Legends from our own lunchtimes

Monday, November 29, 2021

The rattle to the top.


Sometime between yesterday afternoon and this morning, we'd had a pleasant night camping in Coen, which isn't quite in the middle of nowhere.   

We know it's not quite in the middle, because we'd managed around 350 kilometres yesterday, and yes it did seem as long as the four days it took to talk about it, and with only 450 kilometres of the same to go until we reached the top, we figured if we left early and had a bit of luck, we might make it almost all of the way today.

The plan had always been to travel as quickly as the conditions allowed (meaning that we wouldn't make any unnecessary stops to see the sights) until we reached our destination.  We could meander home at our leisure in a week or three with some knowledge of what to expect.   

There are no shortage of sometimes cryptic reminders en-route of exactly what "as quickly as conditions allow" means and after just one long day on the development road, we were happy to continue abiding by our definition rather than those whose journeys may have had an earlier conclusion than they had planned.

Matt on the other hand, remembering that I'd suggested that before he did any other preparation for the trip he should bolt on his number plate, borrowed a couple of cable ties, lest the single screw left securing his dangling rear plate should vibrate the rest of the way out, and his plate be doomed to live the rest of its life nailed to a tree.

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