Day 25 – Zen and the Art of Getting Soaked

I woke up to the soothing sound of rain. You know that peaceful pitter-patter that makes you want to stay under the covers forever? Yeah, that feeling lasted about 10 seconds — right until I remembered we had a 4.5-hour ride ahead.

Normally, I don’t mind riding in rain. It adds a bit of challenge, and there’s always a hot shower and dry clothes waiting at home or the office. But on a road trip? I’d rather stay dry — both me and the luggage.

A quick radar check showed a big rain cloud drifting northeast, its tail brushing over us. The drizzle stopped just in time for our departure. Promising start, right?

We decided to skip breakfast and aim for brunch in Kimba — redemption time, since last time we missed The Little Coffee Pot by five minutes. This time, I made sure we arrived early. Except, of course, I forgot to check whether they were even open. Labor Day. Closed. So was Eileen’s Café.

Luckily, Café Kimba came to the rescue. The owner was working solo (“Too expensive to hire staff on public holidays,” she explained) and only serving pre-made pies. But honestly, after yesterday’s feast, a humble pie and coffee felt just right.

Fueled up, we took off for Port Augusta — and that’s when the sky decided to test our resolve. For the first time on this trip, we hit proper rain. Not a drizzle, not a sprinkle — a full-on “let’s see if your gear is really waterproof” kind of downpour.

Rain does something strange to drivers: they act like the road has turned to ice. Speed limits become gentle suggestions, 110 becomes 80, and road trains suddenly look twice as wide. So I had two options — overtake everyone or spend an extra half-hour soaking in the rain. I chose the former. It worked. Mostly.

When we finally rolled into Port Augusta, the café I’d marked on the map greeted us with the most familiar of outback signs: CLOSED. Labor Day, you magnificent menace.

Plan B: a Shell station with decent coffee and, to my surprise, Krispy Kreme. Never has a glazed donut tasted more like salvation.

By the time we remounted, the radar showed the storm heading northeast while our road veered southeast. Ten more minutes of drizzle, then the wind took care of drying us off.

An hour later, we arrived at Still Earth, our accommodation for the night — a “wellness resort,” apparently. The kind of place that offers yoga, meditation, spiritual workshops, and healing crystals.

Now, I have friends who swear by this stuff, and I respect that. But me? I came here by accident. I booked it thinking “quiet country stay,” not “inner peace package.” Let’s just say I overpaid for a bed, but at least it came with serenity.

Our cabin overlooks a tranquil little lake, birds gliding across like they own the place. After a day of rain, mud, donuts, and enlightenment-by-surprise, the peace is actually… nice.

Maybe I’m not quite ready for yoga, but a drink by the lake while watching birds meditate? That I can get behind.