here's what happened to scott and i on our trip to docker river
and western australia (docker river is a small aboriginal village
located about 250 km (135 miles) west of uluru. it's on the border
of western australia, and contains one gas station/store and a few
but the story starts in uluru. scott and i climbed only up to the
chain at uluru. we decided then and there that real men didn't climb
to the top; they only went to the base of the chain. what real men
did instead was to walk around the rock (9 km).
but when we started walking around the rock, we spent so much time
swatting flies and sweating under the hot sun, that we decided that
real men didn't walk around the rock; they drove around it with
the air conditioning on. that way real men could spend more time
looking, and less time being annoyed and inconvenienced.
so as we real men were driving around the rock, scott hopped out
to take a picture. and a really old station wagon sputtered up to
him. there were three aborigine men inside, and asked him, "hey
there feller, could you help us out and buy us some rum? you can
ride with us to yulara and buy us six bottles. we have the money".
the local aborigine elders have decreed that no aborigines could
buy alcohol, so they needed a proxy to help them get drunk. anyway,
scott declined, and they drove away. their car sputtered and lurched
forward, and off they went. we went on to see the olgas, then sunset,
then dinner and bed. we got up early the next morning for sunrise,
which was absolutely beautiful. then we decided to head to docker
river and see what was out there.
the road to docker river is called the "outback highway". it is
"unsealed". it is also "unfinished". basically, it's a sand track
that's about 25 feet across, and it's full of ruts and holes and
dips. for two hundred kilometers, we bounced along. we discovered
that real men do in fact get sore backsides, just like everyone
else. we also discovered that fuel burns a lot more quickly going
over sand. soon we passed the point of no return; we had to find
petrol before we'd be able to make it back.
the trip out there was pretty neat. we encountered a road train
and a couple of burned-out cars, and the scenery was beautiful.
and when we were only 10 miles from docker river, we met up with
the station wagon of the three rum-seekers (from the day before).
they flagged us down, and asked us if we had any petrol. they had
run out just short of town. we said that we could get them some
from docker river, and they asked us to tell their families where
they were. the main guy told us his name: paul.
so off we go to the store in docker river. it was closed (wouldn't
you know it). but soon a man came by and asked us what we wanted.
we told him about paul, and he asked what color the car was. he
drove off in another old car to find the storekeeper, and we waited.
he returned in 10 minutes, and told us that the store would open
in 45 minutes at 11 am.
we decided that real men didn't like to twiddle their thumbs waiting,
so we told him we'd be back, and we drove on to western australia.
now our gas gauge was pretty low - the car was beeping and saying
that we had only 40 kilometers left before we ran out.
we decided that real men didn't like running out of gas, so we
returned to docker river. a crowd had gathered at the gas station.
there were kids playing "kick to kick" with a rugby ball - i guess
it's like playing catch. a bunch of ladies and children were waiting.
it was 11:15, the store was still closed, and the real men were
getting nervous. what if they had no gas? what if the store didn't
two men came driving up in their pickup truck. the back was full
of bananas, soda, and chips. the townspeople gathered around it,
and started buying these goods. we grabbed one of the guys, and
asked him for gas.
bad news. he was out of gas, and wouldn't get another shipment
in for a month. the real men were getting pretty nervous. i guess
it showed, because he thought pretty hard, and suggested that real
men could use aviation fuel. when we looked doubtful, the storekeeper
assured us, saying that "it should work".
real men trust storekeepers, especially when said storekeepers
hold out the only option in 250 kilometers. so we filled the tank
with av-gas, and the car started without a problem. then we bought
an extra can of aviation fuel to bring to paul. the storekeeper
asked one of the locals if he had seen paul on the road: "paul out
there last night. he ran out of petrol". he didn't seem that concerned
about paul, either.
so we headed back with the fuel. the car ran fine on the av-gas.
and we ran into paul, now only about 7 miles away. they had pushed
the car three miles during the last two hours. paul and his guys
were pretty happy to get the fuel, and they filled up. but as we
started to leave, one of the other guys said to me "tikka takka
no go". he repeated this a few times, and i had no clue what he
was saying. finally paul came over and translated: their battery
was dead, and they needed a jump.
no problem. real men can give jumps. paul said he had cables,
so i drove the car over close to his station wagon.
paul scrounged around in his trunk, and came up with a single
cable. uh oh - not very good. we asked paul if he had more cables
- we needed two. so he started digging around again, but had no
luck. the guys were looking under the seats, under the car, and
inside the boxes in the truck, but had no luck.
i asked paul if he had any wire. finally he came up with a one
foot long piece of an extension cord (this guy was a packrat!).
so we moved the car as close as possible. paul stripped the ends
with his teeth, and i used his hatchet to scrape some paint off
his kangaroo bumper. then i hooked the cable to the positive terminals,
and held the wire on my negative terminal and his bumper. the wire
started sparking and smoking, but it seemed to be working.
but paul's car didn't start. it turned over, but didn't catch.
what to do? paul poured about a half cup of the aviation fuel down
into the carbeurator. scott and i looked at each other. we each
had a mental picture of real men being consumed in a fireball. especially
with an arcing wire. but real men finish what they start: i put
on my sunglasses. scott volunteered to sit in the car and rev our
engine a bit.
finally, paul's car started. it sputtered a bit, but it didn't
stall, so we disconnected the cable, said our "thank yous" and "no
worries", and then "goodbyes". we drove off to the airport.
the way back was just as bumpy, but it wasn't as noticeable. real
men don't complain about silly things anymore.