SATURDAY 27th August 2016

The day is fine and we are feeling good, why not take the road via Cordilla Downs and then back up to Windorah.

The road junction turns us to the South and we glide along a white gravel road./ To the West and later to the East two lakes bask and stretch out lazily in the winter sun. The road gets a bit rougher as we head towards the South Australian border. We cross the border at a small creek crossing with a firm gravel bottom and stop to boil the billy (well Bubbles the kettle actually) for morning tea. The road starts to sport short water crossings, not deep so we swan along happy go lucky. The next stop is the old ruins of a property which was taken up in 1878 - there is a long flat before the ruined homestead. The flat must be 5km across and there are six or seven areas where the water has pooled on the road - some have makeshift diversions but three or for require a straight drive through - no time to order a hamburger and fries - one just needs to keep moving.

In the desert the bottoms have been hard packed and while in the grey clay areas they were a bit slippery we just drove through in a controlled manner - but here the clay is red and the consistency of high grade engine oil - friction modified - we find this out as Mal takes it a bit slow and we start losing momentum - we just manage to pull ourselves out of a potential bog by the skin of our teeth - we won't get caught again.

The ruins are fantastic, they are ruins and won't out last the pyramids but they speak of a lot of hard work and still retain a rustic charm. A large contingent of tourist friendly flies arrive to attend to our every need - or so they say.

We are just about to retire to the car to consider our next move - Mal has spotted s series of rivers that all cross the track further on. At that moment two cars towing caravans make a slow and muddy entrance coming from the South. Well we can find out from them what the road ahead is like.

They have this wild look in their eyes a sort of glazed over wandering with a traumatised tone in their voices - we shake them to get them to try and string coherent words together - they speak in monosyllables of four days in hell - four days to travel about 150km - of crocodile infested swamps and mosquitos a foot long - no I exaggerate a little, the mosquitos were only six inches long.

They brighten when we tell them that they only have to cross six or seven places and when they reach the end of the plain in front of them they have a smooth road to Birdsville.

Later that day Sue is talking to a young man travelling alone who met the two van towing families - they had taken nearly all afternoon to drive the 40km from the ruins to the Birdsville Development Road.

We spent our afternoon talking with John and Judy, Active Camper owners at the Betoota Races - we never actually went to the centre of racing fever - but we did see some spirited young jockies fly past hell for leather on their noble steeds.

We retired late in the day to Deon's Lookout about 20k away to camp for the night. While it was calm during the night It blew a happy tune as the sun rose.