It’s Saturday. The Jeep is not quite ready. ANOTHER lost weekend. My KAYO subscription is being pummeled. It’s 35 degrees outside. I have a visage of consternation and hope is just annoying. Still, I must at least go through the motions of preparing to leave. Surely this time, this week. I dare myself to pull out the map of Queensland and plot my escape. I won’t be going too far in the first week, just to dissipate the trepidation and get my vagabond mojo back (even saying this, I feel like I’m getting ahead of myself). Thankfully, the spring clean done in the first week of my incarceration, required only a touch-up. Gas bottle refilled and a load of washing on the line. OK, not too much excitement boy.
It’s been two months since the Dejarra disaster but as you know, I haven’t sat in the van feeling morose and thwarted. I was grateful that my rescuers on that day were Jeep specialists, and however long it took and however much it cost, I would pocket a 12 month nationwide Repco warranty for my troubles. Believe me, it could have been much worse. And to be fair, the Jeep has done 240,000klms, pulling it’s recommended limit(and maybe a tad more), for three and a half years……just a few more stitches in this sow’s ear and we’re done.
It’s Sunday. My hiking boots and camera bag have been laid out the night before. It’s my ‘last look’ hike to the Telstra tower, another gee-up for my optimism. As it turned out, this walk is reasonably popular with the fitness freaks on a Sunday morning. The further you climbed the steeper it got, but of course, the higher the climb, the better the view.
Just a little further along a dirt track, a trig point loomed. This was indeed the highest point for miles around. Someone had very thoughtfully put a chair under the trig. I’m sure, so leg weary hikers could sit quietly and ruefully contemplate why they would leap out of bed and climb to the highest point in Mt Isa on a Sunday morning. Well, I guess because there’s no-one else to persuade you there are better things to do on a Sunday morning. Still, a phone call and the shade of a small gum put the wind back in my sails and I sauntered well satisfied back down the hill and home.
It’s Monday. Maybe today. It’s difficult to nail Lawrence down, as timetabling is a dark art when you’re a RACQ franchise as well. He’d done 1500klms of roadside assistance over the weekend. Still I pretend to be jocular and nonchalant even though drowning in resignation, akin to being preserved in a glass jar in some automotive museum. “Oooh, what’s that one?” “Of, that’s a Jeep owner waiting for his car to be fixed. Found him in a coal seam at Mt Isa.” Wallowing in self-pity? Noooooooo. 5:30pm and no call. Filled the water tanks. Anxious for the first time. Another Hotel California?
It’s Tuesday. Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Another early rise. I rehearse a slightly less jocular and nonchalant conversation with Lawrence in my head as I trudge down to the workshop. Wait. It can’t be. In the distance I see my circus tent roof rack tarp behind a row of cars. It was in the STREET.. Dirty and dusty and the bonnet is DOWN. That could only mean one thing……………..
Be still my beating heart! Only a few hours to go as they take the Jeep for test runs and cool downs. Pick up at 4:30pm…and of course, the bill. I hope I can throw this blanket of joy over the smoldering ruins of my bank account. Please, please, let it be true! And it was so. At 5pm, after two months and a LOT of money, I slid behind the wheel again and drove straight to the bottle shop. The engine is whisper quiet and it drives silky smooth. I could now finish the shopping and packing with certainty. It was nearly 7pm before I got back to the van. It feels a little unfamiliar to hit the road again. I hope it’s like riding a bike. I couple(?) of straight Scotches will undoubtedly dull the pain.
It’s Wednesday. 1.00am. Sunrise is still six hours away and I’m wide awake. Their are some things you can’t control, and adrenaline seems to be one of then. It’s been a boundary rider for a long time but has ridden back into town to take charge at this obscene hour. So now I’m wondering, will I feel like Tom Hanks, when he finally clears the reef and looks back at the island that was both his prison and his home? Is the Jeep really my ‘Wilson’ and I didn’t really know it until this very moment? Where too from here? I guess I’ll find out when all I see of Mt Isa, are the stacks of the mine, poking up over the hills in my rear vision mirror.
