There are some issues with moving 1000 km from friends and family – one of which is the logistics of visits and catch ups. For some months we have been planning a trip down south, to see the proto- grand daughter, the boys and their girls, catch up with some friends and pick up a few horses we have somehow acquired. After the Iconic Australia Day, where that Aussie Icon, the Acco, expired in the midst of another Iconic event, the Australia Day deluge, we have purchased another truck. Slightly smaller, much faster and more comfortable, and over the months have been fiddling and have partially fitted a horse float to it. Fortunately being employed in the Public Service flex days are available, so the plan was to leave work on Friday a bit early, travel south, then return on Tuesday for work Wednesday. Sounds so easy if you say it fast. The initial minor hitch in the plans came with the unprecedented rumbling of my rather expansive stomach. As well as being of heroic proportions my abdomen has a toughness that one would normally associate with stainless steel – far less likely to be affected than cast iron. On this occasion the consequences were dire – I blame a friend recently returned from Malaysia for sending me a computer based stomach virus – but what ever the cause I was unable to move further than a 90 second radius from a commode. Directed to stay away from work for the rest of the week I remained home groaning, and was forced to pay someone to service the truck. My best laid plans were pushed asunder, but fortunately by Friday I was coming good and could contemplate driving – albeit with a trip plan that included contingency plans for every rest area. Friday morning at the crack of dawn (planned) which occurred around 10 am (actual) we set off. The new truck is a beauty, and while aged and a little cosmetically lacking it is worth every penny of the pittance we paid for it. The first stage of the trip is the worst, a boring run 100 km down a boring road, and it was in the course of this drive I was reviewing preparations in my head (yes I know this would have been better done before we left). It eventually percolated through the fog that I fondly call a mind that in the disruption that had occurred over the preceding days I may have neglected something fairly important – like paying the rego on the truck, which expired either Thursday or Saturday – could not recall. Eventually was able to call the insurance broker for a new greenslip and was able to discover that rego was valid till midnight – not a worry, keep driving will be at son’s place by 7 or 8, pay the rego in the morning, all good. The km’s passed fairly uneventfully, except for the inability to pass roadside conveniences and my darling wife’s sounds of slumber. The schedule had slipped somewhat when we passed the halfway point at Bulahdelah, and while my bowel issues had settled I was pushing the envelope between the Call’s of the darling wife’s bladder “I’ll need to stop in the next half hour “. Buhladelah, where I usually fuel up has been bypassed south bound, so pedal to the metal pressed on. Fuel gauge was nice and stable, but decided to stop at Wally World, but then missed the turn. Next convenient stop is the twin servos, herself is asleep , with open mouth pointing at the roof so on we go. Darkness is falling, but plenty of time. We are about 10 km from the twin servos when the truck ceases to proceed with that unspectacular and unmistakeable feel of a diesel with no fuel. Fuel gauge hasn’t moved, and it seems never will again! Oh dear said I, bother! In my preparations I had tidied the truck extensively, removing such non essential items as my Jerrycan full of diesel that I carry for emergency use. Fortunately had coasted to a halt right at one of the breakdown phones – ring through and explain problem. These phones go direct to NRMA, where they helpfully offer a number of solutions – Join the NRMA immediately, for around $300, and someone will come out with up to 10 l of fuel at $5 litre, or get towed off the road, at my expense. Despite explaining at length that I am in a 10 tonne truck and towing is not an option, and I only want 20 l of diesel and I do not have 300 on a credit card anyway and as well I do not appreciate blackmail, I can make no impact on the pleasant voiced parrot on the other end, so thank her for her time and pursue other avenues. Get on the smart phone and look up local towies, ring 4 of them. One in Bateman’s Bay, One in Sydney, One not answering and one on the grog, willing to come out in the morning. Finally get on to Chris at Tuggerah who says he will be there with fuel in 25 minutes , thus avoiding my final strategy of calling a taxi to come and collect me and take me to a servo where I could buy a jerrycan and fuel. Right on 25 minutes later Chris arrives with the promised fuel, and even helps me bleed the old girl – charges $80 including the fuel! What a legend! And may the NRMA rot! On to the twin Servos and calculate have been getting 23 l /100 km not the 21 I was working on – ooops. The night is getting on and fuel up and pedal to the floor again, keeping in mind the midnight rego expiry. Also as we have gone south the temperature has been dropping, and there does no appear to be a functional heater in the truck, not something that is ever a concern at home but of great import in less balmy climes- not to put too fine a point on it we were freezing, and while my better half was able to cocoon herself I was not able to do so and still drive. Power through Marulan weighbridge at 11 pm, the last major hurdle, and I suggest that we spend the night in G Town, in the warm, and register the truck in the morning. This suggestion met with disdain, and after a stop where we acquired some gloves and hot drinks we eventually negotiate the frost dedazzled streets of Queanbeyan , 14 hours into a 10 hour drive and with rego 45 minutes expired. Have never been so glad to see the boys and a warm house!.
Posted on: Tue, 30 Jul 2013 10:39:34 +0000
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