Missed it. The border. Between Queensland to the north and New South Wales. If there was a sign, it’d probably be on the main highway I’d sought to avoid. Carefully picking my way through roadworks. Along re-routed cycle paths. Tediously slow.
No fences. No checkpoints. But the boundary between Queensland and New South Wales does matter. Different laws. For Australia is a federation. Just like the USA. But with fewer States. A less vocal gun lobby. And a lot more bowls clubs. In fact, just what you’d probably expect if the British did federalism.
Just one short interlude. Michael. Towing a trailer largely constructed of chicken wire. He’d been struggling up a steep incline as I’d descended. Narrow path. Deep gutter. His head down. Concerned he might hit me, I’d given him a friendly shout. German. Heading north in search of work. Fruit or vegetable picking.
