Caravan

episode 2

Notes from the road episode 1 covered a bit of ground . 800 ks round figures .

This leg includes Orange and a night at Conobolas Caravan Park. It’s busy. Families, holidays, lots of dogs and no doubt a fair few permanents. The selected location to road test my conferred status of ‘Service Dog’ for Villanelle.First stop Coles, then the pub. Walking in looking official – doing what we had to do . No one even looked at us let alone said anything.

Over several glasses of sauvignon blanc with Cath and Trev we discussed anything and everything -politics, pandemics, dressage and lots in between. They live on a lovely ‘lifestyle’ block close to Milthorpe- beautiful part of terra Australis.

The road to Peak Hill backtracked to Orange and to the outskirts of Parkes before cutting through the back roads to the Elvis camp site .

On the way Jan Smith calls to fill me in with what’s happening with the worst fire crisis in Victoria since black Saturday. Bloody scary. She’s near Colac – not directly in line but I listen to the reports on ABC local radio Victoria. New fires igniting and taking off unchecked. There’s a change about to sweep through the south and west – they reckon dry lightning and wind gusts up to 175k.

Australia – burning at one end , drowning in the north .

The metropolis of Peak Hill looms. It’s 37 degrees , blowing a gale from the north west – the red dust finding its way over and all through things . I need to find Trev the caretaker. Like many small town showgrounds , the land area is vast and power and water facilities for campers are scattered haphazardly around. Trev jumps in his ute and heads along the ‘road’ to sort my spot . After a bit of mucking around, I have my patch of red dust – home for the next 3 days. Elvis is well underway but my enthusiasm is dimmed somewhat by the temperature. The original plan was to hop on the shuttle bus – i have a ticket for the main evening act – so decided to skip the bus today and head to Parkes by car.

A quick reconnoiter confirms that it is filthy hot anywhere outside . The Parkes Services Club beckons , so the kelpie and I join the throng of Elvis impersonators and washed up punters in the TAB bar – where i am able to access wifi and pass the time on the lap top comfortably .

As Australian towns go , Parkes is pretty much average . Average pubs , average shopping , average entertainment venues . The Leagues Club and the Services Club . Elvis central is Cooke Park , home to the main stage , hundreds of plastic chairs and the Festival Markets selling anything from parasols to pulled pork. It’s free ( not the food) – technically fans could attend the festival , bring their own everything , and not spend a cent . So for families everywhere struggling with making ends meet , it’s a no brainer . Of course it’s more appealing if you happen to love Elvis .

A dinky die Elvis festival participant requires careful planning. The devoted book their camp sites a year out and meticulously (well some of them) prepare their outfits, wigs , sideburns , gold chains – while the girls do their best Priscilla . With furnace like heat over the first 3 days, I suspect getting out of all that clobber would have been a task .

The Parkes Elvis festival attracts around 25,000 visitors from all over the country. Tribute artists fly in from all around the world- this year’s winner is a kiwi. There are ticketed shows at the clubs – the headline acts perform every day at different times and a ticket is $85 max . I lost count of how many renditions of Hound Dog , Can’t help Falling in Love and Burning Love were belted out to enthusiastic applause .They are good . Very good . Sweet Caroline , Bridge over Troubled Water and My Way get a run too. The feature artists are great , so too young 17 year old Charlie Gaylard , a star on the rise. The headline act for the last ticketed show looking all the world like a young Elvis . School friends with my good friend Jan’ s grandson. I had never heard of him but hadn’t heard of the others either !

My brief stop in Parkes during last year’s event whet my appetite for more and I think I got my money’s worth .Wangled my way into the supposed sellout of the Ultimate Elvis Tribute Artist final. Eight guys costumed to perfection , wigged and sideburned belting out two songs each while a panel of judges sweat over scores. Then it was the final 5 and the final 3 . Honestly , they are all amazing.

Trivia question – how much does an authentic made to measure Elvis jump suit with the bling and the belt cost ? You will have to read on to find out .

I am putting this post together at the Royal Hotel – Sunday arvo and the patrons are warming up for the night ahead. Villanelle has been lapping up the pats all day – now the raucous crowd in the public bar are keeping her entertained . One wag wanted to know that, given her service dog status, if she would rip his arm off if he came close ……

She has done the rounds – one of the event staff claiming me for a discussion on the ins and outs on becoming a service dog.
So much cooler today – conducive to giving the plastic a workout at the markets. Wardrobe additions – a little pink Priscilla number complete with petticoat and belt and a cute dress made by a clever lady recycling bed spreads and lace doilies !

After an exhausting five days,the king has left the building.

Back to dusty old Peak Hill Showgrounds where it’s blowing a gale.

Tomorrow – Beechworth in the Victorian high country. Spared by the fires . Mustn’t forget the accommodation payment- $75 cash in the honesty box for Trev. Everything tinged slightly red courtesy of the gale blowing dust everywhere and through everything. Till next time!

ps – jump suit cost? $6,000!!

Road notes: Days 1–3

There’s something buzzy about getting behind the wheel of my diesel-guzzling Toyota Sahara, hitched to the very fancy Jayco caravan, and heading off. It’s a sense of adventure with a little risk — nervousness touched with a dollop of freedom. Liberating. No domestic duties to speak of. Footloose and fancy-free, so to speak.

Have I planned the daily driving to cater for some less-than-friendly roads? Perhaps not enough. The first worst so-called highway award goes to Queensland. Cunningham’s Gap — one lane up, one lane down — get to the bottom and breathe again. The road to Warwick is mostly 60 km an hour. I’ve been driving it for fifty years. It’s never been 60, and it’s not in any worse repair than it’s ever been.

So when you finally set off, it’s a little anticlimactic. In the car with the dog, five hours of driving ahead, hoping your calculations — time and distance-wise — come good. It’s the bouncy backroads that link the little towns, some of which seem caught in an absolute time warp.

It’s technically day three. It’s hot — very hot. Mid-forties, according to the blonde little weather lady forecasting doom and gloom. It’s Australia. It’s January. And I’m on my way to sizzle at the Elvis Festival.

Be careful with the toilet. It’s great to have a loo on board, but they’re sensitive little creatures. Note to self: do not overload the toilet with tissues — from my nose or any other part of my body.

If I’m being super honest, caravan technology is brilliant. Everything opens and shuts beautifully. I’ve had a caravan before, so most things are familiar. I think I’ve got it all sorted. These vans are equipped with everything — shower, toilet, washing machine, air-conditioning, heaps of storage, retractable awning with LED strip lights, a pop-out bed. And yet there’s always something you don’t know until the chips are down.

I’m in Orange in thirty-five-plus heat, trying to work out how to separate the screen door from the main door.

All of a sudden:

“Hey lady — do you need a hand? Are you trying to separate your door?”

“Yes,” I say sheepishly.

“You just turn the handle the other way, love.”

Of course you do.

The first little hiccup was the fridge. First night, late-ish check-in. I go through the motions — connect the power, connect the water, check the lights, turn on the van power — but the fridge keeps beeping and flashing. What to do? Eventually, we establish that said fridge needs rebooting. Really? Anyway, it works. Hopefully the contents are okay.

Next thing: these caravans are amazing. I have more storage than in my own house. Everything is organised and neat — and then reality hits. You can’t remember where you put anything. Seriously. Big problem.

Yesterday was long — over 400 kilometres from Glen Innes to Tooraweenah. The roads weren’t especially user-friendly, particularly Inverell to Narrabri.

Today I’ve made it to Orange. I’ve also managed to connect the phone to the laptop, so I don’t need to rely on park Wi-Fi. The kelpie is happy — she’s had a bath and a treat from Petbarn.