Cruisin the Returd Highway: Rawlinna to Neale Junction and a bit beyond

Rawlinna to Neale Junction and a bit beyond

Calvin (the entire population of Rawlinna) had told us that the first 80 kilometres of the Connie Sue was a “bit rough” so we reasoned (somewhat stupidly) that it must smooth out a bit after that. He didn’t mince his words – the first 80 kilometres was bone-jarringly rough as we wound around the larger rocks, went over the smaller rocks and suffered hits to our undercarriage from the rocks that we thought were smaller but turned out not to be. The surrounding countryside was basically a part of the Nullarbor Plain so was largely bereft of significant vegetation and it was interesting to see the quite rapid transition as we entered more wooded country about 40 kilometres up the track. It was such hard going that the X-Trail remained in second gear just about all the way. Then the trouble started! While negotiating the rocks on the track around 30 kilometres out of Rawlinna I noticed a warning light come on the console. Was this Nissan’s little way of saying “I hope you have a nice day”? Maurs checked out the symbol in the driver’s manual – apparently it was the diesel particulate filter light telling us “I am clogged” - the solution? – simple! – “burn off the particulates by driving the vehicle above 60 km/h until the light goes out”. Yeah that’ll work! With little prospect of getting over 20 km/h anytime soon we chugged along hoping like hell that the filter didn’t choke up completely. Our electrical connections weren’t faring much better. The Anderson plug that supplies power to the camper kept separating as we ran over thick bushes so I disconnected all plugs to the camper to avoid any permanent damage (and I figured that no one would be looking for a right hand turn indicator light for the next 700 kilometres anyway).

Lunch - slightly off road

Trackin' on the Nullarbor

In winter, night falls quickly out in this part of the world so by 3 pm we were looking for a campsite and that’s where our first day on the Connie Sue ended, 80 kilometres up the track (and yes Calvin, it was a “bit rough”) – we had taken 5 hours to travel that distance so we had averaged 16 km/h. It was time to lick our wounds (first blood to Connie Sue I’d say) and prepare for Day 2, well Day 3 actually. It was a good campsite and we needed to recharge our 12 Volt battery systems with our solar panels, plus we weren’t particularly in a hurry to get anywhere. We had great campfires both nights and set off the next day confident of a better ride.

Celebrating the first day

Oh the camping life!

Red sky at night...

Ah the camping life!

Gus tending the fire

We encountered our first camel, a beast we were assured there was no shortage of in this country. It did the non-sensible thing and plodded along the track ahead of us rather than get off. They like roads! Who wouldn’t? Eventually we were able to influence its trajectory sufficiently that it turned off (probably for a well-earned rest).

Off the road big fella!

About 10 kilometres in we came across three road workers dressed in the obligatory high-vis clothing and big hats perched in front of a wide expanse of pretty good looking road. Was this our salvation? Had someone actually fixed the Connie Sue? I wasn’t sure if the guy was being humble about his road-repair skills or not when he told us the road was a bit patchy and bull-dusty. We took off. It turned out to be a bit patchy and bull-dusty and we tried every possible side of this (quite wide) road to find the best way forward. We didn’t really find it, but it was far better to take the stretch at speed than not. We got up to 70/80 km/h at times – and long enough to see the diesel particulate filter light fade from the screen at last. Well that was a small victory. Of course we lost complete sight of Kev and Shirley as we rode along in front of our own private massive dust envelope, but we found each other again as we got back to more “normal” road conditions. We came to a fork in the road where there was an open tin shelter and a water tank. The better looking road led to the Tjuntjuntjarra Aboriginal community – the shitty road was the Connie Sue Highway. We stopped to read the tank messages (the tank was a bit like a corrugated iron Facebook device with various postings of local opinions such as “Buddy Franklin – Fuckin’ Legend” and interesting news of recent liaisons between various individuals. We took the opportunity to top up a jerry can with water (we had a two-tiered system for water – “drinking” water and “bath/dish” water kept in segregated containers – this lot we designated as dish water, but only because we didn’t really know its quality) and continued our date with Connie Sue.

Connie Sue Notice Board

About 200 metres up the road we came across a dead camel sprawled across the track (not sure why it chose the road as its preferred place to stop drawing breath but I suspect it suffered from abrupt lead poisoning, possibly at the hands of someone less patient than us as it sauntered up the track rather than heading into the bush) – it would not be the last dead camel we would have to skirt around either. Another ominous sight just off the road was a sprinkling of charred, stripped vehicles indicating that not everybody has a successful transit of the Connie Sue. The road continued to be okay and we stopped for lunch and to collect firewood prior to arriving at Neale Junction (there are advisory notices to bring your own wood to the Junction as previous happy campers over the years had stripped the area of burnable stuff; plus it is a Nature Reserve so you can’t go burning off all of the Nature). The road deteriorated about 30 kilometres out of Neale Junction reducing our speed and dimming our hopes of an earlier arrival.

Why die there!!

We rolled into Neale Junction mid-afternoon. There was nobody there but 4WD groups had generously provided facilities such as an open iron shelter and lunch tables, a water tank, fireplaces and a toilet – all of which were greatly appreciated. We stayed there for two nights and although it was cloudy, windy and cool, we were quite comfortable. On the second morning Maureen and I walked to Len Beadell’s iconic data plate, read and signed the travellers’ book, and posed for photos in a light rain. We heard a deep rumble coming out of the east and sure enough there appeared a 4WD Land Rover, although it looked and drove more like a Panzer tank. This made sense when we discovered two Germans in it. They actually lived in New Zealand and had the Panzer shipped over for the invasion – sorry, tour. They were travelling the Ann Beadell Highway (runs east-west) to Laverton and then planned to tackle the Canning Stock Route. No easy road in life for this intrepid couple. They seemed unfazed by anything, and their preparation appeared to be impeccable. I reckon if there was ever a nuclear holocaust the only living things left on Earth would be cockroaches and them. They also belonged to the slow-but-sure school of traveller and after a brief but friendly conversation plodded off towards the west at a brisk 20 km/h on a stretch where even I might have taken it up to 40 or 50.

Bit of solar action happening

Len Beadell's Plate - Neale Junction

Neale Junction campsite

ze Panzer departs for Laverton

As Neale Junction is the halfway point for the Connie Sue and a convergence with the Ann Beadell track an enterprising gent named Andy has left a supply of business cards there offering to come out to retrieve any poor unfortunate city slicker whose vehicle has happened to die in situ. Andy is based about 350 kilometres away in the town of Laverton and although no prices were mentioned on the card, you just knew that if you had to make the call to Andy you could expect your arm and your leg to automatically separate from your body as payment for the recovery (I took his card, by the way – unlike Maurs I refused to be confident of the X-Trail completing the journey unscathed, and if you do happen to become stranded in that remote area you would be very happy to see Andy turn up to get you out of there – and what’s an arm and a leg anyway, hey, we’ve got two of each!).

Who ya gonna call?!!

As it happened, on the very next day I actually had visions of grabbing the satellite phone and dialling Andy’s number and in a voice of abject resignation say, “Andy, come and get me, and yes my arm and leg are prepped and ready for removal!” as we faced our biggest challenge –a sand dune of enormous proportions. It looked so high it could have been snow-covered on top (well that’s how it looked to me). Kev and I walked the obstacle, doing a bit of smoothing of the track to ensure the best possible path before I, with not much confidence but a lot of determination, tore off up the hill.

Kev and Gus considering the challenge

The little Nissan answered the call and zoomed up to the top. “OMG” I whooped out loud, even though I was alone in the vehicle, “I’m a city slicker and I think I’m actually going to make this!” I had veritably sailed up over that massive steep dune, camper in tow, and then just over the top of the hill, the car sank miserably into the soft sand and stuck fast. I sat there, engine silent. I may have sobbed a little. Thereupon the four of us began the task of extricating the Nissan from the bog. It took three hours! Shirley came up to me at one point and said “Are ya havin’ fun yet Uncle Gaz?” I told her that no, I wasn’t and got back on my belly, shovelling loose, wet sand from underneath the chassis while light rain continued to fall on my head. With the aid of our recovery tracks and a lot of hard work we finally got free. Kevin and the Pajero made it up and over without incident. We drove to a new campsite, not a great piece of real estate as it looked like it could get boggy very quickly if it started raining, but we had little choice. We lit a nice campfire, and cooked a meal. As I licked my wounds in front of the crackling fire, I imagined Andy at his place four hundred odd kilometres away with a wan smile on his face, sitting with can of beer in hand in front of his fire, perhaps a couple of American Pit Bulls lying at his thonged, unwashed feet, patiently waiting for my call…that never came!