There I was. Sitting in a road coach headed toward the city from which we'd leave.

An Akubra by my side. Film. Food. Clothes. Weed, in my bag. I felt relieved.

I'd never left for an adventure at this time of day, after eight hours of work, and rarely even considered travelling during this time of year, it being Easter and the roads sure to be congested with travellers, tourists. Not where we were headed. We had no easy roads, no tourist attractions, no landscape commonly seen. We were headed bush.

Prior to that I'd head to Melbourne to meet with Fletcher, who I'd travelled with just months prior on one extreme expedition via motorcycle, and also to meet Reis, who I'd seen some of Tasmania with but not to the same extent.

Omeo boasted a Rodeo on the Easter Saturday which we were inclined to see. Our method of getting there: the most indirect route possible, hopefully with added detours.

Fletcher had purchased a 4WD so this was sure to be another if not 'the' break in trip for that. We'd push it to limits it hadn't yet seen, for that's what three young men need no encouragement in, pushing limits.

Hours on dirt road was awaiting us, and I was very okay with that.

We left later than expected and drove through the night reaching our destination around midnight. It was quiet out here. The transition seemed instant from the short time I had spent in the large city, overwhelming me from both sides of the spectrum.

It felt good being out here, again. The high country. I pay no attention to where we are going, in a state where it just didn't matter, as long as it was away from home.

I didn't mind. I had good company, views, time away from work and that time ready for wasting. To justify it, I usually use an alternate adjective to wasting, in this instance, I was okay with wasting.

My first realisation was: This car is insane. We've trudged through trenches greater than those in war without batting an eyelid. Reis and I drank whiskey in the car on the way to the campsite, whilst listening to Punk barely louder than the diesel engine itself. We set up camp in the dark, rolled a joint in the dark, had a beer in the dark, talked in the dark, and it had begun...in the dark.

I didn't write much. I felt the need to, but that self allowance that this was to be time wasted made me re-evaluate each time I had the urge to. Productive counter productivity was the be the catch phrase of the trip.

On the second day we left early. No realisation of how beautiful the place we had camped the night before, until the sun exposed it, in first light we realised that alongside the extent of just how insane the roads we'd travelled were. We continued along set route that early morn but were quickly turned back, the puddles out here were large enough to fully engulf the Patrol, us along with it.

We had two attempts at the first seemingly impossible obstacle and then backtracked, following some of the steps we'd covered the night prior, until we reached a main road.

This was not to be the way the rest of the driving panned out.

Sealed roads barely hit our amended tyre pressured wheels (essential, especially to Fletcher), and we drove up to eight hours each day, but gathered small amounts of distance.

Large portions of the time driving either Reis or I would sit on the tray, for the bench seat was far from comfortable for three large males. The wind on the tray was cold, yet the days were warm.

The rest of the trip became a blur. A much needed blur of Chicken Parmi pies, beers, high fives, cigars, hiking, banter, boot scooting, bull bucking, good Aussie fun.

For now, I have soup to eat. There was much more, but I guess you'll have to go to the Omeo Rodeo to find that out.

Share this Story