Last night of luxury...
Having not seen Karren for about six weeks due to a work trip, I 
decided that our first night together probably shouldn't be spent in the back of some dingy van and so our story really begins at the Carlton Crest Hotel in Brisbane. The next morning we scored more than our fair share of strange looks as we loaded the van - I think the Crest is more accustomed to having low slung sports cars and luxury saloons blocking its drive than the behemoth into which we were loading our kit.
Data
First some stats on our wheels. The van which was to become our home and steed for the next week or so was a Toyota Hiace campervan - essentially a hunchback Hiace with the back fully decked out to allow two people to travel in style. Three would be starting to get a little squeezy and any more than four would really be pushing the friendship, unless of course you stacked them horizontally in the back. Which, given the nifty layout in the rear would actually be feasible, legal considerations notwithstanding. The back of the van is actually really well laid out with heaps of storage space, ranging from the obvious (massive bins located just above your head) to the ingenious (really clever concertina doored pantries and tucked-away compartments) through to the infuriatingly unlocatable (such as the place where you are supposed to put the oil after driving 300kms with the low oil pressure warning light flashing at you).
We were actually only delivery drivers - this van is to be the official World Nomads adventure vehicle and we were charged with getting it from Brisbane to Sydney, albeit via a rather circuitous route which took in Queensland's Sunshine Coast. Upon arrival in Sydney, it will be decked out in the World Nomad's livery (and a pretty spiffy planned paint job at that) however we were travelling incognito and therefore had to content ourselves with the existing sour cream white.
Sunshine Coast
Our first stop was the Sunshine Coast, where my folks have retired, which allowed us to stay the inevitable first night in the back of the van for another few days. The Sunshine Coast is like what the Gold Coast was before all the highrises, schoolies, silicone and sleaze. Which is to say, never. And all the better for it, I say. I just wish I'd had the foresight to buy property there at the same time that my parents did. Although given the fact that I was seven years old at the time, I would have had a prick of a time getting a mortgage, but you know what I mean. Regardless, it really is a beautiful strip of coast and we spent a very pleasant few days cruising up and down between Mooloolaba and Noosa, taking all the right hand turns on the way north and all the lefts on the way back. We ended up discovering some really pretty little pockets of beach, including the very underrated Marcoola.
Even though we weren't sleeping in it yet, the van did us proud. The area in the back was absolutely brilliant for storing my kitesurfing gear. Again, my lack of foresight was aptly demonstrated here. Who’d have thought that storing wet, sandy 
kitesurfing kit in the place which is to become your bed would result in gritty sleeping conditions and an angry girlfriend? Unfortunately, the wind didn’t play the game for the first couple of days which was a little disappointing. Karren, too, was gutted – there is nothing she loves more than hanging out on the beach in a howling 25knot crosswind, getting sandblasted and having her sunscreen coated body completely plastered with grit while watching me kite.
As it turned out, I ended up watching the first windy day from underneath a shady tree with a glass of champagne in hand. The location was the Boat Shed restaurant in Cotton Tree – a very special place which has become something of a family rendezvous for us over the years. On this occasion, we were celebrating mum’s birthday with what ended up being a pretty pissy lunch. 
Fortunately, though, the wind hung around and the next day I got in an epic session at the mouth of the Maroochydore river – consistent 15knot winds and an outgoing tide. Superb!
You might have thought that this couple of days at my folk’s place would have been a good opportunity to take the time to work out how to convert the Meccano set that was the back of the van into something that would support comfortable sleep. I, however, figured that I’d be right to leave that until three nights later when we rocked up into a very dark, very silent caravan park at midnight. At Dad’s insistence, however, we did work out where to check the oil and brake and power steering fluids. Which was a lot easier said than done. Tip for your players - the engine on these things is actually located about three inches under the passenger's arse. Which took me ages to work out, and even longer to find the release clip to lift the seat and top the thing up with oil.
At this stage, we also did a little planning for the remainder of the trip. Realising that we had about four days left before one or both of us got the sack from work, we settled on two nights in Yamba and one in Crescent Head.
On the road
Now, in spite of my aforementioned lack of foresight, we did have 
enough common sense to stock up with a few essentials for the trip. Which brings us to the heart of gold in this vehicle – the fridge. This thing works its arse off to ensure that a frosty one is never further than a gut-twisting, shoulder-dislocating, one foot on the steering wheel reach-around away.
About two hundred kilometres south of Brisbane we went over a small bump which caused every single warning light on the dash to light up simultaneously. I drove on gingerly for a few k’s before deciding that some minor electrical fault was probably more likely than a coincidental and catastrophic failure of all major vehicle systems and accelerating back up to highway speed. See lack of foresight, mentioned above.
We got into Yamba late and set to the task of turning the back of the car into something resembling a bed. Which is actually a relatively straightforward process. Or would have been had we done it during daylight or with the assistance of the very comprehensive instruction manual which remained locked in the glovebox. Regardless, we eventually worked it out and settled down for a restful night’s sleep. Or would have were it not for the 230 decibel electrical buzzing noise which seemed to be emanating from the middle of the car. I initially thought it was the fridge working to catch up after a hard day cooling beers, however the noise remained even after switching the fridge off. The next thirty minutes were spent trying in vain to locate the sound. I was on the cusp of attacking the positive terminal of the battery with a set of wire-clippers when Karren realised that the noise was coming from the electric water pump under the sink in the back. Turns out we had accidentally bumped it on at some stage during the trip (see “gut-twisting, shoulder-dislocating, one foot on the steering wheel reach around for beer” above, dumping thirty litres of water somewhere on the Pacific Highway. I searched the next morning’s headlines in panic, but fortunately didn’t find the expected “Highway Wet Patch Kills Four” headline.
Yamba
Yamba is a great little town. It is obviously where the four wheel drive owning inhabitants of Sydney’s Eastern Suburbs drive their four wheel drives on holidays to justify owning four wheel drives and as such boasts a really high standard of cuisine and accommodation. We enjoyed delicious coffee every morning and spent two very lazy days on the beach doing bugger all. In fact, we did so blissfully little during our two days at Yamba that I now struggle to think of things to write under the “Yamba” paragraph sub-title. Which, in terms of fulfilling its job description of relaxing beachside retreat, means that it was spot on.
Crescent Head
After about half a day’s drive south, we ended up in Crescent Head. On the highway the vanster is actually a pleasure to drive. Like all other hire cars, it comes with the high performance engine and the off-road suspension kit, however in deference to Nick at World Nomads (who had kindly allowed us to drive it back to Sydney) and whoever ends up with it next (and whose itinerary is fairly likely to take them further off the beaten track than Hastings St, Noosa) I took it very easy.
As was our custom, on arrival at Crescent Head, we did a quick lap of town and the beach to orientate ourselves. During this time, we ended up on top of the headland itself, where we parked and went for a walk. The view from the vantage point was, to me, 
quintessential Australian east coast – pristine beach stretching endlessly in either direction, broken only by headlands and the horizon. After about an hour enjoying this, we were walking back to the van when Karren spotted a fine jet of mist about two kilometres south, marking a small pod of breaching whales making their 
annual pilgrimage north. We watched in awe as the whales edged towards us, at one stage being entertained by a pod of dolphins directly below us as we waited for another breach. I managed to get a few truly lame photos of this amazing moment, obviously not doing any justice to the incredible marine parade we witnessed that afternoon.
Home Again
And so it ends. As if heralding the end of our incredible week, everything seemed to be coming to a close – the gorgeous weather we had enjoyed for the trip to that point gave way with an enormous southerly change hitting us (and I mean literally, savage crosswinds threatening to throw us off the highway) as we trucked through Newcastle. And the warning light situation, which I had been conscientiously ignoring for about 1000kms, started to manifest itself with every major electrical component commencing to die one at a time. At the start, it was actually quite amusing - the radio cutting out in time to the indicator and the brake lights - however it soon deteriorated to the point where the vehicle would only sustain one component at any given time. Which doesn’t sound like too much of a hassle, except by this stage we were in the middle of Sydney’s last-day-of-school-holidays peak hour traffic, it was dark and the rain had started. Choosing whether to use the headlights, the wipers, the indicators or the brake lights at any given moment proved to be an extremely stressful juggling act and no way to end what had, to that point, been a completely stress-free holiday. But, like the faithful steed that collapses with exhaustion the moment it reaches safety inside the castle wall, our van got us home and promptly died in our driveway.
Post Script
After a quick visit from an extremely friendly and competent NRMA man, our van was kicking again, and we safely delivered it back to the depot. I have it under very good authority that it is being fitted with a new alternator as I write this, and will soon be ready for its snazzy World Nomads paint job. I also have it under good authority that its next series of adventures under its new identity will be dutifully chronicled on this website - stay tuned....
