Day 348 | Allan Terry Caravan Park: it's raining finally

rest day

The rain’s a day early so I spend the day under the semi-shelter of the one sided camp kitchen plugging away on the computer and eating to excess.

I came through Hughenden years ago with my girlfriend, both aged 19, and wondered if I’d recognise anything of it on my return.

We’d hitched up the east coast from Canberra, 3 months staying on beaches, Byron Bay, Yeppoon, Airlie Beach, Dunk Island, (the National Park, not the resort), etc, and then struck off for Darwin. On the outskirts of Townsville, or maybe Charters Towers, we’d been picked up by a guy in a panel van and we’d been stuck in the back of the windowless shaggin’ wagon, if you see it rocking’ don’t bother knockin’, only visibility lying on our stomachs looking through the front windscreen. Somehow I think we drove through the night.

Our driver had been working at the Mary Kathleen uranium mine, yes, it was that long ago, taken his money, $5000 from my recollection, a tidy sum in those days, flown to Sydney and having blown the lot in 10 days was heading back to claim his old job, the only evidence left of his good time was this old hack Holden and a new girlfriend on the front bench seat.

Every town we stopped at the pub for a pit stop and another cold 6 pack takeaway, any more and they would get too warm. Despite the alcohol, and now in retrospect, sleep deprivation, he seemed well enough able to steer that machine, I remember us coming over a rise and bursting with little warning on 3 cattle strewn across the road, killed by a truck in the night perhaps, he negotiated the route through without undue concern, ending up taking us in to look at MK and then on to Mt Isa, an 800km hitch if I remember correctly, the longest ever and all without being able to see out.

Hughenden was instantly recognisable, mainly for the centre parking in the main street, distinctive as it’s undercover, as in a roof. Not much else had changed, a huge old pub had closed, the old shops in the street are predominantly filled with dusty old junk, maybe it’s been sitting there since my last visit.

When you think of it the brain is a remarkable memory bank, how can it hold those obscure memories from so long ago, unassisted by the prompting of ancient blogs or images. That’s verging on 2/3rds of a lifetime ago. Almost.

Later I find that the undercover and even the centre parking are a more recent addition to the streetscape, funny how the old memory can play tricks with you.

The joy of the Internet is that we can now inflict our memories, whether pseudo or true, on not only our family and friends, who understandably have limited appreciation, but perfect strangers as well.