Broken Cars, Broken Trailer
T-Team with Mr. B (6)
[The last few months I have revisited The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977 which is a prequel to Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981. In preparation for its release later this year, I will be sharing posts of this adventure.
Here’s how it all began…]
1977, August, mid-winter and I was excited. Dad had never taken me camping. Then, when I turned 14, he decided to take the risk and allowed me to join the T-Team on a Central Australian safari. Dad’s friend Mr. Banks and his son, Matt (not their real names), joined Dad, my brother (Rick) and me on this journey of adventure. I had gathered from Dad’s reluctance to invite me on previous adventures out bush, that he had some reservations how I would cope…
In this episode, Dad shares his childhood adventures in the Musgrave Ranges and the trailer, tired of desert travel, has a tantrum …]
Dad pointed at the expanse of red sand dotted with spinifex. ‘This land belongs to the Pitjantjatjara people.’
I sat in the front seat while he negotiated the corrugations, bumps and lumps of the poor excuse for a graded road. Abandoned cars, just shells really, languished in the scrub each side of the road.
‘They—’ Dad waved at the wrecks that were planted in crimson fields of wild hops. I knew he meant the owners of this land. ‘—run their cars to the ground. Anyway, normally you need a special permit to go onto their land.’
‘Then how did you get to go here?’ I asked.
Dad chuckled. ‘Well, I wrote a letter to their council of elders asking permission. I put at the end that if I didn’t hear from them, that meant they gave their approval. I didn’t hear from them.’
‘I have friends at Ernabella as well,’ Dad adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. ‘I used to come up to Ernabella when my older brother was teaching there. When I was ‘round your age.’
Dad went onto explain how he made good friends with the Pitjantjatjara lads about the same age as him and how they explored the Musgrave Ranges. ‘I even learnt the language,’ he boasted.
‘How long ago was that, Dad?’ I asked.
‘Oh, something like thirty-five years ago.’
‘And you were ma son’s age,’ Mr. B called out from the back seat.
I glanced to the back of the Rover. Matt blushed and looked away. I’d been impressed by his silence on this trip. I was sure I hadn’t heard him utter more than a few words the four days we’d been travelling. He seemed an obedient little chap, especially in his father’s presence. I wondered what Dad was like when he was Matt’s age. I imagined Dad as more talkative, after all, he could speak the language of the Pitjantjatjara people.
‘I reckon, you must’ve been more adventurous than Matt to go camping in the Musgrave Ranges, Dad,’ I said, hoping to get a squeak of protest out of Matt. ‘Anything could’ve happened to you.’
‘There was this one time,’ Dad said, ‘when I went exploring with my friends in the middle of summer. We forgot to take any water and it was hot. We got lost and had to search for a waterhole. I was so thirsty, I thought I was going to die. We found the waterhole just in time. But I learnt a valuable lesson to always take water and salt tablets.’
Matt’s only response, a smirk.
While his father said, ‘Who, in their right mind would go out into the desert without water? I ask you.’
Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!
‘What’s that noise?’ Mr. B shouted.
‘Oh, no!’ Rick peered out the back window. ‘One of the trailer bars is broken.’
Dad sighed. ‘And we’ve only just started today.’
We stopped, jumped out of the Rover and then formed a circle around the trailer that leaned on its side.
‘Now what are we going to do?’ Mr. B asked.
Dad bent down and examined the damage. ‘A part is missing.’
‘I’ll go look for it,’ Rick broke away from the circle and sauntered down the track.
The rest of us stood mesmerized by the leaning tower of trailer that seemed to be sinking in the sand.
A few minutes later, Rick returned. ‘It’s gone, I can’t seem to see it anywhere.’
‘So, what are we going to do?’ Mr. B asked again.
Dad kicked a tyre. ‘There’s only one thing we can do. We have to pile everything on top of the Land Rover.’
‘What? You are kidding, aren’t you?’ Mr. B laughed.
‘No, I’m serious. We have to get parts to fix the trailer, and we can’t leave it here,’ Dad said.
‘You—you mean the trailer too?’ Mr. B asked.
‘The trailer? How’s the Rover going to cope with that?’
‘It’ll just have to,’ Dad said. ‘I wouldn’t risk leaving it here in the bush.’
‘Yeah, not by the looks of those car wrecks,’ Rick muttered.
Mr. B scratched his head. ‘You mean to say, if we leave the trailer, someone will come along in this desert and take things?’
‘Yes, most likely,’ Dad replied.
‘Even if we hide it in the bush?’
‘Have you seen where the other car wrecks are, Mr. B?’ Rick asked. ‘They’re not exactly on the road.’
Mr. B put his hands on his hips and frowned.
‘Look,’ Dad said, ‘we’re not far from Ernabella. We can get the trailer fixed there. I’m sure we’ll be alright for a few miles.’
Mr. B grunted and then pointed at his son. ‘Well, come on boy, don’t just stand there, help us unload the trailer.’
We all helped pile the contents of the trailer and then the trailer on top of the Rover. While Rick tightened the last of the ropes over the trailer stack on the Rover’s roof, I stood back and said, ‘Now the Rover really does look overloaded.’
© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2022
Feature Photo : Sunset on a rock, near Musgrave Ranges © C.D. Trudinger circa 1986]