The Track

- How many days did it take you to get here, she asked.

- It's like Wednesday today, right?

- It's Friday.

- Oh.

The Stuart Highway, The Explorers Way, or The Track. Many names to describe the same road. And "The Same Road" is probably the best description of them all. We skate from road house to road house, from camp site to camp site, but the road pretty much look the same. It's slightly hillier now, but using any other mode of transportation, including walking, and you would hardly notice the climbs.

The vehicles passing us can be distinctly categorized. First, the road trains. We get off the road entirely when we hear them approaching. Their tinted wind shield makes it difficult to determine the mood of the driver, but they stop at nothing.

Second, the retired people in their campers. They usually smile, might wave or, if they think fast enough, take a picture.

Then the hippie vans. Young guys on a road trip. They cheer and give a thumbs up.

Forth, the women in expensive cars. They're stone faced.

The coach driver waves his hand in appreciation, happy we moved out of his way.

Those are the travellers on The Same Road. Add the odd motorcyclist and the local farmer hauling something to somewhere, and you've got the full picture.

No traffic most of the time though.

Like a big baby.

Charlie, the buffalo hypnotized by Crocodile Dundee, died and got put on display at Adelaide River Inn.

Third meeting with the law.

Road train. Photo Sofia.

Other people camping usually have cold beer. Much appreciated.