Who ever thought of Camel Racing?

I can almost hear and see two bored guys long ago sitting on their camels as they rode endlessly across desert stretches. “I bet my camel is faster than yours!” “You can’t catch me!” “My camel can run quicker than yours!”

“On your marks … get set … go!” And off with a clattering of hooves those camels would have run. Except, if they were anything like the camels we saw at the Marree Camel Cup the winner would have been the one that actually started racing.

I have never seen anything more awkward and uncoordinated than a camel. The camels were dragged to the start line. Getting them to the start line didn’t seem to improve the situation. They wouldn’t stand in a straight line. They walked around, and stood sideways across the starting line instead of facing the race track.

The camels were hilarious. They had us all in stitches watching them. Jarrad was allowed to go up on the big tower to get better shots in lieu of the local journalist that hadn’t turned up. Peter, Susan and Lucy went up with him to get better photos on their own cameras, too.

After trying and trying to prod this camel, they just gave up. They ever so slowly drove the ute down the race track, forcing it to move along with them.

It wasn’t just the camels that raced, or rather, refused to race. The donkeys were almost as funny in getting to the start-line. They had lolly-throws for the kids, and mini-golf.

This was the first time for all of us to see camel racing. We’d headed out to Marree specially for the Camel Cup. Marree is a tiny town of 60 people where two famous outback tracks meet – the Oodnadatta and the Birdsville. Its other claim to fame is the annual Camel Cup. But, it was rather hard work getting there as it was so far away.

We’d headed up over three hours on dirt roads to reach Marree. “Don’t go too close to the car,” I nagged Jarrad again and again every time we were near another car as we drove along. “I don’t want another cracked windscreen.”

I’m not sure if some sixth sense told me that it was going to be a problem, if I was paranoid, or if I jinxed us, but…

As we cruised at a comfortable 80 kilometers per hour down the Oodnadatta Track another car raced passed us in the other direction. We all watched as the stone hurtled towards our windscreen:

*CRACK*

No one spoke. Susan wisely paused the audiobook that we were listening to so that we could collectively wallow in silence as we looked at the two chips in the windscreen. Both were instantly about the size of small coin.

“People are so rude! They just don’t even bother to slow down!” Ten-year-old Peter raged from the backseat.

“Are you OK, Mummy? That went straight towards you. I was so scared it would hit you!” Six year old Lucy added.

“I can’t f*^%en believe it!” Jarrad’s temper was boiling over.

The story was playing again as we pulled in to the race track at Marree. We stood together looking at the camels, when Peter remembered “My camera’s in the car still! Can I have the keys, Dad?” Jarrad handed over the keys without a thought as Susan exclaimed, “Me too!” and they raced off together towards the car.

I wandered off holding two-year-old Edmund, chattering quietly to him about the animals. I was mid-sentence to the toddler when Jarrad interrupted to thunder, “Will you go and deal with your bloody daughter! I. I. I. I. can’t deal with her at the moment.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, and sighed, “Which one?”

Susan was kneeling behind the car, hiding her face and sobbing when I found her. Edmund wriggled out of my arms to throw his arms around her and smother her with kisses. It’s a habit of his that never fails to cheer up his siblings, and he was quickly rewarded by Susan throwing her arms around him.

It only took Peter a few seconds to explain. “I locked the keys in the boot. I went to tell Dad, and he gave me the spare keys. When I got back, Susan had tried to use a stick to open the boot. The stick broke off inside the lock.”

Well, I tried everything to get that stick out. I used tweezers, a bent-open safety pin … I jiggled and wriggled it, tried to grab it … all to no avail. Finally Jarrad calmed down enough to have a go. He just forced the key in until the stick shattered inside the lock.

“One new lock. One new windscreen. This is an expensive day.” I complained.

By the time we’d left, we realised that the lock still worked, so we were really pleased that the cost had gone down to just another new windscreen.

“Shall we just go to the Lake Eyre South lookout before we head down the Borefield back to Andamooka?” Jarrad asked, and we all thought this was a great idea.

The sight was amazing to see water where it had just been salt flats 12 months previously. Jarrad stood on the car roof photographing the Lake as another car pulled up, “Excuse me, do you have a sat phone?” But that is a whole ‘nother story.

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Amy and Jarrad

Travelling Australia in a campervan since 2009 with our four children aged 4, 7, 10, and 11. We are a family living on the road. Stopping to work in rural and remote towns as we need more money, we love this lifestyle. The four kids are homeschooled as we work our way slowly around Australia.

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