We begin today at an ungodly hour, 7:30am, because Scott decides it’s a good time to climb on top of the caravan to clean off the bat shit. Yes, you read that right.  One of the more significant differences of our second stay at Mt Isa: the caravan park had a lot fewer travellers but a flock? a wing? a blind? whatever the collective noun is, every night teeming hordes came to hang upside down in the trees and shit all over the place. Which explains the origins of the expression batshit crazy, as that’s what they made us.  

There’s a news item about the number of bats around this season and several people falling ill from lyssavirus, a bat borne disease. I’m keeping a close eye on Scott to see if he develops any signs of paralysis, delirium, convulsions or death, though he’s more likely to injure himself falling off the top of the caravan. If he starts wearing black tights and a mask and talking about saving Gotham, I’ll let you know.

For us, a day on the road does not usually start this early. Many caravaners are up and packed and on the road before we’ve finished our pre breakfast cup of tea. We are rarely on the road before 10.00am, which is technically the time caravan parks want you gone. By now the packing up is routine: disconnect the services – power, water and waste water; empty the toilet cassette, a boy job; close all windows and hatches, take everything off the bench and stow in cupboards – the washing basket placed in the shower is a handy receptacle; take the TV down – don’t forget to wind down the aerial (ok, ok, it was only once); take down and stow any awnings, outside table and chairs; back up the car and hitch up; take off the jockey wheel and put the stabiliser legs up; connect the cables (don’t remind us); attach the safety chains and the weight distribution bars; and a new one for today, remember to empty and put away that last glass of water that you left on the bench.

We’ve driven a couple of hundred kms from the dubious charms of Mt Isa to isolated Camooweal – it’s stop here or drive another 260kms to the next stop – and 500kms, while just down the road to an Australian, is a bridge too far for us. Our longest driving day so far has been 440kms, and that was enough. Sometimes it’s the long flat straights that are the most tiring for your concentration. We share the driving and listen to ABC radio and learn amazing things, especially in the Science hour. Go on, ask us how fast you have to go to break out of the Earth’s atmosphere. To their credit, whoever is in charge of road safety does their best to help you maintain your attention.

Camooweal, aside from some caves, has little: there’s the obligatory Roadhouse, and it has a caravan park out the back and a swimming pool. It is the electricity and the pool (not together) that clinch it as it is now 35+ degrees every day. Access to a powered caravan site is essential for me as if we don’t run the air con in the caravan I lose my mind. It’s possible we’ve stuffed up in our planning, such as it is. The idea to reach the Centre (Alice Springs and Uluru) in Spring so it wouldn’t be too hot is now laughable.

We wait til the temperature drops to 34 then drive out to one of the caves. It’s a rough, hot but short clamber down to the wide chamber which was formed by a sinkhole 500 million years ago, give or take. The temperature difference is remarkable – it’s at least 10 degrees cooler down in the chamber – if it wasn’t for the allure of the swimming pool and air con I’d’ve been tempted to sleep there – that and the threat of snakes.

Meanwhile, back at the Roadhouse it’s Saturday night and as lively as a church on Monday. Only two people are interested in the Rugby World Cup pool match featuring Australia against Wales, and those two people are Kiwis and therefore support anyone playing against Australia. We cheer when Wales win – the level of interest from Australians in the bar registers zero on the interestometer.

Just west of Camooweal we cross the border into the Northern Territory and gain half an hour. Here at the Homestead, which is actually a Roadhouse, we’re a long way from anywhere substantial. We’ve still got another 720kms to Alice Springs, and while it looks like it’s nearby, it’s another 470kms to Uluru.

Not surprisingly, you pay more for things the further you are from civilisation, or competition. The least we’ve paid for diesel is $1.45 a litre (there’s no road user tax) and at Camooweal we pay the most at $1.82. Here at Barkly it is $2.06.

It’s so hot now at 2.00pm it’s a toss up whether to fry an egg on the concrete or go for a swim. The air con is working hard but seems to have the cooling capacity of a koala yawning – fortunately it doesn’t smell as bad. Perhaps it’s time for a beer.