22/04/23 CWCT Day 7: The Tale of the Prodigal Cheese and Butter

Roger and I do some things very well. One of the things we do well is driving off from Caravan Parks (in this case Wellington 10 days ago) and leaving our cold goods in the refrigerator in the camp kitchen. This usually results in much gnashing of teeth, lamenting our lost butter and cheese, and developing strategies to prevent further losses (the effectiveness of which is debatable given we keep doing it).  We will return to this topic at the end of the day.

We slept remarkably well, lulled by the conflicting strains of Cher (courtesy of the pub jukebox) and the too-loud too-late conversations of our fellow campers. The day started early, drinking hot tea while the sun dried out the tent and over the road, the Hair Of The Dog proprietor set out tables in the parking lot aka dusty patch of road in front of the pub, in preparation for a big charity event that evening.

 

The morning was crispy cold.  In the absence of a camp kitchen, we had to boil our own water but at least there was no chance of losing our cold goods.

 

Once on my bicycle I departed from the official CWCT route, blazing my own trail beside the railway to Dubbo rather than gallivanting over hill and dale as per the CWCT's search of gravel adventure. Roger left to seek a new phone in Dubbo, and the railway and I were left to travel together in peace.

Very nice.

Although there were some pay-attention moments.

 

Eventually the road took a sharp curve away from the railway, but a small gravel track beckoned me on. Why not? I thought, and congratulated myself on my cunning good sense as I pedaled happily down a quiet track, trucks and cars heard but not seen on the other side of the railway tracks.

A large railway bridge loomed into view, and I found out why this was not an all weather option for the CWCT. Thankfully for me it hadn't rained for a week or two, and me and my bicycle were able to navigate through the maze of(generally dried) mud that had been thoroughly enjoyed by people on 4WDs and dirt bikes.

 

Someone had lots of fun here.

Along the way I came upon the scene of Barbie's last stand.

Once past the mud it was all easy riding.

 

Before I could say boo I was back on the bitumen for the long downhill into Dubbo, where I had to wave goodbye to my friend the railway and strike out alone into the suburban wilderness.

The last bit of country road for me.

Dubbo drivers obviously needed extra help to navigate round-abouts.  This was not reassuring to a cyclist.

 

In the centre of Dubbo clusters of people wandered the streets, some of them in fancy dress and all of them earnestly consulting their phones. "It's an Alice in Wonderland Quest!" They enlightened me.  A small boy stood pressed up against a building, waving a phone. "I'm hot! Really hot! It must be inside! Can we break in?" His mother rolled her eyes. "Try going around the corner, kiddo."

 

Alice in Wonderland Adventurers.

 

I stopped to listen to a ukelele trio, out having a good time entertaining the citizens on Saturday morning. "We do this for fun," they said.  "People ask us to play at events all the time but if we do that we get too stressed.  So we just busk instead and if we make money we give it to charity."

Good on them, I say.

Roger and I met in Victoria Park, where he was getting acquainted with his new phone and grieving again the familiarity of his old one.

 

Victoria Park was quite grand, with a long boulevard to the War Memorial.

 

With Roger's navigation secured (sort of), I took him back to Wongarbon and waved him off before following the highway to Geurie and waiting for him there.  Here's a hot tip: if you have to wait an hour for someone, try not to do it in Geurie.

Cycling finished for the day, we went back to Wellington to camp for the night and that was when we discovered, to our joy and advantage, that the Wellington Caravan Park did not clean out their fridges as regularly as they should and the denizens of the park were honest with regard to unclaimed dairy products.  There's nothing quite like the thrill of being reunited with the cheese and butter that you thought was gone forever. 

 

The Caravan Park was full of honest people in caravans, probably all with their own cheese and butter in their caravan fridges.  We got the last spot overlooking the river, right next door to where we were ten days before.

 

We had toasted cheese sandwiches to celebrate and rejoiced long into the night (or at least until 9pm) before retiring to gather our energy for the final leg of CWCT tomorrow.