Rigabold the pernicketness left the Caiguna roadhouse a little disappointed, not because he didn’t get what he needed but because he didn’t get enough of what he needed. It had been two hours since he’d had a decent feed of Chiko Rolls at Belladonia and only getting three at Caiguna was not really enough. He couldn’t even get himself something that resembled a woggleblanket burger, they had something they called a hamburger, and a chicken burger but they just didn’t sound like there was enough in them to satisfy Rigabold’s taste. Even before he returned to the Dodge knew he was going to have to dip into his refrigerator and get himself at least three Pollywaffles.
Heading east out of Caiguna Rigabold didn’t have to worry about the sun, it was very early afternoon and the sun was high in the sky. There was no doubt about the heat that was radiating from the sun, it was hot enough outside that an egg could be fried on the road surface within minutes. It wasn’t something he was willing to try but the GPS in the Dodge assured him that many a crazy TV presenter, especially ones from America and England, presenting TV shows about the harshness of the Australian Outback had successfully proven the ability of hot road surfaces in the country. According to the temperature gauge on the dashboard of the Dodge the outside temperature was 42 degrees Celsius and still rising steadily.
The drive between Caiguna and Cocklebiddy was uneventful, the road did have bends in it which was a welcome change but there was very little else. There was trees, a few cars in both directions, a few more trucks, the odd variations of wildlife and the hot sun but very little else.
The one saving grace about not getting enough Chiko Rolls at Caiguna was that it was only another sixty six kilometres along the highway, not hundreds of kilometres, to his next stop at Cocklebiddy. Rigabold was getting the hang of referring to distance in the local metric system and it did make things a little easier, especially when talking to locals. The one thing he didn’t think he’d ever fully get a grip on was the archaic imperial system that some countries clung too as if it defined them as more superior than those who saw the light and changed.
As he approached the Cocklebiddy roadhouse Rigabold read on the GPS that the area was known for its sheep farms, some of them larger than European countries, the remains of an Aboriginal settlement and for one of the largest cave systems in the world, a unique system that extensively penetrates an aquifer that lies 90 metres below the Nullarbor Plain. Despite the landmarks Rigabold was happy enough to read about them not visit them, only because he had other things he needed to do.
First and foremost he needed to visit the tenth hole of the Nullarbor Links Golf Course, which lived up to expectation, but didn’t have anyone playing through and he needed more Chiko Rolls. Disappointingly the roadhouse had no Chiko Rolls, all they had which was hot was a meat pie and the attitude of the man behind the counter who suggested that hot food wasn’t high on his list of priorities.
Madura ninety kilometres east of Cocklebiddy was a similar story. Very little to see on the road other than vehicles, a few tress and roadkill. There was also very little too see at the roadhouse which was not on the highway but down in a gully. As with the other places he’d stopped there was scenery he could see like caves and blow holes, but Rigabold was only interested in Chiko Rolls, the golf course and getting back on the road.
Hole nine of the Nullarbor Links Golf course was named Brumby’s Run because back in the late 1800’s the area was know for breeding cavalry horses for the British Imperial Indian Army. Rigabold took notes and images then went looking for his other need from the area. The Roadhouse, although looking different to Cocklebiddy, was very similar, the staff hardly accommodating and the lack of Chiko Rolls a disappointment. Rigabold got back in the Dodge and drove on.
Mundrabilla was his next stop, a bit over an hour east of Madura. Apart from the roadhouse and the Nullarbor Links hole number eight, named Watering Hole, despite such the area getting such a small amount of rain, there was little else of interest in the area to hold Rigabold’s attention. Unfortunately for Rigabold he still couldn’t get himself a Chiko Roll, although he was offered a freshly cooked one if he waited, but the difference between the roadhouse staff at Mundrabilla and his previous two stops was nothing short of amazing.
After a few minutes chatting to the polite man at roadhouse Rigabold filled up the Dodge. He didn’t need fuel in his specially modified ute but he chose to reward the owner for his politeness and hospitality. Once he’d fuelled up he headed off to his next stop which was only sixty kilometres further along the road.
If there was such a thing as a major stop on the Nullarbor, or along the Eyre Highway, it was either Eucla or Border Village. The GPS told Rigabold that there was only thirteen kilometres between the two roadhouses but there was a state boarder. He would stop at each roadhouse and check out the golf course, he would also go looking for Chiko Rolls which he was assured he would have more luck finding given the number of people that stop at each place.
As he headed toward Eucla he read the GPS screen which told him there was quiet a few touristy things to see in the area. With the time approaching what Earthlings called dinner time, which also meant it was close to dark time, Rigabold wasn’t sure what he’d allow himself time to see but he was open to reading it about it.