Heavenly Beverley : Bulong or Bust...(alternate title) What Bastard bit me?

Our second morning at Bonnie Vale was decidedly warmer. Our old adversaries, the Goldfields flies, were making their presence known. They are particularly sticky, persistent and very annoying. Michael, wearing only his beanie and tee shirt, went off in search of the fly nets. I collapsed into fits of giggles at his attire. Only in the bush. The flimsy appearance of our fly nets does not reflect their vital importance. Once donned over our heads,they are the difference between normal functioning or being driven quite mad. Essential for our camping adventures.

Over tea and coffee, we planned our day. Michael constructed two ingenious wedges out of sandalwood for keeping my troublesome passenger window in the upright position. Using the portable grinder, that most useful of tools on our trips, the job was completed with no fuss and very little wasted time.

Showers were next on the agenda, available at the excellent Coolgardie roadhouse. We decided we'd shout ourselves breakfast there as well. Leaving the trusty trailer and the gazebo on guard, we headed for the bright lights of civilisation. Coolgardie on a Thursday.

Coolgardie rated as one of my favourite towns. Long in the shadow of her big sister up the road, Coolgardie was expanding, due to new and growing mining operations. Yet she still maintained all the charm and quirkiness of a frontier town. Coolgardie had her own unique and developing personality. Her streets were wide, her federation houses and buildings preserved and her very modern roadhouse with its uber clean facilities provided a welcome rest stop for travellers, such as ourselves.

Michael showered first. As he was making himself beautiful, I had plenty of time to watch and be fascinated by passing parade. Perched on a bar stool and gazing outside, I wondered about all their stories. Every vehicle was represented at this servo in the Goldfields - hatchbacks to road trains, caravans to one hundred tonne cranes on trailers, utes to bicycles. Locals arriving on foot, tourists washing their windscreens, truckies grabbing some drinks, workers buying lunch. An unforgettable spectacle of life.

As Michael emerged, I nearly didn't recognise him. Sparkling and splendidly clad in fresh clothes, he was transformed. I didn't dare look at my reflection as I was still resembling the creature from the Black Lagoon. And my shower had to wait. His Majesty was hungry. Two bacon and egg rolls had never tasted so good, washed down with excellent coffee and tea.

Then, my turn for renewal. Oh, the ecstasy. I soaped and lathered and rinsed. Hairstyle by wringer was treated with multiple shampooing and conditioning. Upon drying, the joy of rubbing oodles of cream into my parched skin. And clean clothes which didn't itch, weren't covered in red dirt or smell like a sweaty camp fire. Happy day.

We lingered at the roadhouse, purchasing fuel, a few CDs, waterproof bandaids and a packet of nuts. We even gained possession of the Magic Key, that enabled us to fill our washing water container back to the brim. After nearly two hours, we departed in the direction of Kalgoorlie.

On the thirty-eight kilometres up the road to the Big Smoke, we sat in Kermit's air-conditioned comfort, really noting the landscape as we went by. After our long and animated chat with Brian on the previous day, we recognised points of interest he had shared with us. Suddenly, we were struck by all the history around us, that we had previously driven past on a number of occasions. History that had been revealed by a chance encounter with a local enthusiast. This was a trip to revisit old and familiar locations, not driving hundreds of kilometres and really immersing ourselves in the past.

Still, we had promised ourselves we would check out Bulong, thirty kilometres east of Kalgoorlie. En route we were meeting a couple of friends for a bite of lunch at Blaze, a cafe inside the old fire station in Boulder.

Kalgoorlie is big. In every conceivable way. Big industries with big machinery. Big fuel stations to accommodate big road trains. And big houses on the main road into town. Perhaps these homes were inhabited by prospectors who had struck gold and wanted the world to be aware of their good fortune.

Initially, we parked in central Kal outside the tourism information centre, which is located inside the exquisite Federation town hall. The first sensation was one of coolness, due to the soaring pressed tin ceilings. Breathtakingly decorated, with multiple carved staircases, a cavernous and beautiful theatre, a war museum and an intriguing World War 1 exhibition featuring notable women of the period ("Not all Soldiers wore Khaki"), we were entranced.

Post lunch, we set off for Bulong. This was an early abandoned town and mine Michael had wanted to visit for fifteen years. Brian had assured us that there was plenty to see and fossicking to be had.The majestic Eucalypt woodland called us eastwards. Needless to say, we were filled with keen expectation of much treasures to behold.

The reality was sadly less than our anticipation. We spent a frustrating two hours traversing a tangled web of tracks that went in all directions. Where there was privacy under the cover of the woodland, there was no apparent fossicking. Where we found titbits on metal on the edge of a vast salt lake, there was nothings but desolate openness. Even the majority of this metal was modern - rusting cars and unidentifiable junk. The only major site of interest was the remains of a large condensing plant, which processed salt water to fresh water, uphill from the lake. But its position was windy and exposed and with absolutely nothing to attract us. We were delighted by a few local inhabitants - a kangaroo watching us from next to a track and two emus, sprinting at full pace across the glimmering surface of the salt lake. This sight was mesmerising whilst the emus were in view, but not enough to convince us to pack up our comfortable lodgings at Bonnie Vale.

Disappointed, we returned back towards Coolgardie. Once more, my passenger window was causing strife, by resisting all our efforts to stay closed, even with the nifty wedges. In the end, this development proved fortuitous. The afternoon had become hot and very oppressive and at the same time, Kermit's air conditioning had ground to a halt. Thus, my open window was rather welcome.

We discussed our options. Bonnie Vale was proving to be far more fruitful in terms of fossicking than we'd dared hope. We decided to continue our stay there for a couple more nights. And then? That was the beauty of our expeditions. Changes were neither disconcerting nor unsettling for us. Changes were eagerly embraced.

Mostly. Except for the proceeding night. All seemed well when we returned to our shady camp to enjoy a cool drink or two. After dinner, I decided to retire early as I was tired. Slipping off my boots and socks, I felt a vicious stab on the side of my left foot. A flying ember? A sliver of glass? A splinter of wood? Or a bite by some tiny unseen foe?

There was nothing to indicate any unwanted occurrence but for a minute red dot adjacent to the ball of my foot. Whatever had attacked me packed a mighty punch. I quickly descended into wave after wave of genuine agony. I was in so much pain that I didn't even contemplate that the bite or sting might be poisonous.

Over the next few hours, Stingose, burn cream and Panadol gave no relief. I began seriously contemplating a trip to an Emergency Department over fifty kilometres away in Kalgoorlie. My last resort was Panadeine Forte. After a whopping sixty milligrammes of codeine, the pain in my foot began to recede. And as my foot had not turned black and I was still alive, I decided death was not imminent. I floated away into the release of sleep.

Then my mobile rang. The time was two-thirty. In the morning. Ye Gods.

Alex was anxious and unhappy on the other end of the line. He was experiencing serious chest pain. This had become a familiar pattern over the last year or so. Born with a complex heart defect, Alex had been developing pericarditis when he caught a cold or another simple virus. Ibuprofen usually settled this pain. Not this night. After two more phone calls, I called an ambulance for him. He was unable to do this himself. Afterwards, I mused that I had called an ambulance six hundred kilometres away from the intended patient. That the ambos found Alex and safely transported him to hospital was quite an achievement for the early hours of that morning. I was pleased with the outcome.

As an aside, I was not impressed with Cardiology's solution to Alex's ongoing pericarditis episodes. Don't get a cold, Alex...Give me strength.

Due to the additional excitement, my foot was completely forgotten. The pitter-patter of raindrops on the gazebo's roof lulled me into slumber. At last.