Workfree Wandering

Before talking about what comes next, it feels right to honour what brought everything to this point.

Last weekend, while packing up the Olympic to bring it back to Brisbane and prepare it for sale, the job turned into something far more emotional than expected. Thirty years of memories seemed to rise out of the cupboards, the canvas, the floorboards — all the places where a family lived, laughed, slept, argued, grew up, and grew older.

This little fibreglass box has been more than a caravan. It has been a home, a classroom, a shelter, a workshop, and a witness to a family’s life.

How it all began

It started with a Christmas invite.

Shelly’s brother had a regular two‑week booking at Evans Head Caravan Park. Some years he couldn’t make it, so the space became available. After a couple of those summers, the rhythm of the place became irresistible — the people, the salt air, the sense of community. An extra two weeks were booked, turning it into a month‑long annual reset.

At the time, the family had a dome tent and three young kids. Great memories, but not exactly restful. Around then, Mum and Dad upgraded to a Coaster, leaving their Olympic sitting quietly in the shed.

A simple question changed everything: “Can we borrow the van for a month?”

And the journey began.

A community that never changed

Evans Head brought together the same crew every year — a mix of NSW country families and Brisso regulars. Everyone tried to outdo each other with the most elaborate setup. Some locals brought down two‑thirds of their house, including the kitchen sink. It was chaos, comfort, and comedy all at once.

The three kids slept out in the annex, and the kitchen table became the nightly bed. That was the beginning of the tinkering. The Olympic was solid, but built in a different era — one that predated modern convenience.

Thirty years of making it better

The Olympic became a long‑term project, a canvas, a puzzle. Each year brought a new improvement, not because something was broken, but because it could be better.

Highlights over the years

• Replaced all original glass windows with perspex (twice, with the final set tinted)
• Installed new rubbers throughout
• Strengthened the floor
• Raised the van 100 mm for a better tow
• Converted the clothes cupboard into half hanging, half drawers
• Built a spare‑tyre carrier on the drawbar
• Upgraded the annex from canvas to vinyl
• Completed a major renovation: removed the old kitchen and back bunks, installed a queen bed, built a new kitchen with stove, fridge, and pump, and reduced the dining table size
• Added a 200 Ah lithium battery and solar setup
• Restored and strengthened the fibreglass shell with a marine‑grade product

The result was a van that felt like the TARDIS — bigger on the inside, easier to live in, and perfect for long stays. Light, tough, off‑grid capable, and ready for anything the east coast could offer.

What the Olympic really taught

Looking back, the theme becomes clear.

The improvements weren’t just about the van — they shaped the person making them.

The Olympic taught patience, creativity, problem‑solving, and the joy of making something better with one’s own hands. It showed the kids what simple living looks like. It gave space for a family to reconnect and reset every year.

It held thirty years of life inside those fibreglass walls.

Why it’s hard to say goodbye

The Olympic is loved, truly. But love doesn’t make it suitable for 10,000 km of red dirt.

At over sixty years old, it has earned its retirement. As much as it has given, it cannot follow everywhere the Colorado can go. For the Big Lap, something is needed with the same spirit — simple, tough, comfortable — but built for the tracks ahead.

The next chapter is the Ultimate.

But before that story begins, the Olympic deserves its moment.