With Canowindra was a mere thirty-something kilometres away we could possibly have stayed longer, but years spent in the tropical north have probably thinned the blood, and as far as I was concerned a motel room with reverse cycle air conditioning was definitely the way to go, and that was where we found ourselves just after four-thirty.
I would have been quite happy to ensconce myself in the air-con for a spell of quiet tapping, but Madam wanted to take a look around the town and I was enlisted for navigational purposes.
We were back at the motel just after five, though Madam headed straight back out for photographic purposes, though the sunset wasn't quite what it might have been.
There didn't seem to be too many obvious dinner options when we drove around town, and inquiries at Reception confirmed initial impressions, so we headed out just after dark in search of the middle pub, which had, so I was informed, the most extensive menu.
I reckoned I'd sighted the establishment when we were driving around in the afternoon. After all, the building I'd spotted had a sign on the awning announcing the presence of a restaurant, and I know a large old country pub when I see one.
As it turned out, however, I'd been looking at a large former country pub, and we arrived on the doorstep to find the place wasn't open that day, which I thought I was strange, but suggested we backtrack to The Junction Hotel, which seemed to have lost the horse and cart that I’d noticed outside in the intervening period, rather than heading further along the street to investigate other options.
Dinner wasn't anything flash, but was substantial and an interesting exercise in old-fashioned country catering, which contrasted nicely with the flash city Tucker we 'd been tucking into over the preceding couple of days. We didn't, however, stick around once dinner had been demolished, since the signs suggested we were in for an extremely chilly evening.