We spent two nights at Borroloola. The first afternoon a caravan arrived and we got into conversation with the owner. Typical travelers tales. Where have you come from? Oh, that’s the way we’re going. How was the road?
The road, he said, was bloody awful, the bull dust had him fighting the steering wheel, the dips were ferocious, the corrugations were bone jarring. Would we like a look in the van?
It was a scene of devastation. The drawers and their contents were strewn across the floor. Red dust lay on everything. His car was in no better condition, the rear window was broken, red dust covered the interior. He was quite upbeat about the situation. He had survived the battle. Among the fragments of celebration he did mention 80 kph, getting airborne and that he never reduced his tyre pressures. It caused us some concern. For us, not him.
When it was our turn Gayle prepared the inside of the van with great care. When we got to the dirt road I let the tyres down 25% all round and we proceeded at moderate speed. 317 km to go. The creek crossings were mainly dry, the dips in and out were taken slowly. The bulldust was avoidable or manageable at modest speed. The corrugations were corrugations, choose the quietest route and vary speed to suit. Conditions varied with the underlying substrate, some sections were rocky, some sandy. There were two wet creek crossings and a couple of puddles to negotiate.
We had intended to take two days for the journey but progress was better than expected and at lunch time we moved the goal posts and went all the way to Hell’s Gate. No damage. No dust. No drama.
Nothing like hell or its gates. A pleasant campsite by a bore fed pond. The odd Agile Wallaby and Antilopine Walleroo passing by.
bobmcgee 