From the beginning of planning, I had this deep down, mostly ignored, feeling that my car would break down beyond repair on this trip. I threw caution to the wind and did it any way. I figured if it broke down in New Mexico or Texas, I would at least get a good adventure and bus ride out of it.
I could not believe it. We left Seattle late on a Saturday and headed South. First stop was to be somewhere to sleep along northern California and then on to Melodies in LA. My car was reluctant, to say the least, at attempting the passes of Oregon, however, I knew these would be the only big passes we would be going over, as we were taking the southern route the rest of the way.
At 11pm, my car seized to shift gears and made horrible noises, after a brief stop in a dangerous point on the freeway we made it to a gas station in which AAA came to the rescue. We were in Phoenix, Oregon. They took us back to Medford, Oregon. Rowdy times at Gypsy Blues bar, A 'to Hell with Hitler' button was acquired as well as a few lawn flamingos kidnapped. Kelsey and I fell in love with Medford
On Monday morning my car was pronounced dead. Both the Clutch and Transmission had gone out. The decision was made and my car was buried in Medford. Malia, Keith and Adam came to the rescue and drove down Monday to pick us up. We had one last night in Medford and then headed back north. Stopped in Portland for some dinner and a bewildering venture to Powell Books.
Got back to Seattle, had a day and a half and then Kelsey flew to Georgia with me. Adventure had, sadly at the expense of one awesome car.
Emma has mates in Melbourne so we decided we were going to go there to find work; It took three days of daylight driving (you can't drive come dusk in case you hit a roo, it could write your car off) from Coffs Harbour to get there.
Somewhere in a town called Frederickton along the road between Coffs Harbour and Port Macqurie there's a little shop called Fredo's Pies which has 50 different varieties of pie.
Fifty!
We didn't get as far as we wanted to on the first day because the car started making noises cars aren't supposed to make around a town called Toronto. This apparently happens when you don't put oil in it.Stop rolling your eyes, we were checking it daily, we just happened to be checking the wrong dipstick.
*waits while everyone gets obligatory "Did you feel like a dipstick?" jokes out of the way*
Don't worry, we'll soon be stocked up various foul smelling liquids in assorted colours, we don't fancy running out of brake fluid or tranmission stuff somewhere in the middle of nowhere when the only person around to help is wielding a chainsaw and muttering something about dinner being sorted for the next week.
Aaanyway, Emma took the car in the next morning and $40 and a small amount of mocking from the mechanic and his wife later we were back on the road.
Next stop ended up being Gundagai, still in New South Wales and the home of the Dog On A Tuckerbox which is a statue of a dog on a tuckerbox (lunch box). Oh those Aussies, getting all literal again.Gundagai also has brown tourists signs showing the way to the Historic Bridge which is... well... it's a bridge. I think what makes it "historic" is that fact that it's made of rotting wood and is about to fall down.How glad are we that we stopped here? Can you imagine how gutted we'd have been if we missed that?!
We managed to drive over 1000km without getting lost once so in order to avoid breaking with tradition we turned off onto the wrong road once we got onto the outskirts of Melbourne and spent the ensuing 2 hours dragging a caravan around and staring blankly at the newly aquired map, drooling occasionally.
But we made it. Us, who got lost on a long, straight road when we rented scooters, we made it alive and in one piece.
There's hope for us yet.
On A Mission
It is the law of road trips that you eat your body weight in junk food and listen to music that would ordinarily make your ears bleed so armed with $25 worth of crisps and chocolate and an MP3 player full of cheese we set off for Mildura to visit a couple of mates.
Yes I know its not a particularly lively 'roo but I come from a place where the most exotic thing you see on the side of the road is half a badger. The 'roo is cool, OK?
Fnar FnarSome of you might know that instead of growing up and getting a proper job it's my lifes ambition to travel to all the places in the world with rude names and last weekend I crossed Tittybong (heh heh) and Bumbang (tee hee) off my list.
Not Quite A 24 Hour Party TownAnyway, a good time was had in Mildura, I had a good night anyway, I hadn't drunk in ages so it was fun to pump my body full of Vodka Cruisers (a bit like Bacardi Breezers, overpriced and full of E-Numbers) and jump around on the dance floor to mix it all up with the chocolate and crisps we munched on the way although I did spend part of Sunday morning wondering what number bus hit me and why I wasn't actually dead yet.Mildura is quite a bit bigger than Echuca, I wasn't there long enough to get a proper feel for it but there are quite a few backpackers and it seems like a laugh. They also pipe music into the streets at night for reasons I have yet to ascertain and there's sort of a park down by the river which is wicked to go and chill by in the 31C heat (yeah baby!) with a few beers and a frisbee.
The journey home was a bit quicker, we only stopped to see Bumbang Island, eat more junk food and to see if Becky really could keep up with the car doing 20kph whilst she was on foot.
And yes, I still have "Tie My Kangeroo Down, Sport" stuck firmly in my head. Meh.
Despite the fact I've been unemployed since the end of September I still haven't had time to write up the Great Ocean Road thing that I did with a bloke called Kliff from Burnley that I met in a hostel in Melbourne. There are words for people as lazy as me but some of them aren't printable in a blog that your Grandparents might possibly read.
Aaaaanyway, despite the date at the top of this post I'm writing this at the end of November so my memory may be a little hazy on account of all the goon (cheap cask wine) I've drank since then. I have decided to overcome this with the aid of Bullet Points because Bullet Points make things look tidy and important even though it's usually a load of mindless dross. This is also the reason I use Bullet Points in my CV.
Day One
Day Two
Day Three
Days Four And Five
Well that was seven minutes of your life you can't get back wasn't it, if you made it this far you must really like words. I suggest you go away and examine your life and prehaps consider Getting Out More.
I've been trying to get my arse into gear to write about this 10 day outback tour I did with Heading Bush but you know those Words Don't Do It Justice situations? Well this is one of them. No tour will ever compare to this, seriously, it was possibly the most amazing ten days of my life.
Again, I've cheated with dates, the one at the top of the post relates to the day the events took place. I've separated day by day to try and cut down on the sheer amount of words that could potentially occur.
Task one was getting out of bed after only three hours sleep and too much beer because the previous evening was spent saying bye to Kliff and Toni.
Task two was attempting to converse in a coherant manner with the people I'd be sharing a cramped jeep with for the next ten days, this was accomplished with minimum drooling which was a bonus.
Task three was Learning To Sleep In The Jeep. This was abandoned on account of it being rude to drool on people you barely know so we Had Conversations and ascertained that we would be spending the majority of the following ten days relieving ourselves in various holes around the desert.
And oh my god how comfy are swags?! Swags are like a large, canvas coffin for want of a better and less sinister explanation, you get to fall asleep watching shooting stars, so much better than a tent and they're obscenely comfortable.
Anyway, congratulations on getting to the end of Day One without slitting your wrists. Day two will be added at some point in the future when I have too much time on my hands again and fancy torturing cyberspace with my crap.
Mmmm. Ok then.
I can't remember how long the actual walk up Mt Ohllsen Bagge (Wilpena Pound) was but I know I'd usually drive that kind of distance, it was all uphill and there was a distinct lack of a pub at the top. I nearly didn't make it but Mike bribed me with cake. I'm so easily bought with a high sugar content.
And yeah, it was worth it, the view was a bit of alright and the sense of acheivment was fantastic. The cake was pretty good too.
We spent the rest of the day driving, stopping off at various places of interest and admiring the tans we'd got whilst trekking up a mountain in the scorching heat.
That night we camped at Iga Warta Aboriginal Settlement which has a pool and proper showers. How gutted were we when our tans washed off? Anyway, we had a quick dip where Alex bravely rescued a bat out of the pool using his swimming shorts. I'm not sure who was more traumatised, us or the bat. At least he saw fit to keep his underpants on when he went for a swim.
Thank god for beer.
Ohhhh my walla,It's rumbling, it's tumbling.Ohhhh my walla,It's rumbling like a big base drum.
Then we headed back to reality, still covered in increasingly itchy ochre and wondering if we'd get beaten up by the locals for taking the piss or something. At was all good though, they took one look at us, smiled and said, "You've been to Iga Warta, then?"
That obvious?
Now let me tell you about my new spiritual home. Mutonia Sculpture Park is where they have massive winter solstice raves every year, it has random sculptures all over it and I swear down I could feel the energy coming out of the ground, seriously, there was something about this place that got me excited.
Just me, then.
Its awesome, just a vast expanse of dirt with sporadic artwork, you can imagine this place going off at the Solstice. Apparently there's going to be a huge rave here when the aliens return to Earth. See you there...?
It wasn't long after we left here when the clouds got thicker and there was a few spots of rain on the windscreen so we all hopped out to do a rain dance. After all, it never rains in the desert, this could be all the water we see for a while, right, Mike?
Right?
We saw some bolts of lightening in the distance and the heavens opened, it was awesome, 11 psyched up people in a jeep, shouting along to Bohemian Rhapsody as the jeep slid through puddles on the unsealed road and lightening raged in the distance.
One of those Had To Be There Moments I guess...
We stopped to collect soggy bits of the Old Ghan Railway track to burn for firewood (don't worry, they built a new one already) then pulled over at Curdimurka Railway Siding where we would be staying that night on account of the fact it was restored and had a roof. We were meant to be heading to William Creek which has a floating population of 8 and a pub.
Yeah yeah, very quaint, we can go to the pub anytime and we had an Esky full of beer and a man with a gas stove and large boxes of food. This was much better.
Now if only we could have persuaded him to bring us breakfast in bed the next day.
We spent the day in the back of the jeep trying to make up lost time and the only place of any vague interest was Salt Lake Hart which is a blindingly white expanse of salt that has bombs and mines hidden all over it. They let you walk on it though and there's only a sign that advises you not to go any further, no fences or anything like that.
Now maybe I'm just cynical but give a foreigner a camera and tell them they can't go somewhere and before you know it there's limbs scattered all over the place and some poor bugger has to clean that up. I consider myself to be quite sensible (what? Stop laughing, you bastards) and even I followed the 17th deadliest snake in the world for a photo op.
Day 4 was pretty uneventful but we made up for it that night at Coober Pedy with a party outside the hostel we were staying at which attracted the attention of the locals and of the Groovy Grape tour that were staying next door to us. Weird bunch. The locals and Groovy Grape.
After pizza, music and a boogy on the tables we headed over to the Desert Cave which is Coober Pedy's attempt at an underground night club and as Allison pointed out, "underground" doesn't mean its cool, it really is actually underground. Groovy Grape stopped us on the way and said it was closing soon and we should just party with them.
They lied. We had quite a bit of time there trying to stop locals putting country and western on the juke box, taking over the dance floor, playing air guitar and avoiding Big Kev.
When we got back the Groovy Grape tour group were tucked up in bed.
Hardcore party people indeed.