Melbourne to Uluru

Well here we are again, finally allowed to travel without wearing a face diaper and not having to fill out in triplicate who we are, where we have been, and why we are going there. MsV and I had been planning a trip to the land of the long white cloud, Aotearoa, New Zealand., and had booked flights with the great anticipation that the travel bubble would open. But alas, this was not to be and that bubble burst and that was that. We did have a plan B though and that was to drive to the Red Centre of Australia and visit the very spiritual home of Uluru or Ayers Rock.

‘You can’t climb it’ is the piece of advice given by most people and I can say that having now been to Uluru, neither myself nor MsV had a need or a desire to climb this very impressive red rock as you can get to walk around the base of it and still be in awe of its beauty. There was a discussion about whether the rock is a him or a her. If I read the information correctly, the Indigenous people don’t make that distinction either way. But there are sections where you don’t take photos as they are women’s sacred sites, and there are men’s sacred sites with great cultural significance.

Anyway, more of that later. The journey was really a huge part of this trip and the fun you have on the way and interesting people you meet. We hired a campervan for the trip and its name was Princess. Hardly the name I would have chosen, but she was to be our home for the next two weeks. Our trip covered some 7,500 kilometres on tar sealed roads with us constantly on the move as to see as much as possible during our two weeks. With much anticipation, the van was packed for an Easter Friday departure. Some comment was brought about by my use of an old school map. Well let me tell you, that map is invaluable when Siri wants you to turn down a lonely red dirt road in the middle of nowhere. Our first day’s drive had us heading south towards a small Victorian town called Coonalpyn, 633 kilometres down the road, which neither of us could say. I did ask a local but they were of no help with the pronunciation either.

The first leg of our journey was great. With the campervan you can stop anywhere. So we managed to find a lovely litter-infested roadside rest area where we could cook up some hot cross buns with butter. We were really feeling like Burke and Wills now. Onward we pushed loving the wide open spaces, no traffic lights, the freedom of the open road. Then Siri chimes in, ‘Turn right now’. No I say, the one with the map knows better, and as we round the bend, here is Siri’s reason for us venturing from the elected course; a traffic jam. So there is a 10 kilometre traffic jam which Siri in her wisdom had seen and tried to warn us, or should that be me. This was heading into a small Victorian town called Beaufort. What could it be. Oh no, we don’t want to see a massive traffic accident at the start of our epic road trip. We did witness that crazy thing when two lanes became one and neither car will give up that one car space. So as we slowly enter the small town of Beaufort, we look to see two police-people performing breath tests. So no accident, which was good.

From here we speed on. You have got to stay in front of the pack, you know. Our next stop was the Pink Salt Lake which is very squinty on the eyes . Yes I did eat some salt from the ground being the hunter gatherer that I am. A quick photo stop and on we go with the mighty regional town of Coonalpyn in our sights. That traffic jam which I had chosen to ignore was really costing us daylight as we wanted to be at our caravan park and set up before nightfall. Slowly we were getting there but honestly running out of steam. Having read another travel writer’s blog, they had stayed at a small town called Tintinara. Well we thought that might just have to do. As we entered the metropolis that was Tintinara, I think the van slowed down a little and then left. It was one of those places that you might film a horror movie.

So a little further up the road we made it to Coonalpyn and what a sight for sore eyes. Set amongst the gum trees, hardly anyone camping there and lots of birds in the trees, especially those cheeky galas. We set the van up for our first night and what a fantastic sleep it was. We went for a walk at night and that was the first of many fantastic night skies.

Tomorrow we would be doing another 653 kilometres to Woomera in South Australia, which was an old rocket launching site.

More To Come….

Life in Lockdown.

Well, here we are in what is one of the most livable cities in the world, Melbourne, and here we are again locked down for misbehaving! When this COVID-19 pandemic started at the beginning of the year, we all thought OK this won’t be around for that long and we can all work on getting back to our normal daily routines. And this is what happened throughout most of Australia. After some time we managed to bring our numbers down without shutting down the whole economy, unlike our neighbours across the Tasman who took what seemed like a drastic measure straight off enforcing a total lockdown for four weeks. At the time, my Kiwi family were saying why should we lock down, look at Australia they are still doing business. Well that tide has turned now, especially for us living in Victoria and we have now been put in the naughty corner until our numbers drop to what is considered a safe and acceptable number for us to get back to a normal lifestyle. Anyway, that is enough about the why and how which we have little control over, other than being safe and sensible about spreading any germs.

So, one of the first things you notice is all the walkers out and about who don’t usually take part in such activities now becoming very active people, strangers saying hello, that is after giving you a wide berth on the overcrowded footpath. All dogs looking very pleased with themselves as their owners now rediscover man’s best friend. We have a coastal walk near our house and this has become the new super highway with a convoy of parents pushing prams at that nearly running pace that looks kind of awkward. The runners you can hear coming, the crunching sound underfoot sounds like they are eating chips upon their approach, they usually give you a shout to let you know they are coming. It is a gravel pathway ambling along the clifftop with tracks heading into the bush and down to a sandy beach with rocks to climb over. At sunset with the fishing boats close to shore, it is a magic time and for a short while you can imagine there is no pandemic. It is winter time, so when the sun drops down over the horizon it leaves a red glow over the water and the temperature drops quickly.

The daily routine is very measured now and nothing out of the ordinary is happening. Friends and family can no longer be visited, two overseas trips have been postponed, all of our scheduled markets have been cancelled for the year. Even though we are house bound, it gives us a good opportunity to get all those domestic chores done that are sometimes put aside during a busy work week; we can put more into our online vintage shop. The more research we do about vintage clothes, the more we are reminded about the simplicity that was, say, in the fifties and sixties. It’s hard not to look back at the old photographs of that era and wish we still had that type of freedom. Everything had style, the houses, cars, clothing, everyone and everything had a purpose. Things were built to last for a life time, it was a measure that everything was designed and manufactured to.

Like anybody who remembers that era, we all thought things were difficult and we couldn’t wait for technology to make everything easier for our lives. The Jetsons had us believing in personal space ships, hover boards, all that futuristic stuff. I am sure that these things will present themselves eventually, but with how the world is now, maybe we should be looking for a simpler life. So tonight to round the day off we went for an end of day walk along the darkening evening track walking through nature with masked strangers giving us a knowing nod. The rain was falling but somehow when you are walking through the bush you do not seem to get so wet, but who cares anyway.

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What is the Beach Hop?

The Beach Hop is an event that happens every year in New Zealand, usually around Easter, in a small beachside town called Whangamata (pronounced ‘Fung-Ga-Ma Taa’ … well that’s my take on the name. ‘Wh’ at the start of a Maori word is said with a Faa sound). Because of COVID-19, the 2020 event has been moved to March 24-28, 2021. Starting with a street party on the Wednesday in an old mining town called Waihi, the streets are lined with old cars, hot rods, vintage caravans and boats. The event runs from Wednesday to Sunday. Thursday, we all move to Whangamata and this is our base for the next three days. This sleepy little surf town comes alive with the main street bursting at the seams with like-minded people either cruising the main strip or just watching from one of the many pop-up bars. There is a main stage area where you can dance the night away to some of your favourite rock ‘n’ roll and rockabilly bands, many people wearing their vintage and retro clothes and accessories to really give that old school feeling of how things were in the fifties and sixties.

There are organised day cruises each day, and if you love to drive through beautiful winding coastal countryside, then this is not to be missed. The people that attend the Beach Hop are friendly and genuinely good people. If you don’t have a car to cruise in, it’s not that hard to grab a seat in someone’s pride and joy. We head off early and the convoy runs for most of the day. First stop is Tairua, another small coastal town with a great bakery. We push up into the hills and are heading for the Coroglen pub which is on the way to Whitianga. The Coroglen is in the middle of nowhere, but it is that type of country pub you may see some famous major band playing a sneaky gig while on tour. Here we stop for a few hours and watch the constant parade of cars going by, and I think everyone blasts their horn acknowledging the onlookers. No hoons here, maybe the odd blast on the throttle, which is met with a cheer from the bar patrons.

We head back now to Whangamata to ready ourselves for the Friday night cruise and party. The atmosphere builds with this event with every night getting busier building up to the grand finale, which is the Saturday night cruise. The main street is again packed almost bumper to bumper, but everyone is well behaved, you can jump into most cars to do some blockies as you pass your mates going in the opposite direction. The shopfronts are all done up with a fifties-sixties vibe, and just for a little while everyone’s taken back to a simpler time when it was just harmless fun hanging out at the local milk bar. Sunday morning dawns and there are some sore heads. Here we go over to the local park where awards and trophies are handed out. There is always a raffle at the Beach Hop for some very cool car or motorbike. Once these things are over, most start to make their way back from where they came.

If you would like to go to the 2021 Beach Hop, March 24-28, I suggest book early as most houses are booked year to year. There is a campground just out of town in Wentworth Valley, if you are that way inclined. Most of the surrounding towns have accommodation and the distances in New Zealand are not so far. Whangamata is on the East Coast of the North Island and is about a three-hour easy drive from Auckland. This event attracts people from all around the world and it has become very popular with the Australian hot rod fraternity, with some shipping their cars over for this event, and then sometimes entering them at the Meremere Nostalgic Drags races. The weather is great at that time of the year, so I hope by then we are all able to travel and attend the things we like.

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#BeachHop #Whangamata #NewZealand #HotRod

Ode to a Pirate.

Well, this blog is about a dear friend, Mark… pirate named Alf, who passed from us last year and went to Davy’s Locker, a mythical place where all sailors and seamen finally rest when we leave this mortal place, and Alf was a true pirate. I’m sure he is keeping everyone on their toes there as he did while on land. He was given the name Alf by Ginger, another pirate. He was the deck hand on the trawler, Tasman Star, where he got the name because he was like an alien life-form with his crazy antics. Both these seamen have gone now, but never forgotten. I met Mark some 30 years ago and was glad I did, spending many hours at sea fishing, laughing and learning so much from such a good skipper. He taught all of us the finer points to catching a feed from the sea, his boatmen-ship was second to none and you would get a colourful telling off if you didn’t perform your duties correctly on board. His ability to spot things at sea in the distance through large rolling swells would astound me, teaching me to helm the boat through the peaks and lows to make a safe passage in a big sea and to always stay your compass setting.

He tried to hang on so we could say our final goodbyes, but alas I couldn’t make the trip from Melbourne back to Auckland before he was gone. Something I regret to this day. He had good people around looking after him as he slipped away. My trip was booked and I could get to pay my respects. I would fly to Auckland, meet up with my son and then fly to Great Barrier Island (Aotea) in the Hauraki Gulf. This was Mark’s home and where he loved to be, and once you have been there you will know why. The flight from Auckland to the Barrier is a short trip of 30 minutes with some of the most stunning scenery. You are jammed into the narrow plane the locals call The Flying Pencil and usually piloted by a pimply-faced pilot trying to get his flying hours up. The Barrier comes into view and evokes so many good memories for both myself and my son. The plane banks with a clunky motion to the right and comes over the the top of Medlands Beach, which is a beautiful sandy white, with aqua-coloured water lapping the shore. The pilot is spot on and gets us on the ground with a soft landing.

We have a hire car booked and it is ready and waiting. Everything is done on Barrier time, which is so good after the rush of Melbourne. My mate Brent and my son pile into the mighty Toyota Rav and head just down the road to the Claris Club where we will send off our mate. We arrive and things are well underway with most people on the island pitching in to make this a fitting farewell. A Hangi (Earth Oven) is being prepared by some of the best in the business, all the food is fresh as you like. Seafood straight from the ocean, meat and veg fresh from the land. A Hangi is a great social event as it is a long process to burn the fire, which heats the rocks which then go in the ground under the baskets of food and then covered with earth (Whenua) and left to cook. It is around this fire we share stories about Alf, share many an ale and start to celebrate the man. A funny thing in true Barrier style, I spark up a conversation with a lady holding a baby; with one foul swoop she asks if I would like to hold him. Of course, I say, yes, and in this instance she wanders off to do something and it is at this moment I realise I have been out played. For half an hour I hold this bonny baby until I meet his mum and the baby is returned to its rightful owner.

So nightfall has come and the Hangi and food is ready for us to eat. Firstly there are the speeches, and this colourful character had generated many a tale. On the pool table were Alf’s sea boots and his pint glass full of beer. The food was unreal, the young fellas had been diving and produced the best the Barrier can offer from the sea. I will admit, I did camp out near the maybe ten biggest cray fish I have seen for a long time. This resulted in a very long severe bout of the gout. The Claris Club is packed as everyone wants to pay their respects to the legend that is Alf. We move outside for a rising Haka done by the local boys, and this sends a shiver down your spine. The boat Mark built was there and even though he wasn’t, everything seemed right.

RIP Alf.

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Rock Ballarat.

Well it has been some time since my last blog and many adventures have passed and it is time to bring them to life. This tale is about a road  trip to Rock Ballarat by ShopMsV to sell our wares during the weekend of Rock n’ Roll, Vintage, Retro and Cool Music and cars. This is an annual event and will be our first time here, so we look forward with some trepidation as to what to expect, both from a logistics and an event point of view. So our less than friendly alarm is set for 3 am to make sure we make our 6 am bump-in with our stall. We have our fifties Ute loaded up with our stock, pergola, table, banner and everything we need to make this venture a success. There is generally not much idle chit chat between myself and MsV at this hour of the morning, so we go about our business performing our early morning get up ritual. The old Ute fires into life with the rumbling V8 shaking ours and the neighbour’s house. We idle out of the driveway quickly as to not disrupt everyone’s sleep. And it is now that you are living life, happy to be up at the break of day, heading down the highway for yet another adventure.

So we are underway proper now, having got through Melbourne and gone over the West Gate Bridge. The old Ute is flying along nicely having just had an engine rebuild. This is its maiden out of city limits journey. This 1959 vehicle has none of your fancy modern creature comforts like a heater window or a demister, and the ride is bumpy and raw but much fun. Somehow MsV manages to get some shut-eye, or maybe she has just closed her eyes and is praying that we make it. I tuck in beside an interstate truck as he is holding a good speed. Eventually I pass him and notice that he is waving, as many people do to the old Ute, but hold on, this is the one-fingered wave. I have since found out that my headlights in his mirrors is what caused this less than friendly gesture, but I tip my hat and carry on by this road warrior as he has much more highway presence than we do.

We have arrived in Ballarat and follow our directions to one of the main streets. Here we are greeted by Steve, our site coordinator, and he directs us to a spot that has MsV aerosoled onto the tarmac. So we busy ourselves with putting our site together. Not sure what the next two days will bring, both in sales and people’s appreciation of our wares.  The crowds start to arrive and there is a real Rock n’ Roll vibe to this event. The locals embrace this event and most people are dressed for the era; there are even children done up to this genre. Sales are going great and the customers are fun to deal with. Myself and MsV make a great team dealing with some very comical people.

One issue has arisen and that is the wind, and our less than sturdy pergola slowly but surely starts to disintegrate. I spend my time hanging onto the rails while trying to casually chat to customers and make a sale. Clothes racks are falling over, stock is getting blown off the table, but we still push on. We are supposed to stay until 8 o’clock but by five-thirty we have had enough, after our 3 am start we are done for the day and are looking forward to a night’s rest in our accommodation. We head out for dinner and find a great Mexican restaurant in Armstrong Street called ‘Pancho’, the food and service is great in this small but friendly spot. The streets are full of people enjoying many venues playing music and the festival fever carries on into the night.

Sunday rises, as it does, and we are ready for one more day of trading heading towards a 4 pm close down. We set up our stall again ready for the crowds to start arriving and we are greeted by our old friend the wind again. By now our pergola was getting a Jerry Rig, to use a nautical term, gaffa-tape rope and finally backing the old Ute up and tying the whole thing to the tow bar. It was amusing at all the suggestions from the other stall holders as to how we should resolve this windy situation.

Well, we had another successful day with lots of laughs and many happy customers helping to make this a fantastic event. We have been asked to return next year so we will look forward to that. We meet lots of interesting people doing these events and as we head back to Melbourne, we reflect on the characters that have helped to make this another life adventure.

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Dinner at our Local

Well after a tough week at the coal face, I decide to take Ms V out for a romantic meal at one of the local eating establishments. One suggested by Ms V herself and Thai was to be our chosen gastronomical cuisine tonight. So our first stop is a Thai  restaurant new to the local strip I think. Once we get out of the car and take a look inside, the very brightly lit  restaurant shows little appeal for said romantic fun filled merriment that we had in mind. Melbourne in winter can blow a very cool breeze, let me tell you, so off we went in search for somewhere more suited to our dining expectations.

So across the road we go to a Middle Eastern styled restaurant, which is full of people and looks inviting so in we go. Greeted by the maitre d’ we are given a choice of tables, one near the doorway which he assures us is a little breezy so maybe something down in the cafe area. As we follow him to our seats we get a good vibe and this restaurant has great Middle Eastern deco and looks interesting. We are seated next to a sole dinner who forms part of the downfall of our evening. We are seated on the couch and Ms V has to add another cushion to get at eye level. We look over the drinks menu and choose a nice red which goes with the setting here. Then we get only one glass of red wine, which can be a legitimate mistake, and I remind our less than efficient staff member. Next comes our menu ordering, which generally is a simple affair but not tonight.

After what was an eternity and still no food and starting to get that I do not want to be here any more feeling, the owner comes our way to talk to the sole diner  who seems to be holding centre court, and in passing happens to notice our empty plates and asks if we have ordered yet. We reply with well we have ordered but still we have no food. We place our main orders only to find out that what I have ordered is no longer available, not a big deal really but this coupled with the sole dinner staring and listening to our every word and still no food. This is when we invoke the walk out, only to be used in the most extreme cases and yes this is one. The walk out is fantastic at the time and you feel on top of the world until you realise that you are still hungry and still haven’t eaten but some kind of stand for a reasonable level of service must be taken.

So up we go to the maitre d’ to pay for the two wines we had, which is met with much apologies. No charge for the wine sir, which was a great gesture but still left me hungry. Back out into the cold Melbourne night in search of an establishment that can feed two weary travellers. There it is a good old pizza bar, now we are lowering our gastronomical bar from what the evening was going to be but by now we would be happy with a pizza. So in we go with much hope and enthusiasm looking forward to a meal to save the evening. As we take our seats at the painted lop sided cable drums, I notice that my reading spectacles are missing. So during the big walk out at the last eatery, I have left them there and yes I have to sheepishly make a return to retrieve them.

We have ordered two more wines at the pizza bar which are not forth coming. Eventually we see our wines getting poured and one and a half glasses for two people get presented with the waiter clutching at the rim explaining that they have run out of that particular wine. Next came our entree which was a trio of dips, fresh out of the Coles container, no expenses spared here. These were served on a marble foot stool. Next came our pizza which was accompanied with an apology that we have run out of dough and had to get some from the freezer. Well this is where the evening finally came undone for me and after eating, which was not a bad pizza, we headed home to reflect on an evening out at our locals.

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Stranded In Strahan.

 

Well this yarn is about my break over the Easter week, which I spent with Ms V in the Apple Isle, Tasmania. So I have now visited most points of the compass in Tassie but have not yet ventured to the wild West Coast and this had to be ticked off my list. So the decision was made to leave on Easter Monday morning and stay the night and do some sightseeing and travel back on Tuesday after a one night stopover. Well, Easter Monday dawns and we attempt an early start to the journey and manage to get away at an earth shattering nine am.  Is this the day we are meant to eat more Easter eggs? I am so confused about such things. So with the trusty Mr Beemer loaded up, we begin our journey which should take about three and a half hours – leaving Launceston, travelling west towards Cradle Mountain, then heading south-west towards our destination town of Strahan. The drive is quite uneventful at this stage as we head through rolling plains with a backdrop of rocky scrub covered mountains. The sun is shining and all is good.

About two hours into the journey, we decide to stop at the Cradle Mountain Lookout to both take in the view and also eat our home made lunch. As we have wound our way up the mountain range and into the clouds, the weather has changed and you get a sense of remoteness. Deciding to eat our lunch in the car, I look around at the flora and everything looks like it is from the moon, if indeed life did grow there, plants clinging on for dear life battling all weather conditions. Heading off again down some steep winding roads, I think I notice a difference in Mr Beemer’s driving attitude but choose to ignore it and push on. Finally we decide to stop at Lake Tullah and this is where we can smell rubber from the car.  As this car has run flat tyres and no spare I decide to put this theory to the test. Well, we make it to the next small town, Rosebery, with the tyre now beating out a great blues beat, where we have another investigation of the offending tyre and things do not look good. Now to put this little issue into perspective, these towns are old mining towns in the middle of nowhere on Easter Monday, so there is zero chance of anywhere to stay or any help with a BMW tyre.

Ms V and I make an executive decision to make a run for it, or should I say a slow waddle, to our destination and our booked accommodation, which is in Strahan. This is some sixty kilometres away. So at a controlled 40 kilometres an hour, we head off into the unknown and the possibility of being stuck in our car for the night, or coming upon an overly helpful local. I was driving with the hazard lights on trying to avoid an accident or getting rear ended on a blind corner. One local in his Toyota Landcruiser, which every real man drives back here, nothing like a city BMW, slowly went past us steering a little too much. A little further up the road we notice he is now at his gate watching us wounded and driving by, it had that Wolf Creek feeling about it.

Well Mr Beemer with his (pretend of course) European accent is very smooth and sophisticated and very loyal to Ms V and so he kept pushing on like the little engine that could. Slowly we were eating into our kilometres and getting tantalizingly close to our destination, but also too scared to think about actually making it to Strahan. Next stop Zeehan and lo and behold we make it there.  This is like the others, an old mining town that would have been a hive of activity in its day…but now not so much now !

Finally we reach Strahan and I was very dubious about our ability to make it, but there you go, and our motel awaits. So after we check in and tell the owner about our predicament and requiring a new tyre, he directs us toward the only garage in town and says good luck which is less than reassuring. We limp our way to the servo where there are two other cars there with flat tyres, which seems a little bit of a coincidence! Are they throwing tacks on the road so to generate extra business,maybe trap unsuspecting tourists. I meet Mike the owner and he states the obvious that the tyre is no good (these are not the exact words he used). I don’t like your chances of finding a tyre like that round here. He was very helpful as I went with him to rummage through his scrap tyres. I was grabbing anything, is this one..is this one… but alas there were none to be had, but I can get you one in and it will be two days.  Confident I can somehow find one, I tell him I will ring him tomorrow and order it if need be.

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To Be Continued….

 

Melbourne To Adelaide

Well this trip was a few months ago with my mate Gaz, taking a truck and trailer to Adelaide with a load of freight on board during a hot summer weekend. Gaz had suggested I join him and ride shotgun on one of his trips to Adelaide where we would unload and after a designated break and make the return trip. As I am always up for a road trip and have never been to Adelaide, I commit to the journey. Up early on a Saturday morning, we head over to the western suburbs to pick up the truck and trailer which is getting loaded on our arrival. Now that all our freight has been loaded, we are good to go on our 8 hour trip. Big trucks stir up memories of my Dad who was a truck mechanic. I would join him on road trips to fix some big rig that was broken down in the middle of nowhere. As we head out, I can’t help but notice the very smooth gear changes my mate is preforming, until I bother to take a look and this big rig is automatic. Gaz is a true showman and pretends to imitate gear changes, which becomes a great source of entertainment during the journey.

Even though it is Saturday morning, the traffic is heavy and we are happy to be at the city outskirts now, and can build up a good cruising speed. As we head south, you can’t help but notice the landscape changing to a very brown dry dusty vista and I get a sense of travel into the outback on my mind. There is a long stream of trucks going both ways and my driver has the duty to return there waves which is the truckies’ salute. As always, you bypass long and forgotten small towns that can no longer survive as there is a massive green servo on a new stretch of highway to take their customers. Our trip down is reasonably uneventful except for one passing manoeuvre of some grey nomads towing the usual caravan. The grey nomads are well under the speed limit so on a long stretch of road we pull out to pass, but this is when the chap towing the caravan decides to speed up and I am sure we have all experienced this scenario. So after much light flashing and some swearing we manage to inch past the caravan combo.

Coming into Adelaide, there is a very steep grade and all trucks must shift into low gear which we dutifully do making a very slow descent. Finally we reach the yard and the temperature is around 40 degrees at 5pm. I thought I was only an observer on this journey but I am put straight to work opening up tarps and helping with the unloading of freight. We have to make one more drop off around the road before we can head back to Melbourne. This involves unloading a big blue box and taking back another. A forklift is involved and we are underway again. Now we are ready to snake our way back up the steep grade to head out of town.  The sun is starting to set and the temperature has dropped and we have an empty trailer which makes for a quicker journey.

We make a stop at the Tailem Bend, north of Adelaide, which is the sight of a new motorsport track.  Here I get to wash the mass of bugs off our front screen. This is where we also get to buy some truck stop food, something that will sit in your gut for the rest of the journey. Back on the road now and it is nightfall.  All we can see is the wall of lights on trucks coming toward us.  After a few hours, I decide to get some shut eye in the sleeper. Now do not be fooled, this isn’t anything like a bed at all but it gets you horizontal. I open my eyes a few times to see nothing but fog. The constant noise of the diesel thumping away reminds me of being at sea on a boat punching through the surf. Well I am not sure if old mate was searching out potholes in the road, but I was sure getting some air off that bed at times which brought a yeah yaa from me and Gaz.

So time takes care of the distance and eventually we make it back to Melbourne at about 4 in the morning which just gives us time to get back across town before the morning rush hour traffic. But even at this hour, the traffic is building. After our big trip, this part of the journey is very painful as all you want to do is get home. Once I drive home from Gaz’s house, I think I got in an extra hour’s sleep before getting up for Monday Morning work. I developed a lot of respect for the long haul truck driver after that journey.

 

Xmas Holidays

Well here we are again suffering from the post holiday blues. This is a time of stark reality that our Xmas holidays are over and it is back to endure yet another year at the coal face doing whatever it is we do to have another holiday to spend with family and friends. My holiday was spent in the Apple Isle Tasmania with the lovely MsV and family after a hectic but productive year on the Mainland. Like everyone once all work duties are completed we are ready to wind down for some relaxing time that involves eating, sleeping, drinking, followed by more of the same with some festive outings thrown in. Well I am not sure if I am the only one but the afternoon sleeps seem to become your best friend during this first week off work. I asked several people if they too felt tired and it was a resounding yes. I think I will call this “First week sleep blues “.

So it is Xmas day and we are to prepare a dinner for the family guests who are coming and who may have already eaten but we are sure they will make room for our feast. The preparation starts early and there will be no afternoon nap this day. The Turkey is the first point of business to be prepared, so we get said fowl from the fridge only to find out it has gone off! Panic you may think but no, only in Tasmania can you buy a quality ham on the bone at the servo, so crisis averted. Well all the food is prepared and we eagerly await our guests.

Our guests have arrived and it is nice to have them here. They also bring food and drink as is the norm I think. We take position in the lounge with a stunning backdrop over the Tamar River. As the conversation starts slowly, I am amazed that it is a very articulate 11 year old who asks a question to get the conversation going and she has three questions which escape me right now but I think what a great ice breaker. This is a skill which has taken me many decades to refine but here it is in someone with years ahead. Presents are exchanged and there is lots of laughter and banter. The family dog is collected and also brought into the festivities, as he does a lap around and says hello to everyone.

Now we move into the dining area where our meal awaits. Here everything is laid out in front of us, complete with Xmas crackers and Dad jokes. Everyone enjoys the food even though they may still be full from the last round of eating. The crackers are pulled, silly crepe hats are worn and everyone enjoys each other’s company. Once the meal is finished, complete with dessert and all the trimmings, it is time for our guests to leave. Well the kitchen looks like a bomb has gone off in here and the guests insist on washing up. We say no but this will not do. So begins the dish wash shuffle coupled with too much laughter, it is like a production line and some dishes get washed twice, some get put anywhere but where they should be.

So a couple of days have passed and Xmas day is behind us now. This is when the holidays start proper. We are loading up the car and heading South to Hobart for the night and will be going to the gastronomical delight that is the “Taste”, the famous food and wine festival showcasing Tasmanian foods held on Constitution Wharf overlooking the late arrivals from the Sydney to Hobart yacht race. We arrive in North Hobart at our Hotel which I am told is infamous with stories from earlier times. The accommodation is fair and friendly and the room hasn’t been updated since it was built decades ago and there is wall to wall wood veneer. Tonight we would have dinner in one of the funky restaurants in North Hobart and we choose an Italian establishment called Capital on Elizabeth Street and are treated to a fine meal.

Today is “Taste” day and we are looking forward to tasting good food and drink. First thing is to find a parking spot in Battery Point, Hobart. This is a fantastic old area and is full of history set behind the Salamanca markets which you can access from the convict steps on Kelly Street, built in 1840. The markets are a busy place and you have to squeeze and dodge your way through the crowds. Buskers play or sing for their supper. So into a small retro cafe we go for a well deserved coffee and breakfast. It is packed in here but we are lucky to get a booth. It is buzzing in here and the power keeps tripping out with the owner resetting the fuse to keep things moving. Now this is where I have noticed a pattern forming in today’s eateries and it is the constant interruption of wait staff checking if everything is OK! I find this constant interruption to my meal and riveting conversation with MsV very annoying. When paying the bill the owner asks how was your meal, I reply it was fantastic if it wasn’t for the constant interruption by your wait staff. An apology is offered up.

From here we head off to the Taste for another round of food and drink. Seafood is what I am chasing and a fine local Pale Ale. The main food hall offers up both these for me and everything is perfect. Heading outside to sit on the grass and listen to some blues getting played on one of the stages. It is here we rendezvous with our Xmas guests and proceed to watch some crazy street performers doing gravity defying stunts on push bikes. We get to walk along the wharf and look at the yachts that have already finished the Sydney to Hobart and there are still boats arriving with relieved crews on board. Back to the Taste for one more round of eating, oysters this time. We are ready to head off now after a full day, as we are heading to the East Coast Bay of Fires for a few days camping in such a beautiful spot…goodbye Hobart.

Melbourne to Bathurst Mount Panorama the final leg.

Well after some confusion around our pre-purchased tickets at the gate, we are searched for contraband and any excess alcohol and given the all clear to head up the mountain to our campsite at McPhillamy Park. Heading along the approach road we are greeted by every type of petrol head settling in for a weekend of great racing. Our Ford V8 is given the fist pump salute by those that support the Blue Oval and a disapproving glare by the misguided Holden supporters. In years gone by this road was impassable if you didn’t do or attempt to do a burn out.  I am glad that this no longer a prerequisite to enter the mountain.

Now we are at our campsite. It has been up and running for about a week already, with holidays getting combined with this weekend’s event. We unpack our tent and are lucky enough to have to perform the tent erecting in front of the very helpful and critical campsite crew. Any bloke worth his salt must prove himself by piecing together this tangled mess with great ease while getting bombarded with helpful tips from his mates.

Finally we have our accommodation for the next four days ready to go, just as dark falls upon us as luck would have it. Tonight will be about introductions, some food to eat and then later on in the evening the famous track walk around 6.2 kilometres of Australia’s finest circuit. My son has been forewarned that he has to carry the esky around the full track as he is the virgin to this place and must get his badge of honour. I too have had this chore and it is to give you some street cred.

The track walk is conducted by one of the camp stalwarts and much information is offered up during the journey. Starting off at the top of Skyline, we head down the steep grade into the dipper. This is still a public road when racing isn’t on so we are met by people driving the track. The walk takes us past the pits where we see some late night last minute fine tuning before tomorrow’s practice day. Now we are heading up the very steep incline toward the top of Skyline. As anyone will tell you, this is a very steep part of the track and there is a lot of puffing and blowing by myself as we get near the top. There is one athlete among us though and that is a 10 year old called Maddie.  She zigzags her way up this hill with great ease which makes you appreciate the enthusiasm of youth.

So our first night draws to a close and we settle in for the evening. Light rain is starting to fall but we are in our tent safe and secure about to drift off to sleep. Unfortunately what would have been some rain deflecting sections of the tent had been left open and a great deal of our possessions are soaked in the morning. After a hearty breakfast we are at the track again to watch the day’s practice and we assume our position sitting right on the fence at Skyline. The crowds are building now and everybody is searching for cover as the heavens have opened up making this a very wet practice day. We take the shuttle bus from the top of the mountain down to the track to take in “merch ally”, look at the car museum and indulge in “track food”. Now this type of nutrition will not sit well in your system and can have you yearning for something not deep fried or battered.

Saturday arrives and we head into the township of Bathurst for the day to get a few supplies and look for some motor sport clothing at the local Salvos, and also to eat a meal that isn’t track food. The whole town takes on this event and all shops are decorated in their chosen colours. Even as we enter the Salvos on a search of forgotten memorabilia, the old woman serving cheekily bombards me with criticism about my chosen team. With all our chores done, we make our way back to camp and yes it is still raining but by now this doesn’t seem to matter. The evening is spent around the campfire trying to keep warm rotating yourself like a chicken getting cooked.  There is a lot of idle banter about who will win tomorrow and it always astounds me the amount of information everyone has up here on the mountain. Well we must get to sleep now as tomorrow is the great race and this requires a before day break start as to secure your seating down at the track.

So race day dawns and we are all ready for the big day. Some have slept down here to get their spot, others have been coming for decades and their spots are well marked out and you dare not take them. Finally the race is underway and the crowd cheers as you can hear the super cars thundering up the hill. The noise as each car races by is amazing, they down shift then over the dipper making their way to Con Rod Straight. So now we settle in for the pack to find their positions for the next 161 laps. I have some friends meeting me here so I set off to find them in the crowd. After an eventful day of racing, stoppages, accidents, rain and sunshine, a winner is finally found.  This is the final year of the mighty Ford Falcon and even though it wasn’t the winner, it has been a fantastic day. Now  the crowd empty out onto the track to celebrate another year of the great race. All that is left is one more night’s camping followed by the journey home. Well this is the weekend that was Bathurst Mount Panorama the great race.