Part of my planned trip through South Australia was already well under way by the time I set out from the quaint rural town of Clare and headed north into the remoter parts of the State. Almost the Outback.

City of Adelaide to Clare was an easy and uneventful trip, rounded off in the latter part by the passing of dozens of wineries. All with enticing or trendy names, beautifully designed branding and promises of a-never-to-be-forgotten sampling session plus gourmet food. ‘Welcome to our Cellar Door’. Past Tim Adams, Koonowla, Sussex Squire, Mocadunda, Mount Horrocks, Annie’s Lane and a myriad of others I drove. The last 20km into Clare seemed to be criss-crossed by a thing called the Riesling Trail. For wine buffs, and time-on-their-hands people, I guess a lovely deviation. For me, limited time, no particular mien for German wine and 38 degree heat, it was easy to crack on and check out the best in Clare.

A little sub-note here about Cellar Door that fully came to mind as I passed probably the 20th place advertising this type of access/sales. The 2 words are considered the most pleasing and elegant in the English language – euphonious without semantics. Cellar Door or Celador. I only know this because years ago I was checking out a TV rival called Celador. How else would you know this kind of thing? There’s a society that judges and eulogises over the very sounds of such words and expressions. Almost like the inevitable wine buffs I had chosen to avoid on the Riesling Trail.

So it was reassuring that the Bentley Motel could accommodate me. Gemma said she’d be there to open up in 20, and true to her word she was. Prowling up and down a near deserted street before plucking up the courage to buzz the door, I did get the impression that the town was sort of ‘in between’ phases of activity. It was half five and I hoped it was in the ‘… daytime building up for evening’ phase, but that was a false hope. The place was already empty and winding down for the evening. Literally. The only sign of human activity was a locked WiFi signal from the Indii curry house next to the Bentley.

Clare looking North, or South – I can’t remember.

‘You bin standing here long?’ My new Landlady enquired.

‘No [of course not] I just got here…’

‘NO WORRIES then…’ Gemma bawled. I was only just next to her and could have picked up just a whisper.

‘Room 5’s free – $85. Cash if you’ve got it…’ I hadn’t and guessed ‘Cash was King’ in these parts as much as it is in UK.

‘NO WORRIES’ she blurted, quickly adjusting to the fact that she couldn’t probably get one over on the real owner of this empty hotel.

‘Dinner’s between 6 and 8. Don’t be giving chef last orders at 7.55 as he won’t like that…’ What she meant [I later realised] was that a Chicken Kiev needed a bit longer than 5 minutes.

Gemma was a kindly sort, but not a prisoner-taker. I guess you need to be tough to manage an Australian pub – especially at closing. She showed enough interest in my presence to tell me about Clare and its comings and goings. More importantly though, she was proud of the place and warmed to my enquiries about the surroundings. When I said I was off to Wilpena, her enthusiasm doubled; it’d been a seasonal job for her to work in the Inaminka area a way north of where I was headed. Inaminka is remote and well off any non-4WD beaten track. A season at a lodge up there would be hard-core, and that’s just winter.

Walking from one end of Clare to the other didn’t take much – definitely easier than the Riesling Trail; but it did tell me that this was a more-than-one-horse town, and that they were covered for most eventualities. There was the obligatory healthcare centre, Tea Room, Tourist office, Curry House [mentioned earlier], Ute Agency, Dog Parlour, Post Office and a Masonic Hall [1904]. No monster outlets like K-Mart, Coles or Bunnings.

Gemma-Miss-No-Worries was true to her word. Not much was happening here apart from in her Hotel Bar. By 7 it was packed – packed with folk swigging pints, sitting at tables twirling wine glasses or just horsing into things that looked like enlarged child food. A sort of beast feast with everyone’s neck craned towards either of the two monster wall-hung TVs.

I got Chicco and Chips. Sort of asked for it really, having seen the other diners work their way around plates the size of man hole covers. As my 4000 calorie hit was laid before me, Gemma’s assistant ‘sort of’ asked if there was anything else I needed… Glancing at the brown sauce a table away, I decided to avoid another blast of ‘No Worries’ and get it myself.

Can you spot my brother in law in the shot?

So on to the road North, the route to my destination – a place called Wilpena in the heart of the Flinders Ranges. The Flinders were named after a dogged Scottish explorer back in the 19th century, and like many outback locations the area remained pretty much unnoticed over the ensuing century. Until the recent rise in tourism from home and abroad many of these remote spectacles have only been visitable by dedicated travellers using hardy animals or 4WD. 150 years ago the outback was criss-crossed by adventurers, prospectors, bounty hunters and God spreaders, who by and large, moved on from areas that were deemed of no economic use. No use in the mineral sense I suppose.

Today, The Ranges and the vast rock expanses further to the North form a large part of the country’s Outback Experience and so visitors like me can just rock up in Aircon to a lodge in the middle of no-where having dodged parakeets, emus, kangaroos and big lizards.

This was the journey in pictures:

Areas of arable just north of Clare

The road near Washtown. Harvest in luckily. 40C

Gums and not much else – Yatina district

Yatina. Small hamlet: Population not many. GV of what the small population have to look at

The Pub in Yatina

Abandoned transport? The pub car park, Yatina

Someone needs to tell me what this means

After 100km of dead straight driving the excitement of arriving in Orroroo was overwhelming. Off to the Giant Gum. It had to be done

First selfie ever. Girth jokes not necessary

Above the obligatory warning for Kangaroos, but Emus were the only wild fauna on this leg of the journey – the sheep above almost seemed part of the landscape and you did wonder what breed could cope in this heat and would they be edible?

Shots taken in and around Carrieton. Home of the rodeo, although I saw no horses, no people and no quolls. Maybe they were doing a bush fire practice and were all in the ‘Place of last resort’ A house breakers dream!

The Flinders

It’d be tedious to describe the route in great depth, in fact it’d be hard to string any of it out. ‘Gemma No Worries’ was the last person I spoke to in Clare, and upon my arrival 400km north, it was another ‘Gemma No Worries’ that greeted me. Actually her badge just said Gemma, but you just knew. So no kidding – 2 Gemmas. To me the likelihood of 2 Gemmas was uncanny; 2 that blurted ‘No Worries’ at the end of every sentence, was, in the words of comedian Michael McIntyre, ‘phenomenal!’

Gemma Wilpena was an attractive woman, in her mid twenties; whose parents had clearly heeded the advice handed out to folk about skincare in these latitudes. She was Irish pale and well kept. The warnings here are everywhere and exposure to the sun is no joking matter Brits aside… Gemma Wilpena was on the career ladder and good at her job. Like Gemma Clare she understood the Australian rules of hospitality and knew when to impose the ‘no prisoners’ rule. I only say this because when people rock up to ‘enjoy’ a stay in somewhere as remote as Wilpena, you can’t exactly kick them out at 5 in the evening because they have rowdy kids or brought their dog. It’s a long way back so to speak.

I had arrived at the phenomenal Wilpena Pound in the Flinders Ranges. No McIntyre, just Gemma and her team. White crested cockatoos dive bombed the newly arrived and cicadas ‘chickadeed’ loudly in the trees overhead. It was hard to focus on these new spectacles after the last 30 minutes of driving to get to the cool of the lodge. Driving that road could have been a new real-life PS4 game… ‘Don’t Bosh the Roo or Squash the Emu’. They were everywhere and had the road sense of a Jack Russell.

Imagine living in Parachilna?

Above: Driving into the Ranges. My temporary mate [Gene Hackman possibly] driving the 140M, and an idea of how lonesome it can be.

Polite vehicles often slow right up and ask if you’re OK. Seeing others can be welcome when it’s quite possible to drive for 2 hours and see no-one.

Only brave people it seems, come out here in summer. Or people who don’t get what it can be like gasping in a place that can boast some of the hottest records on earth. I was neither brave nor ignorant – 47c in Sydney a few days ago made me think all was possible. Here in a 40 degree blow-torch breeze it felt merely uncomfortable compared to last week at the SCG.

The terrain around Blinman

I was tempted to get my lunch from the one shop for miles – maybe a hot sausage roll? But alas it was closed, despite being already the end of the second week of January.

Back at Camp dinner was being served. There was a choice of [from4] Fish, Chicken, Burger or Veggie. I knew I had to think ahead. I had 3 nights booked and nowhere else to eat. 3 nights and I’d have tried 3/4 of the menu. What could I possibly do without?

The waiter, [previously pool attendant/front of house] slammed down my ‘Dinner’.

‘NO WORRIES MATE’ he said. Heartily too.

Why for Christ’s sake should I constantly be worried? Did I look it?

But hey ho, people in the UK routinely say ‘Sorry’, ‘I’m afraid’, ‘No problem’ and the like. They’re not sorry, they’re not frightened, and there’s never usually a problem. It’s a new politesse that pervades modern speech and is used in proportion to people’s ease with the situation. I guess. Words to avoid awkward gaps.

The Chinese steward on my China Southern flight [coming to Aus], said ‘Please eat nicely sir!’ As he refilled my wine glass.

There must have been a howler in the manual of translation crew are required to learn, but at least I wasn’t told ‘No Worries’

WiFi Hotspot in Hawker, S.A.