There is something about being in the wide open rural spaces; crows and magpies in lieu of the early rooster, far off trains and the hundreds of road trains thundering through the day and night, heading across this vast land. And so it was; we were awake and up earlier than we have been since last catching an early international flight. But the sun was shining, the sky clear, and the road reaching out inviting us to travel on.
Back on the Hume Highway, just before 8 am, we continued on through Ned Kelly country; we had passed by Euroa yesterday, and today it was Glenrowan, the scene of the final shootout, but this time we did not stop to learn more or soak in the history; we whizzed through on the freeway, as fast as our rig will go which is actually not that fast at all.
But we did pull into Wangaratta, because as Chris said, we had not really done it justice on our last visit, remarking at the time that we were sure to pass through again. So today we found a flat space beside the deep murky Ovens River where we had lunched last time. We crossed the footbridge and made our way up past cafes full of folk out for a weekend breakfast, and wandered up through the town in the sunshine, this time delighting in the architecture and general ambiance, which was today so much better than last. But that was because when we had come through the town last time, we had been towing and looking for a parking space near the Information Centre which was always going to be problematic. Today there were few people about, just those café customers, and the shop assistants having a furtive cigarette outside the shops before they opened their doors. It was still not even 9 am!
Back on the highway, we joined the busier lines of traffic heading north, most going on through to Sydney, and on up and over the Murray River, the border between Victoria and New South Wales at Albury-Wodonga. We had already spent some time here before, the highlight being our drive upriver to Corryong and Towong, as well as a visit to the Tallangatta immigration centre. But today, we carried straight on through, and then turned onto the Olympic Highway about twenty kilometres north of the border toward Wagga Wagga.
Either side of the road, the gold of the grass, the grain crops and the baled hay contrasted against the eucalypts and the far hills. Above us clouds had arrived, fluffy, streaky, the whole range against the blue blue background; a scene better painted than described by yours truly.
We passed through the small settlements of Gerogery, Culcairn, Henty, Yerong Creek and The Rock, railway stations stopped at now only for the grain held in the tall silos. The road was as I remembered it; sealed but lumpy and bumpy, we were back in New South Wales.
Arriving in Wagga Wagga, we parked near the Information Centre, a place we recalled for its convenience, and walked up the street past glorious flowering jacarandas to buy some decadent additions to our lunch. We had come less than two hundred and fifty kilometres during the course of the morning, and while Chris was still feeling fit for more, he was keen for us to stay over at this wonderful little free camp at the edge of town, the same we had stayed for a couple of nights in October last year.
So here we
are with good internet and better television; the cricket progresses, the Weekend
Australian always has plenty of reading and I have yet to finish the novel I have
become so absorbed in. The weather is still fabulous and we are both in shorts
for the first time since last summer. Perhaps that was too much information?
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