We hadn't planned this to be the last night either.
The PLAN, was to drop in on Chris and Phil in Bargara for a few days, spend a few nights in a bedroom that didn't have sliding door that went "grrrrrrrrthunk" every time one of us got up in the middle of the night, before resuming our beach crawl south.
If we tried hard enough those last few hundred kilometres might even take a month.
We were having a lovely time it must be said, making our plans (there's that word again) to drop in at home for a bit, finish the finer detailing on the van, and then, at our earliest opportunity complete the second half of this particular adventure. We had decided that we'd just keep going (more or less) until we reached the psouthern-most part of Tasmania.
There were stumbling blocks of course, the fact that we'd have to cross three states all of which had closed borders was one of them and that once we had left our own we would not be able to return under any circumstance was another.
It would only be a matter of days before we would be reminded of our biggest mistake:
We hadn't travelled for so long, we had forgotten our cardinal rule.
NEVER HAVE A PLAN.
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