Changes to the itinerary would include: a couple of days at Ceduna to catch up with the managers of the caravan park at which we stayed last year; a few days at Venus Bay on the Eyre Peninsula for no other reason than we like it there and a whole new plan to start exploring the Yorke Peninsula. We had not been to the Yorke and our timetable would give us at least ten days to at least start taking in the attractions, even though we knew that we would have to return to see the rest at a later date. We would also visit Adelaide for a few days so that we could get the car serviced, as it would be due by the time we had crossed half of Australia.
Gibson Views had been our home for all-but a month (if you don't count the time spent on the ship) and it was not without some sadness that we bade farewell to our most gracious host and friend and set off for the East, some four days after arriving back at Perth. Gibson Views is just a minute or so from the Brookton Highway and it made much more sense to start our journey by heading east from there. Otherwise, it would be a long, windy, trip down to the "flats" of outer Perth, through a great deal of traffic and then back up the long, windy, Greenmount Hill on the Great Eastern Highway.
Tree-lined, well-made, bitumen road with gentle undulations was the reward for taking the decision to go this way and before long we peeled off to the left and headed for Beverley. At this point we could have gone on to Brookton, made for Hyden and then crossed the couple of hundred kilometres of gravel road that goes directly to Norseman, but we chose to go via Beverley, Mawson, Quairading and finally intercept the Great Eastern Highway at Merredin. From there we would head to Coolgardie, Norseman and finally start the east-west crossing once more.
Considering that we left Roleystone about mid-morning, we were quite happy to reach the spacious 24 hour campsite near Yellowdine on the first day. We had an hour or so of daylight left and set up a simple camp well back from the main highway. Three or four other vehicles were also there but were all spread well apart from one another. Readers whom have followed us regularly will know that we refer to ourselves as the "Rain Gods" due to our ability to make it precipitate no matter where we are in Australia. Yellowdine was no different and a spectacular storm set in a couple of hours after we had turned in for the night.
Lightning seemed to be flashing from all points of the compass, while the thunder occasionally shook the van unnervingly. The rain, thankfully, was not as heavy as a storm of these proportions would usually dump - which is a very good thing given that the soil that we were parked on had the propensity to turn to slush with a thimble full of water added to it. I was most surprised to find that the soil was dry when I alighted from the van the next morning.
Coffee was brewed and consumed with gusto, before we continued east to Coolgardie. Knowing that the fuel prices at Norseman (and all points east, right through to Ceduna) would be nothing short of robbery without violence, we topped up at Coolgardie in order to limit how much diesel we would need at Norseman. From there we ventured about an hour down the road before stopping for breakfast. We couldn't avoid travelling on roads upon which we had been before, but we did at least manage to eat at a different roadside bay than the we did the last time, thereby "mixing it up a bit."
Last time we were at Norseman we discovered that the little servo in the centre of town, near the Visitor Centre, was the cheapest place to buy fuel. It isn't any more. It has closed down, giving us no option but to pay what they were asking at the big roadhouse on the corner (I won't mention a brand-name as I dislike giving free advertising to places that I believe do not represent fair value for money.) The decision to top up at Coolgardie had turned out to be a wise one.
Steering out of the service station driveway onto the main Highway starts the "crossing". There is no way to delay or avoid it, you are on your way. Our trusty Disco 4 surged ahead, almost effortlessly dragging our 3.5 tonne Kedron caravan out onto the long black ribbon of road that would not pass through another town until we were well inside South Australia. We were hoping to make for a 24 Hour stop-over between Mundrabilla and Madura and that's just what transpired. It was a long day though, watching that endless ribbon of bitumen roll under our wheels, with little change to the scenery and seemingly countless kilometres left to travel. We had just a few minutes of Sun left when we finally stopped for the night.
Driving for too long is possibly one of our failings. If it is hotter than 35C outside, we see no real benefit in stopping, getting out of a perfectly comfortable, air-conditioned, environment and sweating it out for a few hours while waiting for the Sun to set. We have done this countless times before and this occasion was no different. Naturally, this methodology has its problems and cramped legs are often a side-effect that we have to endure. Nothing that can't be cured by a nice bevvy at the close of the day!
Once again, we didn't bother rolling out the awning, preferring to keep the camp simple so that we could make a clean getaway in the morning. The evening cooled nicely and neither of us took any rocking to get to sleep. Before retiring we had decided to have a "make or break" day the following day, setting a goal to be at Ceduna by nightfall.
We were on the road by 6:00 AM WA time, knowing that we would lose two and one half hours with the time-zone change as we approached Ceduna. Unlike our last trip, where I discovered (to my dismay) that fuel was much dearer at Border Village, we stopped further into South Australia at the Nullarbor Roadhouse which was not quite as expensive. When paying for the fuel our sense of smell was assaulted by the aroma of hot chips being cooked. We weakened for just the first time since leaving Perth and purchased an expensive, but yummy, box-full and ate them in the car as we drove on.
The rolling hills around Yalata were much easier in the new, more powerful vehicle, not to mention that it was about twenty degrees cooler than the last time we headed through these parts as we closed the gap on Ceduna. With each passing kilometre it was evident that we would be arriving at about 7:00 PM but still with plenty of light due to daylight saving in South Australia. We hadn't bothered to book ahead for a caravan park because, in all honesty, the original plan was to camp out for three nights, not two, and we hadn't anticipated arriving a day early. This was to be an issue, as it happened.
 |
| The rolling hills near Yalata were not the best place to come across this.... |
We spent the night at the Big 4, using their BBQ to fry up some eye fillet steak, some eggs and some baked beans. Not exactly the health-food of a Nation, but what were we to do? We had to throw out our veg at the Quarantine Station. We had a pleasant conversation with the couple parked next to us, before retiring for the night. I wasn't all that tired, due to the time-zone change and amused myself by laying awake in bed calculating how many different timezones we had been in since we left Perth to go on the cruise. It turned out to be seven. No wonder my body-clock was all messed up!
Next morning we packed up and drove the three minutes around to the Foreshore Caravan Park, where, quite by chance, we ended up in the same bay as we had the first time we were there in 2011/2012. This time I had the benefit of prior knowledge and was able to back the van onto the site in a single attempt, avoiding the large tree on one side and stopping short of a tree at the rear (that had stopped us winding up our TV antenna last time we were there.) We planned on staying three nights, giving us time to get some stores to take with us to Venus Bay, time to refill our water tanks, time to write a chapter of the sadly neglected blog and time to recharge our "human" batteries after our marathon drive. We had travelled from Perth to Ceduna in a little over two and a half days of driving time, averaging 86 Km/hour and using 16.1L of diesel fuel per 100Km. Now it was time to rest.
The days slipped by quickly and before we knew it, it was time to move on. Everything on the van was in tip-tip order and we had re provisioned. All that remained to do was to cruise down the west coast of the Eyre Peninsula for a little over three hours and we would be at one of our favourite places in Australia - Venus Bay.
Familiar sights and places went by and I was sorely tempted to stop at Smoky Bay, but we were on a Mission. Port Kenny came into view and we knew that we were less than 20 minutes from our next "home". Once again we had not phoned ahead to book a site at Venus Bay and this almost came back to bite us on the bum. They had just two bays left, neither of which was close to the water. At least it was a drive-through bay. We set up camp, including erecting our new annex, which proved to be a great decision as it sheltered us from some cool evening breezes on a couple of occasions while we were there.
Although I'm a fishing tragic, the prospect of fishing from the shore and catching only Snook, very small Herring or Trevally left me cold. I was regretting leaving the kayak at Geraldton. Never mind, the King George Whiting could wait for another occasion and the fishing gear stayed stowed snugly in the van. Instead, we spent our time wandering around or having coffee on the balcony at the caravan park, or lunch on the veranda at the tavern/cafe/general store, or walking along the jetty, or chatting with the people whom we'd met the year before and whom were clearly "regulars" at Venus Bay. Relaxation 101!
Evenings were spent mulling over maps, the Internet and brochures, planning the trip to the Yorke Peninsula a few days hence. Justice could not be done to the place in the short time that we had available, so we committed ourselves to completing the job after working at Birdsville. With that in mind, we narrowed the scope of our visit to include just the west side of the Peninsula during this visit. Before heading off we confirmed a booking for Venus Bay for next year and also booked a cabin for our Daughter and two eldest Grandies to stay in when they come over to visit us for a while during our next stay.
Formalities completed, we set off after five days of blissful relaxation and made our way back to Port Kenny, where we turned right and cut across to Wudinna, on the main East-West highway. Wudinna does not hold many fond memories for us. Eons ago, as we returned from a National sailing championship held at Botany Bay, we broke down just outside Wudinna and had to have a new engine fitted to our vehicle. The entire process took about a week and we stuck in an un-aircondtioned, on-site, caravan in mid-January heat. Worse still, the only beer in the place was this truly dreadful drop called Southwark (pronounce Suthick). I got so desperate that I actually stood on the highway, flagging down vehicles coming from the west and asking if they had any Western Australian beer on board. One guy actually did and he felt so sorry for me that he wouldn't take any money for the carton that he gave me!
We were equally as happy to see the back-end of Wudinna on this trip as we were on the previous one almost forty years earlier. From there we made our way eastward toward "Port Agutta" (as the locals call it.) Time passed quickly, as did the kilometres and soon we could see the disused workings of the iron-ore mine at Iron Knob, which stand as a reminder of days gone by. The scarred hill is clearly visible from the highway, with little evidence of any rehabilitation having taken place at the mine site. There is nothing attractive about an iron-ore mine.
Glimpses of the Spencer Gulf come into view just before the outskirts of Port Augusta are reached. Before long we would be back in traffic for the first time since leaving Perth. With van in tow, unfamiliar towns can be a little daunting and Port Augusta was no exception. I found myself going down a narrow little street that had thoughtfully been landscaped by the Council so that the trees became obstacles in themselves, threatening to scrape the sides of the van as we slalomed our way along the brick paving. All I knew was that we were heading roughly in the direction of the Woollies Supermarket where we would once more stock up on the things that we would need over the next ten days or so. Fortunately, we were able to locate Woollies and find a convenient parking bay at the rear of the store and had soon topped up the larder and the bar. From there it was around to the Woollies Servo to top up the car and we were on our way once more. We had no hard and fast plan, but the plan was to stay at a roadside stopover, or at Port Germein.
Port Germain was small, neat and a long way from the water when we got there! The tide was right out and it would have been at least 1500 metres from the water's edge to the foreshore beachfront. Mudflats are mudflats and they look much the same wherever they are. Sadly, it wasn't a good look and the vista, combined with what outwardly looked to be a very ordinary caravan park, saw us drive on.
Even the next few roadside stops weren't all that appealing, even if they did have great views of Mount Remarkable National park in the distance. All were too close to the road and would have made for very noisy nights. We soldiered on, eventually stopping at an equally unappealing caravan park (called the Rangeview Caravan Park if my memory serves me correctly) and spending the night there. Seriously folks, it should have been called the "March Fly View" caravan park. No sooner had we gotten out of the car than we were beset upon by entire squadrons of Marchies. I had three land on on a patch of skin with an area no larger than a 20 cent piece! I sent Sue into the van with instructions to stay inside. She reacts badly to Marchies and I didn't want her exposed to them.
 |
| Setting up for a short stay at March Fly Views Caravan Park |
Port Pirie came as a bit of a surprise, For an industrial town it is surprisingly clean, neat and tidy. We availed ourselves of the dump-point which, for those of you whom need to know these things, is at a sports ground on the northern outskirts of town. From there we drove through town, not stopping and taking a proper look (this could wait for another day.) We made for Port Broughton and were quite enamoured with this quaint little place. Parking on the foreshore was easy and we found a terrific little coffee shop just opposite the town jetty. The new owner was lovely and her coffee and cake were excellent. As tempting as it was to stay a night at Port Broughton, we had a plan, and the plan was to camp on the coast at one of three camps north of Balgowan.
 |
| Port Broughton and yet another jetty... |
From Port Broughton it was a short drive to Wallaroo, a coastal town that is the home port of the ferry that runs from there to Cowle on the Eyre Peninsula. The ferry carries vehicles and cuts off a lot of the not-inconsiderable distance from Cowle to Port Augusta to Adelaide. I struggle a bit with this concept because the prices that they charge for a crossing are so expensive (in my opinion) that the only saving is in time. Paying for fuel and driving around would still be cheaper than the fare across on the ferry. The service is still running, so it obviously is filling a need, but I doubt that many travelling nomads would avail themselves of the floating crossing.
We had chosen to drive directly to Wallaroo, approaching it from the North, rather than travelling via the equally large, inland, town of Kadina. Kadina will be saved for another trip.Wallaroo, itself, is a nice, not overly large, port-town whose skyline is dominated by the ever-present grain storage silos that seem to be located in every town on the Peninsula. The town is split pretty much in two by the railway line that carries the grain to the Port and this presents some interesting challenges when navigating one's way around the place. Once again we had a plan to stick to and our visit to Wallaroo would have to be categorised as a "reconnaissance mission", in preparation for a visit at another time.
Next stop would be Moonta and I had heard that the bakery there had won awards for the "Best Cornish Pastie in Australia". I wasn't going to miss that so, on arrival, we parked on the outskirts of town and wandered around, without the benefit of a map, until we found the shop. What can I say? The pasties were scrumptious! I liked Moonta. Many of the historic buildings have been faithfully restored and better still, were in use today as small retail shops, offices for professional services, arts and crafts shops and many other uses. This was a pleasant change after having spent three years in n historic town where the buildings were largely unused. Moonta is not on the coast but is a short drive from nearby Port Hughes. Crikey! Every second town in this part of South Oz is named "Port Something."
Reluctantly, we drove on, heading for Balgowan. We would head south to with a few kilometres of Maitland before turning West to the coast. Without realising it we had, at some stage, gained quite a bit of altitude and this enable us to coast downhill for at least the last five kilometres into Balgowan. You would think that this would make me happy, what with the fuel savings and all, but all I could think about was that it was going to be a bugger to pull the van back up on the way out. The track to the campsites was just short of Balgowan, so we didn't get a proper look at the place. Instead we turned north on a gravel road that had just be graded and followed it for a kilometre or so.
The side track off of the gravel road was pretty smooth and soon we were at the shoreline. No beaches were visible in either direction. Instead, the shore was a pinkish-red sandstone line of cliffs which was smooth enough to tow the van onto. We headed north for many kilometres, eventually spotting a beach in the distance. Several quite suitable campsites were already behind us but the lure of a sandy beach was too much and we continued on. Before we got to the beach we had no choice but to head inland a bit and we found ourselves on a very narrow track where the trees were overgrown and began to rub along the sides of the van.
There was nowhere to turn around, forcing us to continue onward. After possibly two or three kilometres of this (although it seemed like a lot further), we finally reached a place where we could turn around but, thinking that we would have to go back three kilometres and scratch the van some more, we decided to forge onward - in the vain hope that the track would get better. It didn't. By the time we reached the second camping area, which was too sandy to take the van into, we had less distance to go forward to the next site than we did to go back through all that scrub. Guess what? That bloody scrub lined the track all the way to the final campground. I even had to stop and take the towing mirrors off of the car so that they didn't get smashed.
Here's the rub....when we finally got to the place called "The Gap", there was a perfectly good, normal width, gravel road into it! We could have come directly to this spot without getting a single scratch on anything. Lesson learnt! Anyway, the Gap was pleasant enough and our campsite was just metres from the water's edge. We were the first to get there on that day and were able to park on the only level ground there. As usual we set up the van and then explored the area before sipping a couple of bevvies and watching the Sun set over the Spencer Gulf. Another group of campers, who were well down the beach from us, partied into the night but didn't trouble us as they were too far away for us to hear their festivities.
 |
| The Gap. An OK spot, but was it worth scratching every window in the van? |
Port Victoria is a very small town that has a small fishing industry and not much else. The week before we got there two of the shops had closed their doors. The limited tourism and small population were obviously insufficient to sustain a viable business. The caravan park was set on the side of a hill, affording almost every site excellent views over the "harbour". It wasn't cheap and the amenities weren't the best, but the water pressure was superb, allowing us to filter the water into our tanks in no time at all. So good was the water pressure that the next-door neighbour's hose split and was drenching their pop-top van for hours. In the end I turned it off, as they were obviously away for the day, and the water was clearly going in through the canvas window of their van. If you are a TV addict, Port Victoria is probably not the place for you unless you have a satellite dish or at the very least, a cable to connect to the "piped" service that the caravan park offers. Port Victoria is in a TV "black hole".
 |
| The foreshore at Port Victoria, viewed from the caravan park. |
We enjoyed a meal of fillet steak cooked on the rather dubious hotplate of the Park's BBQ. We opted to use baking paper between our food and the hotplate to avoid getting food poisoning. There were no implements to clean the hotplate with. It was a quite warm night and we spoilt ourselves by running the air conditioner to ensure a good night's sleep. Breakfast was rather hurried as the Sun was streaming in under the awning and was quite intense, right from the get-go. Before long we were on our way, once again heading roughly southward.
Soon we reached Minlaton, a typical grain-belt town. The Yorke Peninsula, like the Eyre Peninsula is dominated by grain growing and fishing industries. The landscape is predominately cleared paddocks with some still holding the stubble remaining from the most recent crop. Barley for brewing is one of the principle crops grown here. The towns are geared toward the industries that surround them, so you will always have the mandatory grain silos, rural suppliers, marine merchants and so on. It sometimes feels a little bit like "Groundhog Day" as these towns are so similar in make-up. Minlaton was no different. It was a pleasant, smallish town with a wide main street that was lined with many small shops as well as the aforementioned businesses.
We simply passed through Minlaton on our way further south. The Yorke Highway (they have a cheek calling it a highway - it was as rough as any bitumen road we've ever been on) took us through Brentwood (about three houses) and on to the turn-off into Hardwicke Bay. We popped in to have a look and found ourselves in a small, neat little seaside village that appeared to be a favourite retirement place for farmers, fishos and the like. It was nice but there was nowhere to camp so, after exploring for a bit, we continued further south.
Within just a few minutes we were turning off the Yorke Highway and heading into Point Turton. This town was obviously one of those "places to be". The plethora of new, not-so-modest dwellings made it clear that if you had money, Point Turton was the place to build. The caravan park was at the base of a substantial limestone hill and was small, neat and full - not that we had any intention of staying there. After looking around, we referred to our Camps book and decide to head about twenty minutes to the west, to Point Souttar.
From Point Turton to Point Souttar you travel along a limestone road in reasonable condition. Dotted along its length are many homes ranging from little more than a shack to quite substantial houses. All are positioned to have uninterrupted views over the water. The campsite at Point Souttar is at the base of the limestone cliff face and can only be approached by going down a single-lane, quite steep, track. I was less worried about going down than I was about going back up later, skull-dragging three and a half tonnes of caravan. Once at the base you follow the track along the seashore to the west, passing craggy reef type beach on one side and the cliff on the other, before rounding a bend and reaching a flat, open area that has been set up as a comfortable camp area.
Facilities were limited but there were rubbish bins and toilets and some of the ground was covered with a hardy grass. All of the grassy sites were already taken, not that this really bothered us, but the beach was choked with a fresh deposit of seaweed, so we decide to go further afield in search of another place to stay. In the meantime we had spoken to some of the established campers at the site and found out that we needed a permit to camp at all of the campsites on this part of the Yorke Peninsula, so we decided to back-track a little to the town of Warooka, where we could obtain the said permits.
Warooka was like most of the other towns that we had been through. It was small, tidy and had the usual complement of shops and businesses. We found the Shire office and the very helpful lady there pointed out several camping grounds and even recommended a few of them. The permit cost $35.00 for seven days and allowed us to stay at any of the Shire controlled campgrounds. On the way back to the car we were hit with the urge to have a "pub meal" at the Warooka Hotel. Big mistake! The meal was absolutely dreadful, I am sorry to report. I rarely tell people outright to avoid a place, but folks, avoid that hotel at all costs.
Feeling quite shithouse after struggling to eat just a little of the meal, we headed back to the car and made our way due west to Gleeson's Landing. This is a very large campsite spread along several kilometres of coastline. It has long-drop dunnies, rubbish collection points, a boat ramp and several hundred sites ranging from very sheltered sites in amongst the trees to very exposed sites with unfettered views, situated right on the cliff faces. We chose one of the latter, at the southern end of the campground and were, initially, the only campers there. With a long-weekend coming up we were sure that our serenity would not last forever.
 |
| Gleesons Landing from our campsite. |
As it turned out, only one other lot of campers turned up and they were a lovely couple anyway, so we had a great stay for six days. We spent our time walking, fishing, photographing and videoing, relaxing and unwinding. The wind (which apparently normally blows all the time) was completely absent for the first five of the six days. Our awning finished about four steps from the five metre sheer drop to the water. To our left was a beach and further still was a rocky point. Around from that rocky point was one of the nicest beaches that we have seen anywhere in Australia. This place must surely be paradise.
Our neighbours were We and Shelley Can (yes, that's right, his name really is We Can) and they and their two children had been coming to this place for many years. They were very helpful with information about what to see and do in the area. We even told me where his fishing spots are. Although armed with the information about the fishing spots, none of us (We included) did any good with the fishing but this didn't spoil our stay. We would happily go back to this place again, but in the meantime we were running out of time and had to move on. Getting the job at Birdsville meant that a trip to Adelaide to have the car serviced was now imperative, as was a shopping mission. So it was that we reluctantly packed up and moved on.
We determined that it would be best to return to complete our exploration of the Yorke Peninsula at a more leisurely pace after we had done our time at Birdsville and, instead, headed for Clare. Clare is inland from the Yorke Peninsula and our path to there took us through Port Wakefield, a busy junction-town on the east-west highway. We found a nice bakery and had lunch, before getting some fuel, assisting another Kedron owner with an electrical problem and making our way to Clare.
Being a long weekend, Clare was bursting at the seams with holiday makers (including about half a million kids.) We couldn't get a powered site at the caravan park, not that it bothered us, and we were to meet another couple of Kedron owners there. Chris and Val were at the MacDonnell Range Caravan park when we were staying there some years earlier and we have kept aqainted in the meantime. It was nice to see them in person again and we had a lovely "sundowner" with bevvies and nibblies as we chatted into the evening. It is always nice to listen to other people's travel stories, hints and tips and so on, and this was no exception. On hearing of our plans to stay near Adelaide while shopping and getting our car service, Chris and Val generously offered for us to park the caravan on their property at Springton in the Barrossa Valley.
Springton became our destination and after bidding Chris and Val goodbye, we made our way there under the guidance of the very expensive GPS in the car. Well, the GPS had a sense of humour, taking us on some pretty dodgy "short cuts" on what passed for roads (at a pinch) before trying to take us right through the real Springton to a phantom Springton at some place known only to itself. Luckilly, Chris and Val had given us a very detailed description of where their property was and I was able to spot it before the vehicle navigation system took us off into the boonies somewhere. For the record, Springton has a general store, a smattering of houses and a pub/tavern. It is a quite small town, but that's just how we like them.
We set up on Chris and Val's vacant block and left for Adelaide with plenty of time to get to our destination before sundown. We were bound for a Big 4 Caravan park at Marion, about a half hour drive (depending on the traffic) from the centre of the city. We stayed there once before and knew that there were some nice cabins there. Staying in the cabins would have been more expensive than staying in the van but by the time we towed the van into the city and back out again (up the steep Adelaide Hills), not to mention negotiating the manic Adelaide traffic, it was just so much easier to pay for the cabin.
We settled in and made ourselves comfortable, researching where we needed to go over the next two days and what would be the most logical order in which to do things. Essentially, we had to: get parts for the van; get the car serviced; buy some clothes for our new job and winter warmth; stock up on food and essentials and importantly, spend up on grog (we were going to buy our full quota for our seven-month stay at Birdsville, because we knew that the prices there would be horrendous - even though we would be working at the Pub.)
Everything went smoothly, except (as we were to discover later) the car service and we were back at Springton on the third day. We overnighted in our van before attempting to set off the next day. That's when we found out about the car service going wrong. Before starting the car in the morning I checked the engine oil level, which is now done with a display on the instrument panel (there is no dipstick on the engine of the car.) The oil level was over the maximum mark and the display was quite clear stating "Engine overfilled - DO NOT START VEHICLE"
Thinking that the car might be just full and perhaps parked on slightly uneven ground, I checked the position of the vehicle and found that it was as near as dammit to being level. Bugger! I decide to phone the dealer but we found ourselves in a "mobile phone black hole." Our external aerial on the van was able to get a signal for the Internet, but it was patchy at best. Thankfully, Chris and Val had given us the passcode to their Internet connection and from outside their house I was able to get enough signal from their wireless network to send an email.
Nearly an hour later we got a reply which basically denied responsibility but asked for us to take a photograph of the display and send it to them, because they had never heard of the warning message that we described. This I did and it eventually went through on the Internet connection. While waiting for a reply I busied myself under the bonnet, checking that the over-filled engine had not blown oil out through the breather. It had not done this, but whilst checking I noticed that the cover of the air box was still liberally coated in Pilbara dust, with no finger prints in it to show that the air filter had been changed. I had explicity instructed the dealer to change this filter, along with another filter. That hadn't been done either.
Eventually we got a reply to the second message that we sent, saying that the mechanic that did the job was absolutely positive that he put the exact amount of oil in the engine and that the oil level reading may not have reset itself properly. They advised me to disconnect the vehicle's battery for a few minutes, before reconnecting it again and looking at the oil level once more. This I did and happily, the problem seemed to be rectified. I still gave them a written spray about the filters in my next message to them. The last reply from them was most contrite and apologetic, with them owning up to a "communication breakdown" in the workshop.
In our last vehicle I always carried spares of everything. We had decided not to in this vehicle, in part because we never had to use the spares in the past, and also to save weight and space. So here I was without a clean air filter, about to set off into the desert. I sure as Hell wasn't going to waste another three to four hours by driving back to Adelaide to get one, so we reluctantly headed off to Birdsville about four hours later than we would have wanted.
So commenced the journey into the next phase of our lives and the subject of our next blog......
No comments:
Post a Comment