New South Wales

Travelling Friday–Road Trip to Sydney (2)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

Road Trip Adventure in the Charger (2)

No Headlights

The highway, so straight, never curving to the right nor the left, was hypnotic. Again, in the late afternoon, the burning sun on the back of my neck, now sinking in the West, and the rushing of air from the open window, lulled me into a state of semi-sleep.

By increments, as sunset turned to dusk, the air cooled. I trusted Rick to keep us safe on the highway to Sydney. I noted Cordelia resting her head on Mitch’s shoulder, and then I sank into a deep, satisfying sleep.

[Photo 1: Sunset near Sale, Victoria © L.M. Kling 1989]

‘Oh, no!’ Rick said.

‘What?’ Mitch cried.

‘We have no headlights.’

‘What do you mean, no headlights?’ I asked.

The car slowed to a stop by the side of the road, again. Groggy from sleep and the hypnotic effect of the endless highway, we piled out of the Charger and milled around the non-functioning headlights.

Mitch peered at the offending lights. ‘Are you able to fix them, Rick?’

Rick pulled up the hood and, in the dim light, examined the engine. He poked around in the dark nether regions of the Charger’s insides.

Mitch hovered over Rick’s back while he prodded and poked at the parts in the dimness. ‘Do you need a torch?’

‘Do you have one, Mitch?’

Mitch shrugged. ‘I don’t…didn’t think…would you have one in the glove box?’

‘Might have, but the battery’s gone flat,’ all mumbled to the engine.

Mitch had already left to torch-hunt in the Charger’s glove box. At this time, I watched Jack busy himself sorting through luggage at the rear of the vehicle.

Cordelia sat all hunched over on her duffel bag. ‘I still don’t feel well,’ she said.

‘Are you carsick?’ I asked.

‘No, it’s worse than that,’ she answered. ‘I think I need to see a doctor.’

I gazed around the silent, darkened landscape. ‘Maybe at the next town, we can try to find one.’

Jack called, ‘Hey, I’ve found another torch.’

The feeble light of Rick’s torch wandered over the car engine. 

‘It’s the alternator, it’s cactus. Needs replacing,’ Rick said. ‘We’ll need to park here for the night, and in the morning, I’ll fix it at the next town.’

Cordelia, clutching her stomach, walked up to the lads. ‘I need to see a doctor; I’m not feeling at all well.’

Mitch glanced at the girl, his eyes wide and brow furrowed. ‘Perhaps we’d better push on and find a doctor—hospital—something.’

‘How can we?’ Jack said. ‘We have no headlights. It’d be dangerous.’

‘I’m not driving without headlights,’ Rick said.

‘How far to the nearest town?’ Mitch raised his voice. ‘The girl needs help.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘How far is it to Dubbo?’

Mitch grabbed the RAA strip map, Jack handed him the torch, and with the stronger light, Mitch flipped the pages and then studied the relevant page.

Cordelia sat down on her bag and was silent.

[Photo 2: Sunset at Brachina © L.M. Kling 1999]

‘Says here,’ Mitch began, and then continued, ‘we are twenty miles from Dubbo.’

‘I’m still not sure…’ Jack said.

‘Oh, come on,’ Mitch huffed, ‘only twenty miles. If we use the torches for our light, we can get there safely.’

‘What, waving the torches out the side of the windows?’ Rick said, ‘Are you mad?’

‘If we go slowly, we can make it,’ Mitch said. ‘Come on, give it a try. For Cordelia’s sake, we have to try.’

[Photo 3: Rick will save the day…eventually © courtesy R.M. Trudinger 1983]

At Mitch’s insistence to save this damsel in distress, we piled back in the car and crawled down the highway, torches flashing back and forth from the rear windows.

After a few minutes, Rick shook his head, his curls flopping about his damp forehead. ‘It’s not working.’

‘What about,’ Mitch sighed, ‘what about, if I sit in the front and you and I shine the torches from the front.’

‘If you think it’ll make a difference,’ Rick muttered.

Mitch changed places with Rick, who was driving, and Rick moved into the front passenger seat where Jack had been sitting. Jack then bumped Cordelia into the middle and sat behind Mitch.

The car crawled a few metres with Rick and Mitch waving torches from their front positions.

I looked behind me at the expanse of the dark landscape, and the sky was filled with the Milky Way.

‘I hope the cops don’t catch us,’ I murmured.

‘What cops?’ Jack said.

The Charger slowed and then stopped.

‘It’s not working,’ Rick said.

‘But we’ve hardly moved,’ Mitch said.

‘I think it’ll be better if we don’t use the torches and I drive by the starlight.’ Rick sniffed. ‘I think my eyes will adjust. And we’ll take it slowly.’

‘I can do that,’ Mitch said.

‘No, I’ll drive.’ Rick pushed open his door and marched over to the driver’s side. ‘It’s my car. I know how to handle it.’

Mitch breathed in and out with an emphasised sigh. ‘If you insist.’

Rick forged ahead on the highway to Dubbo at a leisurely twenty miles an hour. I know it was twenty miles (not kilometres) an hour as it took us an hour to reach the outskirts of Dubbo. Mitch couldn’t resist the urge to hang his arm out with Jack’s torch, offering slim beams of light to guide Rick as he drove. Fortunately, we met no police on patrol.

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

Feature Photo: The Tough and Rugged Front of one of Rick’s re-creations, a Chrysler Valiant Charger after “roughing it” in the Flinders Ranges. Friend Dancing at Port Germein © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) circa 1984

***

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

Or for reading adventure …

Want more? Dreaming of travelling 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…

More Memoir Friday–Road Trip to Sydney

/ 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…

Travelling Thursday– Road Trip in the Charger (6)

/ lmkling / 1 Comment

Road Trip to Sydney in the Charger (final)

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

Finally…the intrepid road trip travellers reach Sydney.]

Feature Photo: Sydney Harbour from Ferry © L.M. Kling 2002

The conference and Rick’s never had a girlfriend

As far as conferences went, not a bad one. Lots of singing, worshipping God, that is, lectures, Bible Study, eating, and meeting new friends and old friends too. Our accommodation was down Anzac Parade, about five kilometres, halfway to the beach. I shared a small apartment with Rick and Dad. Dad drove me back and forth from the conference centre at Randwick. Not sure what Cordelia did, but I think she connected with other members of her family who attended the conference and stayed with them. Rick, I think ferried Mitch and Jack to and from the conference centre.

This arrangement becomes relevant later in the week of the conference.

One session that stands out, was the one on relationships.

Rick and I sat side by side, in the front row.

This will be interesting, I thought. Maybe I’ll get some tips on how to get a boyfriend and be popular like Cordelia.

‘So,’ the speaker said, ‘How many of you have had a boyfriend or girlfriend?’

Everyone including me, raised their hands. Everyone, that is, except my brother Rick.

‘What? You’ve never had a girlfriend, Laddie?’

‘Nope?’

The speaker pointed at me. ‘What about that lovely girl next to you?’

‘She’s my sister.’

Laughter.

[Photo 1: A lone tall ship in Sydney Harbour © L.M. Kling 2002]

Abandoned at the hostel and trek up Anzac Parade

Towards the end of the conference, one more event stood out.

Dad told me to wait for him at the hostel apartment where we were staying. After lunch we had an afternoon of free time before the final worship session.

I returned to the apartment lunch with my brother and friends eager to catch up on some rest and losing myself in a book. Maybe some journal writing which had been neglected in all the activity and excitement of the conference.

However upon my return to the dreary grey corridors of the hostel, my door was locked. Oh, well, Dad said he won’t be long.

I had nothing with me. All my supplies of entertainment and comfort were locked away in the apartment.

So I sat.

For hours.

After two hours, I began to sniff.

Then snivel.

Then finally, cry.

A lady poked her head out of a nearby door. ‘Are you all right?’

I wiped my eyes. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

She retreated into her apartment.

I looked at my watch. Five o’clock! Almost three hours I’d been waiting for Dad.

Convinced that he’s forgotten me and I’d be waiting further five hours with that lady sticking her nose in my business every so often, I stood up. Stiffening my lip in grim determination, I marched out the hostel and strode up Anzac Parade.

I prayed that God would protect me.

[Photo 2: Yachts in Sydney Harbour © L.M. Kling 2002]

Along the cracked pavement. Past long neglected houses. And cared-for ones. Over busy roads at the lights. Narrowly escaping any impact with red-light running cars. In the humidity. Under light rain. Taking a wide berth around the many hotels. And leering drunks who spilled out onto the footpath. In the ever-fading light that faded into dusk.

Five kilometres and forty minutes later, I entered the conference centre. The session where all had gathered, was concluding with prayers. All in a circle holding hands. I slipped in the circle. 

The boy next to me squeezed my hand.

Oh, he’s just being kind to poor little old me, I thought. After all, if even my father forgets me…

After, over tea and biscuits, my miffed Dad asked, ‘Where were you?’

‘What do you mean? I waited three hours,’ I retorted.

‘Couldn’t you be patient?’

‘Not when I couldn’t get into the room,’ I said. There was a limit to my patience.

‘I went to pick you up and you weren’t there,’ Dad said. ‘I told you to wait.’

‘And, what time was that?’

‘Oh, er, um, about…’ Dad’s voice faded, ‘about five.’

‘Well, I was there at five, and I didn’t see you.’ I sniffed. ‘So, I walked.’

‘But don’t you know how dangerous that was to walk here?’ Dad showing so much concern, after forgetting me for the whole afternoon.

‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ I replied. ‘I prayed and God protected me.’

‘He did. Praise the Lord,’ Dad said and then wagged a finger at me. ‘But don’t you ever do that again.’

‘Yes, Dad.’ As long as you don’t forget me again.

Passing through the Blue Mountains

[Photo 3: A view of the Blue Mountains from actual trip © L.M. Kling 1979]

Our return to the less crowded and more sedate city of Adelaide, was serene and uneventful as the fair city itself. Especially at the time in 1979.

A few highlights. Mostly, in fact, all associated with the Blue Mountains. We had missed the beauty and wonder of the mountains on our journey to Sydney, so, Rick endeavoured for us to see these mountains in daytime on our trek home.

At the lookout to the Three Sisters, we lunched and admired the majesty of God’s creation. Even Rick using his polaroid camera, took photos of us admiring the scene. He was taken with the layers of misty blues and subtle greens cascading down into the depths, while the cliff tomes forming the Three Sisters presided over the valley.

I burst out in song and Cordelia joined in.

After a chorus, Cordelia said, ‘You should try out for the worship band.’

‘Me?’

‘You have such a sweet voice, although it does need to be stronger.’

On the drive home I considered the prospect of trying out for the band. Perhaps singing in front of the church would make me more popular with the boys. Like Cordelia. But in the end, I decided against it. Too hard. Too much of a challenge for plain old me. After all, the worship band was a highly coveted affair, where lead singers jealously guarded their position. I’d never have a chance. Sweet voice, but not strong voice would never cut it.

Back at school, I continued my enjoyment of music singing in the choir. But I’d always secretly envy the solos with their stand-out song voices. The stars with their melodic strong notes, the audience’s focus on them alone.

Instead, that new year of 1979, my passion turned to art…and writing. These were the gifts God had given me.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

Feature Photo: Sydney Harbour from Ferry © L.M. Kling 2002

***

Want more, but too impossible 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…

And escape in time and space to Central Australia 1981…

Wandering Wednesday–Road Trip in the Charger (4)

/ lmkling / 1 Comment

Our next challenge in our road trip to Sydney in the Charger were car repairs. Car parts in the outback were not so available, and in the middle of summer, the group were feeling the heat and they were hungry.

Waiting for the Alternator

Mitch’s hopes turned to practicalities as the morning dragged on while we waited for another elusive item, the alternator. I figured that the alternator must be hiding in the same place that the roadhouse in Dubbo must be.

By the time my watch read 8am, us four who were not mechanics, once more headed down the main road to the town centre in search of a “deli” as we in South Australia call corner shops, or a supermarket of some description.

We found a supermarket come snack bar, and treated ourselves to a meat pie, chips and Famers Union iced coffee. Just the sort of food one has for breakfast after a grueling sleepless night. Mitch, appreciative of my mechanic brother’s efforts, brought him back the same fare as we had eaten.

Rick was leaning against the side of his precious Charger, still waiting for the elusive alternator.

*[Photo 1: Morning in outback © L.M. Kling 2013]

A heated discussion ensued amongst the fellows. Mitch put forward that we could be using daylight to drive to Sydney.

Rick refuted that suggestion with, ‘Do you want to sleep in the car again?’

Jack began to raise his hand, but Mitch cut in. ‘No, you’re right, Rick.’

Rick went onto explain that the problem with faulty alternators is that they affect the battery. He described how in the short but slow drive to Dubbo, he drove the car in a lower gear to get the most out of the failing battery.

And so, we waited, sitting in what little shade the garage’s carpark afforded, waiting for the alternator to arrive.

Early afternoon, the sun’s heat beating down on us, Jack, Mitch, Cordelia and I again walked down to the main street for some lunch. Upon our return with stale ham sandwiches to share, Rick was hunched over under the Charger’s open bonnet.

*[Photo 2 and Feature: Mechanic’s Backyard of experience © M.E. Trudinger circa 1989]

I put my hands together in a half-hearted clap. ‘Hooray! The cavalry has arrived!’

‘No,’ Mitch had to be correct, ‘it’s the alternator.’

‘I had an idea how to repair the existing one,’ Rick said.

‘Hooray! Rick has worked out how to fix the alternator,’ I laughed.

‘You have a strange sense of humour,’ Cordelia said. ‘No wonder you find it hard to make friends, Lee-Anne.’

‘Praise the Lord!’ I raised my hands. ‘My brother can fix…’

‘Don’t make it worse,’ Cordelia said.

Perhaps she’s right, I thought, then took my sandwich pack, split from the “social police” before drifting over to Rick, to watch him as he operated on the car. Strange thing was, Mitch made a speedy dash away from Cordelia and followed me.

‘Hey, Rick,’ Mitch asked while hovering over his shoulder, ‘how long till you’re finished?’

Rick grunted in reply and swore.

I stepped back, knowing all too well not to crowd my brother when he was concentrating. Obviously, Mitch was not as aware. He leaned over Rick, blocking the sunlight from the engine. Rick poked out his tongue as he tackled a stubborn bolt.

Mitch stuck by Rick’s elbow. ‘Is that all you have to do?’

Where’s the social police now? Oh, there she is, staring at her sandwich and grimacing. She looked like a chipmunk.

[Photo 3: For a koala its always time for food (Melbourne Zoo) © L.M. Kling 1986]

I smiled observing Rick as he gritted his teeth and muttered expletives. Mitch seemed totally unaware that his attention wasn’t helping.

‘Bu#@%er!’ Rick cried.

A ping and a clunk, and the spanner dropped into the engine of no return.

‘What happened?’ Mitch asked all innocent.

Rick narrowed his eyes at his friend. ‘What do you think?’

‘Did you drop the spanner?’

‘Yes. And now I’m going to have fun getting it out.’

Mitch rubbed his hands together. ‘Can I help?’ Mitch loved to help.

A grin slowly formed on Rick’s face. ‘I think you can, Mitch.’

Mitch was dancing on the spot in anticipation. ‘How?’

‘See the engine?’

Mitch nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘I want you to find the spanner and pick it out for me.’ Rick wiped his sweaty brow. ‘This is hot and thirsty work and I need a drink and some lunch.’

‘Okay,’ Mitch said while studying the engine, ‘I can do that.’

In the shade of a scraggly bush by a low stone wall, I handed Rick a quarter of sandwich and bottle of Fanta. My brother and I sat on the wall and watched Mitch hunt for the spanner. Rick munched on his ham and relish sandwich, unperturbed by the dryness of bread and ham tasting too salty. He washed down some of the fizzy drink and then said, ‘Well, I better go and rescue Mitch.’

The sun travelled westwards, and shadows lengthened as the “quick” job took several hours to complete.

Just before the sun set, Rick rubbed his grease-covered hands on an old cloth and declared the vehicle ready for action. He hoped the battery would give us no trouble.

*[Photo 4: Sunset on parrots © L.M. Kling 2022]

Once again, we piled in the car and Rick turned the ignition.

A squeak.

A sputter.

Then a roar.

The Charger puttered and shook as the engine turned over and the beast began to move out of the garage carpark.

We entered the main street, passing the store which had provided our breakfast and lunch. Closed for the night. Jack gazed at the store and sighed.

As if reading his mind and everyone else’s, Rick said, ‘We’ll need to drive for an hour or so before we stop.’

Mitch put on a brave face. ‘We’ll find a roadhouse sometime later tonight to have tea.’

We watched Dubbo’s Shell service station come roadhouse flit past as we left the town.

Sitting in the front passenger seat next to my brother who was driving, I pulled out the RAA strip map and flicked through the pages. Locating the one with Dubbo, I scanned the last few pages and calculated the distance and time to reach our destination.

‘According to the strip map, it will take us about six hours to reach Sydney,’ I said.

‘So,’ Mitch from the back replied, ‘we shall make it in time for the conference.’

‘Where, exactly is the conference?’ Jack asked.

‘Randwick Racecourse, if I remember correctly,’ Mitch said.

‘Where’s that?’ I asked.

‘Beats me,’ Rick said.

‘Do we have a map of Sydney?’ Mitch said with an edge to his voice.

Rick shrugged and planted his foot on the accelerator. The Charger roared to the highway’s maximum speed of 110 km/ph.

*[Video: Long stretch of Central Australian outback highway © L.M. Kling 2021]

‘I guess we’ll have to…’ Mitch began.

Cordelia who seemed to be quieter than her usual demur self (I guess she had no social mores to report on), clutched her stomach and whispered, ‘I don’t feel very well, I need to find a hospital.’

Slowing the car, Rick sighed and shook his head. ‘I guess we better go back to Dubbo.’

Tyres crunched on the gravel before he swung the car in an arc performing a seamless U-turn and headed back towards the twinkling lights of Dubbo.

 © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

***

Want more, but too impossible 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…

And escape in time and space to Central Australia 1981…

Travelling Thursday–Risky Road Trip to Brisbane (2)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

When Angels Jump Off

Part 2

Passing Road Trains

Bill reclined in the row of seats in front of them, making no comment. Rob in the front passenger seat, dozed as he rested his curly mop on the passenger window.

Petrol at Orange and the youth filled their tanks with lollies, chips and soft drink.

I found the “ladies”, a grotty dive around the corner. Tania ignored me as she primped her ebony bob and patted her round cheeks with blush in front of the scratched-metal excuse of a mirror.

I sauntered back over the cracked pavement of the service station to the van crouching by the pumps. Tom sat there, in my seat, hands hugging the steering wheel and a grin on his lips.

“Right, we’ve wasted enough time, I’m driving,” Tom said.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I asked. Tom was 18, full of testosterone and a sense of immortality. “What about your P-plates?”

“Pff! Who needs them, we’re in the country,” Tom replied. “The cops won’t care.”

My manager’s warning echoed in my mind. Don’t let the youth drive. This was a company van. “l think it would be better if someone else drives.”

Bill stretched out, comatose on the middle bench seat, while Rob leant against the bonnet, eyes averted and licking an ice cream.

“Rob?” I pleaded.

“It’s alright.” He bit into the cone. In a languid tone, he said, “I’m sure Tom’s a good driver.”

Tania planted herself in the front passenger seat. She curled her lip and snarled, “Better driver than you. At least we’ll get somewhere.”

“Fine then, I hope you know what you’re doing.

“Relax! I know what I’m doing. We’ll be at the conference in no time,” Tom said and turned the key. The engine puttered contented with its new master. “Anyway, we’ve wasted enough time with you stuffing around.”

I gritted my teeth and crawled into the dark recesses of the Toyota. I chose not to fight this battle. I needed a rest, but had an uneasy feeling about the next few hours.

[Photo 1 and Feature: Road Train at Dawn © L.M. Kling 2013]

Our new driver, engaged the gears, and catapulted the car onto the highway. Tyres spun on the bitumen. I smelt burnt rubber.

Bill rolled off his seat and woke up with a start. “What’s happening?” He rubbed his eyes, and then batted at the wads of sleeping bags, sweet wrappers and lemonade bottles. He craned his neck peering at Rob and me each side of the back three-seater bench with Karen holding her duffle bag in the middle. Confused, he pulled himself upright using the driver’s seat and eye-balled Tom. Then he looked back at us, eyes wide. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t ask!” I said. Reflector posts and shadows of trees flitted past. In the dim light, the whites of Bill’s eyes glowed. “You’re letting him drive?”

“He insisted.”

He jerked his muscular arms. “Do you know how fast he is going?”

“What?” I peered at the speedometer. The needle hovered between 160 and 170 kilometres per hour. “Oh, crap.”

The vehicle mounted a low rise and flew for a few seconds. The floozies strapped into their respective seats screamed as if they were on a roller-coaster ride.

Bill gripped my arm. “You’re in charge, do something.

I tried. “Hey, Tom, I think you’re going a bit fast, could you slow it down a little.”

Tom ignored my pleas and we watched the needle creep up to 180 km/h. “Tom, slow down,” Bill urged. He patted the lad’s arm. “You’ll get a speeding fine.”

“No, I won’t,” Tom said.

“We have to make up for lost time. We’re already three hours late,” Tania whined.

“So what if we are late?” I begged. “Better that, than dead on arrival.”

[Photo 2: Meanwhile, we passed Canberra in the night. Canberra was probably gearing up for their Floriade Festival © L.M. Kling 2010]

Tom’s Teutonic features hardened like flint, eyes staring through the screen, mouth a thin line set in grim determination, and his jumbo ears deaf to our pleas. The more we urged and begged, the more resistant he became and the more he pumped the accelerator. The more we feared for our lives.

“Come on, Tom. We don’t want to have an accident.” Bill put a strong hand on Tom’s shoulder. “The angels jump off when you go over the speed limit.”

“No they don’t.” Keeping his sight fixed on the road, Tom flicked the hand from him. “We have three hours to catch up. I want to get to Brisbane by the four in the afternoon.” The needle pushed up to 190 km/h.

Bill, Rob and I withdrew, accepting our fate and praying that the angels will hang onto the van for our sake. I was not sure how much time had passed. For a moment, time seemed irrelevant. All was clear, all was calm. I forced myself to stay awake. We pelted along the highway in the dark countryside.

[Photo 3: During the night we travelled west of the Blue Mountains probably on the Newell Highway. Here are the Three Sisters in the Blue Mountains © S.O. Gross circa 1960]

Somewhere along the stretch of Tom’s speedway, we rearranged ourselves. Bill moved to the front passenger seat, and Rob and I sat in the middle row. The girls curled up in the back of the van, putting their full trust and unbelted bodies at the mercy of Tom’s driving. Titan-size trucks, sympathetic to our driver’s need for speed, waved us on and we passed the road-trains of travelling tonnes of steel.

“The angels jump off at this speed, Tom,” Rob said and then yawned.

Tom laughed and made the whole van wobble and swerve into the gravel. He then swung the van to the wrong side of the road and stayed there.

“I’m not happy Tom! What do you think you’re doing?” I batted him. Blinding lights bore down on us. “Watch out, Tom!” I pressed my foot on an imaginary brake-pedal and screamed.

“Calm down, Grandma!” Tom laughed as he slipped back into the left lane with only millimetres to spare. The van shuddered with the slipstream.

“God! That was close!” Bill wiped beads of sweat from his forehead.

“That’s nothing!” Tom pressed the throttle to the floor and relished the roar of the speeding engine.

The needle on the fuel gauge sank into the red zone. Hope. We would have to stop for petrol. Using my finger as a signal, I alerted Bill to the need for petrol.

[To be continued…finale next week]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

Feature Photo: Road train at Dawn © L.M. Kling 2013

***

Want more Australian Adventure, but too expensive to travel down under?

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

Click here on Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981…

And escape in time and space to Central Australia 1981…