Casterton – Townsville
Monday, June 25, 2001
So, Phil and I left Casterton at around 10:30 am on Saturday and had to be in Townsville by Monday night. We had less than three days to drive more than 3000 km. Yikes. Heading North-East back where we came from, and then straight North from Shepparton, Phil and I spent our days taking turns looking out the window or driving the van while listening to ABC National radio. Not quite as good as the BBC but not bad either.
Once in a while I would spontaneously break into “Oh give me a home/Where the buffalo roam/ And the deer and the antelope plaayeeeeeeeeeee!”. Phil was most accommodating and did not push me out of the truck at full speed. At one moment during the day we were approached by a gaggle (mob? pod?) of emu. Emu – Australia’s version of the ostrich – are dangerous animals when combined with vehicles. One hundred per cent muscle, if you run into one of these babies, their legs will buckle under and their bodies will go right through your windshield. So, on the road, a lot of respect is given to these birds with brains the size of your fingernails. They pay no attention to horns.
So, in deference to the damage they could inflict on an already-beleaguered Linkforce 8, I slowed down in front of the emu and waited to see what happened. He dodged one way. Dodged the other. Dodged the other again, and promptly tripped over his own feet. By this time he was less than a meter away from our bonnet (hood). All I saw was a puff of feathers as he hit the ground. However, he was up in a flash again and away through the fields to join his friends, leaving two howling humans behind.
For dinner we stopped in Albury, a bustling town, pretty large for a land-bound city in Australia. I out-loud wished for a kebab house and lo-and-behold one appeared. Grabbing a felafel roll, I briefly thought of my friend Felix, and we headed out again. After about an hour of off-roading (we missed our turn-off in the dark and took a tour through the back roads of NSW), we found our designated road and motored for Nerrandera, our destination for the evening.
About an hour later, it seemed as if we passed through a spotlight of some sort. The large band of light moved towards us in the darkness and passed over the truck in a flash. Phil and I looked at each other in confusion. I looked up and briefly thought of the book Communion, expecting little green men to appear. Then it happened again. Together Phil and I muttered “What the *!@%?”
Then it happened again, and again. After a couple of more times we figured it out. Turns out the flat plains of the outback are susceptible to low-lying fog. Our headlights were capturing this fog at just the right angle to illuminate it in white and rainbow-coloured streaks. It was beautiful.
We rode these waves of fog into Nerrandera where we saddled up to the closest motel and made a beeline for the local bar. My bar friend for the evening ended up being Norm. Norm, 55, was born and raised in Nerrandera and had lived there most of his life. A small little town, Nerrandera was dead on the streets but lively in the bar. The bar featured a non-vegetarian menu, lots of young people (can only be a good thing), and, well, Norm. We chatted as we guzzled down two schooners (that’s sleeves, glasses or three-quarters of
a pint for you). Unfortunately, because of my accent, Norm did not understand one bloody thing I said. However, we parted good friends and he wished us luck on our journey.
Off early the next morning, Phil and I continued on our way. This was going to be a good day, we thought. We thought wrong. We made good time during daylight, as we got out of the truck to eat and fuel up only. Actually, that’s not true. We did stop at about 7 pm to take a look at the star-blanketed clear, moonless sky. Absolutely spectacular.
We were doing fine until we hit Charleville at about 7:30 that night. We had already done about 1200 km that day, and both of us were knackered, but we took a vote and decided to go on to Barcaldine. Either we did it today or we do it tomorrow, and both of us rather fancied a short day the next day to enjoy the sights of Townsville (read: to get drunk in the bars of Townsville). So, we bought a jerry can of fuel, as we didn’t expect any petrol stations to be open, grabbed something deep fried (it’s ALL deep fried in the outback) and made a beeline for Barcaldine.
It must be said that about three hours earlier I had actually seen my first wild roo. They appeared as we left Cobar at sunset. That’s their feeding time, and they line the road looking through the freshly cut grass for food. Long gone are the rolling green fields of the south. Cobar, in Queensland, is the start of the ‘real’ outback. This is dry bush country, and some of the best feeding for the animals is on the side of the road. So, I had accepted at this point that roos actually do exist, and we saw at least a hundred feeding as we whizzed past them.
The last leg of the day to Barcaldine was so non-eventful that I put my chair back (I wasn’t driving mind you), snuggled into my fleece, and dozed away. All of a sudden, about 25 km south of our destination, Phil slammed on the breaks and put his arm out to make sure I didn’t go through the window. All I saw was a flash of tail and then I heard the thump.
|
Scene of the crime |
Yes folks.
We had killed Skippy.
Screeching to a halt, Phil and I looked at each other, grabbed our torches and ran out to inspect the damage to our trusty steed. It was bad. Linkforce 8′s right headlight was smashed and (“something’s leaaakkkkiiiiinnnnggg, Philllllll!”) the bottom of her radiator had split. *!#$!!!! We were well and truly screwed. After some brief deliberations and quick prayers of thanks to the technology gods, we got on our satellite phone and phoned our trust saviours, the NRMA. They hadn’t let us down yet and they weren’t about to now.
|
With nothing else to do as we await rescue, I brew Phil and I a cup of tea. |
While waiting for Angel #2 to appear, Phil and I were in remarkable spirits. I was upset about poor Skippy but it isn’t as if roos are an endangered species. Being the townsfolk we are, Phil fired up the generator, I made us cups of tea, and we took some digital pictures to send back to our bosses at the office. Ohhh, yes-siree, they were going to love us, that’s for sure. Phil was just finishing his coffee when Eric the Brave showed up. I christened him Angel #2.
Now, Eric is a special sort, a real outback bloke. He might fart in public, scratch himself and have pictures of naked women in his office, but I wouldn’t want anyone else around in a situation like this.
The second he came out of his Ute (that’s a flatbed), I knew he would be the one to save us townsfolk. To cheer those who are upset that we killed the roo, Eric said he had never seen as many in his whole life as he did when he drove out to see us this morning at 1 am. So it was bound to happen eventually.
After a quick assessment of the damage to the truck, Eric hooked us up to his Ute and towed us into town slowly, pointing out the ‘roos as we went. We let Eric know that we had to be in Townsville the next night without exception, and he said to phone him at 8:30 am and he’d see what he could do.
A weary Phil and I left the injured Linkforce 8 in front of our motel, and walked into the rooms we had prearranged. No one was up to greet us at 3 am, but they left the keys to our rooms in the locks. Heavenly.
The next morning Phil and I noshed down a serious outback breakfast and were returning to our rooms when Eric popped his head in and said that he had arranged a flat bed truck to take us into Townsville leaving in an hour or so. What an angel. He had just saved our skins. (Incidentally, if you’re ever in Barcaldine and you need a tow, give Eric at call +61.(0)7.4651.1677 and tell him Phil and Kat sent you).
|
Mark and Kat secure LF8 to the truck |
Linkforce 8 was still driveable for a few minutes until we put it in danger of overheating, so we drove our baby to the flatbed where we put it into the care of Mark from the Barcaldine Carrying Co (tel. +61.7.4651.1472). After securing LF8 down and thanking Eric profusely for his help, we were off.
Now, I reckoned we would be on PAVED roads for this journey, but I was deeply wrong. Mark, our driver, decided we would head straight north through the outback as a short cut, then head straight East when we hit a paved road, whenever that would be. It was the most desolate, isolated place I had ever seen. A red landscape with grey bush. The occasionally roo, emu, sheep or cow would loiter, unfenced, on the gravel roadside, and we saw only one other truck for the next six hours. Phil and I, squashed into the cab of the large truck for the duration, had a good long talk with Mark about his life.
|
The long empty road |
The people of the outback really are special. As Eric and Mark prove, they will give their right arm for you if you need it. We never got anything but open arms and a helping hand. I was a bit of an anomaly because of my accent, but they were neither pushy nor rude to the foreigner. I was just accepted as everyone else was, with a beer and a good yarn. Our trip with Mark was a wonderful experience. Not only did I get to see the countryside, but I also got to talk to him about his life, family, loves, and business. This was a happy man. He loved his family to pieces and worked hard to keep his small business going with very little complaining. Again, I wish I could chuck it all in and move to the outback. The people are worth a bucks, but I’ll be darned if they would take a tip.
So, ten hours after our journey started, Phil, Mark and I sped into Townsville and headed straight for the stadium. While Phil was unloading the truck, I went in search of our BBC producer and arranged accreditation. Then I laid down on the pavement with a migraine as I waited for Phil to finish his tests of the truck. By 10 pm I was safely ensconced in the Jupiter hotel and casino in Townsville. I had a very long, hot bath, and sent my laundry out for cleaning. Betcha you can’t do that in the outback, though.
The broadcast went ahead as planned the next day, and the day after I left Phil for the journey to Perth on the back of another truck. After two quick flights, to Brisbane then onto Sydney, I was safely home to start work again the next day.
