Behind the Wheel
“It’s a great little city car,” the woman at the car rental agency told us cheerily. “Where are you planning to go?”
“Mungo national park…” I said.
Her brow furrowed as she considered that for a moment, “Hmm, I can’t say I’ve ever heard of it.”
Well, she’s not alone. That’s pretty much the response we received from most people we told about our Easter holiday plans. However, the night before I had talked with the field biologist we volunteer with and he was really excited about it. “Mungo has great fossils,” he exclaimed.
“It’s sort of out west,” I told the agent.
“Well, I hope you have a good time,” she said, the chirp in her voice returning. She gave us the key and a sheaf of fine print and we were out the door and over to the parking garage down the street to pick up our ride.
On the fourth level of the basement we found our car for the week, a late model blue Toyota Yaris. It had been almost two years since either of us had driven anything with more than two wheels. That fact compounded with it being a rental compounded with the expectation of driving on the left compounded with the dread of inevitably facing a roundabout had me a little apprehensive. Also, all the stories I had heard about the terrible Sydney drivers and stringent traffic law enforcement, that I’d mostly ignored being above the fray as a mass transit rider, suddenly welled up.
As we combed over the car looking for pre-existing nicks and scratches, niggling questions popped into my head like could I make a left turn at a red light? It doesn’t have quite the ring as “right on red” which is generally allowed in Texas. I had forgotten to ask the rental agent and didn’t feel like going back down the street and wait in the queue to ask so I decided not to risk it.
Finished with our inspection, I crawled into the driver’s seat, adjusted the seat all the way back and took a deep breath.
When I said Mungo National Park was sort of west I could have been more forthcoming and said Mungo National Park is about 1000 kilometers west of Sydney including a good 100 kilometers over unsealed (dirt/gravel) roads. For a while now Jean’s had a hankering to see the outback. The beaches and forests are great but it just hasn’t felt Australia enough for her.
“It’s too much green stuff,” Jean said, “I want to see the outback. I want some red sand deserts.”
Jean first become interested in Mungo National Park after seeing a CountryLink advert posted on a train last April. The advert featured the image of a jagged pinnacle of sandy rock jutting up from an otherworldly landscape crisscrossed with ravines. Jean researched the park and finally nailed me down on a date to make the trip. Ironically, there isn’t a train that goes anywhere near the park and thus the Yaris.
With Jean’s navigation, we made it the 2 kilometers back to our flat without incident and found a parking spot. Loading up, our gear filled up the trunk (boot) quickly and soon expanded over most of the back seat. We took a parting camera shot and then we were off.
Getting out of Sydney wasn’t nearly as tricky as I had imagined. At 10 am on Wednesday rush hour had died off and traffic was pretty light. We were soon on the motorway. In under an hour we had left the city behind and were cruising through the rolling countryside at 110 kilometers per an hour. The landscape reminded me very much of the central Texas hill country.
We stopped for lunch at a roadside rest stop and finished off all of our food except for an apple and a half a bag of tortilla chips. Mungo National Park lies in a fruit fly exclusion zone. We would soon be entering that zone. On the park web site it says all food must be purchased within in that area. I had called last week to confirm that detail with the national parks services.
“About this fruit fly exclusion zone, does it apply to all food or just fruit and vegetables?” I asked the woman over the phone.
“All food,” she said.
“Okay, and the unsealed road, is it drivable with a two wheel drive vehicle.”
“Yes.”
“Even with a very small, low clearance, two wheel drive vehicle?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I think those are all my questions. I guess we’ll see you next week.”
“We’ll see you next week.”
Getting back on the road we soon began to see signs announcing the approaching fruit fly exclusion zone. The billboards seem to take one of two angles. There was the personal responsibility line – Do your part to prevent the spread of fruit flies and the more punitive approach – You will be fined massive amounts if found in possession of unauthorized fruit in the fruit fly exclusion zone.
As the kilometers ticked down I began to think about the solitary apple rolling around in our picnic bag. I asked Jean to take care of that potential harbinger of infidel fruit flies and thankfully she accepted the mission. After a few bites I took over and by the time we reached the border only a stem remained.
The border of the exclusion zone was a bit of a letdown after the extensive signage we’d passed by. There was a turnout with three trashcans: one for fruit and the other two for non-fruit rubbish. I tossed the apple stem in the first one and we continued on comfortable that we were now fruit fly free.
We rolled into the town of Narrandera towards four, found one of the two caravan parks open for business, got a site, pitched our tent, and headed into the town center to see what we could find in the food department. Luckily, Narrandera has a grocery store even bigger than the one near our flat in Sydney. We were able to pick up 10 gallons of water (no drinking water available in the park), bread, snacks, fruit fly free fruit and an array of delectable dehydrated meals.
We got dinner at a Fish and Chips shop and took it back to our campsite for a dinner under the stars.
“Mungo national park…” I said.
Her brow furrowed as she considered that for a moment, “Hmm, I can’t say I’ve ever heard of it.”
Well, she’s not alone. That’s pretty much the response we received from most people we told about our Easter holiday plans. However, the night before I had talked with the field biologist we volunteer with and he was really excited about it. “Mungo has great fossils,” he exclaimed.
“It’s sort of out west,” I told the agent.
“Well, I hope you have a good time,” she said, the chirp in her voice returning. She gave us the key and a sheaf of fine print and we were out the door and over to the parking garage down the street to pick up our ride.
On the fourth level of the basement we found our car for the week, a late model blue Toyota Yaris. It had been almost two years since either of us had driven anything with more than two wheels. That fact compounded with it being a rental compounded with the expectation of driving on the left compounded with the dread of inevitably facing a roundabout had me a little apprehensive. Also, all the stories I had heard about the terrible Sydney drivers and stringent traffic law enforcement, that I’d mostly ignored being above the fray as a mass transit rider, suddenly welled up.
As we combed over the car looking for pre-existing nicks and scratches, niggling questions popped into my head like could I make a left turn at a red light? It doesn’t have quite the ring as “right on red” which is generally allowed in Texas. I had forgotten to ask the rental agent and didn’t feel like going back down the street and wait in the queue to ask so I decided not to risk it.
Finished with our inspection, I crawled into the driver’s seat, adjusted the seat all the way back and took a deep breath.
* * *
When I said Mungo National Park was sort of west I could have been more forthcoming and said Mungo National Park is about 1000 kilometers west of Sydney including a good 100 kilometers over unsealed (dirt/gravel) roads. For a while now Jean’s had a hankering to see the outback. The beaches and forests are great but it just hasn’t felt Australia enough for her.
“It’s too much green stuff,” Jean said, “I want to see the outback. I want some red sand deserts.”
* * *
 |
| Don't forget the pillows |
Getting out of Sydney wasn’t nearly as tricky as I had imagined. At 10 am on Wednesday rush hour had died off and traffic was pretty light. We were soon on the motorway. In under an hour we had left the city behind and were cruising through the rolling countryside at 110 kilometers per an hour. The landscape reminded me very much of the central Texas hill country.
 |
| I'm afraid those Tim Tams have to go |
“All food,” she said.
“Okay, and the unsealed road, is it drivable with a two wheel drive vehicle.”
“Yes.”
“Even with a very small, low clearance, two wheel drive vehicle?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I think those are all my questions. I guess we’ll see you next week.”
“We’ll see you next week.”
Getting back on the road we soon began to see signs announcing the approaching fruit fly exclusion zone. The billboards seem to take one of two angles. There was the personal responsibility line – Do your part to prevent the spread of fruit flies and the more punitive approach – You will be fined massive amounts if found in possession of unauthorized fruit in the fruit fly exclusion zone.
The border of the exclusion zone was a bit of a letdown after the extensive signage we’d passed by. There was a turnout with three trashcans: one for fruit and the other two for non-fruit rubbish. I tossed the apple stem in the first one and we continued on comfortable that we were now fruit fly free.
We got dinner at a Fish and Chips shop and took it back to our campsite for a dinner under the stars.
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