Parked In Parkes

The greying of the Australian population is very evident in small towns where elderly men clutching newspapers walk slowly up the wide bare streets occasionally meeting up with an equally aged old mate to shoot the breeze; of which there is very little on these still, shimmering plains. When I stop in rest stops littered with caravans, I am amused by the male grey nomads who seem to stand about in bushes trying to get their phones to work whilst their partners retire to the caravan and make meals, eventually to be brought out and eaten on tableclothed card tables. There are also many well kitted out men who appear both middle aged and alone. They are accompanied by dogs and their big trucks pull sharp looking campers with names like Stockman Rover. Irrespective of our vehicular status we all hobble on alighting.

The large regional town where I have decided to stay for several days has reverse parking in bays throughout the town. Driving down the avenue of huge gleaming Utes bedecked with spotlights and gun sights and all manner of twitters and woofers, my little red car feels very small and very grubby. I can almost hear a collective settling sigh emanate from the vehicles as we pass by. Its comic strip stuff, tailor made.

I visit the Father of Federation Museum and find that I am most interested in the three wives of the Great Man, although his achievements were undoubtably significant. There are sheds full of dusty old farm machinery which render me nostalgic for my family farm and the old shed over the back of our farm full of relics from another age. The Silver City Comet which travelled between Parkes and Broken Hill for 53 years was the first air-conditioned train in Australia and one of its carriages resides in the museum. It is lovely and after Henry Parkes three wives, a highlight.

Before we leave the little red car has a Kustom carwash in the largest and most modern carwash in the southern hemisphere and comes out with a ceramic coating to prevent any mud sticking. This is guaranteed by Jean who has pre - scrubbed her thoroughly before ushering us into the scariest automatic carwash I have ever sat through. I have sat through a few as I enjoy the cheap thrills of the multicoloured suds. On this occasion they distract me from a huge and solid band of metal which clunks perilously close to the windscreen before rising suddenly over the car body. It makes me want to alight the vehicle mid wash which would be against the advice plastered all around the walls.

Real psychedelics may have enhanced the overall experience and if used under supervision, assisted me through the quite traumatic experience. It is worth it, however. I think the big trucks give the now gleaming small vehicle a collective wink as we leave town. She of course, flashes her headlights.