How can The Tropics possibly be so cold? An icy wind cut through camp this morning. My fingers were stiff rolling up the tent. Poor Robert was loading his motorbike to head off into the teeth of it. I went to brush my teeth in tap water that stunk of sulphur.
Tumbleweeds rolled across the road ahead of us as we cruised in the morning sun. Caravans wobbled in the wind and even the enormous road trains were snaking a bit. We passed a tourist trap called the Crocodile Dundee Cafe. Ain't no crocs around here, I was thinking.
We came to the land of termite mounds, little tall pyramids of red earth, fields full of them like alien graveyards. A few near the road had been decorated with old shirts and sticks like little red snowmen. One was wearing a dress.
We'd pulled out some hard boiled eggs to have a lunch time snack and Fireman cracked one against his forehead to show he was the harder boiled one. He steered us through the curves as we finally entered beautiful hill country at Cloncurry. Blue sky, red and golden hills and boulders, covered in green trees and something like creosote with sprays of yellow flowers.
The scenery came to a close with the two enormous smoke stacks at Mount Isa, site of a gigantic mine, on which I reckoned the whole town depends. All the eggs in one basket. No doubt hard boiled.
Camooweal is a dot on the map just at the Queensland border. After last night's freeze we decided to splurge on a double room at the Camooweal Post Office Hotel Motel & Caravan Park. First a drink in the pub, then laundry while our electronic devices charged, and hot showers. Comfy beds awaited. I was over the moon.