Operation, “Save the Unicorns”, Phase One.
Captain: RUIN, Skipper Rooney: Wazza, First Mate: Bee
Captain’s Log.
So far so good.
I can see wazza’s penis, softly glinting in the firelight, cushioned on the soft earth of Long Beach (it’s a place) outside of Bateman’s Bay. Nothing new.
Phase one of the tour is going well.
On the first day I arose early, changed the spark plugs on the motorcycle. Changed my socks and underwear. All progressing as normal. The awaited deadline of 10 am arrives. No sign of Wazza.
Continue last minute preparations and packing. 10.30am. Still no sign of Wazza. Nobody answering his phone either. Leave message on his last known place of residence.
“Wazza?! Wazza if you can hear me, get the fuck up and get over here! … Sorry tessa’s mum. This is Mitch. Over and Out.”
Wazza calls – he’s on his way to collect newest cult member Bee. She’s still busy at work. 11am.
After kicking and screaming some, to no avail, Wazza and Bee arrive. 12am. We leave.
After a days trave we make camp on the side of the road outside of Bairnsdale. Not quite as far towards Sydney as I had hoped. Campsite terrible. I try to pretend that the B Double Trucks roaring past in the darkness are actually the soothing crashing waves of Cape Conran. In the middle of dinner, cooked amidst swirling ash from the fire, Hurricane strikes. Disasterous. New cult member Bee proves her worth, assisting with tarp erection. I sleep in claustrophobic maschocism under the dripping drooping tarpaulin, knowning that if I can get through this, the rest of the tour will be fantastic.
Day Two.
Awake in the morning to freezing, beautiful day. Keen to push forward, but halted by Wazza’s well timed suggestion of Bacon and Eggs for breakfast. Delicious. Try some pretend Tai Chi by roadside but am distracted by staring truck drivers.
Push ahead to Bairnsdale, 10 minutes on from campsite. Spend 45 minutes buying petrol, stealing dishwashing supplies, and dumpstering food. Feel like a true circus performer, as the entire supermarket/petrol station pretends not to notice us, while scrutinising our every move closely. Fuck you white Australia. Green leather is in. Only in Bairnsdale do they combine petrol stations with super cheap chemists.
On the A1, heading for the border. This road stretches around each corner of this incredible country that we call home. I have always wanted to hitchhike the whole thing, and see it from the hot and dusty side lane. It gives off a feeling of endless potential – the corners and straights seemingly leading on for ever until you catch up with where you started. I swear it gets 3 – 5 degrees warmer as we cross into NSW. You have bad weather vibes Victoria. Good tasting water though. Make fast time to Eden. Another small town. Nice beach. Empty skatepark located right next to the graveyard. The young and the dead have not much to say. Observe Chinese fisherman in American army jacket being interrogated on main street by the local police. Right next to the stuffed killer whale museum. Overfishing vs. glorified conquests.
Decide to head for Bateman’s Bay. The road is a beautiful twisting tail of tarmac unfurling before the motorcycle – each sweeping corner taken with the knee down, leaning over the front corner, pushing down on the bar and dropping the bike right into it, only a palms width of rubber feeling up and holding onto the bitumen.
Arrive in Bateman’s Bay just after dark, and head through towards the green patches on the map. Turn off the A1 down a long suburban looking road. Worried at first, until a kangaroo comes leaping out of a front yard near the beach. Follow it’s lead into a large grassy stretch. We know we’re in the right place when we see a sign that says “No Camping”. Make a beautiful fire and dinner. Wazza plays guitar. Bliss.
Day Three. Wake up early. Swim in freezing water of long beach. Bacon and Eggs. Hit the road. Beautiful weather for riding. Get all the way to outskirts of Sydney comfortably sitting on 140k. Then! TRAFFIC! Who invented that? With Traffic lights! Worst idea ever – bane of a motorcyclist’s existence. But now we have arrived in Sydney for one wild night of postering. You’ll be seeing us Sydney – remember – “Vote One Caravan of Dooom – it may not be a Donkey, but at least it’s a Unicorn..!”
Phase One complete.
Over and out.
