As we fight our way west, headwinds are getting stronger and
stronger, challenging our forward momentum. We arrive in the town of Longreach,
it’s a small town of maybe 2000 people however, we’re taken back as the tail-wing
of a 747 looms over the hangars at the airport just out of town. Glenn gets a
shot of adrenaline shoot through him as he flies over what is listed as a rural
airport, the sight of a 747 on the tarmac making him search around for equally
frightening air traffic. However, not to worry, it’s only part of the Qantas
Museum; placed here because this was the town the company began its operations.
It was a quick launch this morning, well before the sun even
came close to breaking the horizon, and my stomach is arguing with me over the
lack of breakfast. As we pass by the massive 747, we find a Road House to get
fuel, and I take the opportunity to grab something to eat, the only thing
available is a nasty little sausage roll that looks as though it’s been sitting
under the heat lamp for days. Back on the road, I’m not quite sure if what I’m
eating is actual meat in the centre of the sausage roll, as we race to catch up
to the lone remaining pilot. Mark is sitting in the back of the truck, not
making much sound as the reality hits that his dream of a world record has come
to an end. He’s doing his best to now concentrate on the charity side of the
expedition, however the pain is obvious.
Soon, we’re passing through the town of Ilfracombe. It’s a
quaint little village that has a display of farm machinery running the entire
length of town on the left side of the highway. It looks like a great place to
stop, a couple nice little café’s look quite inviting, however, Glenn is
nowhere in sight and we need to catch up. To our surprise, we find him just on
the outskirts of town, sitting by the road side, the mid-day heat and thermals
forcing him to call an end to the morning flight sooner than expected. However,
this does mean that we get to make use of the café.
We truck Glenn back to town, straight to the café, where he
wastes no time ordering up a proper eggs, bacon and sausage breakfast. Having
already chosen my breakfast purchase, I had to make do with a Flat White as
Glenn works a proper meal. We’re in town for several hours before the winds
calm for an evening flight. I do a couple laps of the town getting pictures of
the machinery and giving myself yet another sunburn before it’s time to leave.
Glenn is back in the air and heading for Barcladine. We’ve
already planned to make an early landing here as there is a storm front moving
in all around us, and we’ll have to make a decision in the morning whether to
fight on east towards Emerald, or cut south to bypass a certain halt to wait
out the storms. He makes to the outskirts of town just as the sun slips beneath
the horizon, a perfect landing only minutes from a Caravan Park.
Setting up camp with the luxury of electricity, water,
toilets and showers, we set about filling our stores and getting a much needed
shower in before treating ourselves to a pub dinner. No cooking or dishes
tonight.
The Caravan Park manager suggests a good bar to try, the
Shakespeare Hotel and to not miss getting a photo of the “Tree of Knowledge.”
Not quite sure what he meant, however, we packed along the cameras anyway. A
walk into the centre of town soon displayed a rather modern piece of art
centered in what is really a classic old Outback town, the contrasts where huge
as a large green lit structure enveloped a dead tree. Inside, spires of wood
streak down from the top creating a magnificent display of light and art, the
dead roots in the ground on display through a glass floor. It’s something we
really were not expecting. According to a plaque near the site, the tree was an
icon that proclaimed the start of the Labour Party in Australian politics. The
Aussies sure take their politics seriously to keep the tree on display with
such extravagance. After some meandering around the area, our stomach’s
beckoned us on to the Shakespeare Hotel, where I made the mistake of ordering
the seafood platter, receiving a massive plate of deep-fried objects of varying
shapes and sizes, all tasting the same, of grease. I knew I shouldn’t have
ordered it and the after affects wood sit in my stomach well into the morning.
Despite the shower before bed, the nights heat brought gave
me little chance of sleep, and the scream Gallah’s made their annoying return
at four in the morning. Despite the luxury of a Caravan Park, the night would
bring little rest as finding sleep is still a challenge.
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