Longreach to Dalby, 29-6-2011

   We pass another sign that says ‘Waltzing Matilda country’ with side-view silhouette of the wandering swagman. Either this guy covered some serious miles or most new Australians were homeless wanderers with bag on a stick, corks on the hat brim and kickin’ up dust with their itinerant boots as they headed toward the rumour of a job shearing or clearing.

   During the heady days of imperialism, life was cheap and so were wages. Cheap enough to refer to as ‘slave labour’. When the white military and landowners elbowed their way into Australia they were blessed with an almost endless supply of complimentary convict workers. Even after criminal transportation ended, the idea of fair treatment for workers seemed a load of balderdash – except to the workers themselves. Various solidarities formed from the ‘screw this’ attitude and strikes/scuffles ensued. Mine strikes, stockade battles etc.

   Barcaldine (QLD), location of the Tree of Knowledge Monument. Built on the location of the original tree that ‘silently witnessed’ the struggle between shearers and pastoralists for better conditions in 1891. Arrests were made and subsequently these underpaid and maltreated troublemakers became champions of the ideals that formed the Union Movement and the Labor Party. What ever your political leanings might be – nobody likes having their nose rubbed in it by the boss.

Tree of Knowledge Monument, Barcaldine, QLD

Tree of Knowledge Monument, Barcaldine, QLD

   12 hours through sporadic rainfall, pothole dodging and oncoming road trains we hit Dalby. Manu books 3 rooms pub accommodation over the phone about an hour out of town. The last time such a manoeuvre will be employed on this journey: The pub must be observed in person before reservations are made. Our rooms on the first floor resembled early 1970’s backstage greenrooms but with three beds each and the oddest collections of mismatched furniture. My room had a fridge slightly bigger than the Brady Bunch’s, an outdoor glass table and a 70’s stereo system shelf that held the tea-making facilities. All the beds linen looked like patchwork quilts made from every item of clothing from ‘Woodstock’. 

   My prized chameleon and tie-dye t-shirt collection disappeared forever...

Camooweal to Longreach, 28-6-11

    Okay, alright, it’s starting to look like a Road Runner cartoon now. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not at all sick of driving these distances or shaking enthusiastic hallucinations from the side mirrors to the back of my cerebrum; Wile-e-Coyote follows us on an ACME assembled V2 rocket. 

    Buzzards circle patiently through the warm air – their peripheral view of the circle of horizon cut in 2 by a slowly spinning bitumen strip resembling a screw eerily loosening from the inside of a coffin but never falling out, broken only by a glimpse of potential food action. 

    Speaking of peripherals – it does seem ridiculously easy to look through CD pouches, dig out muesli bars, search songs on an over-complicated music system, check the fuel-temp-oil gauges, operate cameras and search for and plug in much needed chargers for electronic equipment while maintaining a flawless driving line on the road at speed. That is, until certain sections of the highway become liver-poundingly rough. We must alert the local council to urgently attend to these pot-holes 300 clicks from somewhere…

   “Where did you say that bad section of road was?”

   “It was just after… no, just before the… wait, there was umm… yeah, it was flat for ages right between these 2 slow inclines. You know, where the 3 dead roos are right near each other… there were some little clouds on the left…”

   “We’ll get right on it, sir.”

   McKinlay – small roadhouse on the western end of the crucifix of streets that shape the town: the highway goes across and a few houses down the upright. On the eastern arm, the last structure on the way out of town, is the 1980’s Paul Hogan watering hole ‘Crocodile Dundee’ pub.

WALKABOUT CREEK HOTEL, MCKINLAY QLD

  

                                                SELF PORTRAIT WITH BAD HAIR                                 

                                                                     ‘CROCODILE’ WHATARANGI

 WHAT ELSE ?

   We walked through the place to soak up the box-office history. But did the opposite of what you must, surely, be obliged to do and didn’t have a celebratory ale for the road. The logic-driven reason; because we were on a Caloundra Cup deadline. As it turned out, it saved us from permanent bladder damage from the kidney-pulverising Landsborough hwy to Winton and Longreach (the birthplace of QANTAS).

   On this piece of flat earth the only thing that wasn’t flat was the road. No car suspension system invented could cope with the pok-marked tar masquerading as a road. Even early 70’s Valiants and Fords that glide over speed humps smoothly would be reduced to a paper-machet gumball.

   The best shower in the universe after days of wind and bugs smashing against your teeth exists at the Lyceum Hotel in Longreach.

   It would have been enough to acknowledge the keen parking of the XXXX B-double round the corner on convenient government land – but no – it was Ben’s birthday, and no better place to celebrate than the Lyceum Hotel. Also, everywhere else was shut.

Katherine to Camooweal, 27-6-11

   Three days to get to the next event. 3000 kms. Firstly, south through the termites to 3-Ways, the 40 kms north of Tennant Creek roadhouse outpost and turnoff to the Queensland border. On the way Manu starts doing the small wave you do at oncoming cars on country roads. He does it relentlessly to every car for 3 hours to check the friendliness rating – at one point he got 11 from 11.

    The Retreat blows a tyre near the Daly Waters turnoff and Ben fits the remaining spare. A lack of phone signal prevents him from alerting us to pick up another one in the Land Cruiser at Tennant Creek. Later, Ben pulls the Retreat into 3-ways, tells us he’s got no spares left and continues to Queensland while Manu and I dash into Tennant Creek with the shredded one. The guy at the tyre place says, ‘No mate. Haven’t got one. You wouldn’t find one round here either. There’s probably only 4 places in Australia that sell ‘em.’ The tyres on the Retreat trailers are European size; slightly smaller than regular tyres to comply with height restrictions. Manu phones Kim at Crawford’s home-base and within seconds she finds 2 for us to pick up in Mt Isa. The truck has to travel 700ish kms with no spare.

   You can see along way ahead on the Barkly Hwy. And deceptively so; the underestimated distance you see in daylight is revealed at night when oncoming headlights take 12 minutes to pass. Driving 40 minutes without turning the wheel across a treeless landscape toward an evaporating horizon requires loud music, preferably Chisel. At one point I thought deafening opera would do the trick, but alas, I didn’t bring any. Aside from a concert hall with orchestral backing, desert driving seems an appropriate setting for a tenor filled opus; the tragic verse washing over so many deceased kangaroos, the barren earth joins the cloudless sky looking like the edge of the world once feared in opera’s time of origin. But don’t start me on opera in TV commercials – they should have stopped after the roller-door ad in the 70’s (even then, apologies to Carmen) – slow motion shots of shiny, monotonously designed cars driving past women in long dresses sipping cocktails over an ill-fitting aria. I suppose the look is to conjure something high-class – no doubt all on the back of the other current prostitution of opera with the ‘20 tenors’, or however many they can cram onto one stage. 86? Why not go all the way? Ladies and gentlemen: the 400 Tenors.

   Hang on, better not give them any ideas.

   Most roo carcasses lie on the side of, or just off the road. Every so often one is situated in the middle of the lane. Some are pulverised enough to fit between the wheels and drive over. Just a leg and a tail – that sort of arrangement. Others are huge lumps requiring you to swerve around. During the opera daydream a lump materialised from the haze in the distance. For a while it appeared to be sitting up. The reason revealed itself as we got closer – standing over the roo, having an afternoon snack, was a real live, for-heavens-sake, monster Wedge-tailed Eagle. I turned down Chisel and thought it necessary to go round. All hawks and crows who scavenge skippys always fly or hop out of the way. As the cruiser approached, the eagle stopped eating, looked up stared at us. It didn’t move a feather. It stood on the white line, motionless, regarding a large vehicle come toward it at 130kmh. It watched calmly over its left shoulder like a James Bond poster shot. Blue steel. The bird’s ownership of the roo and reluctance to budge raised the theory that it may have nailed the marsupial and was not merely taking nuts off the bar, as it were. In the revision mirror I saw it continue eating, no doubt shaking its head in exasperation of our rude interruption.

  

   Ben got the Retreat to Camooweal, about 15kms over the border, and crashed out in the cab immediately. We arrived an hour later, figured he was asleep, and went like moths to the only lights still on in town, the pub. There were 3 other people there and a motel out the back. The town looked so peaceful we thought it would be a shoe-in to get a room. But no, the whole town was chockaz. The publican said it was all the carnies passing through, not an inch of space anywhere. Except outside. We resigned ourselves to swagging it during the second beer. The publican kept the bar open for an extra hour and thoughtful, animated discussions erupted over certain government spending in the installation of the National Broadband Network around the area; of course the government would never just ignore the lobby-group red-tape that it spent thousands of dollars, digging unneeded holes under rivers and just trust a long-time local of the region to easily run the cable ‘just along here’ for a 1000^th of the cost. For another hour we talked about my other favourite subject – the ban of live cattle exports. We promised we’d take a photo of the Retreat in front of his pub and send it on. Eventually we shuffled off, rolled out the swags on the 2 metal platforms on the Retreat and slept under a very visible Milky Way. And no bugs crawled up my nose.

Post Office Hotel Motel, Camooweal, QLD

Honky Tonk Cowboy by Mister Muster (aka Stan Clear)

Lyrics to the humble cowboy song what I wrote. Inspired by the rodeo and stuff.

(played in the key of ‘A’ to a lively hoe-down, boot-scootin’ feel)


Honky Tonk Cowboy

Momma told me somethin’, and Daddy told me too

‘bout that girl who’d steal my heart

And I shoulda known it, right from the start

Out of all the girls I’d wrangle, she’d be the one I’d wanna strangle.

Yeah…

Well I’m a hard ridin’, hard hittin’

Hard shootin’, hard whippin’

Hard drinkin’, hard winkin’

Hard dressin’, hard messin’

Big beerin’, big cheerin’

Big eatin’, hard beatin’

Hard strappin’, hard whackin’,

Big shearin’, load clearin’

Roundem up, shootem up Cowboy

Well I fell in love, yeah I fell in love, oh I fell in love…

With a low down,  to the ground

Big cheatin’, guy meetin’

Hard kissin’, big wishin’

Skimpy dressin’, hair messin’

Chain smokin’, joint tokin’

Loose livin’, body givin’

Take a chancin’, lap dancin’

Runnin’ round all the town Cowgirl

Well now I’ve learned my lesson, and I’ve gotten over her

You can keep those girls who do too much boozin’

From now on I’m careful chosin’, ‘cause I don’t wanna be losin’

This ol’ cowboy heart to them ol’ blues

Now I’m a clean livin’, tea sippin’

Kitten pattin’, croche lovin’

Sweater knittin’, telly watchin’

Shoe gazin’, quiet walkin’

Mail checkin’, hard stalkin’

Pill takin’, loose talkin’

Nightmarin’, cold sweatin’

Shrink seein’, medicatin’ Cowboy…

Northern Territory notes... June 2011

   The whole time in NT I haven’t heard one good word about Rudd’s intervention in 2007 or Gillard banning live cattle exports. People whose livelihoods are directly affected by government knee-jerk reactions to extremist Greens pressure tend to be vocal quite often around these parts. And not in a calm way. There are rallies, marches, newsletters, many newspaper articles, websites and heated discussions that need to travel further south than Alice Springs. Aboriginal and cattle country has its fist in the air screaming for immediate action on these 2 issues. Indigenous locals want what the ‘intervention’ promised it would do, or end it now. The cattle industry needs to continue exporting or bovines will die on the wharfs.

   A curious and possibly soon-to-be remnant of the intervention is the ‘No Liquor, No Pornography’ signs that dot the Stuart highway and the back-roads. Q – Will a large yellow semi-trailer with pictures of beer advertisements and 8 foot photos of the XXXX Angels be run down like prison escapees and lynched by renegade authorities? Not likely. And by no means do I suggest the Angels are in any way pornographic. But the deterrent capabilities of this sign is about as effective as a one legged man at an arse-kicking party. Fair dinkum, I almost dropped my Playboy magazine and spilled whiskey all over myself when we drove past the first one of these.

   The All-Seasons motel restaurant, reception and whatever else at Katherine this Sunday evening was manned by a guy who believed he was destined for better things. And if those things were rudeness, snobbery and ungracious service then he was well on his way. As we sipped our overpriced drinks, we watched him heard elderly travellers like unruly livestock to tables they didn’t want and deliver food to people who were, in his gaping arrogance, below him. ‘This is still frozen,’ exclaimed a lady after trying her carrots. The only other food on offer was a meagre buffet of BBQ burgers served on cheap buns with listless salad accompaniments. Dessert was a choice of oddly coloured tapioca or a 1970’s Coles cafeteria-style jelly. Cost: $33

   He stormed our table, taking our dining involvement as granted. ‘Three buffets guys? I’ll charge it to the room, shall I?’

   We were still gawking at the cuisine. ‘No thanks, we’re going to get something in town.’

   ‘Okay, getting some Makkaz are ya, guys?’ he said.

   What I should have said as I rose from my chair and stared him squarely in the eye was, ‘Listen to me carefully fruity-loops, just because you missed the last train to the Boorish Olympics does not give you the automatic authority to urinated on the customers of this wildly mediocre business. And what makes you think that just because we refuse to fork over 33 bucks for a pissy hamburger, we are going to run straight to the nearest multinational fast food outlet. Do not assume that we or anyone else here is not your equal. In fact, all your conceited posturing, in our eyes, drags you down lower than whale feces. So, my man, learn some damn manners and stand aside while we procure more edible fare. Good day.’

   But what I actually said was, ‘No, we’re not.’ We got pizza.

Leaving Noonamah, 26-6-11

   The truck was set up right next to the toilet/shower block for the caravan park. The park was booked out with rodeo visitors. Someone must have flushed a football or something because the pipes started to back-up and began spewing stinky water out the back of the block toward the truck. I built a small levy to keep it at bay while we packed down the Retreat. Pong Lake slowly expanded under the sun but we avoided getting bogged.

   And so, with tears in our eyes and pegs on our noses, the 3 super handsome ambassadors of goodwill wave farewell to Darwin and head south to spread a little more joy and wonder to those who visit our establishment…

• Best quotes in NT

            –    Manu: ‘I couldn’t live here, but I don’t wanna leave.’

–      Ben: ‘We’re not here to f*** spiders.’

–      Paul: ‘It’s my shout, isn’t it?’

Noonamah Rodeo, 26-6-11 (2)

   This year’s ‘feature bull’ is Rocksalt – one tough lookin’ brahman. You’d need Kevlar teeth to eat a steak sandwich made from this beast. He exploded out of the gate and threw the rider in about 1 second. The cowboy didn’t have a chance, eating dust then running for cover as the 2 rodeo clowns tried to coax Rocksalt into the pen. The bull wasn’t having any of it. He turned quickly from left to right with a ‘come on, I’ll have ya’ expression in his eyes. The clowns eventually got him back to his trailer for a rubdown and cocktails.

 ROCKSALT

The XXXX Angels, Noonamah Rodeo

   We should have had a loud breakfast, eating loud food and talking about loud things loudly next to the guy asleep on the lounge at the backpackers. The poor chap must have been all tuckered out after talking at the top of his voice till 5am. It didn’t bother me too much; I was only woken up every 4 minutes!! There was so much mess on the tables around the BBQ, there was not space enough to stub out a cigarette. Come to think of it, there wasn’t any cigarettes left in the world anyway – they were all jammed into the leftover food. The carnage attracted a certain type of fly – most had tattoos, eye-patches and tiny leather vests with ‘eat shit’ sewn on the back.

We decided to spend our last night in Darwin in swags on the truck at Noonamah.

   After rodeo night 2 the band played and the bar stayed open till 1am. It wasn’t raining and nobody sprayed beer on my camera but this was captured at the height of crowd excitement.

Noonamah Rodeo, 25-6-11 (1)

   On the outside wall of the dunnies in the beergarden is a mural ‘Where the f*** is Noonamah?’ The jukebox plays non-stop country tunes. I manically scribble the names of the singers in my notebook to get hold of for the play-list on the truck.    

   Noonamah consists of a pub, roadhouse, caravan park and rodeo arena all owned by Tony. Technically he is the King, Lord Mayor and entertainment director of Noonamah. He tells us the spot to park the Retreat between the grandstands and hay bales. This small cluster of buildings surrounded by horizon scrubland gives no illusion of the crowds that will attend. We set up the Retreat in relentless sun, free from any ocean breeze or shade. My 5 dollar straw cowboy hat comes in real handy. Manu gets a jug of ice water from the bar and there is a bunch of ants swimming around the ice cubes. ‘She’ll be right, mate,’ says Ben. One can only assume the poor critters were munching on the last of the dry beer and the bar-lady thought it was a clean jug. Last I checked, live ants weren’t an option in a post-mix gun.

   The event is Friday and Saturday evening after sundown. As the people roll in and before proceedings start I humbly play a few country tunes, not really knowing what goes on. I test Damo’s mike with an old gag – ‘This guy walks in to a psychiatrist’s office and says, “Doc, you have to help me. Every night when I go to sleep I dream I’m a cowboy.” The doctor says, “How long has that been going on?” The guy says, “About a YEEE-AARR!”’

   Water sprinklers rain on the arena to keep the dust down. The smell of agitated cattle and horses in pens changes to barbequed cattle on hotplates depending on wind direction. Surely a bull’s irritation is increased by a whiff of its grilled cousin. Tara sings the national anthem then the Ro-J starts – introducing the riders with loud re-mix doof. They run out through smoke machine clouds and line the centre of the arena. So much for my idea of playing a few nice country tunes for the audience – each ride is accompanied by fully-revved music and commentary. 

   The XXXX Angels circulate through the crowd carrying small white buckets to collect donations for Angelmans disease – a genetic disorder that affects children. Treatment is only available overseas.

Darwin, 16 to 26-6-11 (6)

NT Times - Front page headline example 2:

MAN HIT BY FLYING BOAT

26 Jun 2011  Sunday Territorian   By MEAGAN DILLON

    SLASHED BY PROPELLER IN ‘HORRIFIC’ CRASH A MAN is lucky to be alive after he was hit by the propeller of a boat as it flew over his own boat at a Top End fishing spot yesterday.

[St Johns Ambulance operations manager Craig Garraway] said the pair were setting crab pots from their boat at Saltwater Arm near the mouth of the Adelaide River — 30km east of Darwin — about 10am. Another boat came around the corner at speed and slammed into the stationary boat.

‘‘It went straight over the top,’’ Mr Garraway said…

…[T]here was a lot of traffic on the water at the time of the crash, which probably contributed to the accident…

Okay, get the picture? I don’t want to miss a thing and must subscribe immediately.

The heavyweight article about ‘Sampson’, Australia’s most obese pet, is a winner. The Labrador bends the scale needle to 85kg. “He is too heavy to be exercised. His bulging bloodshot eyes are the result of fatty tissue around his head as well as high blood pressure.”

   On the way to the Noonamah International Rodeo site, 43 kms south of Darwin, we stop at the Coolalinga servo so Ben can put a little fuel in the truck. 942.07 litres. $1477.31. Between the petrol station and the highway runs a section of pipeline.

The Amadeus Basin, 300 clicks west of Alice, to Darwin Mainline stretches 1513 km. One heck of a long tube carrying high-pressure natural gas. It’s probably just another day to be overwhelmed by big numbers as a quick look at cattle station sizes show this pipe runs through or alongside properties between 100 000 and 1 600 000 hectares, you know, the ones that take 2 days to drive to the front gate to check the letterbox.

• We move from the Palms City Resort waterside, city-side digs to Frogs Hollow backpackers. 

Darwin, 16 to 26-6-11 (5)

• A few words on the local rag, the NT News, and those words are AWESOME, ENTERTAINING and HILARIOUS. The NT News continues to scale the heights of tabloidism, refining its craft and not letting slanderous hearsay get in the way of a good story.

NT Times - Front page headline example 1:

PORN COP SACKED

NIGEL ADLAM   |  June 25th, 2011

   A POLICE officer has been sacked after being caught with pornographic photos on his work computer.

Police management refused to give details of the case. But spokeswoman Katie Fowden said the man had been fired after repeatedly breaking police rules.

She said reports that the officer had also been caught on CCTV cameras having sex with a police auxiliary on the bonnet of a car parked on The Esplanade in Darwin were "inaccurate".

Commander Colleen Gwynne, who is head of the police Ethical and Professional Standards Command, said: "The matter you refer to is an internal disciplinary matter, the details of which will not be provided."

A police source said the officer had photos of a naked woman on his computer at a police station.

"We believe the photos were of his girlfriend, but he was still sacked because that's not allowed.

"It was the final straw. He had breached discipline in many ways and management had just had enough of him."

The source said no complaint was ever lodged about the man having sex in public.

"Everybody talked about it but nothing was done."

Police Commissioner John McRoberts has vowed to fire officers guilty of serious disciplinary breaches, especially drink-driving.

 

This story, you might agree, is way too short. It ends just as the juicy issues of our law enforcement representatives are being broached. Especially drink-driving?

Darwin, 16 to 26-6-11 (4)

The unwitting creation of DJ Pauly

   ‘Pauly! Pauly!’ 600 people chant for the prize. It takes a certain temperament to remain steady of hand as a crowd overpowers the decibels of racing cars. Where is mum and dad at this point? Maybe this was always meant to happen. A destiny not imagined for myself or the lucky prize-winners. Whoever jumps the highest or screams the loudest can be ‘the one’. Yes, you can have the ‘box-seat’ or the coveted ‘grid-walk’. Oh, the power. But with power comes responsibility – or, not responsibility exactly; a lot of laughs…

   A CCTV camera bracket was fitted back at Mansfield home-base. It holds the camera on the front of the bar trailer and can pan 360 degrees, tilt, zoom and such; controlled from the computer that plays the music and can be shown on the big screen on stage. An idea for its use is to zoom around the crowd and pick people to receive Gold-Class tickets for the upstairs bar on the Retreat or a photo-documented walk with the XXXX Angels at the start/finish line before the big race. Damo gets out on stage and sprukes the crowd with what’s at stake. The XXXX Angels logo is on screen while I scan the camera looking for a lucky punter. Bec is over my shoulder pointing out potential candidates. I switch the CC camera to the screen and the chosen person grabs a double pass. Fever pitch is achieved as Damo says that yelling and waving gives you a better chance – yelling the camera controller’s name, that is. Next thing 500 people are chanting as I’m fumbling with the controls between fits of laughter. So now, being the selector of ‘winners’, I can only go out in public wearing a large coat and fake plastic nose. Kirsty wants to get ‘Who is DJ Pauly?’ T-shirts made.

   Where was I? Oh yeah, the V8’s. A game to which I have recently returned. It’s been years since I never missed the Bathurst race – watching Moffat and Brock slog it out and Johnson was the new kid. Sponsorship was always there but branding was in its infancy. In merchandise alley there is a picture of a young Peter Brock in a white driving suit with just one name sewn on the right breast pocket under a southern cross – ‘Peter Brock’.

   Now brand names cover 90% of clothes making it a colourful sight indeed. You can’t tell the fans from the drivers. But hey, if you want to dress like your hero it must be heaps easier to throw on a Jim Beam polo shirt than impersonating Marilyn Manson before you leave home in the morning. It brings a smile to the face and warmth to the heart as you watch an extremely expensive production V8 whip past with a sign down the side that says ‘Supercheap Auto’.

Darwin V8 Supercars results 2011   

Darwin, 16 to 26-6-11 (3)

• They certainly don’t skimp on the nightly entertainment at the V8s. Across the paddock from the XXXX Retreat is a ‘Big Day Out’ sized mainstage. Saturday night is INXS. Sunday Bliss N Esso.

• Between races the XXXX Angels perform – working hard in 30 degrees and burning sun. As Damo announces them to the stage, they walk out with armfuls of signed XXXX GOLD merchandise – stubby coolers, hats, posters, calenders, stickers and toss them to the cheering crowd like confetti. Dozens of iPhones capture nearly every angle of their energetic routines.

Darwin, 16 to 26-6-11 (2)

• What’s the difference between a religious person and an atheist who chants for their favourite team? I don’t know. Nothing? Maybe everyone just needs to belong to a club. Both have songs. Knowing the words to a beloved hymn or the Geelong Football Club song seems arbitrary. Whether you’re ‘fundamentally’ religious or a hardcore sports fanatic, you’re both equally primed and ready to get violently irrational at anyone rooting for the other team. HOWEVER! Such exaggerations do not take place at the V8 Supercars. Kids from 4 to 80 love the speed, the roar, the bike stunts, the drag racing, the stats, the truck parade through town, the fast food and of course the XXXX Angels. Friendly rivalry replaces scowls and fistfights over Ford v Holden. Car v car and ute v ute.

Our Father, which art in darwin,

hallowed be thy fuel.

Thy lap record come,

times will be done,

in perth as it is in darwin

Give us this day our daily re-treads.

And forgive us our inside passes

as we forgive them that inside pass against us.

And lead us not until the last lap,

but deliver us from the pits.

For thine is the fastest,

the power, and the horses,

for ever and ever.

(or sixty-nine laps)

          

 Ahem

http://www.jesusracing.com.au/cms/media

• The thought of attempting to perceive the Jesus ute racing for Christ in the town named after the guy who brought the theory of evolution to the fore is doing my head in.

Darwin, 16 to 26-6-11 (1)

   As quickly as we passed through places, and we camp in Darwin for 10 days, events now pass us like Murphy’s V8 in top gear. The only option is to ride each one for as long as you can keep hold. A daily tab of this blur seems fruitless. Perhaps point-form is best to deliver these, no doubt, witty and insightful analogies.

• Darwin is usually chock-full of travellers year-round – be they international or grey-nomadics. This week the city is to capacity with workers and fans of the V8s. Families from QLD, Victoria and most of the Territory hit town.

  

MINDIL MARKETS EVERY THURSDAY

• All pubs and bars are packed day and night. Most have live bands. If any of these bands need equipment they have to make the 20min journey to Casuarina Square – pretty much anything you need is available in Casuarina. Sporadic visits to these pubs after work make Darwin’s party vibe seem endless.

• All footpaths lead straight through the next pub’s beergarden. You may be trying to walk home only to end up the middle of another Brazilian Mardi Gras – 21^st bash – Grand Final – NYE commotion. ‘Oh well, might as well have another one while we’re here’ is yelled frequently.

• Early nights are impossible. The excitement around the place combined with unexpected learning curves does not induce sleep.

• Most people look like they go to the gym, but I can’t spot one – though I haven’t checked up stairs at the pubs. An easier thing to spot is the locals – like side characters in Easy Rider amongst a party-drunken Venice Beach.

• British fellows are only allowed to challenge a bouncer for not letting them in until they’ve downed at least 60 pints and been ejected from a previous establishment.

• I officially love NT – no dress regulations and 130 kmh speed limit.

Katherine to Darwin, Wed 15-6-11

   I checked the thesaurus and there isn’t a big enough word for ‘huge’ to describe the size of the guy’s breakfast at the next table. Amazingly the plate didn’t snap in half as he carried it from the buffet. ‘Filled a hole, did it, sir?’ the waiter said, clearing the spotless plate. ‘Central QLD Bauxite mine,’ I thought.

   Ben makes a three point turn at a T-junction next to the motel. In one go. Done. Sheesh, I have a hard enough time with a 6x4 off the back of the car.

   The ever present termite mounds decrease in number but increase in size on the approach to Darwin; the ‘high-rise’ mounds of the CBD in contrast to the ‘suburban-sprawl’ of their southern counterparts. A good camp fire story to scare the kids would be that each 4m high mound contains one giant termite…

   Hidden Valley racetrack, 20 kms south of Darwin city, is the next venue for the XXXX Retreat and host to this round of the V8 Supercars season. After entry-pass and safety talk shenanigans, we drive a complete circuit of the track to the gate where the truck can get in. On the way we pass a temp bar on a hill, its sign says ‘Shenanigans’. Aha. Ben swings the truck onto the hill in the centre of the track. From the top deck of the bar the view will take in most of the raceway. The space between a giant marquee and the hill dropping away is tight. Big Bad Ben positions the Retreat after a few goes only to be told that it has to go ‘4ft that way’. Much arm waving and a 900 point turn later it’s done. We couldn’t really tell who was in charge of co-ordination of Hidden Valley, but there were so many 2cents being thrown in we could’ve bought Buckingham Palace.

   We had all day Thursday to open the truck so we high-tailed it out of there to dump bags at our rock-star accommodation and take in some city sights through the bottom of an up-ended schooner glass. The Beachfront hotel is packed with punters ready for the second rugby league State of Origin game. QLD vs NSW and XXXX vs VB. PA speakers are set around the beergarden a very large TV screen faces the pub from across the road. At half time the XXXX GOLD ute tows a stage in front of the crowd and the XXXX Angels perform their ‘Kickstart’ routine. The Retreat has now been booked for the Origin ‘decider’ outside the casino in Townsville.