Canned Heat

On the road again!



Camping in the Jucy was never going to match the five star luxury of the RV we had in Alaska, though to be fair we had one million stars at night-time, lighting our way to the campsite toilets.



The Jucy was fine when we were barrelling along the highway with the aircon on full, admiring the scenery as we left south east Queensland for the cattle stations and sugar plantations of tropical Queensland, with their cute homesteads that were part clapboard colonial, part cricket pavilion.



The Jucy's limitations became evident in the evenings though, when the engine was turned off and Brian and I realised we were incompatible campers.



Temperatures were in the mid-30s, and it didn't cool down much at night. By a stroke of luck our first campsite was the best; set in a stand of palm trees, right by the sea, with a pleasant breeze. Our pitch was close to the very clean and well-lit amenities, and nipping to the loo with the Magilite in the middle of the night wasn't too arduous.



As we moved north however the heat at night became ever more oppressive. We opened the sliding roof to its full extent, then all the blinds and the side windows, but Brian still woke me up to complain he was too hot and felt claustophobic.



When in desperation I agreed to fully open the side door (my side!), Brian finally slept like a baby while I lay awake remembering that of all the world's deadly snakes, the ten most lethal were Australian. I hoped none of them were about to slither over my duvet.



Along the way the sites we encountered gradually deteriorated (or maybe the novelty of camping was wearing off). Sometimes it was a bit of a hike in pitch darkness to the amenities, usually it was on sandy paths through foliage that harboured all sorts of glinting eyes and nocturnal rustlings. I became adept at swilling cockroaches and spiders down the drain before using the shower, though on one occasion I spied a bright green winged insect, four inches long, and was at a loss what to do with him. At times like this, or when the amenities were just too uninviting, I resorted to a wet wipe for the three 'f's and left it at that.



I suppose I should confess that out of the twelve nights we had the Jucy we spent seven in motel rooms instead of on campsites. We travelled 2600 km on this part of the trip, and the Jucy was wonderful in every way unless, like us, you were too dependent on home comforts.