We both slept particularly well; perhaps the swish of the windmills was so soft and gentle that it lulled us into a deep slumber without our knowing it. Suffice to say we were amongst the last of the overnighters to leave our excellent camp by the lake, having enjoyed our breakfast with excellent unhindered views, now clear of other campers.
We returned to the main road and proceeded on to Blayney, just a little more than ten kilometres to the north. We had stayed here in the caravan park way back in April or May of 2011 when we were unable to find a powered site in either Bathurst or Orange during a particularly cold snap and after abandoning our camping reunion with our friends, Neil and Pauline at Macquarie Woods. But then we had been intent on finding power for our heater rather than exploring Blayney. Today we were surprised to learn this little rural town has a population of 3,000 folk and sits at 860 metres ASL; no wonder we were cold back then!
We pulled up in the main street after I spotted a Vinnies store and deposited several bags of items we decided we would not take back with us to New Zealand or hand on to any future buyer of the caravan rig. There are still many more items that fit that category, but dispensing with personal possessions that one just might need in the interim is too big a leap for just now.
We continued on up and down the long hills that Chris remembered well, not for their scenery but for the incline and the effort it took the landcruiser to tow the caravan up and over them. After just thirty seven kilometres we arrived in Bathurst, which has a population of 37,000 and sits at a slightly lower elevation of 670 metres ASL, facts I no doubt offered when we were last here. It was at the Big W here that we had shopped for warmer clothes, most which I still have but would easily fall into the category of not bothering to cart back to New Zealand. We shopped undiscerningly and although these items served us well, they did nothing for our appearances at all.
We knew also that we could fill up with water at the Information Centre, so backed in and sought the tap-key from the officials. We do carry one of these excellent little tools, but it was only courtesy that we should be seen to do the right thing. After all of this, some fresh bread from the supermarket and full diesel tanks at inflated prices, we set off toward Sydney, along the Mid-Western Highway we had joined at Cowra. What a horrible road it is, every bit as lumpy and bumpy as the Olympic Highway. New South Wales really should be ashamed of the standards of its roads!
We stopped at Lithgow for lunch, a place that had not impressed us much on our last visit, but much better viewed from the west than the east. Today we noticed Lake Wallace which was no doubt created for cooling purposes of the two big coal fired powered stations that dominate the scene.
We pressed on, climbing toward the Great Divide and up into the Blue Mountains, a slow drag up the steep road, crossing the Victoria Pass at 1,044 metres. I had been looking forward to our trip across the top of the mountains, having fond memories, albeit selective. I did not remember the number of traffic lights nor the amount of road works and of course we did not detour off here and there to view the may wonders available to the tourist as we had last time.
For amusement I took note of the rate of descent as we passed through every busy little settlement: Medlow Bath at 1,050 metres ASL, Lawson 732 metres ASL, Linden 526 metres ASL, Faulconbridge 447 metres ASL, Springwood 371 metres ASL, Warrimoa 273 metres ASL and finally Lapstone at 160 metres ASL before we descended the last stage down to Emu Plains adjacent to Penrith. I had expected that much of our trip over the top would have been through blackened forest, the remnants of the terrible fires near Sydney just a month or so ago. Today I saw spots of this near Blackheath and more to the north of Springwood, and there was a faint smell of ash as we passed these areas. I guess it is just as well, because the last these poor people who lost their homes need, are voyeuristic tourists.
Soon we found ourselves on the motorways, heading toward Sydney, and then north onto the toll road which loops around the west and north of the city. The last ten kilometres or so of our Sydney trip was, much to Chris’s dismay, through regular streets; there is no proper highway link between this toll road and the northern Pacific Highway; perhaps it will be built in time for our grandchildren when they retrace our travels.
It was a relief to reach the Pacific Highway, even with its patchwork of sealed repairs, up through the Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park, up through the carved out sandstone cliffs around the Hawkesbury River, where a water-skier was seriously injured just yesterday, and then to find a space here at this rest area which we have called at a couple of times before, once to overnight and once to simply to break our journey.
Since arriving within view of Sydney, we have had frequent showers, and gusts as we drove across the massive bridges across the sandstone country, however now as I write this, the sun has come out and I can hear the bell miners which frequent here and the area all about Lake Macquarie. They really are quite wonderful.
I have just realised it is one month until Christmas, a fact that has not alluded our daughters; natural and in-law. Each of them has quizzed me recently to ask after our ETA. I have instructed them to exclude us from their plans because our ETA is in the lap of the gods.
No comments:
Post a Comment