PMC
5th July 2013, 02:23 PM
G'day fellow Lounge Lizards!
Two years ago, I went on a 3 day holiday with my mates and our children at the Mann River reserve about 170 clicks from home. The trip for me was trail run leading up to our up-coming Cape York adventure (well that was the plan. lol.)
The nightmare (typical RLI’s luck) began the day before whilst rushing trying to fit a dual battery system and fridge slide to the Navara at the last minute (typical RLI.) What should have been a straight forward job (3 to 4hrs) turned out to take farken 10hrs.
The morning of the departure was farken disaster, pissing down with rain, I got drenched hooking up the Jayco camper, my darling daughter Emma god bless her, dropped a container with the eggs in it, then slipped on the yokes and hit her head on the side of the camper trailer resulting in her receiving a large cut above her eye, (screaming, blood pissing out everywhere) me slipping, sliding and farting trying to come to the rescue is beaten by super- mum who appears from nowhere to the rescue. Thank goodness the wife (handbrake) is a nurse, saved me a trip the the hospital!
Meanwhile the father in-law and I have discovered that the camper trailer roof will not lower properly. At this time I am thinking to myself, maybe we should stay at home, typical ex-soldier, I soldier on. We were supposed to RV with my mates at 9.30am at the Shell service station at Halfway Creek on the pacific Hwy (that wasn’t going to happen). I rang my mate Wayne to advise him that the girls and I will RV with them at Macas’ in Grafton around 10.30am.
It turns out that the roof bolts that connect the wind up mechanism to the roof have broken (in my case the whole farking four of them!). With the rain still pissing down and now turning into a thunderstorm, I am trying to fix the camper trailer drenched. My wife god-bless her tries to help keep me dry with an umbrella when I am already soaking wet. (I am thinking to myself what a pisser!) Finally, we get going at 11.00am. I ring my mates to advise them not to wait but to head to Mann River reserve and that the girls and I will meet them there later on. Whilst travelling north on the Pacific hwy to Grafton the weather was really freakish with severe heavy down poor occurring resulting in stop/starting due to extremely poor visibility.
I decided to ring Wayne for a weather update (it was pointless traveling to a camping spot if it was going to be shit weather I thought to myself) Wayne reassured me that the weather was going to be fine.“Why is it Trendsetters that the highway flog-bags always appear in ludicrous weather conditions?” Now I had a situation with dick-brains trying to overtake me at any opportunity they see fit, it was like being on patrol on the streets of Baghdad (waiting for the inedible) and sure enough as shit sticks to a blanket it happened. 30 clicks west of Grafton on the Gwydir Hwy near the Town of Mann River, a road-squeezer misjudge his move ending on the wrong side of the hwy, luckily for all, missing a potential head on collision and instead he skidded coming back on the right side of the hwy ending up in a farm paddock ( what a flog-bag!)
Thirty minutes later, I was just about to start the hill climb up the Gibraltar Range, when I get stuck behind and "old coot" towing a 25ft caravan driving an old ford falcon wagon (like a scene reminiscent from the old TV show the Beverly Hillbillies. lol.) With the traffic now flowing at 15 clicks an hour, and with a convoy of over 20 cars and trucks behind me, I decide to look for a position to pull over and allow the entire traffic to pass me and at the same time allow me some breathing room. Still pissing down with rain, I see a farmer’s driveway entrance to pull over.
Suddenly the farken camper and the Navara are bogged shit-less; I engaged 4x4 low range, flick on the rear diff-lock, no-go, I rock the camper and Navara backwards and forwards still no-go. I jump out and realise the camper is bogged to the bloody axle. (I am saying to myself politely, where’s the wife and the farken umbrella now). Finally, covered in mud and cow-shit, I decide to have another go to get free, this time I decide to put the foot to the pedal and give it some Michael Schumacher with both my eight and ten year old daughters cheering me on.
With the hwy clear I give it the Schumacher, engine revving, wheels spinning, mud and cow-shit flying everywhere my girls cheering me on in frenzy; I am now feeling proud of myself and actually for a spit second, it did not worry me of all the dramas that I had just endured (I was in RPM mode.) Suddenly all that changed the smell you do not want to smell “Lounge lizards” (the clutch!) Finally the Navara and camper shuddered, jerked and chug free out of the bogged shit-hole situation it was in, however at a price that would come back to haunt me later on.
Half-way up the Gibraltar Range the clutch starts to slip, smoke and fart its way up, foggy, still pissing down with raining (I am thinking to myself why me o’lord, why me!) Then to make matters even worse Trendsetters, I catch up with the “old coot” that caused me to pull over with in the first place. (I am thinking to myself where’s the farken 50 cal machine gun and 25mm cannon when you suddenly need it). Now I am starting to feel that I might be in deep shit. With dick-brain (“old coot”) crawling worse than a 50 ton log truck, my clutch suddenly starts to slip severely. (I am thinking to myself yet again, gee I wish I was still in the army an air strike would come in handy about now). Finally, we reach the summit and my constant flashing of my head lights caused dick-brain to pull over and let me and the rest of the traffic through. Hooray, the kids and I start giving one another high fives, we made it to the top!
Clutch burning, windows down we shudder, jerk and glide are way down the Glen Innes side of the Gibraltar Range towards the Mann river reserve. Then fark-me swinging Trendsetter’s, another dick-brain emerges on the Old Glen Innes Rd. This dick-brain decides to overtake me side-ways on a bend (what a flog-bag,). On arrival at the Mann river reserve camp ground, the Navara finally staggers; slurps and farts to a final holt, holy shit bags, the smell of a burnt clutch did not smell like victory to me Trendsetters!
The next three days were great, typical father son or father daughter time together out in the good old Australian bush. We explored the scenic “Tommy’s rock Lookout” named after a well-known Aboriginal bushman who was eventually shot. (Fark, that didn’t do him any good, I thought to myself!)
On the Friday morning, we were advised by a couple of other campers that an ugly incident occurred a week earlier at the camp ground. It turned out two groups of campers turned against one another resulting in knifes and bats being used against each other before the Parks and Wildlife officers and the police from Glen Innes were called in. Later that evening we were to experience a group of pissed-up scrotes conducting wheelies in the camp ground area. After chasing these scrotes, they decided to back there commodore wagon into a tree and whilst departing in a hurried frenzied manner, they also managed to roll a tyre of the rim before departing the area (scum-bags!)
Saturday morning, we decided to head back to Woolgoolga as the weather looked started to look shitty again. We decided to get my mate Matt to tow my camper and I would try to limp my way back home or to Grafton. 10 clicks latter the Navara finally shit the whiskers, with no phone coverage in the area, I decided to stay with the Navara and both my mates Matt and Wayne would take my daughters and camper trailer home. The plan was Wayne would contact the NRMA at the first opportunity that he could get phone coverage to advise the situation and location of myself and the car.
At 1.30pm the boys head for home with the kids and camper trailers in tow. 3 hours later the first car appears, a pair of good old boys wearing dirty old jeans with braces. One of the lads smiled at me with every second tooth missing. (I am now starting to think of the movie Deliverance starring Burt Reynolds, about inbred’s in a remote location in the US, remember the scene “Squeal like piggy boy”) They ask “what’s your problem mate”, I tell them about my clutch, they say to me “you might be hear till the morning mate” I said that’s fine by me, as they leave I go to the back of the Navara to retrieve my new axe and condor machete.
At 6.10pm finally, the NRMA arrive with a tow truck and rescue me. (I was starting to hear those farken banjos playing the theme tune from Deliverance) We travel back to Glen Innes to refuel and verify my NRMA coverage. Thank goodness that my wife and I had over the last twenty years premium coverage. This meant I was going to be towed from Glen Innes to Woolgoolga over 200 ks, free of charge. On the way home got talking to Luke the tow truck driver about the situation with the scrotes doing burnouts at the campground area on the Friday night. It turns out there is a hippy commune not far away from the Mann river reserve and every time the Police or Parks and Wildlife conduct drug busts, these scum-bags decide to terrorise the campers. (I am suddenly thinking to myself, Bravo Six Niner, fire mission, air-strike required at the following co-ordinates, bring on the rain over!)
PS, stay tuned for another ripping yarn! I am also available for camp fire story telling. lol
Regards,
RLI
:tease:
Two years ago, I went on a 3 day holiday with my mates and our children at the Mann River reserve about 170 clicks from home. The trip for me was trail run leading up to our up-coming Cape York adventure (well that was the plan. lol.)
The nightmare (typical RLI’s luck) began the day before whilst rushing trying to fit a dual battery system and fridge slide to the Navara at the last minute (typical RLI.) What should have been a straight forward job (3 to 4hrs) turned out to take farken 10hrs.
The morning of the departure was farken disaster, pissing down with rain, I got drenched hooking up the Jayco camper, my darling daughter Emma god bless her, dropped a container with the eggs in it, then slipped on the yokes and hit her head on the side of the camper trailer resulting in her receiving a large cut above her eye, (screaming, blood pissing out everywhere) me slipping, sliding and farting trying to come to the rescue is beaten by super- mum who appears from nowhere to the rescue. Thank goodness the wife (handbrake) is a nurse, saved me a trip the the hospital!
Meanwhile the father in-law and I have discovered that the camper trailer roof will not lower properly. At this time I am thinking to myself, maybe we should stay at home, typical ex-soldier, I soldier on. We were supposed to RV with my mates at 9.30am at the Shell service station at Halfway Creek on the pacific Hwy (that wasn’t going to happen). I rang my mate Wayne to advise him that the girls and I will RV with them at Macas’ in Grafton around 10.30am.
It turns out that the roof bolts that connect the wind up mechanism to the roof have broken (in my case the whole farking four of them!). With the rain still pissing down and now turning into a thunderstorm, I am trying to fix the camper trailer drenched. My wife god-bless her tries to help keep me dry with an umbrella when I am already soaking wet. (I am thinking to myself what a pisser!) Finally, we get going at 11.00am. I ring my mates to advise them not to wait but to head to Mann River reserve and that the girls and I will meet them there later on. Whilst travelling north on the Pacific hwy to Grafton the weather was really freakish with severe heavy down poor occurring resulting in stop/starting due to extremely poor visibility.
I decided to ring Wayne for a weather update (it was pointless traveling to a camping spot if it was going to be shit weather I thought to myself) Wayne reassured me that the weather was going to be fine.“Why is it Trendsetters that the highway flog-bags always appear in ludicrous weather conditions?” Now I had a situation with dick-brains trying to overtake me at any opportunity they see fit, it was like being on patrol on the streets of Baghdad (waiting for the inedible) and sure enough as shit sticks to a blanket it happened. 30 clicks west of Grafton on the Gwydir Hwy near the Town of Mann River, a road-squeezer misjudge his move ending on the wrong side of the hwy, luckily for all, missing a potential head on collision and instead he skidded coming back on the right side of the hwy ending up in a farm paddock ( what a flog-bag!)
Thirty minutes later, I was just about to start the hill climb up the Gibraltar Range, when I get stuck behind and "old coot" towing a 25ft caravan driving an old ford falcon wagon (like a scene reminiscent from the old TV show the Beverly Hillbillies. lol.) With the traffic now flowing at 15 clicks an hour, and with a convoy of over 20 cars and trucks behind me, I decide to look for a position to pull over and allow the entire traffic to pass me and at the same time allow me some breathing room. Still pissing down with rain, I see a farmer’s driveway entrance to pull over.
Suddenly the farken camper and the Navara are bogged shit-less; I engaged 4x4 low range, flick on the rear diff-lock, no-go, I rock the camper and Navara backwards and forwards still no-go. I jump out and realise the camper is bogged to the bloody axle. (I am saying to myself politely, where’s the wife and the farken umbrella now). Finally, covered in mud and cow-shit, I decide to have another go to get free, this time I decide to put the foot to the pedal and give it some Michael Schumacher with both my eight and ten year old daughters cheering me on.
With the hwy clear I give it the Schumacher, engine revving, wheels spinning, mud and cow-shit flying everywhere my girls cheering me on in frenzy; I am now feeling proud of myself and actually for a spit second, it did not worry me of all the dramas that I had just endured (I was in RPM mode.) Suddenly all that changed the smell you do not want to smell “Lounge lizards” (the clutch!) Finally the Navara and camper shuddered, jerked and chug free out of the bogged shit-hole situation it was in, however at a price that would come back to haunt me later on.
Half-way up the Gibraltar Range the clutch starts to slip, smoke and fart its way up, foggy, still pissing down with raining (I am thinking to myself why me o’lord, why me!) Then to make matters even worse Trendsetters, I catch up with the “old coot” that caused me to pull over with in the first place. (I am thinking to myself where’s the farken 50 cal machine gun and 25mm cannon when you suddenly need it). Now I am starting to feel that I might be in deep shit. With dick-brain (“old coot”) crawling worse than a 50 ton log truck, my clutch suddenly starts to slip severely. (I am thinking to myself yet again, gee I wish I was still in the army an air strike would come in handy about now). Finally, we reach the summit and my constant flashing of my head lights caused dick-brain to pull over and let me and the rest of the traffic through. Hooray, the kids and I start giving one another high fives, we made it to the top!
Clutch burning, windows down we shudder, jerk and glide are way down the Glen Innes side of the Gibraltar Range towards the Mann river reserve. Then fark-me swinging Trendsetter’s, another dick-brain emerges on the Old Glen Innes Rd. This dick-brain decides to overtake me side-ways on a bend (what a flog-bag,). On arrival at the Mann river reserve camp ground, the Navara finally staggers; slurps and farts to a final holt, holy shit bags, the smell of a burnt clutch did not smell like victory to me Trendsetters!
The next three days were great, typical father son or father daughter time together out in the good old Australian bush. We explored the scenic “Tommy’s rock Lookout” named after a well-known Aboriginal bushman who was eventually shot. (Fark, that didn’t do him any good, I thought to myself!)
On the Friday morning, we were advised by a couple of other campers that an ugly incident occurred a week earlier at the camp ground. It turned out two groups of campers turned against one another resulting in knifes and bats being used against each other before the Parks and Wildlife officers and the police from Glen Innes were called in. Later that evening we were to experience a group of pissed-up scrotes conducting wheelies in the camp ground area. After chasing these scrotes, they decided to back there commodore wagon into a tree and whilst departing in a hurried frenzied manner, they also managed to roll a tyre of the rim before departing the area (scum-bags!)
Saturday morning, we decided to head back to Woolgoolga as the weather looked started to look shitty again. We decided to get my mate Matt to tow my camper and I would try to limp my way back home or to Grafton. 10 clicks latter the Navara finally shit the whiskers, with no phone coverage in the area, I decided to stay with the Navara and both my mates Matt and Wayne would take my daughters and camper trailer home. The plan was Wayne would contact the NRMA at the first opportunity that he could get phone coverage to advise the situation and location of myself and the car.
At 1.30pm the boys head for home with the kids and camper trailers in tow. 3 hours later the first car appears, a pair of good old boys wearing dirty old jeans with braces. One of the lads smiled at me with every second tooth missing. (I am now starting to think of the movie Deliverance starring Burt Reynolds, about inbred’s in a remote location in the US, remember the scene “Squeal like piggy boy”) They ask “what’s your problem mate”, I tell them about my clutch, they say to me “you might be hear till the morning mate” I said that’s fine by me, as they leave I go to the back of the Navara to retrieve my new axe and condor machete.
At 6.10pm finally, the NRMA arrive with a tow truck and rescue me. (I was starting to hear those farken banjos playing the theme tune from Deliverance) We travel back to Glen Innes to refuel and verify my NRMA coverage. Thank goodness that my wife and I had over the last twenty years premium coverage. This meant I was going to be towed from Glen Innes to Woolgoolga over 200 ks, free of charge. On the way home got talking to Luke the tow truck driver about the situation with the scrotes doing burnouts at the campground area on the Friday night. It turns out there is a hippy commune not far away from the Mann river reserve and every time the Police or Parks and Wildlife conduct drug busts, these scum-bags decide to terrorise the campers. (I am suddenly thinking to myself, Bravo Six Niner, fire mission, air-strike required at the following co-ordinates, bring on the rain over!)
PS, stay tuned for another ripping yarn! I am also available for camp fire story telling. lol
Regards,
RLI
:tease: