Ugg Boot Lady and Other New England Hwy Things to Ignore or Not

Step number whatever in my seemingly endless transition into life as a resident of Australia is to move to Sydney from Brisbane. I've been waiting for it desperately all year, which is not to say there is anything wrong with Brisbane. There's not. I just don't like it.

But to find a place in Sydney, we had to spend some time there, so we decided to rent a car and drive down the New England Highway for what was supposed to be a 14-hour drive. It ended up being about 15 and a half, which was all right by me, because I love a road trip.

The girl began the first leg, so I could have time to orient myself to the backwardness of the whole driving thing. Sure I've been here a year now and have been in my share of cars and buses, but some things take longer to adjust to. More on driving will come another day. I just did my job on my side taking pictures of leaf-less trees, singing (mostly showtunes) and keeping my eye out for things to break the monotony.

And there was plenty of that.

There were the numerous road signs announcing coffee, fruit, nuts, etc. My favorite, however, was a simple one posted to a tree that read: 'The Return of the Lord is Near.' Fitting given the fact that we were listening to (I was singing) Jesus Christ Superstar. That's the buzz.

Some road signs are repetitive. I understand that drivers need to be aware of things. I understand that, especially on a stretch of road like the New England Highway, weary drivers might blink and miss the turnoff to civilization. Or a pair of Uggs. We had four reminders that our chance to buy a pair, or perhaps another similarly lined product, such as maybe a car cover or boxers, was coming up.

I wasn't in the market for a pair of Uggs, nor will I ever be in the market for a pair, and the four signs wouldn't change that. Nevertheless, we finally came upon the shop where we had the opportunity to see its full name: 'The Ugg Boot Lady.' And why shouldn't the boot in the sign be pink?

Along the New England Hwy, goats are wanted, towns are named after pastries (Scone), statues are erected for scary-looking, long-dead bushrangers (Captain Thunderbolt), pet Maltese Terriers (little white fluffy doggies) cross the street with no owner in sight via the crosswalk in Murrurundi (okay, just the one that I had to wait for as he took his time), hollows are named Doughboy, waters are named Beardy and dry creeks have ironic names (Deepwater).

It's not all dry, though. The storm we watched coming for about 15 minutes finally hit and forced us to a shoulder in Armidale to watch with other overly cautious drivers.

And then there's Tamworth. I was expecting to see more people in these parts, but highway keeps you pretty much on the outskirts. I was thankful for this, because Tamworth is called the "country-music capital of Australia," and I have an aversion to country music after 1980.

I was even more thankful for what the highway brought to us. On the left, to my utter surprise, amazement, and, finally bewilderment, was the Abraham Lincoln Motel. We should have spent the night. It is now on the list of things to do while I'm here.

You need a closer look.

Abraham Lincoln. Tamworth. It makes no sense, but I'll take it.

There was more to the trip, but this gist will have to do. We made it to the girl's mom's house in the Blue Mountains at 12:30 a.m. (11:30 Queensland time) and went to bed. And that was just day one.