Thursday 12th November

Yes we are going to move today. We have come more than 200ks from Sydney, all be it in the wrong direction. As we leave we run into a couple who are leaving because 4 inches of rain is forecast.

The sky, grey and cold kept it's own council on when to slap the landscape with it's watery glove. The road glided over the hills unfolding landscape after landscape of green rolling hills, decorated with sheep and creeks and shadowing gums. Here and there an old homestead with red oxide patterned roof added a focal point with winding gravel drive and introduced sylvan cloak.

The road winds down into Sofala, curve after curve, turn upon turn, curve followed by curve. The old village lays exhausted by the river girting it's loins for another thrust at life. Here and there a slap of paint, a nailed board or a sheet of tin is giving the old girl a bit of a facelift.

Then the road unwinds up the opposite side of the valley, as steep going up as it was dropping down. The Mazda is a great unit and charges up the hill, keeping Caltex in business in the process.

Small spots appear on the windscreen, the sky is closing in and two motorbikes charge by, trying to get to Bathurst before the deluge. We pass one stopped by the road hastiliy pulling on their wet weather gear. Two hills later their friends are heading back to check on their travelling companion. We turn on the windscreen wipers, we have ridden in the rain many a time before and empathise with their circumstance.

Bathurst huddles in the valley the city roofs fend off the rain that obscures Mount Panorama. Mal asks, why do all these people live here. Yes some farming support services, but what else, other than a race day now and then. Surely that does not keep the town alive. Country towns, the questions keep pouring down. Maybe the ABS statistics would at least throw a little light on the matter.

We make mistake number 3,2018 and fail to plug in our destination till way too late, so we travel the long way around to Dave and Bronwyn's wilderness block at Mount David.

We trickle down country roads, wind our way up past pine forests that have been harvested to their stumps and turn after turn we follow the Navigator. By the time we have done 48 complete circles under grey heavens, our sense of direction is shot. The sun sets in the East and we know we have to get another fix.

We wake and the clouds have moved on, starlight twinkled through the arched window of the eco resort. Mal gave a fleeting thought to the 'lations before he headed back to dreamland.