It’s 7.25 a.m.
I am in Delungra — about thirty kilometres out of Inverell in NSW.
I left Glen Innes yesterday because it was time.
Arrived here around 4 p.m.
One servo. One pub. One church. One café (thats what the aero attendant told me, though I’m unsure where it is).
Several houses.
It’s dry and dusty, and my hay fever is beginning to go nuts again.
When I pulled in yesterday, I was the only person in the showgrounds — $20 a night for shower and power.
And this morning, I’m still the only one here.
I’m thinking of giving the site a two-star rating.
The amenities need a serious upgrade. The toilets are clean but old. The shower needs a complete do-over — marked by time and the debris collected from eddies of dust and whatnot. Those eddies stick in the edges and make it look so unappealing, I was reluctant to let any skin touch any part of that cubicle.
It feels like a one-horse town. Even the young clerk at the servo where I paid for my night here was a little bumbling in his lack of understanding. I had to pay cash for the booking — no cards accepted — which was an effort. And ‘cash only’ always comes across to me as hinky.
But I had a shower.
Connected Vera to the power source — one grey power box on an old telephone pole.
As I relaxed in the back of Vera, someone nearby mowed their dirt until only the grassy bits were left — ha!
As the night wore on, I was pestered by hay fever and mosquitoes, and nearby dogs barked incessantly.
BUT —
for the first time in months, I was truly alone, and I LOVED it.
I didn’t feel isolated or lonely — just deeply alone.
Not one other person in the showgrounds with me.
Sigh.
My body hummed with contentment as I found the time and space to return to me — to the woman I am — to feel my softness again.
A beautiful night, though I didn’t sleep until almost midnight.
Occasional trucks thundered through the night, but I slept until almost 7 a.m. — only the second time since I began road life in Vera. Nobody winching their trailer tent closed like two mornings ago in Beardy Waters. Nobody coughing up their smoke-laden lungs to the point of almost vomiting.
This morning, I discovered the tap won’t work in Vera after I filled her up with water yesterday. Not sure what happened.
If it no longer works, I’m surprised by my lack of panic or distress about feeling that I BROKE something in my van.
As long as I can siphon all the water out — if she’s broken beyond repair — then I can handle it.
But why carry the extra weight if the tap is broken?
It’s another day in road life, and the mix of what works and what doesn’t — both human and mechanical — creates a soft background texture that only road-lifers know.
Time to move on. Time for a coffee. Time for more solitude.
Christine Writer 