On The Road

September 3rd

I've taken to heckling vehicles that pass Sharky. Or ones that act like they're cool. Because they've got nothin' on our beast.

Oh you go around. But don't even pretend 'cause you know this shark better than you. That's right. You're just jealous. MmHmm.

***

There's a big divide between the front and the back, with stuff packed up allowing for only a small opening behind our seats, which Tim occasionally pokes his head through. Otherwise, two separate worlds.

At one stop, I catch a snippet from Tim: "I've failed at lots of aspects of fatherhood, but damned if I'll lose this one..."
I'm curious about the context, but the car starts up and closes the portal between the two dimensions.

***

We stop for fuel, wee, and beer. I came across a jug in the back this morning labeled with a "P" in masking tape. Which explains the drop off in wee-stops. Tisi and I have taken to throwing small bursts of training in at each stop. The drinking in the back goes on and on.
As the level of inebriation rises, so does the amount of effort required to wrangle the guys back into the car. Neither has their license and don't seem to grasp how much driving we're doing. Or don't care.
We've more of less agreed that Tisi will be the stern one, the organizer, so they don't feel ganged up on.

***

Tim has been in contact with Mort, the artistic director of the project, the one who brought this motley bunch together. We're meeting Mort in Yulara.
The myth of Mort increases with every story. He's magic and we're off to see The Wizard.
Yes. The Wizard of Oz.

I hope I'm Toto.

***

At some point, the ECON light has come on. We figure "econ" can only be a good thing.
We're taking the back roads through country towns for Tisi. Her grandfather ran the church in Balaklava; this is the route of her childhood.

Sharky climbs up a steep hill and at the top, we see it: a mini-ferry to cross the river. Never has one group of people been so giddy over a little punt. The ferryman indulges us in our photo shoot.
I wonder how his fares typically react to this transportation novelty.
***

That night in Port Augusta, our last taste of civilization for at least a month. A final stock-up: 2 new bras for Tisi, yoga mats, acidophillus, contact solution, dark chocolate, organic peanut butter, and lavender oil.

So Much Circus

September 2nd

Two stops are timed perfect on today's route: we'll have tea with Stardust Circus in Robinvale, then roll into Mildura just in time for the Circus Oz show.

Stardust is a traditional (or Trad) circus, unlike Circus Oz, which is considered contemporary circus, like Cirque du Soleil. [Contemporary circus is huge in Australia.] We're going to see Pixie Robinson, Tim's sister-in-law and Grande Dame of Circus, who's trained scores of performers over the years. This is my Trad Circus Crash Course.

We pull onto the grounds and head over to Pixie's trailer. She's just finished giving one of the circus kids school lessons. The young girl scoops her books off the desk and leaves with a big hunk of meat Pixie has pulled out of the oven. She lays out a spread of food for us, which she apologizes for (it's delicious, if slightly haphazard -- after all, she wasn't expecting us).

Tim introduces me.
"So, you're the dancer..."
"It's been a while."
Tim asserts that in a few weeks, I'll be unrecognizable.
"Contemporary or classical?"
"Contemporary, mostly. But I'm trained in classical."

I mention that Tisi and I are thinking up an act for The Tilt Festival in Canberra mid-October. Tim looks to Pixie, then leans forward slightly. "Um, we have a show this Sunday."

It's Wednesday evening and the first I've heard of this. I sit dumbstruck and slightly slack-jawed as Pixie and Tim launch into circus gossip.

***

A little past 7pm, we're waiting outside a motel in Mildura. Tim is working on a room. Cal squints at the situation inside, "He has milk: we must have a room."

Sure enough, Tim returns carrying a couple of containers.
"Milk?"
"It's a motel; that's what they do," says Tim, confident that statement explains everything.

At The Arts Centre five minutes after the curtain went up, we're in the audience for Circus Oz courtesy of some sweet string-pulling by Tisi. I'm the only one of the group who hasn't seen the show at all -- the other 3 have seen it several times. Tisi gets a kick out of my reactions.

***

Jump back to earlier in the day while driving, two seemingly inconsequential events:
1. Silver and The Doc are put forth as potential names for our act [my initials, AG, are the elemental symbol for silver; "The Doc" is inspired by a childhood name Tisi's brother had for her]
2. While belting out tunes in Sharky's front seat, I comment that we've never done karaoke together and we should remedy that.

It's Wednesday night and Mildura would not be mistaken for a bumpin' town at the best of times. Tim and Cal are quite happy to drink at the first place we pass (a nice Italian restaurant), but Tisi and I are hoping for something a little more relaxed. We find it: the only Irish pub in town.
And tonight is karaoke.

Silver and The Doc sign up for Kung Fu Fighting. Our performance garners us drink tickets (awarded by audience applause).
We follow it up with a spectacular version of Shoop, the glory of which is lost on a large fragment due to their relative youth.
But we're still a hit.

I have a Texta. We tag a chair. Chat it up. Dance like silly people. Text Sally and Carlie about our performances, that we wish they were here, except that it's Mildura and no one should be here.



We're at the bar, waiting for drinks. A girl comes up and asks if either of us would like her rum and Coke. She promises there's nothing wrong with it: "I'm Catholic and studying medicine." Her boyfriend got it for her; she hasn't seen him in a while and really wants some action -- she has this drink and she'll be in no fit state.

***

My alarm goes off at 6:53am.

"Wait or roll out?"
"Let's go."
"I like your style."
"Who's idea was it for me to eat Doritos last night?"
"Yours. Well, the guys incited it. Or at least facilitated."
"I brushed my teeth twice and I can still taste them."
"I offered to make you a sandwich..."

A few blocks later, after I've loudly cursed Mildura and its founding:
"Who's idea was it to go for a run this morning?!"
"Yours."
"Right. From now on, my ideas get immediately vetoed."

Analogue Texting

I jot down notes while driving. Safely, mind you. Of course, people who text & drive also claim it's completely safe.

I wouldn't text and drive. But analogue texting? Where's the harm in that?

***

Bumper sticker on a campervan
Adventure Before Dementia

[Note: This statement rhymes when read in an Aussie accent. Adven-cha.]

On a semi-trailer
Caution: Fertile Eggs Aboard

Sign outside the Auburn Bowling Club
Upcoming Events: dinner

The Border Ate My Produce

September 2nd

We wake up under a blanket of frost in the parking lot. A sign identifies the area/site/region/whatever as Beckom. Dreams of Le Groupe, and I wake up with a sore hip.

We pile into Sharky for another long day; luckily, both Tisi and I like driving. There's some nattering about us having taken the wrong turn.
Why were you listening to my directions? I was drunk.
You had the map. And said you knew where we were going.
So?

We stop in the next town to fill up. We're about to enter the Fruitfly Zone and are loathe to jettison our apple supply. Tisi has 5, I have 4, and Cal chokes back 1. Sure, chucking them out would have neatly avoided apple-induced stomach aches, but where's the challenge in that?

As we're set to head off, the passenger door refuses to close. Pull over in front of a motorcycle dealership, tools out, the guys have the inside panel of the door dismantled and repaired, while the girls practice handstands. It's now better than before as the previously not-so-functional window is now fully operational.

***

Through Griffith, the former Drug Capital of Australia.
Tisi: "I love cities with palm tree lined entrances that don't warrant them."

That's right, folk: don't let the palms fool you -- Griffith is not Beverly Hills.

***

Our garlic is confiscated at the South Australia border. We had it hanging from the roof in the back, my contribution to the nesting. The guard is very nice about it, and informs us that our celery is not contraband, but only after we've rabidly munched down a fair portion of it, clearly learning nothing from the morning's apple incident.

I love celery. We bought an impressive stalk and have vowed to consume it while it's fresh. The favorite flavoring options are a light dusting of salt & pepper or spread with a mixture of peanut butter and sweet chili sauce.

I like the leaves, Tisi doesn't; aren't we just a match made in heaven?

Wagga Wagga, Grong Grong

September 1st

Sharky gets some stares, let me tell you. From time to time on the inside, we forget what our little caravan looks like and the gawks are perplexing.

Tisi is all done up in a style she call roadtrip op-shop chic. "Did I tell you that I figured out what I have? Heart of a gypsy, soul of a housewife."

Looking at the fine homey set-up out back, I think that neatly sums up both of us.

Girls in the front -- we're sharing the driving* -- and boys in the back, drinking beer. We take a few Thelma and Louise shots, for good measure.

Through Wagga Wagga, we sleep under the stars at a rest stop. Some drunken backseat navigation resulted in a wrong turn at Narrangara.

On the upside, it brought it through Grong Grong.

Wagga Wagga, Grong Grong!


[*Although the guys purchased the vehicle, neither can drive. We assumed they were kidding when they waxed on about the bender they would be undertaking en route. Assumptions are never wise.]

The Packing

August 31st

"Dahling, it's our honeymoon!"
We've been referring to each other as 'wife' (or 'wifey' for more endearing occasions) and have decided that this adventure -- at least the drive out -- will be our official honeymoon.

We've popped into downtown Dapto for a little pre-desert op-shopping; Tisi feels the trip calls for a summer dress.

"We're so cute," she says, catching the reflection of us side-by-side in a passing bus.
She's absolutely right.

***

I've lost track of how many separate trips we've taken to The Big W, Coles, Safeway -- back and forth, again and again. We keeping thinking of forgotten necessities, misjudging how many tubs are required, suddenly deciding a pair of Volleys are essential, and so on.

That evening, on our final round, Tisi and I are in quite a state. Tisi's brain is pressing against her skull; I'm all foggy and bitten nails.

At my suggestion of eggs: "No eggs. We can get them in Port Augusta."
I can't argue: my thoughts refuse to focus into anything more detailed than no more, I can't do anymore.

In the grocery check-out line, one of us remembers headlamps. We push the heavily laden cart up to Big W, but it's now closed. Damn.

Out we go to the parking lot and Sharky. Tim and Cal pop out, fancy new headlamps switched on. Tisi and I lament our oversight. Tim tells us to look on our seats, there's a surprise: headlamps of our very own.

***

Tuesday morning.

The final pack is underway. Departure has been delayed until the mail arrives [Sharky's registration papers -- or reggos -- are, well, in the mail. Or somewhere. Uh... yeah]. While the boys lash things to the vehicle, Tisi and I play music in the lounge, she on ukelele, me on a mini-accordion that was tucked among the stacks (oh! if only I could bring it with me!).

We are by no means packing light: juggling gear, hula hoops, teeter board, stilts, a lyra, 3 unicycles, rigging, $200 of unroasted coffee beans (Sosi -- who's meeting us in Warburton -- is from Ethiopia and will be doing a traditional coffee ceremony), a knock-about table, scatter mats, handstand posts, hats, slack-wire, tight-rope, bamboo and skis for building "stuff," tools, plus camping gear, food, and clothes.

Sharky the Hectic-Mobile looks gorgeous in all its circus glory.

Dapto

August 30th

Tisi is waiting for me on the platform.
Reunited at last! It feels like months.

***

Tim had been right about the train ride: the final leg of the 2hr journey -- beyond the northern beaches and after Sydney's center, south on the country lines -- is beautiful. Snaking around mountains, steep tumbling ravines, past tiny hamlets through groves of immense gum trees, rounding a bend to have the coastline and teal-blue ocean burst into view.

Still no kangaroos, though.

***

After an urgent bathroom dash (couldn't get my pack into the cubicles on the train -- and by "couldn't" I mean, couldn't be bothered), we're sitting on the bench, getting up to speed. Tisi is looking a touch shell-shocked. All she'll let on is that Sharky the Hectic-Mobile needs some "feminine sensibility for organization."

Tim and Callan barrel around the corner. "Hey! Hey! We were wondering what had happened to you!" I looked at Tisi, having assumed she came on her own. A sigh and a strained smile, she looked tired. Fair enough, having come straight from life in Melbourne only yesterday.

***

Sharky the Hectic-Mobile is waiting in front of the house, gleaming orange glory in the afternoon light. A full tour is given: Tim installed the bench seat and seat-belts in the back; things have been tuned up, repainted, and thoroughly cleaned. Much focus is placed on the orange hubcaps. These, I'm told, have made all the difference. All the difference.

Mort painted a beautiful mini-mural of a shark on the side before he left. The boys are so proud of Sharky (with good reason) and are ultra-excited to show it off. I'm slightly apprehensive about driving the beast; it's massive, tall and clunky, no visibility out the back, and -- my favorite -- there hadn't been enough time to install a proper bull bar. 3000km? I'm skeptical, but the repeated assurance is that this -Mobile is all on the up and up.

***

Tim suggests a quick beach excursion. As we jump into Sharky, he hands me and Tisi each a colorful towel his mother had found us for our journey.
"Great. Always pack your towel: covered. Now all that's left: Don't Panic."
Tisi approves of the reference. Yet another reason why it's love.

Upon returning to the house post-swim, Tim can't find his phone. Sharky is searched, but Tim is quite certain he left it at the beach. It's OK, he tells us, because he wants to get a new one. But Tisi and I determine it's a mission and head back to the beach while Tim makes dinner.

We retrace our steps along the sand to where we dropped our stuff, with me repeatedly ringing Tim's number.
"Did you hear that?" asks Tisi, "I'm pretty sure I head something."
I'm considerably more skeptical, barely able to hear her over the wind and the surf.

But then, I do hear something! I start digging and, sure enough, Tim's phone! Tisi turns around in time to catch my victory pose: on knees, head back, phone held high, silhouetted against the sunset (there's a photo of this somewhere -- yes, we recreated the event for documentation purposes).

Who could ask for a better omen?! We haven't even left yet and already, we're scoring a 100% success rate on all projects undertaken.

***

The house is packed with bodies and things. Tim, his wife, and two sons, me and Tisi in the lounge, Tim's parents in the semi-attached bungalow, Zelda the Dog.
But it's the piles and piles of stuff, floor to ceiling, that's mind-boggling. I have never seen so many items jammed into so little space. My brain is having fantasies of organizational possibilities. The junk! The treasures! The bowl of tadpoles outside the backdoor!

I spend the evening on a stool at the end of the kitchen counter, sitting very, very still.
The light in the lounge in on a timer that can't be switched off.
We leave in a day.

***

That night, I dream of the Social Research Center and wake up with the ear plugs in my hand.