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Show THE ZEPHYR/ APRIL-MAY THE BOG Earlier in this narrative I mentioned Reggie’s penchant for a clean and tidy car. Now, a thousand miles from anywhere, on one of the longest 4WD roads in the world, Reg began to drive around the puddles in the road, for fear of splashing mud on his beloved ute. Despite the rain, the road surface was firm, the berm was not. Our luck ran out when Reggie swerved left to avoid a particularly large puddle that must have been an inch deep and hit a particularly viscous mud bog. The ute lurched forward in the quagmire, trying to free itself, but finally gave up and settled into the muck like a calf in quicksand—resigned to its fate. It could have gone either way, that next 30 seconds. Had either of us allowed our impulses to play out, the authorities might have found us, months later, two desicated skeletons, bony fingers wrapped tightly around what remained of the other's neck, in that Grip of Death. It was that close. Eventually we took out our frustrations on the mud. We had no shovel, so we used Reggie’s sauce pans, to scoop the goo, but with ever potful, the hole re-filled. It was hopeless._ 2006 lan is reported to have turned to peter and remarked, “The things you see, mate, when you don’t have a gun.” They were under the impression that Reggie had walked the entire distance from Ayers Rock but he quickly explained our predicament. They arrived in a souped up Land Rover, made all the more attractive to me by the big electric winch secured to the front bumper. “Hell,” said Peter. “Where's the big puddle that you went around?” By now the water had all but evaporated. ‘ We secured the cable to the tow eye and hoped for the best. For the better part of a minute, Peter rolled in the cable and it became so taut I thought it would snap. The ute seemed determined to become a permanent fixture in the Great Sandy Desert. But finally, the ute broke free. It was as if the bog had just puked up her prisoner. We were free at last. Ian refused to take any money for saving our sorry asses and when we reached Carnegie ' Station, he and his wife set us up in the bunkhouse. Ian said, “Well mates, anybody dumb enough to drive the Gunbarrel Highway in the middle of the summer without a winch and with saucepans for shovels, at least deserves a beer or two.” He gave us a wink. “Come on over and we'll give you something to eat too.” We stayed for two days. Faye and Jan treated us far better than we deserved and when we left, Ian said, “Well you look better than you did when you got here...remember to get a shovel.” We promised. It was impossible to answer the Call of Nature, once the sky -began to WILUNA We still had 300 miles to go and we were stopped for a night by a swollen river that looked for a while as if it might never go down. But it did. We finally made Wiluna and Reggie sought out the police to let them know we were ok. The officer behind the desk smiled, slightly. “What are you saying? You're reporting to us that you're alright?” = = “Did you think we would send out the militia if you failed to show? Hell mate, I don’t think anyone here even remembers your phone call.” “So if we'd been stranded...” “We'd come gather your bones once the weather cooled.” brighten in the East. Those bush flies LOVED bare bottoms at Dawn. We reached Geraldton and the beautiful Indian Ocean-two days later. The enormity of our trip only began to sink in when I told other Australians about the ordeal. Te this day, many trips to Western Australia later, I have yetto meet an Aussie who’s made the journey. But when I tell them my story, they always echo Ian Smith’s sentiments. They say, “Anybody stupid enough to drive the Gunbarrel Highway in summer with saucepans for shovels deserves a beer.” That’s why I love Australians. asilver lining to this, it was that we'd buried the ute in mud only 30 miles ; one mC : and only chance for human contact (and a tow truck) in almost 1000 make the hike and I graciously let him. Whatever else one ins, that little Welsh dude can walk. He sets his stride, gets his ‘arms pumping like a British soldier and moves steadily forward at a even pace, mile after mile. | knew he could do it. He left at sunset when the temperature became a bit more tolerable and I watched him vanish over the lip of the horizon, a few minutes later. _ I shoveled goo for another hour, for lack of anything else to do, and finally crawled into the tent. The heat was so oppressive I could not sleep. Throughout the nightI could hear the strangest sound...every 12 seconds I could hear an expulsion of air, as if someone was turning the pressure release valve on a compressor. Pfffffffffffffl It scared me for a while until I remembered there were no flesh-eating animals big enough in Western Australia to truly menace me. I decided it might be a herd of wild camels. About an hour after dawn, I thought I detected the low grade rumble of a truck pulling a low gear. Minutes later, the noise was more distinct. Never did anything sound so good. A few minutes later, I met lan Smith, the manager of Carnegie Station, one of the largest cattle ranches in this part of the state, and his foreman, Peter Buchanan. They'd seen Reggie come out of the east, marching with all deliberate speed and could not believe their eyes. Keka Spee (CQ 435.260.8011 CA) 435.259.2339 kelly@moabproperties.com | like to GIT GOIN' to the beach too. Se “Well yes,” said Reggie. “I called last week to let you know we were coming across the Gunbarrel...you know, just in case something happened.” The cop thought that was pretty funny. “In case something happened?” he chuckled. Bee a se Kea 150 EAST CENTER ST. MOAB, UT 84532 We're such incredible 435.259.5693 GO-GETTERS that we usuall 'GET' FAX: 259.5930 before we www.moabproperties.com ‘GO! WE KNOW EVERYBODY IN MOAB. THAT'S WHY WE MAKE SUCH A GOOD TEAM! THE GO-GETTERS ARE READY TO GET GOING FOR YOU. ANTHONY MASON (C) 435.260 2374 anthony@moabproperties.com |