As agreed the night before, instead of the languid breakfast schedule, we were up, packed, and ready-to-go within 45 minutes. So long stinky Cattle Camp.
The GPS was handy in directing us back though the trees and around the deep, twisty stream beds to the main road. It was a quick hour's run to Mount Dare. We arrived by 9am.
The homestead operator, Dave, was surprised we had come in so early, and the rooms weren’t going to be ready for another few hours. We took this as bad news, as some of our early-morning efficency-motivation was coming from knowledge that we’d be enjoying a decent breakfast plus showers in only a few hours.
We decided to kill time by driving down to Dalhousie Springs, 70km away. Perhaps 20% of the way there we got a hailing call on the CB from Mom & Dad, that they had a ‘possible flat.’ Groan, we already had only just enough tires to go into the Simpson desert. Eating a tire here would fuck us.
We drove back, and sure enough, the front left tire had some huge rips in the sidewall. In fact, the back left one looked like it had seen heavy action too. I guess he ran off the road a bit and into and along the graded gibber scree that lines the road. This left us all extremely irritated and disgusted. After fixing the flat, we decided the plan would be back to Mt Dare, see if we could get a new tire there, otherwise, a conservative retun up the Stuart Highway, to Alice, to get a repair. Then try again. Mood was black – first the destroyed KAP rig, now this.
When we got back there, the owner, Dave, said he could put a tire on. We hung around for an hour or so, waiting for the rooms to be finished and the tire to be fixed. Matt went off for an hour’s hike. Mom and Dad baked in the car listening to more Orville Wright, the 30yo invalid, and Ling and I loitered.
Dave fixed us with a tire – a used one, but at least a safety margin.
Next we got our rooms. Mt. Dare is simply a house that’s been filled up with a bunch of beds. The style is the classic Australian home with a 10ft porch, enclosed, that runs the perimeter of the house. In places, though, they’d permanently enclosed it into a kitchen area. That renovation was less aesthetic, but the rest of the house was quite rustic and cool. Ling and I liked it quite a lot.
I kept getting smell tracks of my grandparents' former home, so that made it fieel quite homey. Cannot figure out what the smell is – the only commonality I can see was old linoleum and old wood. If I ever need a week's escape to just chill out, take walks, and work on a lap-top, Mt. Dare would be a nice place to do so.
After cleaning up, and eating scraps for lunch, we were in a better mood. Dinner would be after night, at 730, so we decided to drive down to Dalhousie again. We drove about 20% of the way when I picked up a shopping bag or debris around the wheel, as I heard the phft phft phft phft through the window. As I slowed down, the sound's period also slowed down. As I came to a halt, we still wishfully hoped it a bit of debris (in the middle of a huge desert...), but of course it wasn’t….. My right rear tire was flat. Absolutely staggered an dumbfound and disgusted and angry we stared at it. So I hadn’t run off the road, was only driving 80kmh, and hadn’t hit anything obviously nasty. So wtf is the problem?
So… change that tire too. Now we have no spares left except the stopgap Mt. Dare spare. During our training course with Jol, one of the first things we did was check the tire pressure. Jol and Ken declared the 50-55 psi the Budget rentals came with as deadly. So we drained them down to 30/35 (f/r) on his instruction. It worked fine the whole time.
But after the second flat, I looked at the tire… it said “55psi” on it. Not “55 max” or “35/55” No. it said “55 psi.” Well hell. So I checked the owner's manual. For the 7.5x16 tires (Dunlop Street Grippers SP) we were running, the recommended pressure was also higher 42/54 !! Ugh. So it appeared to us that the tires were simply too soft for the road conditions. We were in gibber country. The road is an amalgam of dirt and sharp gibber scree. Our idea is that the tires are just too soft and bounce and slice against the embedded scree. We bumped everything up to 42psi and drove more slowly back. It‘s still confusing to us.
Along the way, and too my utter horror, Dad asked a passing convoy (including a 6-wheel Land Cruiser) what their tire pressures were, and mentioned that we had just destroyed several of our tires. . The other drivers were damn soft – low thirties. Somemore, they conditioned that by saying, “but we’re running a trailer [so our pressures are higher than normal]” The interim conclusion we reached was: “these are cheap tires (Dunlop SP Street Grippers) that must be run at high pressure, otherwise they rip. That running at 55psi makes the tires too hard on these outback roads is another problem. Basically these tires seem unsuited for safe and reliable travel on outback roads.”
Matt and I were totally sick of Tire Talk by the end of the trip and have no interest in ever talking about it again.
The other tiny bit of irony is that as Matt and I dialed in “MDS Flat” waypoints into our GPSs, we both commented, “there’s a problem, the GPS is still stuck at “Dave Flat”.” Well, after inspection it was obvious why… We had suffered our flats approximately 100ft away from each other!
As a random dirtball said to us later, “Maybe fate meant for you not to get to Dalhousie.” As my Dad later said as I was closing the gate out of Witjjira National Park/South Australia, “I am glad to be leaving South Australia.”
Somehow our mood seemed to improve after suffering the second flat. We suddenly became copacetic about everything. We took some photos, walked around looking for forensic flat tire evidence, and eventually drove back to Mt Dare.
Well, it was very nice when they opened up their pub/general store and we grabbed a handful of Coopers Pale Ale (my favorite beer – so so so so so refreshing) and sat around on the porch having a drink and discussing new plans and rexamining history. I love the screened-in Aussie porch, and my parents enjyoed the ant trails and not talking philosophy with the drifter sitting outside.
The rest of the night was enjoyable. Around 1930, just when I was aware that I was starving, dinner was ready inside the pub. It was homestyle terrific. Very nice chicken schnitzel (better than Todd Tavern), baked acorn squash, roasted potatoes, peas, and corn. Mmmmm.
Ling invited the owners Dave and Melissa to eat with us. Theirs was an interesting story that wasn’t what you’d expect. They’re both from Melbourne (look to be our age… 30ish) and were “at the right place at the right time” to give a shot at running the then-deteriorating, poorly-run homestead. Smartly, the also got an option to take it over if things worked out. Apparently they have, as they’re taking it over now, and we certainly felt the place was well-run. It was nice to have the chance to ask lots of details questions about life in the outback.
Telephones
Telephones used to be just via hf radio. Now it is a satellite radio that then re-broadcasts on a portable phone they carry around the station. Even the antenna has turned from tower to just a satellite dish.
I commented that it seemed to work seamlessly when I called the last time. Dave pointed out that the only drawback is that it’s half-duplex. Only one person can speak at a time. I didn’t notice it when I called, but perhaps that is because I am the loudmouth and not cognizant of the delay and he just took his time in replying.
Australia takes pains to try to provide the same standard of service to the Outback people as the city people, and for the same price. Apparently neither the city dwellers nor the outback folks are happy with the arrangement. The city dwewllers are subsidizing the outback dwellers, and the outback dwellers are unhappy with the quality of the service.
Internet
I asked if they had internet (“yes”) and how it worked (“poorly”). They'd no connection at all today. He said the technicians had been out for four weeks at a time working on it (and presumably other stations). It also sounded like the sat phone and internet only recently arrived in June. The dish was 1m and driven by 3-4m2 of solar panels.
Floods
In 2001(?) they suffered flooding. Mt. Dare is on a flood plain, so water from everywhere settles there. 65mm of rain regionally became 12ft of water locally. He pointed out that there was an enormous levee around the station, keeping the water out and them in. He had snapshots of his mud-bogged truck 3 weeks after the floods. Not suprisingly this flood set off a huge explosion of mosquitos and bush flies.
Gasoline
Matt remarked how it was surprising that their gasoline was only 35c/liter more than it was in Darwin. Doesn’t provide much extra money for the logistical problems of dropping off a tanker (once a month) from Alice Springs. Apparently a road train drops off the tanks along the route and recollects them on the way back. Dave didn’t share his fuel economics other than to say he had a reasonable fuel supplier. He was also amused that we indirectly praised his prices. Apparently he regularly deal with the tourists irate at the Outback prices.
A few hypotheses about fuel prices wouldbe that maybe the traffic/business of regulars and locals is more vital to success than the business of tourists. And presumably the locals have fuel buffers and can simply avoid one station for another if the station is charging tourst-rape prices. As another metric, gasoline in Finke was 1.30/l – 5c cheaper. (Are there tax breaks for Aborigine pumping stations?)
Roads
Another 'Outback Right' is that there is at least one good road out of each community.
Airstrips
Mt Dare has two airstrips. The old one, located farther away, is for wet-weather but doesn’t get flooded. The second, newer one is closer. Both are day-time only strips. Dave is renovating the new one with procedures to make it “nighttime emergency certified.” It won’t be for regular night use, but only in emergencies. Sounds like not too much is involved, simply putting out strings of lights during the hour it takes for the flying doctor to arrive, for instance. Both were the same distance.
The flying mailman flies in each Saturday to deliver the post.
Flying Doctor ServiceEach station is given a huge, exhaustive cabinet of medicines. Everything is carefully itemized and audited. If there is an emergency, a radio-based doctor can authorize the station to open the case and dispense a certain medicine.
Cars
Dave runs a basically stock Nissan Pathfinder or Patrol truck. It has a limited slip differential, because that is all you need in sandy country, because all four wheels are on the road generally. The Simpson Desert isn’t the Rubicon Trail. They normally run their tires at 28psi. Sand pressure is 20psi. They drive the road 110-120mph and have had only one puncture in twelve months.
Supplies
They go to Alice Springs once a month to get supplies. 4.5 hours up the Finke Road and then back along the StuartHwy/Kulgera/Finke route because the truck is so heavily laden. At times they go two or three months without a trip.
Remoteness
I asked how much they talk with the other stations, expecting that there was going to be a lot of ‘Bush Camraderie’, but it didn’t sound like that was the case. Everyone too busy or too remote to bother I guess. They mentioned that some Aborigines occasionally drive in 100km from Finke to grab a beer and then head back.