goodie
...
And just to clarify....I did NOT pinch a Yowie-dick (on that occasion) as a souvenir!
And neither did I
|
|
|
Birtles vs Australia
- Thread starter platypus121
- Start date
And neither did I
platypus121
Tour Pro
What? .... so .... it's not a female Yowie, then?
No wonder it didn't respond to my advances.
Damn, if the males are that good looking, the females must be real dolls!
.
No wonder it didn't respond to my advances.
Damn, if the males are that good looking, the females must be real dolls!
.
Yeah, they've got a bit of a problem with that yin/yang thing up north, already starts in NSW with the Mardi Gras
platypus121
Tour Pro
.
ACT 7
In which we hear bells in the forest, abuse the faithful, laugh at cemeteries, and meet one tough bastard.
We head inland on the D’Aigular Highway, soon turning off onto the picturesque Neurum road.
Display of large wood carvings at Goody Park.
Top of Lake Somerset at Villeneuve.
Through Kilcoy again and onto the Jimna Road, heading up into the hills. Almost no traffic
and an easy surface give us time to enjoy the bush settings, and we stop several times
just to listen to the birds singing in the eucalypts. I think they are Bellbirds: if
they are not, they should be - sound just like little bells, all tinkling away happily.
Being out of my usual environment sharpens the senses. Back home if I stopped
in a forest and the birds were chorusing, it would probably not even be noticed -
here each new sound or new vista rushes into the senses and stands out fresh
and clear.
Tracks head off into the bush every few kilometres with no sign as to where they
might lead. That is too much of a temptation for Birtles, and one of them has to be
explored. As we get further from the road there’s another temptation, to just sit
in the grass (amongst all the MD’s) and become part of the scene - easier for me
than Birtles with all his day-glow fittings.
Over the Great Dividing Range again and the land opens out into gently rolling
pasture stretching to the line of hills on the horizon. It could be savannah land
anywhere in the world, except for the ever-present eucalypts and the occasional
Kookaburra that brand this area distinctly Australian.
Iconic …. !!
Moronic …. !!
It takes all sorts, and the world would be a poorer place without a variety of people, but
I’d rather be without this looney with his endless supply of metal rectangles,
red paint and limited range of expression. His efforts have been seen nailed to trees through
NSW and Queensland, and at each one I wished I had a ladder and a claw hammer.
Since I didn’t, a bit of post-trip photo manipulation is the best I can do to lessen my
distaste for the evil tree-mutilator.
Ban Ban Springs, where in the long ago the Rainbow Serpent came to the surface and
created a spring that still runs today. A plaque lists the further activities of the
Rainbow Serpent and the significance of the area to the original inhabitants.
I usually go all gooey and New Age-y at a site like this, but all I see here before me
is a spring - there is no mystique, no aura, no feeling of being somewhere special.
This may be because I read that, some years ago, a larrikin levelled the area with a bulldozer
and the whole area was later reconstructed. So now the spring has become like the
Kelly Tree - it marks the spot, but only as an impotent understudy of the missing original.
Welcome to Trev’s Place, Gayndah.
Urgent corrective podiatry needed at Mundubbera
Road signs for cemeteries really do need a bit of extra thought. The pairing of a cemetery
sign with “Dead End” or “No Exit” is often seen. Maybe it is deliberate, meant to cheer
you up a bit when you visit the graves.
Munduberra carefully avoids the cliché ….
Funny ‘ol things are cemeteries.
In them we are all levelled, literally and figuratively, yet segregated burial plots strive
to ensure the divisions that religion created in life are not healed in death.
This is the ancient lungfish which gave its name to the nearby locality of Ceratodus.
Once found in local waters but now only on a mural in Munduberra.
Birtles fraternises with the Big Boys who are lounging about at the side of the road,
making eyes at every passing Italian car.
Another cemetery, another laugh.
The things you find at the side of the road!
This puffball has found a niche all its own. It grew further off the road as well, but
right on the edge of the tar seal seemed to be the preferred place. It is so fragile that
just a touch with a boot and it will disintegrate, yet it grows through the stones, pushing
them and the tar aside. No doubt it already has a scientific name, but I called it Globulus Toughbastardi.
Mini volcano created by ants.
Nature studies can delay us so long. Tomorrow head for Theodore, Springsure, and then
the Dawson Development Road. Reports from locals are not very encouraging about the DDR,
but, as one admirer of Birtles told me :
"It's a Honda - it will never fail". With all respect to Birtles, I think that is what's called blind faith.
To be continued ....
ACT 7
In which we hear bells in the forest, abuse the faithful, laugh at cemeteries, and meet one tough bastard.
We head inland on the D’Aigular Highway, soon turning off onto the picturesque Neurum road.
Display of large wood carvings at Goody Park.
Top of Lake Somerset at Villeneuve.
Through Kilcoy again and onto the Jimna Road, heading up into the hills. Almost no traffic
and an easy surface give us time to enjoy the bush settings, and we stop several times
just to listen to the birds singing in the eucalypts. I think they are Bellbirds: if
they are not, they should be - sound just like little bells, all tinkling away happily.
Being out of my usual environment sharpens the senses. Back home if I stopped
in a forest and the birds were chorusing, it would probably not even be noticed -
here each new sound or new vista rushes into the senses and stands out fresh
and clear.
Tracks head off into the bush every few kilometres with no sign as to where they
might lead. That is too much of a temptation for Birtles, and one of them has to be
explored. As we get further from the road there’s another temptation, to just sit
in the grass (amongst all the MD’s) and become part of the scene - easier for me
than Birtles with all his day-glow fittings.
Over the Great Dividing Range again and the land opens out into gently rolling
pasture stretching to the line of hills on the horizon. It could be savannah land
anywhere in the world, except for the ever-present eucalypts and the occasional
Kookaburra that brand this area distinctly Australian.
Iconic …. !!
Moronic …. !!
It takes all sorts, and the world would be a poorer place without a variety of people, but
I’d rather be without this looney with his endless supply of metal rectangles,
red paint and limited range of expression. His efforts have been seen nailed to trees through
NSW and Queensland, and at each one I wished I had a ladder and a claw hammer.
Since I didn’t, a bit of post-trip photo manipulation is the best I can do to lessen my
distaste for the evil tree-mutilator.
Ban Ban Springs, where in the long ago the Rainbow Serpent came to the surface and
created a spring that still runs today. A plaque lists the further activities of the
Rainbow Serpent and the significance of the area to the original inhabitants.
I usually go all gooey and New Age-y at a site like this, but all I see here before me
is a spring - there is no mystique, no aura, no feeling of being somewhere special.
This may be because I read that, some years ago, a larrikin levelled the area with a bulldozer
and the whole area was later reconstructed. So now the spring has become like the
Kelly Tree - it marks the spot, but only as an impotent understudy of the missing original.
Welcome to Trev’s Place, Gayndah.
Urgent corrective podiatry needed at Mundubbera
Road signs for cemeteries really do need a bit of extra thought. The pairing of a cemetery
sign with “Dead End” or “No Exit” is often seen. Maybe it is deliberate, meant to cheer
you up a bit when you visit the graves.
Munduberra carefully avoids the cliché ….
Funny ‘ol things are cemeteries.
In them we are all levelled, literally and figuratively, yet segregated burial plots strive
to ensure the divisions that religion created in life are not healed in death.
This is the ancient lungfish which gave its name to the nearby locality of Ceratodus.
Once found in local waters but now only on a mural in Munduberra.
Birtles fraternises with the Big Boys who are lounging about at the side of the road,
making eyes at every passing Italian car.
Another cemetery, another laugh.
The things you find at the side of the road!
This puffball has found a niche all its own. It grew further off the road as well, but
right on the edge of the tar seal seemed to be the preferred place. It is so fragile that
just a touch with a boot and it will disintegrate, yet it grows through the stones, pushing
them and the tar aside. No doubt it already has a scientific name, but I called it Globulus Toughbastardi.
Mini volcano created by ants.
Nature studies can delay us so long. Tomorrow head for Theodore, Springsure, and then
the Dawson Development Road. Reports from locals are not very encouraging about the DDR,
but, as one admirer of Birtles told me :
"It's a Honda - it will never fail". With all respect to Birtles, I think that is what's called blind faith.
To be continued ....
Last edited:
goodie
...
You found Goody Park - MY park????
Great write-up, Bernard! I'm with you all the way (I wish....)
penguineer
just luscious
.
Road signs for cemeteries really do need a bit of extra thought. The pairing of a cemetery
sign with “Dead End” or “No Exit” is often seen. Maybe it is deliberate, meant to cheer
you up a bit when you visit the graves.
Munduberra carefully avoids the cliché ….
Someone must have stolen the sign for the tip which is a little further down that same road.....
This is the ancient lungfish which gave its name to the nearby locality of Ceratodus.
Once found in local waters but now only on a mural in Munduberra.
The lungfish are in the area, but only a rarity these days.
That painting is called "The Meeting of the Waters" (Mundubbera' meaning in local language) to signify the meeting of the Mary, Burnett and Boyne rivers. It is painted on the side of the town sewage treatment plant.
Cheers!
MooN
Tour Pro
great write up & pics, thanks for taking the time to share, i'm following along with great interest.
I can imagine the fun & confusion with Aussie place names, but if it's at all reassuring, there are stories of Aussies falling foul of a similar situation in the uk.
One such story, possibly apocryphal, has a pair of Aussie students phoning for a taxi to take them from "Lay sester" train station to the uni at "lugah baroogah" (italics to be read aloud in strong aus accent)
it took the taxi company a while to figure out that they wanted a pick up at LEICESTER train station (pronounced "Lester") to go to LOUGHBOROUGH university (pronounced" luffbrur")...
keep the pics & words coming, I'm loving it :bow:
I can imagine the fun & confusion with Aussie place names, but if it's at all reassuring, there are stories of Aussies falling foul of a similar situation in the uk.
One such story, possibly apocryphal, has a pair of Aussie students phoning for a taxi to take them from "Lay sester" train station to the uni at "lugah baroogah" (italics to be read aloud in strong aus accent
)it took the taxi company a while to figure out that they wanted a pick up at LEICESTER train station (pronounced "Lester") to go to LOUGHBOROUGH university (pronounced" luffbrur")...
keep the pics & words coming, I'm loving it :bow:
platypus121
Tour Pro
.
ACT 8
In which we see underwear (some in parlous condition), encounter an unhappy
Hereford, receive warnings of dangerous beasts, and anticipate the journey to Tambo.
The road to Cracow
A beaut Cracow tree with the fabled pub on right.
Pub interior resembles a second hand clothes shop. Do patrons arrive with an old
pair of undies or a bra in their back pockets, or do they take off what they arrive in
and depart feeling cooler ?
Whenever I see these displays - walls covered in old clothes, fences with displays of
sneakers, ceilings plastered with currency from around the world - they get me wondering.
WHY? is easy. The decorator is making his mark by leaving a bit of himself behind for
others to see, like a cat marking its territory, and the more eye-catching the marking
the better. Sounds simple, but there are pitfalls in the marking world - it is easy to
ignore the marking hierarchy. Without a working knowledge of this, markings will
be ineffective and attract little attention. The ranking system can be related to poker hands :
One Pair : Hankerchief (white, clean)
Two Pair : Hankerchief (dirty, coloured)
Three of a Kind: Socks (dirty, at least two holes)
Straight : T-Shirt (dirty, torn)
Flush: Jocks, Panties (clean)
Full House: Bra (best if very big or very small)
Four of a Kind: Artificial limbs, plaster casts
Straight Flush: Heavily soiled underwear
Royal Flush: Used prophylactics
WHO? is harder. While we may never know which individual started the marking
trend, anthropologists have reconstructed how conversations may have gone at the
very first marking. One widely accepted scenario goes like this :
“Hey, Davo! I'm feeling a bit toastie, what say I strip off me jocks an pin em to the wall?”
“Idea, Philo, idea! Hey, Cheryl, wanna stick ya bra nex ta Philo’s jocks?”
“Bloody hell, Davo, ya nongo! Ok, I'll just finish me beer first. Hey, Denise, wanna … … … “
And so it began.
There are lots of character buildings in Cracow.
It’s a bit flasher in Theodore, where the hotel has a vaguely art-deco look,
… but more importantly, next to the Dawson River there is a pleasant free camping
area provided by the town. Very popular with caravans that fill every space but are
unable to breach a log barrier around the grassed area. Birtles slips through with ease
and has several acres of grass from which to choose a tent site.
Not everyone in Theodore is happy.
What could be upsetting this young Hereford?
Oh, I see his point.
Theodore evening. Warm, still, peaceful - at least until I offer to pin my jocks to the
café wall just above the espresso machine.
From Theodore we take the back road past the Kianga mines, another huge venture
that for 30 kilometres is ripping the guts out of Mother Earth.
Moura and Rolleston roll past - we are pushing hard, west on the Dawson Highway
to Springsure where it will become the Dawson Development Road. Then, a mere
246 kilometres on the DDR, most of it dirt, and then we will be in Tambo - we do all
know what is in Tambo, don’t we?
But first, some photographs of Springsure, where we take note of warning signs.
Inwardly, we hope to encounter one or more of these dangerous creatures, if
only to prove that they exist.
There are other travellers in town who are aware of the danger. They move cautiously,
freezing in Marcel Marceau poses at doorways and corners until the way is checked
for marauding Koalas. It’s slow, stop-start progress, but it’s safe and earns the
respect of locals who are gratified that the ever present killer amongst them is being
given due respect.
I adopt exaggerated displays of caution and apprehension, scanning every tree and
bush for the tell-tale signs of Koala, such as animal carcasses with large chunks torn from them.
If my caution fails and it goes wrong - Birtles gets mauled by a rogue Koala, for example -
it’s reassuring to know “Alice’s Rough 24 Hr Towing” will be there to help us get to Tambo.
Rough towing? Is that cheaper than regular towing?
Ahhhh…. Nice.
Drop-in engine / gearbox replacement for Birtles at the outdoor museum.
And electric parts are available too.
Springsure has a display celebrating 100 years of federation. One of the sections
is a series of glazed tiles by young children. Some of the connections with federation
are a little obscure, but there are some charming pieces.
And the winner is …. Rebecca Stone !
Judges interpreted Rebecca’s work to be an insightful metaphor for politics and politicians.
(The windmill turning endlessly without moving from the spot represents empty
political promises; the chubby pig symbolises the makers of those promises, happily
growing fat on the public purse while trampling and crapping on the common
folk represented by the artist’s name along the bottom; all the while, the high
ideals of federation rise out of reach, blown away by the stream of empty promises
from the windmill and chopped into unintelligible pieces by its blades).
Rebecca explained it more simply: “ Isa piggy, ana winmill.”
Evening falls on Federated Springsure.
Under the blaze of the LED tent light I check what the DDR involves. What exactly
is a development road anyway? Lots of dirt, maybe sand, and corrugations for sure -
all good tests for the new tank. Whatever it holds in store, it is the only way to get to
Tambo without a huge loop of more than double the distance of the DDR
…. and we all know why we have to get to Tambo.
Outside the tent there are sounds like bricks falling into deep mud. The Koalas are dropping
from the trees to start their night hunting. There is a little comfort in the tyre iron
next to my pillow - it won’t be much use against a hungry full grown bull Koala.
There are also muffled murmurings, too quiet to understand but every so often a
word stands out : “ride”, “….”, “die”, “climb”.
I leave them to their debate. By morning they will have come to a decision - if
the Koalas don’t get them.
To be continued …..