“Ok, my turn to drive,” I said, a little uneasily.

Sue nodded. I didn’t think she would mind.

We took it a little easier from there – figuring enough excitement for one day – and half an hour later arrived at our first destination of the trip, Laura.

One of the things you have to get used to while traversing Australia is that camping occurs in designated areas. It’s a simple fact; people feel compelled to conduct their nocturnal activities in groups. That’s not to say I agree with it – not at all actually – but it’s just the way it is. And it is by this anomalous logic that we now found ourselves in one of the two campgrounds outside of Laura.

“Glen, why are we staying at a campground?” I asked, a little disappointed. “We’re surrounded by infinitely empty areas to camp, so why are we going to pay for the privilege?”

But that’s just how it would be, and I had to deal with it.

Although, in a way, I was met half-way on my grievance; the first campground we surveyed was a little crowded, and we opted for the one we were at now as it would be just us camping there. Also, the pool may have played a little part in our decision, but only rightly so! I kid you not here when I tell you this pool was huge, Olympic size even, and it was all ours! And we were only too happy to jump in now to wash off the layer of dust that we had accumulated throughout the day. The water felt wonderful; clean and cool, albeit a bit salty, and we took careful time to relax and enjoy our new aquatic milieu.

Before night fell, we set up our tents in an area equally distant from both pool and hot showers, prepared our meal, and sat around the fire, each with a few glasses of wine, reviewing the day’s accomplishments and remarking on how wonderful it was.

“Tomorrow,” Glen was saying, “we should take a trip to see the Aboriginal art around this area.”

We all agreed. And after a few more drinks we were ready to turn in for the evening.

The next morning we ran into the owners of the camping area, Eric and Vicki, while driving through the exit gates of the campground on our way to the Aboriginal art, a nice couple who were more than glad to give us some advice on where to go to see.

“You know,” Eric was saying, “there’s a track that turns left just after the bitumen runs out when you leave town. Well, if you follow it, stay right when it splits, you’ll get to Giant Horse. It’s a real nice place.”

“Yeah?” Glen said.

“And there’s even some pornographic drawing there, too. In fact, it’s the only place I know of where something like this exists”

“You don’t say!” We laughed. Well now this we had to see.

Following this advice, we set off down the track, which quickly became narrower and narrower, until branches were scratching both sides of the Land Rover and, before I managed to close the window, smacking us in the face.