Holiday Traffic (And a Little Bit of Bordertown's Back Story)

Back in 1851 someone discovered gold in Victoria and a great number of South Australia's population promptly up and took themselves off to Victoria to become millionaires. They took their money with them and when (if) they found gold they kept it in their hot little hands and very little of it came back to SA. This was not good for the SA government,  which was soon at risk of bankruptcy.

Enter Police Commissioner Alexander Tolmer who set up a police escort to collect the gold from the South Australian miners and bring it back to South Australia to supplement government coffers. I don't think the miners were consulted on this, by the way.

Tatiara Creek, where Scott's Woolshed was situated, had permanent water in swamps and sinkholes.

A half-way station was established at Scott's Woolshed, where the troopers could rest and change horses on the third night of their journey. Before it got co-opted as a Police Station Scott's Woolshed was a gathering point for the community, with visiting minstrels and church services a regular event. An information board informed me that a 'massive post' at the Woolshed was once removed when a circus elephant, hitched to it 'for safety', decided to abscond and took the post with it. How about that for safety?

Anyways, Bordertown was surveyed soon after PC Tolmer's inaugural gold rescue trip, and in no time at all a pub was built, a liquor licence was granted, and Bordertown was officially a town.

I walked around Bordertown early on Sunday morning, when the only other people awake were dog walkers and caravanners getting a jump on the forecast heatwave.

Disorderly graffiti at the Bordertown Railway Station.

We detoured through more country roads, getting back on the highway at Keith where, to my horror, I discovered that every man, woman, and child, not to mention dogs, was on their way to or from wherever they chose to spend their Christmas break, and all of them stopped in Keith for coffee.

Crowds in Keith.

We took our place in a long line of holiday traffic, trundling up hill and down dale, past the not-pink Pink Lake. Big shiny utes undertook risky overtaking manoeuvres and a strong cross wind wobbled the caravans back and forth. In Meningee we bought disgusting sandwiches at an overwhelmed bakery, and went for a walk beside the lake.

Pelican squadrons patrolled the lake.

We got off the highway at the first opportunity. "We'll catch the ferry across the river at Wellington," said Roger. "That's quick and easy."

Well, everyone else was just as clever sticks as us. We waited in a long line for the ferry. Roger went for a walk to ease his back and returned with numbers. "We're 15th in line out of 35, no 36, 37... and the ferry fits 8 cars at a pinch but how many cars is a honking great 4wd and caravan worth?" He amused himself mumbling metres squared while I watched pelicans dancing in the wind.

Patience is a virtue.

On the other side of the river the traffic all went to Langhorn Ck and we swung by Milang for serious storage shed business before heading inland to Strathalbyn.  The Victoria Hotel gave us a nice upstairs room with a fire escape right outside the door and complimentary breakfast in the fridge. 

The bikes fitted with not a mm to spare.

Still no motel biscuits though. 

Cars for sale in downtown Strathalbyn.