Wednesday, 24 October 2012
We've done the Bowen to Townsville bit so often this year that there's practically nothing that would surprise you other than a major spanner inserted forcefully into the works. For a brief moment it looked like that had happened when we got to the roundabout near Maidavale School and found the road we wanted to follow restricted to residential and roadworks traffic.
Earlier we'd methodically gone through the packing and checking process, much to the concern of three furry felines who mightn't have been totally sure what was going on but wanted admission to their daytime quarters in The Extension. The regular cause for concern came into play with a question about the fridge which could have raised feline issues if they hadn't decided we were persona non grata for the time being.
Where they'd got to was uncertain, but he were on the road by eight fifteen with a scheduled rendezvous with the Ukulele Lady around six, so we were able to take our time along the way.
Road closed at Maidavale might have prompted a retracing of the steps if we hadn't been using the iPad to find the shortcut through the back locks to bypass Ayr and Brandon a while back. It had been a good twenty years since I'd been that way, and our first attempt to track that way ended with great confusion that took us on a massive dogleg that came out at the servo near the Burdekin Bridge. I'd done a bit of subsequent research, had nutted out the route in the opposite direction and had, in the process, established that one arm of the four that lead off the roundabout heads straight to Brandon, so that was where we found ourselves rejoining the Bruce Highway.
The run to and through Townsville was uneventful, a stop at the Frosty Mango north of Rollingstone provided a break and we were in Cardwell for lunch. The only major interest came when Madam decided she wanted a shot of the Cardwell Jetty, and was prevented from crossing the highway by a steady stream of traffic in both directions.
Smartarse Hughesy was on the point of making a comment about heading back into the cafe for another round of crab sangas when the break in the flow came, but the fact that I hadn't actually made the remark didn't mean I escaped the consequences of the thought.
Madam had decided we were refueling there, and I sat in a hot car as the fuel dribbled into the tank seemingly drop by agonizing drop, and the payment process was equally glacial while the temperature in the parked vehicle rose. Still, I can afford to sweat off a bit of the old avoirdupois.