Oh, Nearly There

Ah, bugger it!

I was making good time back from Lismore; straight down the New England Hwy, cut through from Tamworth to Dubbo, onto the Newell Hwy, easy peasy. It was a gorgeous day, Simpsons clouds over head, the sun shining crisply. I'd stopped at all the information booths just to check for road closures due to the flooding in NSW. No closures, no flooded roads, all clear. Of course, I'd need to continue to check along the way.

Off the highway and onto those country roads with no lines and little traffic, roads where I could push my foot harder down on the accelerator without too much worry of the red and blue lights appearing in my rear vision mirror. Actually, really lovely liquorice straps of roads winding their way across rolling green hills, where I could wind down the windows and feel the breeze in my hair, cool on my sweaty neck and sunburnt driver's arm. I was thinking that driving really was the smart option. But, I do like driving; the panorama of the country side wide vision.

And I was nearly through the roads that could potentially flood and back onto the highway, when, from over the distant hills, black clouds started to roll towards me.

Oh, please don't rain, I thought.

Then there were clouds rolling in from a second front, seemingly attaching themselves to the hills below them in a grey veil.

I was now driving between the two fronts, hoping and wishing. An hour to go to the safety of the highway. Crossing fingers.

The sun disappeared and the rain drops started to fall on my windscreen. Lightening sparked through the gray mass above me. Thunder rolled. the brightness of the day evaporated.

The road dips into culverts where the excess water is able to escape to the other side. It's kind of quaint, a throwback to a bygone era, I used to think. They had all been dry, thus far. Then I got to the first with a puddle forming across it.

Then a second flooding with an ankle deep stream. Okay, over that too.

The water started to pool on the sides of the road, the bitumen was slick and shiny.

Then, around another corner and a line of five, or so, cars waiting at a torrent crossing the road. It was calve deep and roaring down the hill. We waited it started to dissipate fairly quickly, down to car door sill height. They were measuring the movement with a piece of metal rested next to the edge of the water line.

There was the sporty blonde chick who never seemed to be off her mobile phone, who drove the pretend 4WD, but a 4WD none the less. The older couple returning home locally. She was nice, chatty, funny. There was the old couple in the Honda Jazz, which they towed over with the only real 4WD present. There was the thirty something couple with three kids. I really didn't mean to flirt with him, but the boyish face, the cute, cute eyes, the natural smile, I couldn't help it. He had a hairy chest showing at the top of his poloshirt buttons. He got it too, you know the kind who just take it as a compliment, secret men's business. He waved and smiled his little boy face at me, as he got into the car and drove away. And there was Andrew the other Peugeot driver.

The others decided that it was now safe to attempt a crossing. The sporty chick wizzed off in her white charger, first from about sixth in the queue. The next few went across successfully and then it was my turn. It looked like a mile wide as a lined up to go. And then I went. I was nervous, I hadn't done anything like that before. You have to take it slow, but in my anxiousness I went too fast and created a wash that engulfed me and my car died in the middle. Ahhh! No!

And then it wouldn't go. Wouldn't start. Wouldn't even turn over. (Which I found out later was the worst thing to do. Once they die, you should let them dry out, or get a mechanic)

So, that was about 5pm.

The last guy to cross after me, another Peugeot driver, offered me a life into the next town, which, of course, was 60 kilometres away.

He asked where I was from? He asked me what I did? He asked me what I do for leisure?

Then he asked if I was spiritual?

No, I'm an atheist.

Oh, that surprises me.

Oh why? I asked with trepidation.

Oh, I guess I'm the exact opposite to you?

Oh why? I knew I shouldn't have asked, but what else was there to say?

I'm a creationist.

This just keeps getting better, I thought.

So for the next 50 k's we talked about Jesus. I tried not to engage, but he quietly kept on. I stared out the window and wondered why Scotty wasn't beaming me up?

When we got to town he said, well I'll leave you here.

Yep, thanks and I leapt from the car quickly.

it was kind of him to give me a lift though, don't get me wrong.

Then it took until 11pm to organise the tow truck and head back out in his bumpy cabin, with his mate, to get the car. Nice guys, but oh, I was sooo over it in the end.

"Come over in the morning and we'll look at it then," they said as they wandered off into the dark.

At 9.30, they said it only needed a new air filter which would be in town by 2pm.

"So some time after two said the smiley lady on the mechanics counter."

I went around and got a book form the car. What else was I going to do?

The mechanic smiled. "What are those roads called OS, auto... auto something..."

"Bahns," I offered.

"Yep," said the mechanic. "That's where your car belongs, not in puddles." He smiled that laconic smile of the aussie bush. "Don't drive it through any water, at all, the damn air filters way down here, it'll just suck water up every time."

Apparently, you can ruin the engine big time, if the water is sucked up into the pistons. Who'd have thought.

He looked at the car a bit like he had looked at me... city car with a city driver. It was clear on his face.

And now I'm stuck in a lovely county town while they try to get my car going. Good thing, I have a nice country pub to stay in, with a wide veranda around two sides, with a cool breeze and a view of the pretty main street.

The latest report is that they have found another problem with the car.

And I started smoking again, yesterday. I didn't smoke all over New Year, partying, taking drugs, dancing at Tropical Fruits, coming down. Not one cigarette.

Have a little mechanical failure and it's straight for the Styvies.

 

Cubism, with wire

Always been a sucker for a Widow's Peak

It's a 60's revival

Perfect face, prefect hair, and a knee to die for

Door Way To The Rest of Our Lives

Come on, this Way

Time To Party

The party tonight. New Year’s Eve, Lismore. My first Tropical Fruits. We left around 10/11pm. We sat up in the bleachers set high on the roof of a very square building, that double as a toilet underneath. The man next to me was smoking dope, which he offered me. How civilised, I thought. And maybe I and being unkind, but he must have seen me take an e, which he asked about any spare before the fireworks had started.

The fireworks were, well, fireworks, the nicest part was at the end when everything went gold.

Everyone thinks that Matt messed up his set, too arty, to out there, not danceable. The dance floor cleared. The music wasn’t so good from any of the djs, I don’t think. The same retro party pop/house. It’s like no new music has been produced in the last ten years.

We danced quite a bit, though. 

Jeff and Raymond were there, but they seemed to keep a bit of a wide berth. I’m not really sure why?

The show grounds were like a baby version of Sydney or Melbourne. It was all set up around one side of an oval. There were lots of assorted things, the chill out space, the passion pit, tents set up.

Happy New Year Smile

Hi, I have been expecting you

There it goes... another year. Watch it go.

Last Day Of The Year

 SMS. 09.03. (Shane) Hey Shane, arrived safe & sound. All lovely Christian

SMS 09.57. (Matt) Give us a call 66XX45XX – Christian 

SMS. 10.33. Happy, happy, ho, ho – Christian

SMS. 10.39. I’m in [just out of Lismore], lovely it is too. Warm, sunny, picturesque, like living in the Dandenongs with palms – Christian

SMS. 10.42. (Jill) Near Lismore, in the hills – Christian

I ventured out on my own, for the first time, breaking that feeling of being trapped and expectantly being released, stuck in the middle of some where you know nothing about. Blind.

Matt and Rob came over. They went swimming.

The walk down to the river and back is very steep. I didn’t really feel like swimming, so I joked about the walk back up and Mark made some comment about me being lazy and fat. Yeah, cheers, thanks a lot. So, I walked down and then walked back up. I just didn’t want to swim with an overcast sky…

Mark. Luke and I tried to connect up the water pump, to fill the non-drinking tanks from the river. We couldn’t start the pump, so we had to drag the pump back onto the bank.

Another Family at the falls, the son from which certainly filled out in his pants

Settling In Nicely

We went to Minyon Falls, first up, to see what affect all the rain had had on them.

There I was in the Range Rover traversing roads precariously perched on the sides of cliffs. Then there was the ridge road across over to the falls themselves perched on land that fell away steeply on either side. It all set off my fear of heights gene big time.

But, I survived.

The falls themselves were gorgeous, but again high up, made my knees wobbly. It’s kind of annoying, you know, all that beauty and my vertigo alarm was pulsing through me.

It was so beautiful though.

We came home and relaxed.

I read The Slap. We all read, all three of us, lazing around on the couches. And then Mark got restless with relaxing and had to go mow the lawn.

Roz came over with Bromeliads. We ate cheese and biscuits and antipasto. We planted plants in the palm garden that Mark and Luke have cleaned up already.

We ate warm beef salad.

It was nice. Food and relaxation in a picturesque country setting, it doesn’t get better than that.

Mark & Luke's

The Adventure Continues

I left the Alyn Motel in Gunnedah at 9.30am. I spoke to Mark, who said it had pissed all night. The road to Narrabri was long and straight. Wide. Pale grey. Flat. There was water by the side of the road, in the paddocks, across the low lying gravel roads. It began to rain, for the first time. I wondered if they were the first spots of something much heavier, or if it was just rain, water falling naturally.

I wondered if my “the newell, more than just a highway” map was manifestly inadequate and that I was being ignorant and just plain foolish in attempting to take roads that I knew absolutely nothing about, was my ignorance shining like a beacon in these times of heavy rain and flooding. 

Were the blokes who knew this country bound to say, you gotta be kiddin mate. Get across there, in your car?

What would happen if all the roads were cut off, if I was cut off and that I had to go back to the border and retrace my steps, every last one of them.

I, actually, hate it when I don’t know what I’m doing.

But, as I drove from my failed stop to the new beginning of my adventure, I thought, I have two weeks before I have to be anywhere at all. Who cares.

The heavily pregnant “Information” woman in Narrabri, though my planned route was perfectly acceptable and that no, she hadn’t heard that any of the roads I proposed to take were, in fact, washed out. 

The very next turn off to Bingara appeared to be a narrow alley wending its way across the rain soaked pasture, but I was soon comfortable with it and it had morphed into something more substantial.

There were mountains in front of me, all the way from Narabri, maybe from as far as Dubbo, I couldn’t quite remember. But I suspected I’d have to cross them, at some stage. And I was soon winding up hills on narrow goat tracks, which made my vertigo play up behind the wheel, for the first time. I crept along slowly, as my psyche got used to no safety rains and sheer drops, while I stopped myself from shaking

The roads criss-crossed the country side, with me criss-crossing them. Causeways and spillways and signs saying prone to flooding.

Bingara seemed nestled in the hills and the people seemed to be nestled into ruraldom. I got cedar cheese, white bread toasted ham and tomato sandwiches, where the cheese oozed like puss. The coffee spilt in the saucer. And the local paper offered when I enquired about a newspaper. Simple folk. Was I an arrogant prick?

Inverell slept peacefully. The road moved freely from one to the other, not flooded at all.

In Glenn Innes the gran shop keeper told me how she kept the V’s out of the fridge because of the kids, with that knowing look. You know, nothing is questioned if it had anything to do with kids.

I headed to the main street, up the road and around the corner from gran’s shop, the bakery and drank my first ‘Mother.’

I nearly left without getting petrol. Half a tank was as good as empty. I’d just left town, just passed a big servo, as the highway flew out of town. I doubled back and filled up with 98 octane, one of the petrol picks, just like that. I used my credit card for the first time and asked the register chick if she could put my empty can in the rubbish.

She hesitated.

Have I upset her?

She laughed and asked me to repeat what I’d asked.

Do you have a bin you could put this in?

Yes, sure. She looked relieved. Then she laughed.

She took the card and the eftpost machine from my hands.

In case you were wondering why I looked confused?

Maybe, I thought.

I thought you said something about fondue, that’s what I thought you asked.

I thought I had insulted you by asking you to dispose of my waste. You know, find a bin yourself buddy.

No, she said. I thought I heard fondue.

SMS. 14.17. (Shane & David) Still driving. Took a wrong turn, listened to an idiot who sounded like he knew what he was talking about. To add insult, that lead me to a flooded road and I had to turn around. Now I’ve got a map and aren’t asking any fools. Next stop Tenterfield – Christian

SMS. 14.28. (Shane) One of us should have stalked, at some stage – Christian

I stopped at Deep water and bought another ‘Mother’… what can I say, I liked the taste of them. I bought an apple pie too.

Turn left on the highway for Tenderfield and you’ll get there… um, smile… eventually.

I think Tenderfield was pretty and more historical than most of the towns.

I raced down the windy roads from Tenderfield to Lismore in the rain, followed by a Mazda X9. We passed everybody. The slow truck, the P-plate girls from Victoria in the Hyundai, the high powered 4wds with caravans on the back, the old chick in the Daihatsu Pizar. We did 120ks in the clear bits of windy road, as the rain fell. Well, the straighter bits, the longer parts coming down the hill of the windy road. He kept up behind me; we were heading over the black spur in tandom. It was cool. I wondered what he thought.

It took me all day. I got to Lismore at 18.00.

Glen Innes, Deep water, Lismore, seemed to be on the flat, the kilometres of unwashed.

Up the Bangalow Road to Eureka, seemed to become greener and more lush. Luke met me on the corner. I followed him seemingly into a fairy dell.

It rained all night.

Luke cooked bbq and salad.

I had to go lie down early, I was buggered. I slept under netting with my outside doors wide open.

I walked past Blowes

Heading Off On My Big Adventure

I’m my own best alarm clock, when it is of my choice, something I want to do. I drove out the drive way at 8.45, so it wasn’t 7am, it didn’t matter.

I took my first urn at the end of the Romsey Wooden Road, in Wallen. I turned left. I should have turned right. Oops. Good start.

I had my first coffee in Shepparton. Nothing much open, shouldn’t travel on a public holiday. Things are closed. The coffee was terrible, long black, not a chance of a macchiato. I reverted to short blacks, then and there.

SMS. 09.58. (Shane & David) First coffee Shepparton... clearly not in fucking Kansas now Toto. Call it what the hell you like, but don't call it coffee – Christian

SMS. 10.09. (Shane & David) David, get out of bed – Christian

There was water all along the side of the road, flooding paddocks, once I’d crossed the border and entered NSW.

The driving was easy, good. I had the windows down, the music loud. Why had I been worried? The time flew by as quick as the kilometres.

It was hot, 37 degrees, 38 degrees, said the dashboard. At the border and further. I put up the windows and turned on the aircon.

SMS. 13.12. (Shane) Reverting to short blacks now – Christian

SMS. 14.25. Just bought a ginormous V, never seen one so big. If that doesn't take out my liver nothing will – Christian

SMS. 14.27. (Shane) I'm in the boonies of NSW, West Widget, or something? – Christian

It's funny how images from your childhood stay with you, certain images, with no particular reason why specific images stay with you and why others don't. Such are the images of West Wylong. Stills, shots, scenes have stayed with me from a town that we all stopped in during one of our Xmas trips away with the three families. I remember a park, or something and then lunch in an ornate but run down pub following. Uncle Wally and Aunty Marie, no doubt, go there first and us and the Durnans would have caught up eventually. Uncle Wal and Aunty Mar would have waited at the park, flagging us all down, then we would have all eaten together.

As I drove into West Wylong I had that feeling of, this is it, this is that town.

Ah Dubbo, I've heard so much about you. It was kind of that neat, eighties design of Sunbury but on a larger scale. Neat grid design streets with neat gardens right where neat gardens ought to be. Design by computer and beige bureaucrats.

SMS. 18.27. (Rod) Thanks for the offer of the lift, but I'm now in Dubbo. Drive carefully – Christian

SMS. 18.37. (Shane & David) Yeah Dubbo!

Apparently, I can have 2 schooners and still drive? Who'd have thought – Christian

SMS. 18.43. (Shane & David) You're not from around here, are you mate? 

No, no I'm not. 

A short black is the single shot in that small cup, init? – Christian

SMS. 19.06. (Josh) Dubbo is quite nice – Christian (Josh is from Dubbo, way back when?)

SMS. 19.11. (Shane) Don’t know about stopping, guess I will. Feeling good. Janis is wailing, the windows are all wound down, the air is blowing – Christian

SMS. 19.13. (Josh) Hey pissy pants – Christian

In Dubbo. Blowes trousers. I’d put off stopping at Parkes and Forbes, nothing but Maccas, but now I was at the hotel, upmarket pub. I can’t remember the name. One of the first as you come to into town,

Would you like that black coffee in a cup or a mug?

I’d like a long machiatto.

The chubby blond bartender looked at me, stopped, looked confused, then said, You’re not from around here are you mate?

No, no I’m not.

That’s the shot of coffee in the small cup, isn’t it?

Yes it is, I said. Can you give me some milk with it separately.

Jees, sure.

Two guys were in the kitchen, of what was a pub which served meals. I ask the other one.

How do I get to Lismore? Where do I cross over to the other highway.

Just cut across at Coonabarabran. The highway turns left, you go straight ahead to Gunnedah.

I ate all day eggs on toast. Sausage. Egg, runny yolk. Bacon.

I asked for a second short black.

The problem is, said the younger, cuter guy. We’ve only got one of those cups.

No problem, I’ll get it for you.

I’ll give it a wash, he said after I had handed it to him.

No, it will be okay, I said

I’ll wash it, he said looking horrified.

The problem with Gunnedah, was that you had to backtrack slightly to Tamworth, so to get across to Armadale.

I turned to Gunnedah, but didn’t think of the map until I’d gone too far to turn around and come back and it looked like I should have gone to Narrabri.

I spoke to a taxi driver in town. “You have to go to Tamworth to get to Armadale, you have no choice.

Oh well, it wasn’t far to back track, just head off and get it done, it was 10pm by this stage. I felt good, I felt like I could keep going. I felt like I could drive the whole way.

I came around to corner in Carroll and the two cars coming towards me flashed their head lights, just as the 100k sign came into vision out of the dark, above a road that seemed to be lapping at the base of the pole. Brakes. That’s water. The road is flooded? The road is flooded. The road is flooded! Fuck! It looks like a causeway full of water 100 metres wide. Damn! Oh damn! I have to turn around, I guess. Lap lap in the dark, lie sarsaparilla awash in front of me. I really have to turn around. Damn! Oh, dam!

The wrong way, having to go the long way around to fix it. And now not any way around at all. Bugger. Time to stop and sleep. Defeated.

I called Mark and Luke. They said get a room. There in the dark in the middle of nowhere, I noticed my phone battery was almost flat too.

I head back to the main street of Gunnedah, the punters are piling out of the pub. It says accommodation on the veranda. I stop the car, head to the door.

You can’t go in.

I’m looking for some where to stay.

Nothing here, mate.

Can you suggest anywhere?

Nah, mate. Some of the other pubs in town are beyond to have space.

You’ll always get a room at one of the motels, says one chick.

Yeah, the motels, says the other chick. Try the motels.

I booked in late. The only time mr motel keeper sparked up interest in me was at the mention of the flooded road, otherwise I was just a nuisance, certainly in the evening.

Room 2, be out by 10am. No, we don’t cell anything to drink.

I watched Letterman and spoofed on the motel sheets. It seemed only fitting. Isn’t that what one does.

At least I could charge my phone.

Leaving Bolago

LouLou Says Come Spend Sunday Night With Me

Shane got home with the lovely Stu. Shane was pissed off when David presented him with just three biscuits, one of each flavour, of the present I’d cooked for both of them.

“I got hungry,” said David.

David can never be trusted with food, he will inhale it before he even thinks about it. Sometimes I wonder if it is an involuntary response

LouLou said, “Come spend Sunday night with me?”

So, I did. But, of course, when it came to it, she had friends staying and it wasn’t quite going to be just me and LouLou and the smoking fest I had envisaged. Why a smoking fest, I’m not sure, as I haven’t been smoking. Haven’t thought about it, to be truthful. It’s just funny how when I’m around pot smokers, or know I’m going to be around pot smokers I go straight there. Stupid addiction nonsense.

I didn’t care about getting up early, I didn’t care about packing. It would all get done, I didn’t need to think too much about it.

I headed to Bolago around 7pm.

I ate lovely rolled chicken and salad, it was nice. LouLou’s mate [name] and her son [name], the actor and her anorexic daughter, [name], were there. The husband too, I can’t think of his name.

Mark and Luke wanted the bird book. Mark wanted the chainsaw. I declined the heavy, petrol smelling machinery and packed the book.

LouLou and I smoked pot until midnight, in the atrium. We have LouLou’s neurotic conversation, again. Always. She’s completely fear driven, I feel sometimes. Always fear about the bad that may happen. Rarely, hopeful stories of the future.

I got to bed just after midnight. I feel strung out.

I open my paper journal and start to write.

Holiday Time

Off to Byron, wish me luck.

Shepparton. The Newell Hwy. Dubbo. How hard can it be?

After that... nervous snigger... I don't have a clue. But, I have a mobile. Straight up.

Big smile.

See you there. If they have internet? Surely?

I’m going to do it in one day, well, one run, straight through. I know they say it takes two days, two foes at it, but really, that’s probably because they just aren’t committed.

Again, wish me luck.

New Year's Resolutions

Now that Xmas is over and all that goes with that, it's time to look ahead. If I was going to have New Year's Resolutions, which I don't normally, they would be...

Got to go bike riding. Got to get back into shape. By the end of summer, I'll be gorgeous again, pre quit smoking fat body reclaimed.