Red Dust Wanderlust

“We’re really getting into it now” Andy yelled over the never ending bumps of the never ending corrugated road. The Dead Kennedys blasting through the potent red dust and bushfire smoke.

I drift back into my train of thought, trying to decide if the termite mounds look more like castles or tombstones? I preferred to ponder this instead of indulging in the realisation of exactly what and how far we were “really getting into”.

We were a long way from our sleepy sea side suburb. We were North. Far North. Our destination? Furthest North. The Tip, Cape York. A mystical land of crocs, barra and overpriced beer.

Our sense of adventure and general lack of knowledge of the suitable terrain to drive a campervan 1,000 kilometres off road found us here, well that and our new boss ‘Bully’ ensured us “she’ll be right”.

The mood changed in the van with the next song blast – from 80’s punk to 70’s swamp music.
Boom! With a back breaking bump our duet of ‘Born on the Bayou’ was broken.
The pop top had stopped.

Drunk on dark red dust we had not realised that we had driven over a river bed, well that… and the river was non existent. No water to be seen. None.

Andy manages to start the van again, we high five as if we had achieved some major feat.
Before I can choose the next song in our soundtrack of stupidity, I notice a family of locals chasing us, waving their arms around with angst.

“You right?” Andy yells.
“You lost your bluddy bike!” yelled the dusty fella.

Looking over our shoulder we realise that the back door of the van is completely up, our belongings peppered all over the dusty road – books, shoes, hats, bike… dignity.

The bike rack had busted with the previous bump allowing the door to let loose. I was confused, what the hell are they doing out here? I wondered.

I decided not to ask them, by the look on their faces we were no one to ask such questions, and instead we just joined them in laughing at us.

I like to think even if we could have fixed the bike rack we would have given them the bike anyway - either way they were happy.

I think back to how happy I was when Mick, a one-eyed vego Kiwi gave us that bike. We had met them a million memories ago at Byron Bay. In the interest of Trans-Tasman relations we did the honourable thing and had a four day party at their house in Brissy for the ANZAC weekend.
Waving hooroo to our new no mans land friends I think of the adventures that bike will have and just how far we really were “getting into it now”.