National Park - Object Writing exercise- January 1st 10 minutes
admin December 31st, 2007
Driving for hours to get there, Lonny looks at the map and then at our direction quizzically, always the question, “are you sure we’re headed the right way?”. In my heart I believe, but past experience proves there’s validity behind my cliff edge of doubt. We’re now on a rough dirt road. The Corolla specially requisitioned for the job from the ex ex girlfriend I lent it to, she’s not had a car in years and I had no hope of selling it, so I gave it to her as a ‘lender’. She’s done no maintenance on it at all. I picked it up with a miscellany of discarded lolly wrappers papers and CD’s that had been warped by the sun, but, Betsy [the car] was still functional, after twenty years , and the last few with a zero maintenance policy. So now she was getting us down this rough bush track, ploughing through freshly graded dirt and potholes before, thankfully, we come across a clearing, just like it said in the book! Oh I’ll have a go at the doubting Thomas tonight.
There’s a mild chill in the air- it IS march - Easter is early this year. The gas burner is hissing away with the intensity of a solar flare heating up the spicy/rice/vegetable combination that will become dinner. I have been busy making our pitch, the synthetic covering of the tent zipping and swishing in the breeze my hands flailing with the nylon before I secure it into the ground with slightly bent tent pegs. Inside the little cave I’ve been blowing up the mattress and feel a bit light-headed a bit woozy. You know how it goes, big breath, then fill the vacuum left inside the lilo, another hollow sound as you exhale again, the same as blowing up a balloon , but this is like blowing up 100 balloons. I swear that next time I ‘m getting one of those pumps that works off the battery or cigarette lighter. Anything but this monotony. I take over cooking duties while Lonny finishes the task and gets about the business of making it all homely in there. The girly touches. Though she ain’t putting no flowers up or anything like that!
The brew starts to take on a reasonable tone. The spicy Indian rice we have chosen for the first night is starting to over power the vegetables and the resident Eucalyptus. I rummage about for the tinned tuna that will accompany this. Soon we’re sitting around the gently crackling campfire watching the icy vapor trails of the 727’s heading for Adelaide, it’s just us, alone in this near wilderness. Just the three of us. Of course. I’m not sure if Betsy is going to start when it comes time to leave , but that’s another story.
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