The Rod Blog

20 November 2005

Of dust and flies and things

Oh tales of woe and malady. This is what you need for entertaining travel stories, so it is with great regret that I have none. No Kalashnikov-bearing border guards or goat-eyeball feasts with bearded natives. Just another day, another beer by the sunset and a D&M with master chef travelmate David. Sadly, David’s now left me, but I am in Adelaide with Jeanne & Jason for a couple of nights. It’s really nice to visit friends & relo’s while travelling.

And now, the tough job of digging up a disaster or two for your enjoyment. Why would you want to ride the Nullarbor, people asked me. Well, I wouldn’t want to do it for a living, but I thought it was a hoot. It’s one of those rites every Australian should do at least once, especially on a motorbike. The only low point is the dustiest, windiest camp site I’ve every seen. Impossible to put anything down or it’ll blow away. Dust drilling its way into every nook of your body and luggage, up your nose and in your jocks. But the views were beaut and we kept our cheer despite.

David is the Iron Chef, and the best I can do from my lowly kitchen-hand rank is keep him supplied with chopped veggies and clean utensils. So we arrive in Pemberton, and the local dam is chockers with marron (cray). This is my big chance. I will go hunting-and-gathering and, by God, whatever it takes I’m going to return with some for dinner, or die in the attempt! Yeah, right. They show no interest in my delicately prepared chicken pieces, and my elaborate trap made from a cheese grater is useless. An early demise is not my prefered option, I go over the road and buy some. It was them or me and besides, they taste better.

Okay, hardly a disaster, but did I tell you about the flies? The flies! Aaagh! I’m riding down to Yorke peninsula, and blat-blat-blat on my visor smearing their oily little bodies in little coloured paint blots. Very amusing, thinks I, this will make a quirky picture for my collection. And, in due course I arrive at the national park where I will set my tent, crack a bottle, and admire yet another wondrous sunset (sadly sans-David). But as soon as I’m off the bike, news is out. Fly newsflash. Here’s some new nostrils to explore! Eyeballs, ears and mouth. Dodge the ineffectual flapping arms, and get ‘em while they’re fresh.

Blow that for a joke (oops, a pun), I’m outa here. Take your stinking park, and I’m back to the caravan park for a civilised stay at a cabin (with, would you believe, a TV & DVD).

Last week of my trek now. A few days along the southern Vic coast, and home on Saturday.


  • John Denver's classic piece "Fly Away" would be most apt.

    By Anonymous sandgroper, at 6:36 am  

  • "Dance, then/Wherever you may be/I am the Lord of the Flies said he..."

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at 5:01 pm  

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