The French connection

Thought for the day: To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.

So here I am, still at Skenes Creek, wandering up to the area at the front of the campground to get a morning coffee after a night of sleep that can be best described as fabulous, courtesy of the waves crashing on the foreshore complemented but a few buckets of cheap red and a healthy veg stir-fry for dinner. I’m in a good headspace.

“What a good day,” says Charlie as he fires up the espresso machine (his sign says “expesso”, but we all know what he means).

“Charlie,” I say, “Every day is a beautiful day.”

A tall skinny French backpacker, who is camping in a tiny tent across the way, says to me: “Pardon my bad English, but that was a beautiful thing to say.”

We introduced ourselves: his name was Jordain (OK, I think that’s the spelling … if not, sorry about that, young fella) and he’s travelling with just a small backpack, tent and a bicycle. There’s a lesson in that for me: less is more.

I ordered him a coffee too and we sat and chatted. He’d just made a beautiful day just that little bit better. What a credit he is to himself and his parents. He told me of his job picking fruit up near Healesville, other experiences he’d had and the people he’d met.

He also told me how a farmer he had worked for had taught him to shoot and butcher a rabbit and a kangaroo.

“I had never eaten kangaroo before. It was amazing. I am thinking I am the only Frenchman there who knows how to do it,” he said, again apologising for his English.

“Mate [doing my best Aussie accent],” I said, “I know a lot of Aussies who don’t speak English nearly as well as you. It’s your second language … you’re amazing.”

 We chatted for about an hour (and I bought him another coffee) before we headed to my digs to show him my blogs and check some photos … and, of course, being a good tourist he had to get a couple of pictures of his new hippie friend (yeah, he called me a hippie) to show the folks back home.

“I wanted to stay in Australia longer, but before I left France I met a girl. I now ’ave to see her again [I can relate to that],” he said, “I ’ave to go. Six more weeks and I will go. But please give me your email address. I wish to stay in touch with you and see your travels.”

Done. What a great way to start the day. As someone near and dear said to me: “Every stranger we meet is just a friend we haven’t made yet.” How right she is.

This trip is a bit like the last time I travelled (2010) because it is taking me months to actually get on the road. Yeah, I’m on the road and, yeah, I’m travelling … in 2010 I took about three months to get out of Skenes Creek. This time, it was almost a month, but the truth is that Liam and I will be heading back that way so that Liam can do some carpentry work for Charlie, who runs the campground down there.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that other than perhaps the fact that the weather has turned too often to be on the wrong side of 20 degrees.

It’s still a great campsite … right on the ocean and there are always people there that I know … and generally a handful of backpackers working there, who, often in the past as they do now, are on the receiving end of some largesse from Charlie and myself.

Yeah, we feed ’em and give them the odd drink or seven.

I decided, because two of them are Poms, that I’d make them a curry … something to help allay the homesickness. I ran it by Charlie, who said: “Shit, mate, I’ve got a leg of lamb that I need to cook.” OK, I’ll do the veg. Roast potatoes, onions, carrots and parsnips plus steamed cauliflower, broccoli, zucchini and bok choy. The girls, Rachael and Charie (reckon it’s pronounced Sherie although everyone calls her Kiwi) made the gravy.

Gotta say, there’s something good about sitting 50 metres from the ocean with good company (Liam had come down too), a big roast meal and several buckets of cheap red to wash it down.

A couple of nights before, we decided to have a barbie. Charlie got it fired up with beef ribs, burgers, snags and lamb chops while I provided potato salad and a huge tossed salad. We ended up feeding seven, including David, who plans to live there in his converted ambulance for the next year. He calls his vehicle the Arts Ambulance (painted appropriately) and he does all manner of arts-related stuff. He has a video and audio studio set-up and has promised to lay down a recording track of me singing a song for The One.

It ended up a huge night with matching hangovers for all concerned the next day.

The Labour Day weekend provided welcome respite from the rigors of life on the beach (yeah, it’s tough) and I headed to the big smoke and some time with The One.

It was a memorable reunion (we hadn’t seen each other in quite a while) and we kicked it off with a bottle of Verve Cliquot to celebrate. We followed up with a sensational Sancerre, a pinot gris and eased out of the night with some chardonnay, all of which helped wash down the pizza we’d ordered in. It was my first pizza in what seemed a very long time.

The next day, after an eggy breakfast, I was treated to the passenger seat for a tour of the Yarra Valley wineries, which included tastings (none for the driver) at Balgownie Estate, one of our favourite places in the world and the source of so many great and wonderful memories. The Balgownie viognier and sangiovese were super and both came home with us, as did some Allinda chardonnay. The tastings at Balgownie and Allinda put others such as Fergusson’s to shame … I reckon the days of warm whites in plastic tasting glasses does nothing for the brands. The only other real downside for the day was the slow (in the extreme) service for lunch at Dixons Creek.

We lifted it a notch when we got home and celebrated with a bottle of Moet followed by the Balgownie viognier and Allinda chardonnay and some (I forget the name) riesling.

All too soon on Monday afternoon it was time to say farewell and hit the road for the long haul back to Skenes, a drive that was made lots easier courtesy of the memories of the previous two days. Reckon I was glowing.

Fishing is always on the agenda at Skenes although the ocean is yet to give up any. The past two occasions that I’ve wet a line (and these days the lines and rigs are good because Liam has been giving me lessons) all I have managed to retrieve are three sand crabs, the last of which was a decent (hand span) size. And what a feisty bugger he was when I removed him from the bait. He had a red-hot crack at my digits but there was no harm done and I got him back into the water.

So, with fish not on the menu, Liam and I headed into town to shop for the night’s curry feast. I was kinda cooking it mainly cooking it for backpacker Lewis, who was in severe curry withdrawal. Sad thing was he was having the weekend in Melbourne and would miss the night.

It was a stupendous feed … lamb and spinach curry with rice, raita, apple and yoghurt, and banana, lemon juice and toasted shredded coconut on the side and roti … yeah, we ate very well. And the red wine played its part too.

Lewis didn’t miss out. Because we’re decent folk (that’s Liam and me), we put aside a huge serve for Louis, which he got as we were departing.

Colac beckoned to get some solar work done on the trailer … Ben, the mechanic, is a straight-shooting bloke who does great work. We’ll be back to see him for some last-minute touch-ups.

Beyond Colac, a home-cooked meal with The One beckoned. Be still my heart.

When that little bit extra is unwelcome

Well, it’s 12.25 and that’s breakfast out of the way … OK, it was blunch. It was breakfast themed – bacon, eggs, mushrooms and a cuppa – but the time suggested otherwise, hence blunch. Reckon it’ll catch on?

The weather is pretty shitful … I actually put on a shirt this morning (yeah, over a blue singlet), such was the biting wind as I was enjoying the first cuppa and smoke for the day.

It was actually cold enough, and rain was threatening, for me to grab a tarp and spread it across the rear and partially up the side of the annexe. Now, it’s like being in my old lounge room but with the benefit of fresh air. After yesterday’s heat, this morning’s cold was a rude awakening.   

The sunshine yesterday was the perfect opportunity to do a job that has been bugging me for a while … draining one of the trailer’s two water tanks and giving it a bloody good flush. I know how much better I operate after a good dose of fibre. I reckon the tank flush became necessary when I started to notice little extra bits in my cups of tea. “That can’t be good,” I said to myself.

And given that I was having a guest stay for the long weekend, I had to clean up my act. So, out came the toolkit and I hit the horizontal i.e. flat on my back under the trailer and pretty soon I had disconnected the bottom-most pipe into the tank and placed it in my drainage hose, which runs, yeah, to the drain (gravity fed, of course.

After about 15 minutes of draining (yeah, it was draining for me too), it stopped running. Time to put the fresh-water hose into the tank and, running at full bore, I gave it a flush.

After a while, I did an extra bits check and they seemed to have disappeared. Job done, I thought, and again hit the horizontal (this time lying in a pool of water), replaced the hose and all was well with the world.

I went into the annexe to check the sink supply and Jesus wept, the extension cord on which I am running the laptop, fridge and lights was, like me earlier, lying in a pool of water. This can’t be good, I thought, and it was with some trepidation that I picked up a handful of wet plugs and then moved the fridge to dry ground. There was no shock, horror. Until, that is, I ran the tap over the sink. The extra bits were back, although not as plentiful as before.

Perhaps it’s just as well that my friend is now not coming for the weekend. I’m sure she would not have liked the extra bits. Anyway, that’s not a problem because I’m heading to her place in Melbourne for the long weekend.

It was time for a cooling drink of water (from a bottle, not extra bitsville) and to make a call to see how son Liam was getting on. He’s busy renovating my niece’s bathroom and not too far from finishing. But wait, there’s more. My niece, Lisa, and her husband, Shannon, are in Las Vegas and had been on the phone to Liam. Seems they were impressed with the large plasma TV screen recessed into the wall of their hotel bathroom and they want one. So, he’s back to the drawing board.

Liam was just leaving for the hardware shop to buy more supplies. He rang me, not long after he arrived, with welcome news. “There’s a product right in front of me and it has your name on it. It’s called Pour & Go. It’s for flushing out water tanks in vans or whatever.”

I thanked him and headed to the Apollo Bay hardware shop, where I now have two mates, Christos and Rohan, to get some.

“Sorry, we don’t have it, said a helpful girl. “I’ll check with the boys out the back and see if we have anything similar.” No go, it seems. Then another helpful girl had a check of the interweb thing. “You can get it at Mitre 10. The nearest shop is about a three-hour round trip.” Shit.

Then she tracked down a distributor, Farmers’ Warehouse, and a 1300 number.

I thanked her and rang. “Sure,” said Sam, the helpful girl, “We can get it delivered to your campground. It’s $49.95 for a bottle plus $15 postage and it will take about 3-5 days. There’s enough in the bottle to treat 22,000 litres of water.” “Done,” I said.

I pondered how long it would take to use 22,000 litres of water. Now, to put it into perspective, if I was to drink three litres of beer a day for the next 20 years (yeah, I know it means cutting down) that means that in those two decades I’d have consumed 21,900 litres of frothy stuff. That’s a lot of water and I reckon it was money well spent.

FULL OF BEANS

I was sitting around on the weekend (there’s a surprise) reading a book (another surprise) when I was surprised by a big cuddly koala wandering across the campground. I high-tailed it in pursuit and followed him up the steps that lead to the Great Ocean Road (not a good place for a koala). My main job was to stop him heading to the bitumen and to try to convince a woman who tagged along to stop trying to feed it bread. I thought about suggesting she try a gumleaf sandwich (without the mustard), but she was an English tourist and I’m sure it would have gone through to the keeper.

The little fella stayed away from the road and spent a good deal of time trying to climb a Lavazza coffee sign, at which point I grabbed my phone and snapped a few more pictures. Finally, he went bush and I returned to my digs. As I walked past my neighbours, the bloke (a truck driver) said: “They’re nothin’ but a fuckin’ nuisance on the road.” Nice, I thought, what a caring, sharing soul you are.

I was sitting in the tent looking at the pictures and I thought, why not send them to Lavazza to see if they want to use them in, say, a funny caption competition or something. For a fee, of course.

I finally snagged an email address and sent them off. The response was quick. Yep, the PR bloke was interested in buying one and asked me how much. I suggested it was his job to know stuff like that and that he should make me an offer. Now, I’m waiting.

My son, Joel, suggested asking Lavazza for a sign and taking it on the road and photographing it in all sorts of rugged, beautiful places or with odd things (there are plenty out there). I may just do that. For a fee, of course.

FLIES ON ME

Dunno what the score is in Melbourne, but by my reckoning all its flies are holidaying at Skenes Creek. I’ve never seen so many. And they stick like shit to a blanket. There’s even a couple of dozen that are, like me, addicted to my tobacco pouch. Then there are the ones that have figured my cup of tea is the campground pool, so they join the extra bits.

I can tell that they’re holidaying because every night at about seven they give me a break and go home to bed. Or perhaps they go out to dinner.

They certainly would have enjoyed mine last night. Beef and burgundy snags, potatoes in their jackets, with lashings of butter and parsley, and steamed carrots, broccoli and bok choy … oh, and a none-too-small bucket of shiraz-cabernet.

It was the flies’ loss.

THE BARBIE: A NEW INTERPRETATION

And speaking of dinner, I suggested a few days ago to a backpacker bloke that we have a barbie at the spot near my tent and a couple of jars. Done.

I spent some time late in the afternoon making a tossed salad and dressing and an excellent potato salad with spring onions, wafer-thin celery, boiled eggs and mayo.

We’d arranged to meet at 6.30. At about 6.45, one of the girls wandered by and said he has already cooked and he’s eating and that he was at the other end of the campground. Oh, that’s nice, I thought. I wandered up there and there he was tucking into a couple of barbecue lamb chops, some bread and about a pint of tomato sauce, all washed down with a litre of Coke.

I put my dead beast on the grille and offered him some salad as I poured myself a large glass of red.  

It seems the English have a different idea when it comes to having a barbie.

Beasts, bits'n'bobs,

 Shapes of all kinds ... there's kinda a bit of moonscape if you forget the water.

I just like the symmetry.

 Just shapes that I like.

 Is it a very old sandal print etched into rock or maybe a fishy thing ...

People pay shitloads to have ponds such as this is their gardens ...

 OK, I reckon this beast got snap-frozen in time when he crawled out of the water ...

 A nice round thing ... maybe even an egg cup, y'now a dinosaur egg cup 

 My favourite ... a jellyfish in a rock pool ... it has a McDonald's M (I reckon it's for Mick) proving the the golden arches have been around for longer than we thought.

 Again, straight out of the water and frozen in time ...

 Just nice things ...

 The sea was angry that day, my friends ... although quiet in the pool

 A croc, no doubt, and long before the footwear came along ...

 Surely, Like me, you can see the giant lizard ...

 OK, something I may wear in my hair ...

 An ancient rock painting? Or too much booze for the photographer ... Yeah, like that'll ever happen.

The dog that did this is the straightest walking dog around ...

A very old brain embedded in the rocks ..

Hippie days are here again

A welcome visitor at the weekend

The habits of a lifetime are hard to break.

I have spent my first few days at Skenes Creek consciously fighting the thought that I should be doing something … to go for a drive, see stuff, go fishing, practise tying fishing knots, cut back on the drink (yeah, like that’ll happen), go for a long walk on the beach (OK, there have been a couple of short walks) – you get the picture. Instead I have been setting up and re-setting up various parts of my tent. It’s been a pack here, a rationalisation here, a tweak there. I’ve been eating when I’m hungry, drinking when I fell like, sleeping when I feel like it and all the time I’ve been driving home the fact that I don’t have to do anything unless I really want to… I have the rest of my life for that.

This morning was a good example. I woke at seven and thought “nah, too early”. I went back to sleep and woke again at 9.30. It was time to get up, put the billy on and make a cuppa, roll a smoke and ponder the day.

The only things on the agenda were to go to Apollo Bay and buy dead beast to cook for dinner tonight and, of course, to buy some incense, something I always have in my tent. At last, an oversight in the packing department.

I had a follow-up cuppa and cooked bacon and an egg, which I had in a beautifully fresh multigrain roll … and just a smidge of tomato sauce.

Shower time, I thought, but I’ve also instituted a new rule unless it’s absolutely necessary or I have company … a shower every second day, so I was free to hit town on the incense trail.

Glory be … the Apollo Bay Music Festival is on and there is an open-air market to go with it, which included a lovely woman selling her handmade incense.

Ten bucks lighter in the pocket I was armed with 40 sticks of lemongrass, lavender, sandalwood and frankincense, myrhh and cedar wood and now the tent is all the better for it.

I may head into town to check out the music later in the day, but I reckon beers and sleep will win the day. I made a tentative arrangement to head in with some Brit backpackers after having a couple of jars last night with a young fella called Louis. He’s just bought his second house with a mate back in Yorkshire so he was in the mood for a celebration. Not a bad effort for a 25-year-old.

THE BEACH BECKONS

I have ventured onto the beach a couple of times for a wander and to get the feet wet. First up I was armed with my camera and a can of beer. The rocks at either end of the campground are worth the price of admission. Beautiful shapes, lots of rock pools each with a varied collection of beasts of different persuasions, and the mostly violent swell belting the bejesus out of the extremities … the tide was out. At full tide it goes really hard, up close and personal with the rocks.

I hammered away with the camera, picking out shapes that looked like a croc (not the footwear), another that had a perhaps prehistoric family connection, perfectly formed circular holes, bits of seaweed … I had a crack at whatever took my fancy … even some terrific doggie prints in the sand.

The sun was warm, so too the water (OK, it was get your feet wet warm, not swimming warm) … the last time I was here I was thigh-deep in the very same water trying to relieve the ocean of a fish or two and it was freezing.

I was all walked out and headed back to the tent to replenish my beverage all choice when the phone rang. It was Liam, checking in on my progress. “I’ve just been walking on the beach taking a few shots,” I said to him. “Bourbon or vodka,” he responded. Yeah the apple didn’t fall very far from the tree. It just made me want the time to fly when he has finished his work and we can hit the road.

Yesterday at about 4pm I again hit the beach, yeah, armed with a beer and followed by the campground’s two resident border collies, Oscar and Roxy.

Now, Roxy is as mad as a meat axe. She loves chasing and retrieving rocks that people throw (I tried a stick, but, nah, no interest) … along the sand, into the water, whatever. She runs like the wind, skidding to halt much like a bogan in a ute dropping rubber on the road. Oscar, although enthusiastic, is just along for the ride. We wandered for about a kilometre, checked out the rock pools before heading back.

There were plenty of other dogs on the beach. By now they were all sharing a ball thrown by a brave young bloke called Richard, brave because he actually went for a dip. The woman who was with him, Jane (she may have been his grandma), stopped for a chat with me. “I’ve just walked from Apollo Bay,” she said (it’s about seven kilometres), “It’s such a beautiful walk.”

“Yeah, it is a lovely drive,” I said. She laughed.

We got to chatting about our respective backgrounds and what direction we are heading. I told her that in about three weeks I’ll be heading to the Grampians and setting up camp at Pomonal. “We’re in the Grampians,” she said, “You’ll have to come and visit. We have Mount Zero Olives in Horsham. It’s about a 50-kilometre drive from Pomonal. The road should be open by then … it has been closed because of the fires.”

We chatted for about half an hour … it was one of those chats that make travelling worthwhile … a wonderfully interesting person willing to share.

It’s a date. I’ll be Mount Zero bound in a few weeks.

ON THE MENU

Apollo Bay is blessed with one of the best fruit and vegetable shops around, right at the far end of town near the pier.  

Every time I have been down here, I seem to eat better as I’ve made a beeline to the place because its produce (it all comes, I’m told, from Colac) is first rate … and the staff is the same. There’s always time for a chat, always a smile and always pleasant demeanour and, compared to the produce on offer at each supermarket in town, a no-brainer.

I’m still easing into the cooking in the tent thing. The past couple of nights have been stir-fried eye-fillet, lots of vegetable and noodles, chill, coriander, garlic and ginger. I’ve even used chopsticks. But more importantly, I’ve (most mornings) been having cereal and fruit … and sandwiches or rolls with greens and various dead beasts.

About the only real downside has been the wine intake. I’ve taken to drinking cask wine (OK, it’s easy to store, it’s cheaper and it’s easy to get before you start with the Philistine comments) … and for the record, the best I’ve found so far (and I’m pretty sure my wine writer mate, Ben Thomas, gave it the thumbs up) is WineSmiths tempranillo and to a lesser degree, the chardonnay. Both are about 17 bucks for a two-litre cask and I’m pretty sure I’ll be packing a few tempranillos in the trailer somewhere. Anyway, it’s 3.50, I’ve had a couple of beers and now I’m going to have a snooze. Some habits are just too hard to break. 

The nuts and bolts behind the nut who's bolting

I’ll be posting pictures tomorrow. It’s now beer o’clock and I can’t be bothered taking them today.

My truck, aka Elsie, has been a jig-saw of sorts in terms of getting it to a point where it’s cherry ripe to do all that’s asked of her during the trip and, given the places we’re considering having a crack at, that will be plenty.

First, she had to get new shoes (read tyres). I ordered some eight-inch Sunraysia wheels with a set of 17-inch B.F. Goodrich all-terrain tyres. I opted for BFG, given the strong recommendation of Jase, the host of TV show All 4 Adventure. They weren’t cheap ($2250 for five), but the service and staff at Bob Jane was excellent. The guys there told me I could expect at least 80,000 kilometres from the set. They also threw in a wheel balance after (I think) 22,000, no matter where I am.

So far, they haven’t had to do too much off-roading (that’ll change soon) but on the bitumen they stick like shit to a blanket … it’s a good feeling (OK sometimes not) to hit a curve faster than you should and still have confidence that you’ll come out the other end intact. Tick: tyres.

I also wanted to get a decent canopy, given that it was an aluminium tray, to keep my goodies (and sometimes me) out of the weather. I chased down a company at Carrum Downs, which specialises in canvas work. It took them three days to cover Elsie’s modesty with a canvas canopy that’s as thick as a British soccer hooligan, but far more useful. The seals to allow the roof rack to be fitted are double stitched leather and are tighter than a duck’s arse. Each side of the canopy can be opened in two sections (and rolled up) with really good, heavy duty zippers. Each side also has a window with bug screen. It all means easy access to the lockable tubs on each side of the tray and the fridge, which has its own power plug that runs from the second battery under the bonnet. That second battery only gets powered when the main starter battery is full, thanks to an isolator.

There are all sorts of goodies in the lockable tubs, pretty much all essentials. I have three tool boxes, a generator (back-up only if all else fails), a hand-cranked washing machine (think of it as exercise), fishing tackle bags, a bag with eight fishing reels, a gas powered hot-water service (with a pop-up shower tent), a HitchMaster pack (a very simple series of brackets that, when put together, give the lifting or pulling capacity of 32 pulleys, tyre repair kits, a compressor, a good axe, a couple of machetes, tarps … reckon I could go on a bit yet, but you get the picture. The tubs are full of “doing” and “fixing” things and then some. Tick: canopy.

The roof rack sits on a custom-made frame (yeah, it weighs a bit) and is permanent home to a high-lift jack, a shovel, my swag, a set of MaxTracks (just the thing for getting out of a boggy situation), a three-metre PVC tube, which holds all my fishing rods and my sling spear, and a couple of fold-up chairs. There’s room for plenty more stuff, but it’s better to keep the weight closer to the ground. Too much on top alters the centre of gravity and, in really dodgy terrain, enhances the chances of the truck falling over. Nuff said. Tick: roof rack.

Elsie also has a snorkel, a Toyota bulbar, driving lights, a UHF antenna (with an Aussie flag attached … it’s the bogan in me) and a winch that I just had overhauled, which included a new synthetic rope rather than the wire cable.

In the cabin, the seats are graced with custom-made canvas covers (yeah, you just hose them down if they get too shitty). In the dash, I have a Parrot multimedia station, which is my GPS, reversing camera, hands-free phone system, radio, music centre (phone and music are voice activated … i.e. tell it to play Neil Young and Crazy Horse or tell it to phone the ex and, presto, it does), Wi-Fi internet browser, email system … it probably does most things an iPhone will do. There are also four USB ports, so I can charge my phone, laptop, iPod and iPad while I’m travelling. The ashtray had to go to make way for the UHF radio so I can chat to son Liam when we are travelling in convoy … Rubber Duckie and all that shit … and I can also listen to the (usually) foul-mouthed truckers (yeah, that IS rhyming slang) and get a fix on what’s happening on the road.  Also on the floor of the cabin is a small cooler that holds eight cans of whatever or water bottles, so a cool drink is never out of the question. Tucked behind the seats are a few tools, a pair of leather work gloves, a fire extinguisher, a first-aid kit and some wet-weather gear. And the cabin is armed with an alarm. It’s cosy … the cabin not the alarm.

I also had the rear shockers replaced to give a fraction more lift and to ease the now-considerable load.

The last thing on the agenda is to get a DP diesel chip and new exhaust system. The chip is actually tuned to my truck, taking into account the weight it’s carrying, the weight that it’s towing, and its wheel size and tyre type. The manufacturer says that I’ll get up to 45 more horsepower for towing and up to 10 per cent better fuel economy, thanks to the chip and the cooling effect of the three-inch stainless steel exhaust system. Reckon, given that I’ve heard of up to $4 a litre for diesel being paid in the middle of nowhere, any boost in economy is welcomed. Since I’ve had the canopy on, the truck has displayed all the aerodynamic characteristics of Captain Cook’s cottage and probably needs all the help it can get.

That’s pretty much the nuts and bolts of the truck.

And then there is the trailer and its contents.

The Home is designed to go off-road (the suspension is shit hot), there’s plenty of storage, two water tanks (about 150 litres all up), one with 12-volt pump, the other with a manual pump, two deep-cycle batteries that are topped up as the truck is driving and then drip-fed (read powered) by a two-metre x .5-metre rubber solar panel. According to the electrician, the solar mat (you can drive over it, hit it with a hammer, whatever … it’s robust) delivers enough power to keep the batteries topped up for ever, well, as long as there is sunshine. When I move to a new site, I just roll it up and then start all over again. There are also two nine-kilo gas bottles, one always connected, the other as a spare. There is also a large toolbox on the front, which is home to oil, distilled water, assorted spray cans, lubricants (not the personal ones … they’re in my bathroom pack), a spare 12-volt water pump, fresh-water hose, a drainage hose (that connects to the sink), a bag of tent pegs and hammers, a bag of guy ropes and a bag of various ropes and tie-downs and other bits and pieces such as wheel chocks for the trailer. OK, there’s a shitload of stuff in there. Did I mention the cricket bat and ball?

The tent is a beauty … it’s about five metres long by 2.5 metres wide … and there is a five-metre by two-metre annexe. It takes about 10 minutes to unfold and erect the main tent … there are just two tent poles and a couple of guy ropes and it’s up. The annexe, on the other hand, takes the best part of 45 minutes or so (seven poles, lots of ropes and several long zippers involved to get it right).

The bed, a queen-sized inner-spring, sits on top of the trailer. It has a lamb’s wool mattress protector, good quality Egyptian cotton sheets and a goose down doona and two comfy pillows. There’s a window at each end (with terrific midge-proof mesh) to keep the air flowing.

To keep things tidy in the tent, there are a couple of hanging pods for things such as car keys, glasses, tissues, hair brush (yeah, like I ever use that) … whatever things need a spot so they don’t get lost. There are also two huge windows in the tent walls, which open out to create awnings.

Then there are the clothes. I have two small cupboards, each with three shelves and a larger one (four shelves) chock full of all the clothes I own. And yes, there is one shelf designated for singlets and another for lots of Crocs and the odd pair of boots, another for towels, bed sheets and the like. Then there is the dirty clothes basket, which, when empty, folds flat for easy storage, and a wire basket for all the odd bits and pieces that get used regularly.

Lighting is either a 12-volt LED strip (that lights up the joint like Broadway) of a more sombre (I call it mood-setting) 12-volt fluoro. I also use an environmentally friendly low-voltage globe when I’m connected to mains power. The lights have long enough cords to move out of the tent and into the annexe, depending on need. I also have a solar-powered (it has its own panel) night light at the entrance to the annexe, which is great for finding the joint after I’ve been out on the tear.

Under the bed (in the trailer proper), there are eight 50-litre containers and a long flat container for storage of food staples (read cans of stuff such as tuna, chick peas, beans, etc). The large containers are all labelled on their lids … it makes life easy when you’re trying to find shit, especially when beers have been the order of the afternoon. There are two for pots, pans and kitchen utensils, one for electrical stuff such as a small flat-screen TV, a DVD player, the top of the TV antenna, various leads, a 600-watt inverter (which turns 12 volts into 240 volts so I can use the stick blender in the kitchen), another container is full of plastic containers for pasta, rice, flour, breakfast cereal and the like, another with the leftover kitchen stuff such as a vacuum-pack machine and bags, a knife block, big bottles of olive oil, veg oil, jars of olives, anchovies, sun-dried tomatoes, whatever. Then there is the really important container, aka the grog bin, which has all sorts of goodies aboard. It doesn’t matter if you are a glass half full or glass half empty person. The bottom line is that in both cases, there is always room for more in the glass. Hence, I have two bottles of Pimm’s, one of gin, one XO cognac, two excellent single malt whiskies (one is Glenrothes 1991) and three bottles of wine, sealed in a temperature-sensitive container and packed tighter than a duck’s arse. They are a 2001 Peel Estate zinfandel, a 2004 Old Adam shiraz and … drum roll please … a 1990 Grange Hermitage. Spare a thought for me (and especially my liver) because I drank everything in my home wine cupboard with the exception of the three wines mentioned (and there were some absolute crackers in there). I’m very much looking forward to a remote campsite somewhere, a steak cooked over a fire and sharing the Grange (and the other two) with my son, Liam. I’ve even packed a really good decanter for the occasion. There’s also a container for other bits and pieces and another for essentials such as needles and threads, and odds and sods that at some stage we’ll need as well as one with personal stuff such as medicines, etc … and a bloody big first-aid kit. Liam’s kit even includes sutures although I hope neither of us needs to sew the other’s bits together. There is even room for the small step ladder (easy access to the bed … I’m tall, I can make it easily, but it’s, you know, for guests …). The only other mandatory thing is a small jerry can for when it’s cold at three in the morning and I need to pee … OK, it’s only to use when I’m staying at a paid campsite … in the bush, well, just point and pee.

In the annexe, the tailgate of the trailer folds out and becomes the kitchen, with a sink (with running water) and a three-burner gas stove, each with a glass splashback, and a fold-out bench. Under the sink and stove is a cupboard for the cutlery drawers, drawers for utensils, one for cleaning stuff and one for storage bags, plus storage on top for cups, plates, etc. The fridge, an 80-litre Waeco fridge/freezer looks after the food and sundry things such as milk, a couple of bottles of French Champagne, mixers (tonic, dry ginger, soda water and lemonade) and other stuff that needs refrigerating after being opened. There’s also a (I think it holds eight cans) 12-volt cooler and a fold-up but very efficient (it needs ice) beer fridge. There are also a couple of pods for bits and pieces (read shopping bags, magazines, books etc) and a hanging bug-proof and rodent-proof canvas pantry for bread and other bits and pieces.

The annexe, which has walls of midge-proof screen, also features a string of Nepalese prayer flags, a gift from my late best friend, Steve Walden. Did I mention there is also a peace sign hanging in the main tent? And, shit, I didn’t pack any incense.

Then I have to find room on the truck for my box of tricks … hunting knives, slingshot, two hand-held UHF radios, torches, fire-lighting flint and, of course, my survival pack … i.e. a backpack, which has a three-litre water bladder in it and a tube on the shoulder to drink from, a first-aid kit, spare knife, some kindling, a hand reel with plenty of fishing line and a few hooks, a torch, an aluminium blanket (it gets bloody cold if you get lost) and sundry other essentials should shit happen and I get lost in the bush. Then there’s got be room found for the camera case, a box filled with spare and replacement lights, a container of books, a couple of fishing nets, some crab/yabbie nets … and, yeah, a walking stick. It’s kind of a sentimental favourite. I bought it at Lourdes in France in 1975.

Are you getting the idea that I have a lot of shit with me? You’d be right, but that’s what comes from packing up and selling life as I knew it and deciding to keep whatever will get me through the next however many years I spend on the road.

Anyway, that’s the nuts and bolts of the truck and the trailer and perhaps an insight into why it takes time to set up camp and probably even longer to pack up a camp.

That’s why, once the road trip is on in earnest, it’ll be a case of find a place we like and stay there … until we no longer like it. Nobody likes packing.

Just one for the road ... so far

At last, the show is on the road ... I have finally left the building and made it beyond the area where  the neon turns to wood.
The past few weeks have been an absolute nightmare (with one or two exceptions ... OK, about seven) getting rid of most of my worldly possessions (to my mind there were three non-essential essentials to make the trip - a peace sign, some Nepalese prayer flags and a piece of slate with the words "Happiness is not having what you want. It's about wanting what you have" ... with the exception of all my camping-related gear, a box of books and a goodly supply of skin care products. Yeah, really. Emptying a house of furniture, things I've collected over the years, a couple of thousand books, about 500 CDs, pots, pans, dinner sets, ornaments, tobacco tins (I had quite a lot), plants, didgeridoo and the mandatory partridge in a pear tree (OK, I reckon I must have had at least three) ... it was taxing in the extreme. There was, in the middle of all this stress, a forgettable folly, which was all my own making. It was a very hot Friday and I'd scent the day packing, worrying, packing, and then worrying some more. At about four o'clock I'd had enough of everything ... OK, except for some cans of bourbon and Coke. Normally I'd walk to the shops, but I decided to drive … well, I was rooted. There was bugger all parking, so I parked in a small side street and wandered to the bottle shop, made my purchase and then stopped to chat with my mate, Tony, from the hardware shop. We talked for about 20 minutes and then I walked home and the bourbon provided welcome relief from the day’s activities and I backed up with more wine than was enough with and after dinner. To say that I had a thick head in the morning was an understatement, not great preparation for the day ahead, which was to include the removal of two truckloads of furniture from the house. I opened the front door at about 7.30 and looked blankly at where my truck should have been parked. "Shit, the truck's been stolen" I said aloud. "Shit, shit, shit". Suddenly my already high stress levels peaked at a new, previously unheard of level. I was without a truck and I was two weeks away from hitting the road. And Jesus wept, I'd spent shitloads on it to get it just right for the trip.
Yeah, I reported it to the police, the insurance company (they gave me a ute to use for a couple of weeks) and told all and sundry to look out for it.
Long story short ... Tony from the hardware shop knocked on my door at 4pm and said: "Jump in my car. I've got something to show you." Yeah, it was the truck where I'd left it the previous day. Yeah, there was schadenfreude aplenty, even from the copper to whom I spoke to ask them to call off the chase.
Anyway, laugh a bit more here just to get it out of the way ...
The house emptied, thanks to my fabulous kids, all those friends who did their bit, the fabulous women at the local op shop, my ex (OK, one of 'em) and her husband (OK, one of 'em) and sundry others.
There were some wonderful memories unlocked along the way. I put together a small package for The One ... i.e. ticket stubs from the first time we went out. It was a Neil Sedaka dinner show at The Hilton in 1989. Then there were stubs for 1990s Midsummer Night's Dream in the Botanic Gardens, our night with Deepak Chopra ... included in the package was the towel I'd bought for her (see handy hints at the bottom of the page), which still had her mascara smudges on it. She was very pleased to receive that package, which included a letter explaining that "I still love her ... always have and always will."
It was the usual shit fight to load the camper trailer (aka My Joint) and the LandCruiser (aka Elsie ... LC ... get it?). Imagine reconciling and packing everything that you'll need for the rest of your life. Yeah it really was a shit fight.
And then there were the last-minute requests from the landlord to remove five pot plants I'd left in the backyard and to replace a slightly damaged in-floor central heating vent (I'd have thought that came under general wear and tear after living there for 15 years). Both requests came after I'd left town. Thankfully my son Liam was up for the task.
At this moment I'm about 30 metres from the ocean at the campground at Skenes Creek, I've got Cold Chisel playing, a beer in hand, plenty of tobacco and a fridge full of food. I'm pondering my new website (it's called Mickeypedia.com.au and will be the new home to this blog), which hopefully will be up and running in the next couple of weeks.

The beast is gearing up for a trip

The car is in probably better shape than its owner (a week of shitty flu will do that) as the countdown to the big trip looms ever closer.

My LandCruiser is looking like an absolute beast right now … new Sunraysia rims with all-terrain BF Goodrich feet, a new canvas canopy (under which I can sleep should the need arise), a new heavy-duty roof rack (on which I can sleep should the need arise) with a high-lift jack and shovel bolted to the side, an alarm system (when it goes off I could not sleep), a new multimedia system that is a GPS, a music system (I have 25,000 songs on my iPod), a hands-free phone system, a net surfer, email system, two USB ports … OK, it does everything but make a cup of tea.

I’ve also added to the collection of must-haves: MaxTracks for getting out of boggy situations, a hand-cranked washing machine (ya gotta have clean undies), a CryoVac machine to keep food fresh for longer, a hot-water system and shower tent (no point being dirty if you’re putting on clean undies), the list goes on. And talking of lists, I’m in the throes of making one for what to pack … two columns per A4 page and I’ve filled three pages. Right down to toenail clippers (yeah, I’ve got a good knife, but you know, a little luxury goes a long way).

There’s (at this stage) just a couple more purchases to make … a recovery kit and an extra spare wheel. And I have plans to get a gun licence. No ulterior motive there … just something to be a safeguard should a big lizard (read saltwater croc) get frisky and too close for comfort. And, I guess, there’s always the possibility of hitting wildlife with the car (let’s hope not) and if it’s not dead, it would have to be put out of its misery. Other than that, should I break down in the middle of nowhere for an extended period and food is running short, then I’d take the gun shopping for some tucker.  

The biggest and best news is that my eldest son, Liam, is hitting the road with me. Given that he’s a builder, he’ll no doubt get plenty of work along the way. He’s working his arse off at the moment to get a stash of cash behind him so we can indulge in the good life on the road, and indulge we will. I’ve been working my way through the wine in the cupboard and have plans to take just a couple of bottles with us, one being a 1990 Grange Hermitage (which is listed at about 800 bucks a bottle in the cheapie wine shops), which will be about as indulgent as we can get. You get the picture … middle of nowhere, dinner cooked over a fire, nice glasses and a bottle of Grange. Bring it on.

NEW WEBSITE

I’ve just bought a domain name … mickeypedia.com.au … which will be the new home of this blog once I get the site designed and up and running. I’ve spoken to good mate Luke Buckmaster, Crikey’s resident film critic and web know it all (I mean that it a good way), and he’s agreed to do the work to get me up and running.

OUT AND ABOUT

I recently headed out to dinner with my friend Julia and some of her friends. Julia’s tall … she’s on the plus side of six feet tall and could hunt ducks with a garden rake … and a great foodie, a great cook for that matter. We nabbed tickets for a Greg Malouf dinner at the West Beach Bathers Pavilion on the bay … and not too far from home. It was labelled as a Middle Easter banquet and the menu included, on arrival:

Little cheesy pies with black Turkish chillies

Crunch oysters with green harissa

Sultan’s eggplant delight with brik shards (brik is a Tunisian dish consisting of thin warka pastry)

They were all washed down with a Turkish delight cocktail, a bit too sweet for me, so I made do with the bottle of Bell Amie pinot, one of quite a few that we cracked on the night.

Oh, and there was some camel racing on the beach. I had a good chat to my jockey, a girl who was aboard a camel for the first time. I told her that her mount was my preference. “What’s in it for me,” she asked.  I told her that if she won, I’d share a bottle of bubbles with her. “You’re on,” she said. Close, but no cigar. She came third (OK, there were just three camels racing).

Once the camels were done, we settled into our table of 11 and I was the only bloke … some would say a weed in a garden of roses. Then came the mains:

Quail wrapped in vine leaves with Lebanese-style white cabbage salad

King prawns in parmesan, egg and coriander batter

Burrata (which is a fresh Italian cheese made from mozzarella and cream. The outer shell is solid mozzarella while the inside contains mozzarella and cream, giving it an unusual, soft texture) with dukkah, baby beets and ox heart tomatoes

Roast, milk-fed lamb with oregano and lemon

Organic chickpea-pumpkin tagine with almond couscous

Whole salmon “Tarator style” walnuts, coriander and yoghurt tahini

Salad-e Shirazi with edible flowers

And then there were desserts.

Lemon curb baklava, orange Turkish delight and candied pinenuts

Watermelon, strawberries, rose syrup and pistachio halvah

Yeah, it was quite a feed although the absolute standout was the candied pinenuts followed closely by the company and the many bottles of pinot .

I got three offers of a place to crash, all near the beach on Mornington Peninsula, when I return to Melbourne. Good thing, that.

It was bloody freezing when we left the beach and Julia and I did the only sensible thing. We went back to my place and cracked a bottle of Moet. Yeah it was a good way to end the night.

TOP DROPS

I reckon, without question, the best thing to pass my lips recently was a bottle of Poet’s Corner Henry Lawson 1997 cab-sav from the wilds of Mudgee, closely followed by a 2010 Petaluma riesling, which had more body than Elle. Then there was a 2012 Sancerre Roc de l’Abbaye and a 2006 Blackets pinot from the Adelaide Hills.

LUNCH TAKES CENTRE STAGE

At the office, we’ve got a bit of a Tuesday tradition up and running.

We all, after consultation, bring home-cooked meals (sometimes we cook in the office) and have a big spread.

We had a curry day … lamb curry (my recipe is below), fish curry, veg curry, chicken curry by two, salads, naan, pappadams and sundry chutneys, pickles etc … the an Italian day, with Bianca’s fantastic meatballs, salads and Momma Lasagne’s (OK, it’s Anna) homemade cannelloni, Jane’s super home-baked haloumi bread and then a huge tray of tiramisu. We’ve also had an English lunch … (another) Jane’s shepherd’s pie, roast potatoes, veg of all sorts and a huge wine trifle with ice-cream. Yeah, Tuesday at the office is not doing anything good for anyone’s waistline.

BREKKIE AT BEN’S

Herbie Mills in Middle Park has become my new breakfast haunt … and with good reason. My friend Ben, the opera singer, is part-owner and a great host. My favourite is poached eggs, on multigrain toast, smoked salmon with a quenelle of horseradish cream and a tomato, cress and quinoa salad, washed down with English Breakfast tea (made with real leaves, not a teabag). I had breakfast there recently with a friend (she’s in the food industry) and she said it was one of the best brekkies she’d had.

High praise indeed.

Herbie also has live music on Sunday arvo, with a Mauritian-inspired menu and a decent wine list. There are also plans afoot to host an afternoon of opera. I’ll be there.

And speaking of high praise, someone said to me recently before we went out to breakfast: “You know what, Michael, for a man of your (ahem) advanced years, you have a beautiful bottom.” She was stroking it at the time. Who doesn’t enjoy a compliment every now and then? I know I do.