The night before departure, I fell into bed, exhausted. Later, I transported a snoring husband from the couch to our bed. For some obscure reason, the rest of my night was filled with very odd dreams.
Upon awakening, I washed dishes and made banana bread to take with us. The car and Trusty Trailer were bulging at the seams. Eventually, at noon, we just locked the front door and fled. In our haste, we even forgot to farewell the dogs.
Exiting Brooking Street, we turned right instead of left. Par for the course. After correcting Kermit's direction, we headed east. At last. The supposed shortcut between Mawson and Cunderdin meandered all over the place. My navigational skills deserted me completely. Along the way, Michael misplaced (temporarily) fifty dollars and I could not, for the life of me, locate a drink that was sitting directly in front of me.
The piece de resistance occurred in Merredin. Michael had painstakingly repaired Kermit's passenger window over two days, so the electric mechanism would enable the aforementioned window to slide smoothly up and down. As we prepared to park on Barrack Street, I engaged the switch to raise the car window in the upward direction. Instead, a fearful crunching, clunking and throbbing ensued and the window ended up resembling a piece of crazy paving in a particularly lopsided fashion.
My darling husband behaved in an entirely predictable fashion. He marched into Cellarbrations and purchased a slab of beer. He nearly succumbed to obtaining a packet of fags. He only relented because of my persistent and logical haranguing.
We drove on through the afternoon. Pink and yellow and white flowers flashed past us. We feared we had would have missed the best of the wildflower season due to the lateness of this trip. Luck was on our side. The cool and rainy winter had translated into a prolonged and delayed display of colour and beauty. And the wheat crop, usually scant and relatively low, as we neared Southern Cross was looking magnificent. Perhaps this would be the year of a bumper harvest.
We swapped drivers at Southern Cross. The distance to Coolgardie was a mind numbing one hundred and ninety kilometres. Roadworks caused frequent decreases in speed, which only added to our anxiety. We finally arrived in Coolgardie close to dusk and immediately turn Kermit north. In the short fading twilight, we made our target - Bonnie Vale.
Michael took over control of Kermit and manoeuvred him up the track. Just before the last of the daylight faded, we happened upon a lovely site surrounded by the Goldfields woodland we adored. As we unpacked, we were concerned that setting up the gazebo would be fraught with danger. Remarkably, we erected the gazebo with assurance and ease.
The rest of the evening was filled with quiet reverie. The Goldfields sky was filled with glittering stars and a brilliant half moon. We enjoyed dinner and a bottle of vino. Then, overwhelmed by the effort of getting away, we crawled into our deliciously warm and comfortable bed. And slept.
The agony of packing...
Forget your rear view mirror...
Essential supplies...
Niagra, Northern Goldfields...
Goldfields resident...
And our destination, Bonnie Vale.
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