a hot artesian bath near Cunnamulla became too strong.  So, straight west through St George (overnight stop, Kamarooka CP, super clean, super friendly, tight for space, good coffee👍) and further west to Charlotte Plains.  We later discovered that at least one of the roads on our original route was flooded, so what could possibly go right!?! 

Even better, we were travelling on pretty good quality country roads, ATGANI was towing well, fuel consumption was markedly improved and Lesley was doing lots of driving.  Previously, we had thought 300km was probably enough for a day but we think 450km might be fine when we want to cover ground – a work in progress.    All of which saw us arrive at the bore head at Charlotte Plains way earlier than expected.  What a wonderful place.👍👍  A vast area along the side of a bore drain could accommodate hundreds of  vans and campers.  There were maybe 20 there, so we moved well away and after our usual “which table do YOU want to sit at?” conversation, we chose our perfect site and skillfully manoeuvered into it. 

So perfectly had we chosen our spot that within 5 minutes, another van came and pulled up in front of our general area, not 25m away.  Cue outrage and massive passive aggression!  “Sorry to pull up across you…Hmmm, move your truck and it won’t be too bad…under breath, well, FFS”.  In the end, our new near-neighbours, Ted and Di, were very chatty, perfectly nice and even helpful about some future campsites, so we got along to get along.  Their number plate is TEDNDI.  (All of Lesley’s commentary has been redacted!).    

At Charlotte Plains, the Turnworth Artesian Bore was sunk in 1892 to a depth of 561m, producing 3 million gallons of water a day!  Don’t worry, I’ve done the calculation for you – 150 lites/second!  It’s still pushing out lots of hot water (37-42C) but the flow is restricted and controlled.  Nonetheless, it makes for a very warm swimming hole and fills your hot bath in the middle of the bush in a couple of minutes.  While we were there it was mostly overcast, windy and cool but the baths were still fabulous.  Just another excuse for champagne but no connection to send instant pics.

The owner of the property, Robyn Russell, was gracious enough to show us around the old guest house and various bits of memorabilia, while recounting stories and glories of long past days.  Racehorses and Rolls Royces as well as workmen and wool.  Once shearing over 60,000 head, current stocking is no more than 3,000 head, half wool, half meat.  There’s been a huge drought, we know, but it’s all a bit down-at-heel and slightly sad.  I hope my estimation is woefully wrong!

And speaking of a bit sad, the next day was Anzac Day, so we rose early for the local dawn service.  As the sun peeked over the horizon, projecting a recording of the 2015 Anzac service from Gallipoli on a flapping sheet, we gave our attention to the courage and sacrifices.  We bypassed the incompetence and stupidity, to rightly commemorate our Anzac legend. 

Lest we forget.  Indeed! In case we forget what could possibly go wrong.