"Mad dogs" she’d said. Greeting me as I’d emerged from the unrelenting torrential rain. Bedraggled. But warm. I’d been tempted off the highway by the chance to escape the weather. Hartley’s Crocodile Adventures. Curious to know what it’d cost to visit. Unwilling to give up easily on footage of a croc close up. Even if that had to be in the relative artificiality of a farm.
No need to enquire. Antonia quick to offer a generous discount. Simply for having the gumption to ride along the highway, she explained. As welcome as the coffee that followed. I was keen to press on after a short respite from the weather. Campsite to find. But planned to return the next day. When there’d also be somewhere secure to leave my trusty steed. In the care of a fellow Lancastrian. A Scouser. Been Down Under since the Eighties. But her accent unmistakable.
