Travelling Solo For the First Time | Day One
If you have read my story ‘Going Nomad – The Birth of Finchy’s Australia’ this story will make a little more sense. If you haven’t, enjoy the experience of my first day on my first solo trip.
Armed with a broken heart, an old Holden station wagon and thinking I was wise beyond my years I made the decision to leave the comfy surrounds of my family and friends and take on chunks of eastern Australia. I felt a degree of excitement and adventure but the air of uncertainty was not only worrying, in a strange way it was one of my driving emotions. I have always needed to know what’s around the next corner.
Not sure of the exact year but I was around nineteen years tops. I thought I might follow the Murray by road as best I could. My love of the River seemed a comforting way to begin my journey but it didn’t take long to lose the comfort, day one in fact. It was a stinking hot day around 38 degrees Celsius and I had just left the town limits of the riverside town of Berri. The idea was to find a spot somewhere on the river near Renmark. Stop early to camp for the night leaving plenty of time for an afternoon swim and sit in the shade of a River Redgum with a cold beer and joint in hand.
What could possibly go wrong?
That’s when I spotted the German backpackers hitchhiking on the outskirts of town. Naturally I was going to pick them up. “G’day jump in where you heading” I said. May as well have said, “G’day don’t suppose you have got a tuna in your backpack? ” because these two fellas didn’t speak a word of English. Reluctance is noticeable in any language but they still threw their back packs in the back of the old wagon and jumped in. I may not have told you but I have had long hair and a beard since I was around sixteen and could have been described as a little scruffy or even a bit rough looking.
“G’day jump in, where you heading?”
So, I was in a car with no air con, windows down, just so the heat was vaguely bearable and three burly blokes crammed in the front bench seat because the back seat was folded down with a mattress on top; master bedroom. With the black curtains trying to escape through the open windows and averaging 120km/hour I took our German tourists towards Renmark.
They seemed a bit edgy and declined the cold beer and joint I offered them, I didn’t think 10.30am was too early on a hot day but they may have. Anyway, I was following a semi-trailer for too long so I clenched the beer can between my knees and put my foot flat to pass the big stone throwing beast. All was going well with the Jack Brabham style passing manoeuvre until I pulled in front of the truck back into the left lane. This is when my ultra-cheap re-tread tyres spat off their tread simultaneously on both front tyres making the car vibrate violently and impossible to handle. I suppose you get what you pay for.
With a full size semi bearing down on me at around 110km/hr things looked a little grim to say the least. All I could do was send the old station wagon into the scrub on the side of the road. Couldn’t tell you how many times the car span around in the red dirt and dust but you could imagine the scene. The car came to rest sideways against the trees, the truck passed without hitting me or anyone else and he pulled over safely up the road a little. The incredibly large truck driver, wearing blue shorts and a blue singlet ran back through the settling dust to see just how bad the carnage was.
All three occupants of my Holden had to get out of the driver’s door because the left side of the car was hard against the trees. As the BIG truck driver appeared trough the dust both German lads were hauling their backpacks from my car. They said nothing to me or the truck driver, didn’t even make eye contact and they took off back in the direction they came from. Never saw them again.
The truckie then surprised the shit out of me
Thinking he was going to punch me fair in the nose he gently took the beer from my hand, sculled the remaining contents of the can and told me I probably didn’t need it, he turned and walked slowly back to his rig saying, “Good luck lad”.
“Did I mention I was a little on the wild side in those days”.
I took a deep breath assessed the damage which incredibly was nil and thought to myself “Wow dodged a bullet that time”. The tyres were still inflated but the tread was flapping around like a broken thong (Oz Footwear not underwear) and I limped the next 80km into Renmark doing around 20km/hr to get some new tyres.
Needless to say I didn’t spend the afternoon swimming in the river and having a cold beer at the base of an old redgum. I spent the afternoon asking around the town for some vineyard or orange orchard work because I had pretty much blown my somewhat limited travel budget on new tyres, and all on day one.
Several memories from that day remain vivid even though it was so long ago. I wonder what the two German lads did, I suspect by the looks on their faces they may have returned to Germany. To this day there are 20 German fingernail marks in the old Holden dashboard. I remember how much I was truly flying by the seat of my pants, physically, psychologically and financially. Most of all, I remember the truckies reaction, didn’t see that coming. I am sure he still thinks, “What a story”. I know I do.
