Today was a rest day in the Burnett River before heading North to the Town of 1770 tomorrow. Steve takes great delight in telling people it is the only town in the world that is a number not a name: Wrong.
Although the town is referred to locally as "1770", the official name of the town is Seventeen Seventy, as it is principle of Queensland's place naming that numbers are spelled out.
Back to today Steve says "lets go to town in the dinghies, "It's not that far." Well, it may not be far if you have a Ski Boat disguised as a dinghy, but our old girl needs a bit of encouragement to get up and boogy. So early this morning I was spanners in hand removing the S/S prop cage because although it protects the prop from coral and rock it drops the speed by half. The auto route calculator puts the distance at 7.5 nautical miles up river.
My land speed record days can be seen in this shot hunkered down for full aerodynamic effect. The body less aerodynamic than in years gone by.
I swear about this time my double chin and cheeks started to flap like Jeremy Clarkson driving the Ariel Atom (just Google if not sure).
This was the closest we got all day to the Plums Flyer, so we where out on the river chasing Plums you might say.
Finally thought we where catching up but then realized they where slowing down for a 6 knot speed limit in the Town environs.
We wandered the main street headed for KFC so Audra could get a fried chicken fix, "It's not that far." Finally when we got to the outskirts of town we looked up the location on a GPS and discovered we where still a kilometer away, so settled for a very acceptable Counter meal at a local Bar just where we gave up the hunt for the elusive KFC shop.
So on the great KFC hunt through Bundaberg I had shouted myself a new pair of shoes for the year put them on and binned the old ones. The phrase "It's not that far" came back to haunt me. Not only had they successfully distracted me with the promise of KFC from the fact that a: I was walking and b: had gone quite a long way (at least by my standards anyway) On the Bundaberg death march back to the dinghy dock, weighed down by numerous bags of stuff procured by Kathy from Target, IGA and a $2 shop the new shoes had started rubbing into my bare feet and causing blisters. "It's not that far."
In the dinghys once again for the trip back down stream to the yachts some Seven and a half Miles away. The wind was up, the sun behind the clouds and the waves here up. "It's not that far." Why then did it seem more like a leg of the Avon Decent than a pleasant dinghy ride? Picture used to graphically illustrate for those that do not know what the Avon Decent is.
I crawled back aboard soaking wet, Conned again. Will I ever learn?