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© 2002 Brian F. Schreurs
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Townsville to Hughenden

July 29, 2001

   0 miles         depart Townsville
   146 miles       out of gas; jerrican
   160 miles       refuel in Torrens Creek
   210 miles       overnight in Hughenden

After introductions I ask how they knew to find me. "Oh," says Shane, "we just looked for the American. You blokes have a look to you."

Our maroon 1982 Jaguar XJ6, which looks nothing like the blue 1965 Jaguar S-Type we were planning on taking.

The view from the passenger side, looking out at the typical highway and scenery east of Mount Isa. The roads here actually aren't that bad.

At 2:50 pm, we have finished collecting supplies, and are driving down the Barkly Highway, Route 78. Supplies include spare parts, fluids, and gas cans. We are not, in fact, driving a blue 1965 Jaguar S-Type, but instead are in a maroon 1982 Jaguar XJ6, which Shane purchased less than a week earlier. The S-Type was still one engine short of running so the XJ6 is the last-minute stand-in. Shane bought this car for about $3,000, which in American dollars would be just over $1,500. It should come as no great surprise then that the car has some personality quirks.

Some notable features of this automobile include a lack of air conditioning (ideal for when you plan to spend a week driving through a desert), a peculiar clunk coming from the rearend of unknown origin (but quite likely the subframe shimmying about), a tendency to wander a bit down the road, a wheel bearing that is less than 24 hours old, no windshield wipers or defogger, and one of the two gas tanks inoperative.

Curious, I idly ask Shane whether there is a safety inspection regimen in Queensland.

"Oh yes, what a bloody pain in the ass those things are," Shane replies. "You have to get one before you can sell a car here. Some states are more restrictive than others. It's just to keep people from selling total junk."

As we drive through the outskirts of Townsville, the scenery mostly consists of rolling hills and fields populated with white-barked ghost gum trees and large white-colored anthills. Shane explains that the anthills are a sign of clay in the ground, which makes it good for roadbuilding.

Jason, presently driving, has been finding himself troubled by slow-moving vehicles. These really seem to annoy him. He darts back and forth behind the offending vehicles, eyeing a possible escape route. When he finds it, he floors the gas and our 3.4L inline six pulls the XJ6 around the target. When Jason finds himself stuck behind yet another slow vehicle with Victoria tags, he exclaims: "Bugger! I'm stuck again!"

Shane offers conciliatory advice. "That's because you're a fuck driver! I'm not going to be stuck with a couple of fuckwits the whole way!"

"Fuck off, Jarvis," Jason replies, uttering the famous Australian term of endearment that we all knew would be delivered sooner or later.

Though we knew the left-side fuel tank was not delivering fuel, we decide to flip the car over to that tank and see what happens. What happens is the car leaves an impressive cloud of white smoke, which may come in handy for evading the police later, but also makes it rather difficult to breathe. We switch back to the right-side fuel tank.

We are reminded early on that inattention to road conditions is very dangerous.

Around 120 miles out of Townsville we find the highway closed. Seems a Holden Commodore was crossing a bridge when it tripped on a loose expansion joint plate and tumbled its way across the remainder of the bridge and into an embankment on the other side. The car was likely going about 70 mph, based on the local speed limits, so it is a vivid reminder of what could happen to us if we lose it at the speeds we plan to travel in the Northern Territory. A certain degree of caution is definitely in order.

While we wait for the local police and rescue to clean up the mess, we chat with some locals. They seem amused by our trip, and especially that a "seppo" (Australian slang for Americans) would travel so far just to drive through the desert. They decry the condition of the roads in Queensland -- portions of which are truly miserable -- and update us on the manhunt for a killer on the loose in the same area that we are planning to spend most of our time. Since the killer seems to prefer foreigners, they look at me with pity and suggest I might want to work on my accent a bit.

At 146 miles, we run out of gas, proving that bringing a couple of jerricans was an excellent idea. On the side of the road at 146 miles! What a trip this will be.

We don't want to run at night very much because of the danger of kangaroos. Kangaroos, see, have not had an evolutionary need for intelligence, and are therefore lacking it entirely. They will stand in the middle of a road and watch a vehicle bear down on it, utterly unaware that it is in danger. One might expect that, over time, the roos that learn to stay clear of roads would start to dominate the gene pool. Unfortunately, however, the numbers are against it, with kangaroos outnumbering vehicles by about 10 million to one; there is little opportunity for proper natural selection. And roos can be quite large -- hitting one would put a swift end to our little journey. So we had hoped to not travel at night.

Road trains are biiiiiiig, mmmmkay? This was a father/son truckie team.

But we are, along with some road trains. Road trains aren't legally supposed to travel at night -- certainly not because of the kangaroos, which would hardly even be of note to the truck, but because they are so large and the roads are so miserable in some areas that it can be a real hazard getting past them. Road trains are called "trains" for good reason. According to Shane, a typical road train weighs around 120 metric tons, and is about the length of three U.S.-spec tractor trailers. So, what is it like passing a road train at night? The first sensation, as the behemoth is bearing down on you, is one of walking down a railroad tunnel only to suddenly realize that the point of light off in the distance isn't the other side, it's a train. Then, dip the lights and slow down. Once the train is fairly close, scootch the car off to the left with two wheels in the dirt, and say a quiet prayer as a small building drives by.

At 210 miles, 6:50 pm, we pull into Hughenden and find lodging at the Grand Hotel. Let's talk for a moment about this Grand Hotel. Take every stereotype for an Old West tavern, modernize it a bit to accommodate running water, electricity, and video poker, and you've basically got the Grand Hotel. It's one of those old buildings that's been built onto for ages, perhaps over a century, so not only is the architecture a bit incongruous in places, but also the floors don't line up.

Hughenden's Grand Hotel, in business for about 90 years and still going.

But the Grand Hotel is more than just another curious old building; it is what Shane calls a Pub, and when he refers to a pub, it is in the Robin Hood sense of a pub, not in the Bennigan's sense of a restaurant that has a bar. Make no mistake, there is a bar, named Pokies, and it has a back room and everything. The three of us got a room for $36, which gave us each a bed of our own. Restrooms and showers are communal, though each stall does have a door on it. The idea that I can get overnight lodging for six U.S. dollars is mind-bending.

Another marvel about Australia is the open honesty. It's a quality that has become hard to find in the States. This isn't just a general preference of telling the honest truth; it's more of a committed lifestyle. You need a headlight? You go to the store called "Auto Parts" and you look for a box that says "Headlight--rectangel". You prefer to go without shoes? Okay, if you like collecting gravel and gum in your toes then have at it. You're severely jetlagged, misunderstand the barkeep, and say something colossally stupid? No worries mate, we'll just have a good laugh at ya. How refreshing!