More Memoir Friday–Road Trip to Sydney

November 21, 2025 / lmkling / Leave a comment

[Keeping with the car-theme this week. Bought a new secondhand car. Sold our car. I say, if I’m a bit muddle-headed, it’s because of all the dealing with vehicles, banking, and paperwork that goes with it. The new-for-us car is beautiful, though and everybody involved is smiling.]

Road Trip to Sydney, the summer of 1979 – Episode 1

[Based on real events. Some names have been changed. And some details of events may differ. After all, it was over 40 years ago.]

Lost Control

A conference on the gifts of the Holy Spirit. I wonder what gifts God has for me? I pondered while dozing in the back seat of my brother Rick’s Chrysler Charger. And Dad…why was it that Dad had to go all on his own by car to the conference? Oh, well…much more fun travelling with my peers.

Crunch!

I sat up. Rubbed my eyes. ‘What happened?’

The car fishtailed. Rocking the carload of us back and forth.

‘Hey, mate!’ Rick, my brother, yelled at the driver, ‘Jack! You trying to kill us?’

Without reply, Jack bit his thin upper lip and swung the Charger to the right, and into oncoming traffic.

I gasped.

A truck bore down on us.

Jack, who reminded me of Abraham Lincoln, clenched his strong jaw and corrected back to the left. Keep left, that’s what you do when driving in Australia. Jack’s usually blonde curls appeared dark from perspiration.

The semitrailer gushed past us, sucking the air out of our open windows.

Rick held up his thumb and forefinger in pincer mode. ‘You missed them by that much.’

*[Photo 1: Rick’s Charger in strife © L.M. Kling circa 1984]*

Rick’s navy-blue tank top was soaked with sweat around the neckline under his mouse-brown curls, and under his strong arms. Mid-January and the full car with only open windows for air-con, steamed with heat. And body odour.

To my right in the back seat, Mitch, taller and thinner than my brother but sporting chestnut brown curly hair, wiped his damp mauve polo shirt and then sighed, ‘That was close.’

Cordelia, in the briefest of shorts and a tight-fitting t-shirt, showing off her classic beauty and assets, sat on the other side of Mitch. She clutched her stomach. ‘I feel sick.’

Mitch leaned forward and tapped Rick on the arm. ‘How long till we reach the next town?’

‘I think I’m going to throw up,’ Cordelia said.

Rick nudged Jack. ‘I think you’d better stop.’

Jack rubbed one hand on his blue jeans, straightened his long white shirt, placed his hand again on the steering wheel, and kept driving.

Cordelia cupped her hand under her chin and groaned.

I smoothed my white wrap-around skirt and then brushed my light cream-coloured blouse patterned with blue roses. No way did I want Cordelia to mess up my most flattering-to-my-slim-figure- figure clothes.

*[Photo 2: In my slimming white wrap-around feeding a penguin at Cleland National Park © M.E. Trudinger 1979]*

‘Stop!’ Rick shouted.

‘I can’t!’ Jack said and continued to speed down the highway. The golden expanse of the Hay Plains, dried out by the fierce summer heat, spanned the horizon. White posts flitted past. The red-brown line of bitumen of the highway stretched to its vanishing point on that horizon. A faded white sign flashed past. Dubbo, 265 miles. How long had Australia been metric? A few years at least; not that one would know, travelling in outback Australia in early 1979. Still…

Another groan from Cordelia.

Rick screamed at Jack. ‘Stop!’

Jack slowed the car and rumbled onto the gravel beside the road.

Cordelia leapt out and hunched over a shrivelled wheat stalk. I looked away and covered my ears from the inevitable sound of chunder.

‘That was close,’ Mitch said.

‘Remember that drunk guy, your brother brought back to Grandma’s?’ Rick said. ‘Took me a week to get the smell out of her Toyota.’

‘Hmm,’ Mitch replied. ‘That was unfortunate.’

‘You mean, the guy who kept singing “Black Betty”?’ I asked. I remembered that fellow. He had messy blonde hair and a moustache. He lounged on the back seat of Grandma’s car while I sat all prim and proper in the front, waiting for Mitch’s brother to drive us to Lighthouse Coffee Lounge. ‘He kept saying I was so innocent.’

‘Well,’ Mitch said, ‘you are.’

I guess I was 15, but hated to admit it.

Cordelia stumbled back into the car. ‘That’s better.’

*[Photo 3 and feature: Proud owner of his Chrysler Charger © courtesy of R.M. Trudinger 1983]*

Rick and Jack arranged to swap places. So, after a brief stretch of legs and a nearby scraggly-looking bush receiving five visitors, we set off on our quest for Sydney. After all, we still had ages to go before arriving there for the Revival Conference. We hoped to arrive with enough spare time to see the sights Sydney had to offer.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023; Updated 2025

***

Summer in Australia is approaching, and so is the season for holidays and intrepid road trips …

Or for reading adventure …

Want more, but yet able to travel down under?

Why not take a virtual journey with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

Click here on:

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

And escape in time and space to Central Australia 1981…

Ready for the Weekend Friday–Blowouts and Bulldust

November 22, 2024November 22, 2024 / lmkling / Leave a comment

T-Team Next Gen
Wednesday July 10, 2013

[Eleven years ago, the T-Team, next generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.
In “Ready for the Weekend Friday”, I will take you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation.
This time, the T-Team make their way, rather precariously, to Alice Springs.]

Rest Stop at Curtain Springs

We paused for lunch at the rest stop just outside Curtain Springs. There we sat and ate our sandwiches and watched the passing parade of tourists, trundling through in their RVs, and caravans. They’d park, snap a few photos of Mt Conner, walk stiff-legged to long-drop toilet, then stagger out waving the flies away before climbing back into the comfort of luxury on wheels and trundling away down the road to Uluru.

*[Photo 1: View of Mt. Conner © L.M. Kling 2013]*

A big bus roared into the rest stop and a young Indigenous family alighted. The wife and children joined the queue for the toilets. Meanwhile, the husband gazed at the view of Mt Conner. As he walked back to his bus, he gave a nod and greeted us. He was the only one of the passing multitudes who did.

After our lunch, Anthony and I climbed up the sand hill opposite the rest stop. At the top, we viewed a salt lake in the distance. Maybe, I assumed, it was the tail-end of Lake Amadeus.

‘Wow!’ I said, ‘and all those tourists just go past and never bother to climb this hill and see the lake.’

No answer.

I turned. Where was Anthony? I scrambled around the scrub in search of my husband. ‘Anthony? Where are you?’

No Anthony in sight, I assumed he had returned to the car. Upon my return to the car, I discovered he was not there either. After checking the toilets and discovering only flies and the stink, I traipsed up the hill again. Where was he?

Just as I was about to give up on him and call in a search party, I almost stumbled over Anthony. He was squatting on the sand, sifting the grains through his fingers. ‘I can’t believe how red the sand is,’ he said.

*[Photo 4: Amazing! Beautiful! Anthony “Harry Butler” K © L.M. Kling 2013]*

Rock’s Revenge

At Erldunda we filled up the car with gas and I took over driving. As we headed for Alice Springs, I remarked, ‘The T-Team must almost be in Alice Springs.’
‘Mrs. T will like that,’ Anthony replied, ‘she was in a hurry to get there.’
‘Do we know how to get to her friend’s place where we are staying?’
My husband shrugged.
‘Guess we’ll have to call my brother and get directions. Haven’t got their friend’s address,’ I said.
‘Or we could stay in a motel.’
‘That’s an option, if we can’t contact them.’
Anthony sighed, ‘Yeah, but, how easy will it be to find accommodation if we haven’t booked?’

*[Photo 4: Possible Pit-Stop by side of the road © L.M. Kling *2013]*

We hadn’t travelled more than 40 km when we spotted a family on the side of the road and in distress. Maybe we should stop and help them, I thought.

As I slowed down, I noted that a lady stood at the edge of the road waving her arms.
‘What the heck?!’ Anthony exclaimed.
‘I think they’re in trouble,’ I said, and as we drew closer, ‘It’s Mrs. T waving her arms about.’
I braked.
‘Hey! Not so hard!’ Anthony screamed.
Took my foot off the brake and then eased the car to a stop by the side of the road. All the while the T-Team grew smaller and smaller in our rear vision mirror.

‘What! Stop! What are you doing? Stop! Brake hard!’
I slammed my foot on the brake and jolted to a stop on the dirt.
‘Why did you stop so far away? Reverse back to them,’ Anthony snapped.
‘No!’ I retorted. ‘We can walk. Who knows what junk is lying in the dirt ready to puncture our tyres.’

*[Photo 5: Operating on the trailer © L.M. Kling 2013]

In a huff, my husband raced ahead of me to where Richard was operating on the trailer. As I approached the T-Team, I noticed that my brother was pulling off one tyre carcass and proceeding to mount the spare.

‘The tyre got staked,’ Mrs. T held up what looked like an antenna, ‘by this metal thing.’

*[Photo 6: Tyre Carnage © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘And we’d just changed a tyre at Erldunda; one that got shredded,’ Richard pointed at some rubber remnants on the verge, and then shook his head. ‘The mechanic didn’t do anything about wheel-balancing. The tyres got so worn they came to pieces. The other tyre was nearly worn through, so I changed them around.’

I took some pictures of the tyre carnage.

*[Photo 7: More Tyre Carnage © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘Why do we have such bad luck?’ Mrs. T cried.
‘It’s the curse of the Rock,’ my older niece said.
‘Who stole a rock from the Rock?’ my nephew asked.
The T-Lings had been sitting in the van playing their phone games, but they emerged to join in the family conversation.

‘What d’ya mean?’ Mrs. T said. ‘I bought this rock as a souvenir!’
‘Yeah, but, my brother did run down the Rock barefoot some twenty years ago,’ I laughed. ‘Perhaps the Rock remembers.’
‘Well, one thing for sure,’ Richard rubbed his hands, ‘first thing tomorrow, I’m ringing the mechanics who did our wheel balance…’
‘It’s just not safe,’ I said.
‘I know,’ my older niece held up her hands as if holding a steering wheel at an angle, ‘I told them something was not right and that I had to hold it like this all the time. But they wouldn’t believe me.’

*[Photo 8: One last bolt to tighten © L.M. Kling 2013]

With tyres fixed and resolution to acquire replacements in Alice Springs, plus promises to catch up in the same town, the T-Team disappeared down Stuart Highway in the late afternoon haze.

But our ordeals reaching our next place of accommodation were not over yet.
[To be continued…]

VIRTUAL TRAVEL OPPORTUNITY

FOR THE PRICE OF A CUP OF COFFEE (TAKEAWAY, THESE DAYS),

CLICK ON THE LINK AND DOWNLOAD YOUR KINDLE COPY OF MY TRAVEL MEMOIRS,

THE T-TEAM WITH MR. B: CENTRAL AUSTRALIAN SAFARI 1977

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari

TK-Team Flying Visit–Ellery Creek

August 16, 2021 / lmkling / 1 Comment

Ellery Creek Waterhole

[Join us, the TK-Team, in the holiday up North, we were able to and had to have…]

Rest after mission accomplished

My husband Anthony had a mission. That mission was to buy jocks and socks. He’d been threatening this venture in the days before we embarked on our mini trek to Central Australia. As if there weren’t enough obstacles to overcome to get to Alice Springs. Covid escapees and the lockdowns that ensue when that sneaky little virus escapes the confines of medi-hotels or the eastern states at this present time in Australia.

But, with South Australia free from new locally acquired cases of Covid and the Northern Territory happy to receive us, we took our chance. Not that it wasn’t like Paris post September the 11^th at Adelaide Airport when we departed. The federal police paced the concourse of the airport while armed to the teeth and touting semi-automatic rifles. Or when we successfully arrived at Alice Springs airport, we were greeted with what I’d describe as “Checkpoint Charlie” where the disembarking passengers had to line up, and then show “Passports of Declaration” that they had not been to any hotspots in the last 28 days. Took an hour for all of us to get through.

Anthony recorded the aeroplane parking lot which reveals how much the world is not travelling these past eighteen months.

*[Photo 1: Plane Park © A.N. Kling 2021]*

So, on the morning after our epic journey north by plane, and a sleepless night on a bed of what seemed to be a hard plank, we embarked on our hiking trip of the day. This time through the heart of Alice Springs in search of the Target Store. Google maps seemed to be slightly confused and sent us marching in the opposite direction. I recalled seeing a Target sign. But where?

The township was packed with all sorts: tourists, beggars, shoppers, the sober, and not so sober. Not a mask in sight.

Finally, after twenty minutes of searching, we found the Target Store and Anthony found his socks and jocks to buy.

*[Photo 2: That’s where: from Anzac Hill © L.M. Kling 2021]*

Mission accomplished, we headed for the Araluen Cultural Centre and to Yaye’s Café, where we were to meet an old friend who I knew from church back in the 1970’s but who has lived in Central Australia now for many years.

Over Argentinian pies, we swapped books and stories all things Hermannsburg, Missions and Central Australia.

After lunch, Anthony and I journeyed out to Ellery Creek Big Waterhole. In all the previous visits to the MacDonnell Ranges, this waterhole was one which we would visit, briefly, to tick off on our to-do list.

1977, the T-Team with Mr. B assembled in front of the hole. Tick. Then onto the more spectacular Ormiston Gorge.

*[Photo 3: Been there, done that in 1977 © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1977]*

1981, bypassed. For the more intriguing Ormiston.

*[Photo 4: Ormiston Gorge © C.D. Trudinger 1981]*

2013, a brief visit as it was heading towards sunset and we must get back to Hermannsburg before dark and potential car-carnage by animal.

*[Photo 5: Too late for red cliffs © L.M. Kling 2013]*

This time, 2021, we would give Ellery Creek a good hour or two to absorb the beauty and atmosphere of the place.

Problem was, we seemed to be driving, driving, driving on Namatjira Drive. Kilometres and kilometres. Noticed a sign that stated that Glen Helen, where we had camped in 2013, was closed.

90 km from Alice Springs and finally, the sign to Ellery Creek, Big Hole loomed large to our left. We turned right onto the graded but dirt track. As Anthony drove slowly over the corrugations, he remarked, ‘It’s been proven by the “Mythbusters” television show that driving slow over corrugations minimises damage to your car. It’s driving fast over the corrugations that causes damage.’

We parked in a near-empty carpark, and hiked the short distance to the waterhole. The cliffs glowed golden-red in the late afternoon sun. A sign by the rippled waters warned of currents and to take care if swimming.

*[Photo 6: Glowing cliffs of Ellery Creek © L.M. Kling 2021]*

Anthony and I decided it was enough to bask under the shaded beauty of the cliffs, and admire brilliant reflections in the pool capturing the images with our cameras. Anthony with his phone and me with my Nikon D7000.

*[Photo 7: Reflections in the ripples © L.M. Kling 2021]*

We then settled down on the towel I had brought and enjoyed a simple afternoon tea of bananas and water.

*[Photo 8: Progress of the hardy ghost gum © L.M. Kling 2021]*

While we basked in the stillness of the waterhole, the birds emerged: budgies, ducks, a kingfisher, and finches. Then some of the not-so-native wildlife appeared.

*[Photo 9: Kingfisher © L.M. Kling 2021]*

A man with a flynet over his head.

‘But there’s hardly any flies,’ Anthony said.

Another man disrobed to his bathers and dipped into the water. He soon scrambled out. ‘Too cold,’ he cried.

As the cliffs of the Big Hole deepened in hues of red, we made our way back to the car.

*[Photo 10: Calming waters of red cliff reflections © L.M. Kling 2021]*

‘Must get back to Alice Springs before dark,’ Anthony said.

So, in the golden light of late afternoon, we returned to Alice Springs where, at the IGA near the caravan park, we bought lamb chops for dinner. The kangaroo tails offered were tempting, but…