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| Author | Topic: Jason and Michelle's corner |
| Doug |
posted 5/13/03 5:51 PM
A BMW and a year to ride. These guys are nuts. Follow their ride. |
| Michelle |
posted 5/13/03 5:53 PM
Email 1 Interesting place this Oz. To date, I've driven across the Nullibor Plains - including one stretch of road that has not one !!#$!?? turn in 147kms. Let's put this in perspective: Yesterday, driving north amid countless other vehicles fleeing south from the heat - locals included - I managed to drive, wait for it, 220km steering only with my knees. Not once did I use the steering wheel. Worse, the only reason I stopped and likely failed a world record, was that I had to pee on the side of the road! I'm sure 500km is possible. I may repeat the challenge. After relieving myself on the road-side, I was quite interested to find out that our Mazda - you know: ZOOM, ZOOM, ZOOM! - wouldn't !**%#$?? Zoom! Hell, it wouldn't even start. Not to worry, it was only about 42C! Got the damn thing started after I realized that the battery leads were broken. You're absolutely right, they didn't break themselves. In fact, I broke them trying to boost a car for 7 or 8 aboriginals broken down and drunk on the side of the road. Won't do that again. Anyhow, Michelle and I got rolling again, and again, the car warmed up as if there was a blow-dryer running on high in the %#%$ !! car. It was good though: I learned that my wife had a hidden talent/skill/knack for spitting water. Something she learned growing up in Newfoundland? I'll never know. I did cool me off though. So yeah, aside from a spitting wife, drunken aboriginals on the side of the road, some of the straightest roads on the planet and man-eating mammals, reptiles, and fish at every turn, I'm having a normal, healthy holiday season. You? |
| Michelle |
posted 5/13/03 5:54 PM
email 2 Yes, it's true: Our car is ugly, the rear windshield wiper is M.I.A. - it does provide a good foothold for getting on the roof - and the radio is NFG, but it did get us to Darwin. We're actually hoping to use it to go crocodile fishing - tie a chicken on a rope to the rear bumper and...what am I telling you for you know I can croc hunt with the best of em! Anyhow, we did get close to the water yesterday. The little Mazda huffed and puffed but eventually we got to the end of a rough 4wd route and a creek crossing. We didn't cross the creek but Matilda wanted to. I'd actually like to ship her home when we're done - maybe park her in front of an old fashioned Herbie Rides Again movie for some pep work! Ya, that'd work. Michelle and I went on a piss last night - that's what you do when you get back to civilization again. She's pretty rough today; we were in mid-conversation in the hall at the hostel and she ran to the lu! It went something like, "I think I'm...bmmmmm...gotta...brahhhhh...(running) go to the bathroom...brrrraaaahh...meet you back...brahhh...here." I also think we've been in the bush too long. In the past 5 weeks or so, we've only stayed indoors 5 times - it really showed on the faces of the reception people when we arrived here last night. Apparently, the same (I AM CANADIAN) shirt should never be worn that 8th day as it gets very stinky after 7. One lady asked me if I worked here - I think she thought I was a gardener or something. Speaking of being in the bush too long, I also think we've gone without radio or at least other people too long. Michelle seems to have broken out in some rash - her levels of Putting Up With Jay have become toxic I think and she may in fact go mad. You see, without radio one is left to speak in tongues to entertain ones self. Me. And I have fun with me but I think Michelle could do without another Fat Bastard or Elvis impersonation! Crazy. Back to the bike for me. Told Michelle the full details of my trip to Area 51 with Andy (can't use last name...they may be watching). She's not impressed and will likely have the authorities check me out on my return. I did talk to Andy though and he seems to have passed any alien probes that might have been imbedded in his gastrointestinal system - some heavy drinking on New Years Eve flushed the little bastard out. It didn't have a chance. Yeah that's it for now. Should be plenty of news after the 4 or 5000km trip thru the bush to Sydney - I syspect I will also have my 'Stralian Fa Be're Foster's Beer commercial imitation down pat! I'll also have to practice my That's Not a Knife Crocodile Dundee imitation as I am sure that Michelle will pull one on me sooner than later. Take care J Watt PS I am hoping to make a side trip to the Australian Zoo. It's the one that Steve Irwin started the Crocodile Hunter with. I'm very keen to see a croc but also to kick Steve square in the nuts and see if he might actually have Iron Balls! |
| Michelle |
posted 5/13/03 5:56 PM
Email 3 Remember when you were a child and you used to beat on your chest to imitate the traffic report from a helicopter? Yeah. Well, imagine doing that for 10,000kms at a corrected speed of about 78kph and you've got us driving across Australia in our - vibrating worse by the minute - 1983 Mazda 323! To say it's hateful is, perhaps, the largest understatement I have yet made in 31 years. At this point, the rear wiper doesn't wipe, our horn doesn't honk and the dash lights, well, they don't %^&!! light - on the other hand, the brakes are broken! It's now 10am and I have been up for some 23 hours, driving between Daly Waters and Mount Iza. Daly Waters, named after...well it's named Daly Waters because the %&*#!! river floods over the road every morning and not one &%$*!! person knew how to spell Daily - at least that's my best guess. Anyhow, we left the place and on our way out we crossed the floodway and thought, "How cool. Let's take pictures." I figured it would be best if we could catch the Mazda in 2 feet of water, so I dropped Michelle of on one side of the flood and drove thru to the other side. She was great and got the picture. Super Dave - that would be me - got the #$%&!! stupid, piece of shit, @#$% car stuck!!! Not a big deal, except that Michelle was on the other side of the river/floodway and we didn't know if there were any crocodiles in it. I am a stupid, stupid ass. Luckily, a local came along and helped me out. I asked him if there were any crocs in the river - needed to get cleaned up after coating my clothes with mud flying off the tires - and he said, "Naw crocs mate, too many shacks (sharks)." Great, now I have to clean the inside of my shorts as well as the outside. Once I got Michelle safely back in the car, we were off again - Michelle's job being to keep sharp objects away from me while I am in a state of rage! We drove for about 200km and I noticed that the shaking in the front-end was getting noticibly worse - on a good day my watch shakes to the point that I am unable to read it but the vibration was so horrific I thought my watch might fly right off. I decided to pull over at a roadhouse to check things out. Looking down, I noticed that one of the belts was gone in the tire and decided to change it. Not a problem. After changing the tire and inspecting the old one, I noticed that a whole strip of rubber was missing from the tire. Not good. This tire was now my only spare. Luckily, we only had another 500kms to go without a service station. Not to be one for widespread panic, I drove on. Hindsight being 20/20, that was incredibly stupid. Not just your everyday studpid, you're Golden Globe, Stupid-Man-of-the-Universe stupid! In order to save $10 AUS, I decided it would be good to carry on past the air-conditioned roadhouse motel and look for a cheaper, nicer, friendlier roadhouse down the road. I had already hit one kangaroo and at 78kph, neither kangaroo nor Mazda suffered a scratch; what could go wrong? If the number of red lights on the dash is any indication, at approximately 2am this morning our Mazda suffered catastophic failure on par with Apollo 13. Absolutely every red light on the dashboard was aflame. I think the headlights actually dimmed when they all came on. "Honey, I was thinking it would be a nice night to sleep out under the stars. Wouldn't that be romantic?" Not really. After 10000kms of camping, wet-clothes, and rotten food, the car stinks incredibly bad; make-Mr.Clean-shit-his-pants, bad. Anyhow, after about 20mins of sleeping in the car I got it started and made it another 60kms. All in all, I covered over 300kms this morning. All at anywhere from 40-70kph! At present, I am sitting in an Internet cafe, covered in mud from yesterday, waiting for our car to be fixed, all the while people around me are asking to move. I stink. I am mad. I would desperately like to do damage to myself or others. In reality though I will likely just ask Michelle to punch me in the face. Take care. Have to go as it is getting sunny outside and I have to go and put on my SPF 75 sunscreen so as not to burst into flames in the hot summer sun. J Watt |
| Michelle |
posted 5/13/03 5:57 PM
email. 4 "Did you happen to notice your tires are bald?" asked the nice policeman after making me blow into a roadside breath-tester at 1100am. Great. Just great. "Did you happen to notice that my Mazda is about 2000lbs over it's legal limit, the interior lights don't work, my muffler is dragging on the !@%!! ground and the whole thing stinks like shit? Huh, did ya notice that?" I managed to refrain. Luckily, he let me off and didn't look at anything other than the tires. He did give me two things, though: First, a neat little sticker for the window that basically states my car is a big piece of shit and cannot be driven longer than one more week. Second, and even more hilarious, he told me to "keep it slow". I think my exact words went like this: "The @!$% thing won't even come close to the maximum speeds posted for the road...I'm in second gear and going 20kph in a 110kph zone with all the hills!" I saw him laugh as the circus drove away. You'd be correct in assuming it is quite difficult to jam 4 adults, their camping gear, a cooler and other assorted bits and pieces into a 4-door hatchback. Don't even try to visualize, it's just too much information. Heaven forbid we have an accident: it would look like a tornado hit a flee market! Michelle's parents are having a great time and adapting well to the change in climate. Just to be sure it wasn't too much of a shock, we eased them in with a leisurely 600km run thru outback Australia on a 47 degree Celsius day. For those of you that haven't experienced driving without air conditioning in those temperatures, I have this suggestion: don't bother, it's overrated. If you insist though, get some practice: put on a t-shirt and shorts, grab a broken am/fm radio and some hot water to drink, run an electric cord to a hair-dryer inside the oven and jump in with the blow-drier pointed at your face - the broken radio is just to add insult to the serious psychological damage that will ensue. Anyhow, you play the hand you're dealt; unfortunately, I'm sitting at a poker table with 5 @#$%!! birthday cards! Take care. |
| Michelle |
posted 5/13/03 5:58 PM
Email 5 The Backpackers Auto Barn in Kings Cross is not for the faint of heart: It's a dark, dingy, smelly, underground parking lot, run by a used-car salesman so heartless and dark that even used-car salesmen wouldn't trust him. Here, for $65/wk, backpackers sell their prized VW vans, station wagons and, yes, maybe even a decrepid, barely-running, early-model Mazda 323 hatchback. How very sad. Our Matilda looked quite helpless: She was the smallest, least-powerful, homeliest-looking car there. After 19000km, many of them off-road; catastrophic tire failures; not-so-well-planned river-crossings; camel-shattering loads on the roof; Matilda was tired. And, as if the long list of non-functioning items weren't enough, she began to leak fuel - it dripped from her tank like teardrops, as if to say, "Please don't save me. Let me go." People, even fellow backpackers, walked past and snickered at her - at us! The scum-bag that ran the place told a couple that if they were doing a short trip a four-cylinder (like ours) would be fine but that if they planned a trip over 2000km, they'd need a bigger car. Being that he took the courtesy to say this in front of Matilda, I returned the favour and explained that, "Mr. !%$#&*-face here is a scam artist...my 4-banger made it all-the-way-round...!#@!!&*," in front of him. Day One: Brian Skanes and I sat in the lot and waited. We did have a few people interested; more than likely, they were interested in hearing our pleas for sanity, having looked over Matilda. I overheard people talking about the smell of fuel in our end of the building, "Some $#@!% has a leak!" I frowned and shook my head, agreeing that the @#%$!! should fix his car, then walked quietly back to Matilda. No sale today. We did, on the other hand, have the cheapest car in the lot. Day Two: I returned to Matilda and the Chamber of Lost Soles. It was quite sad actually. Brian and I read several wall-writings of past travelers - some I can't do justice and others, wrote of taking their own lives after 17 days in the hole. I wasn't even close to such drastic measures. That's exactly when it happened: Looking through the glove compartment for the ownership papers, I found the secret-code for fixing the radio. There, written on the front of a plastic, yellow envelope, was the four-digit number that when entered, would breath life back into the stereo. I was dumbfounded. Angry, to the point of psychotic giddiness, I punched in the numbers. It worked. I cursed for a minute straight. Not at Matilda. Not at the radio. Not at the fact that for the last 3 months and 20000km we hadn't heard one @!#%$!!! tune. No, I was cursing because Michelle had taken all sharp objects out of the car - I could not hurt myself. I'll jump, I thought. %#$@%$#@%!!! I'm 2 stories below ground. Again, stuck without weapons, I was forced to ask Michelle, my lovely, caring wife, to punch me in the face. With the radio up and running, Matilda found new owners by the days' end. We were happy: We had bought the car in Perth for $900AUS, put less than $150 into it, and sold it for $500 - not bad, considering they wanted $7900.00 to rent a car for 3 weeks for the trip between Broome and Sydney! Back to America. Back to my bike. Back to...normal? We arrived back in Los Angeles on 12 February. For those of you who have never had the pleasure, L.A., is a beautiful city with oodles of green grass, smiling faces, and a well organized, chaos-free international airport. Well, not quite. A short time after fleeing L.A., we landed in Palm Springs to pick up the bike. I had stored it with some people I had met through the BMW MOA - a group dedicated to supporting long distance motorcyclists. John and Moxi had kept the bike in their alarmed garage for 3 months, no questions asked. We packed up to leave but they offered us a free nights stay and we graciously accepted. Wonderful people - except that John, showed my wife his BMW, complete with a real passenger seat, 6 disk CD changer and floorboards! Ya see it goes like this: If I bought a bike that Michelle was comfortable on, she might stay on. Instead, she'll likely learn to ride her own. Same goes for those radio gadgets that let you talk to each other: "Are we almost there...I have to pee...I'm hungry...blah...blah..." " Sorry baby, can't afford one of those this year." We got on the road the next morning and it was beautiful; 15-20C and sunny. We didn't know then, but it was the best weather we would get riding to Florida, some 4500kms. I thought it best to make a 'quick' stop in Tucson and see the friends I had met 3 months earlier - okay, not entirely true: mostly, I wanted them to meet my wife as I was beginning to wonder if they actually believed that I had one. Think Norm from Cheers; Vera was talked about often but nobody ever saw her. And Michelle? Anyhow, an hour turned into an evening. The evening, strange as it may sound, turned into 5 days. Mathew Noli, the BMW mechanic that I had intended to stay with for 1 night and left 10 days later, helped me with some bike maintenance; We stayed with Mike and Tammy in Tucson and drank too much beer at the Import Auto garage down the road - Mike even took me to an NHRA race in Phoenix. It was fast, crazy-loud, and can not be explained to anyone who has not been. Tammy, Mikes wife, explained to me that it was an American redneck event. It was. I was right there with them. After a long drive back to Tucson, we sat down to beer and Tammy's favourite show, The Red Green Show. US/Canadian relations are as strong as ever! Next stop, Mardis Gras! The only thing between us and some intense flashing action: 1500km of flat, featureless, and as it turns out, frozen, Texas! The first day was a pleasant 8-10C. Day two, things went to shit. The temperature dropped to below freezing and the roads got quite icy. I won't do the math, but -2C and 120KPH together create an interesting wind-chill factor! Boy can I make my wife happy. Texans, as it turns out, don't understand the dynamics of ice-riding. To be honest, I'm not sure I do either but not having a truck and trailer, we were forced to ride on, slipping and sliding past signs of recent ice-driving mishaps. Not many bikes on the road come to think of it. Funny. Surprising as it sounds, we arrived safe and sound in New Orleans. After approximately 3500kms of freezing rain, cloudy days, and cold fingers, Michelle was able to lay back, kick off her shoes, and relax in the elegance and pampering that only a KOA Kampground Kabin can provide. We headed downtown the first night on the bike. Hindsight being 20/20, it was rather foolish. Riding in a city that size is tough enough. Add 1.5 million people, most of whom are grossly intoxicated, and foolish seems somewhat understated. We managed though, and agreed that on day 2 we'd take a shuttle, freeing us to partake in the festivities. Partake we did: The streets were littered with drunks, misfits - a category we feel quite comfortable with - and others that defy categorization of any sort. There we're men dressed as women and women dressed as men. Some, braved the elements in nothing more than paint that looked like clothing. Ah, home at last. Young girls were flashing their boobs for beads. Middle-aged women were flashing as well. Some of the women might well have been pensioners! My description does not do the scene justice. It should read like a Dr. Seuss book: " Big ones...little ones...skinny ones...minnie ones...hot ones...not ones... " Huge picket signs rose above the chaos and read: "Jesus or Hell" or "Sinners One and All." Between the sign-toters were bearded men in black-leather chaps with chains across their bare bottoms; in the side-streets, people were standing in line for a chance to pee behind the dumpsters. I looked at Michelle. She looked at me. It was only 6pm. Surreal. For those of you who know my wife, she is not a very good spectator. By about 9pm, she'd had enough beer to set her Catholic principles aside - they may still be under the mattress at the KOA - and join the party. I've never seen a Girls Gone Wild video but apparently, they sell a Mardis Gras version. I will not be surprised at all if my wife is on the 2003 recording. Trooper that she is, she was able to carry a back-breaking load of beads from one bar to another. I did notice a slight change in her pronunciation, but chalked it up to too much noise. I was wrong. At approximately 10pm, she suffered an acute attack - she is not-yet-diagnosed - of narcolepsy, falling asleep in the streets of New Orleans. I was quite worried that it was contagious as many people were suffering the same and decided to seek shelter at the KOA. Having been a paramedic in the past, I was able to recall the efficiency of 'The Recovery Position' and was able to continue drinking my beer, guilt-free, knowing my wife would not aspirate her Jambalaya. Around, say, 11pm I started looking for a cab back to the cabin. "I...go...think...time...for Michelle'ta...go...urp...home...Jay...gotta..." was Michelle's hint that it was time to get rockin'. Too bad, I thought to myself, it'd be really nice to continue this evening of intimate conversation with my wife. Oh well. Looking for a taxis in New Orleans, during Mardis Gras, is ridiculous. Looking for a cab in New Orleans, during Mardis Gras, with a vomiting, slurring, narcoleptic is an entirely different feat. Nobody, I mean nobody, wants to pick them up. As implausible as it sounds, things started getting strange from here on in. One minute, we, okay I, was standing on the street. The next minute, something bizarre happened and we were in a Christian Mission. Can you believe that? I was standing face-to-face with a pretty, young girl, sipping on coffee, answering questions about my smiling, unconscious wife. " Has she been doing drugs, my brother? " she asked, head tilted to the side. Wow. Everyone gathered around and told me that they would pray for her. I've read AA questionnaires before. The typical questions: Do you frequently need a drink to wake up in the morning?; Do you drink more than X number of alcoholic drinks per day?; blah...blah...blah. I have never, ever, come across this one: Have you ever had so much to drink that you pass out in the streets of New Orleans and find yourself taken in by a group of Christian Mission folk? I think it should be added. Next day, Boobs wasn't feeling so hot. Ashamed, but not hot. We awoke to a knock on the door and there, outside, was Doug Blaine. It's very difficult to explain but Doug, Rikka, and Shogo are on a year-long trip as well. And, we seem to run into them in the most out of the way places. We had a great time with them and decided it would be good to take them to Bike Week at Daytona - another spectacle, among spectacles. Michelle jumped in the van with Doug we headed out, intending to make the 1100km or so run to Daytona Beach in one day. A short, sweet, 2 hours later, I experienced my first N.D.O.E. (Near Driven Over Experience). Riding along US 10 towards Florida, I set the cruise (my wrist) at about 140KPH and rolled into the fast lane. Things were going quite smooth at first. Then Wattluck struck and I was abruptly awakened by the fact that I was suddenly peering into the side-window of the Ford Explorer in front of me; seems he was bored and decided a sideways, four-wheel slide at 80mph would brighten up everyone's day! What happened next was fantastic: The rest of the drivers saw that Explorer Man was having fun and started a game of copycat. At least 5 vehicles were in full-on slides. One slid across the center median, another down the grass on the curbside, and a couple others straight through the center. Many things went through my head in that nanosecond: What would happen if you put a slinky on an escalator?; Who shot JR?; Was it really a janitor that invented the vacuum?; Did I put on clean underwear this morning? Then it all came back to me: What would Evil Kenevil do in a situation like this? With that, I stood up on the pegs and headed for the grass median. Wrong. Another flash: Evil K. has broken all but a few bones in his body! Shit! Then I remembered a movie about NASCAR racing and the hero said, "Drive straight for the spinning car and by the time you get there, he'll be somewhere else." Consider it researched and proven. Doug, Rikka, and Shogo pulled into Daytona shortly after I did. What a show: Harley Davidson after Harley Davidson, not one rider with a helmet and everyone riding drunk. In fact, when we set up the tent at our campsite - no more spoiling my wife with KOA Kabins - a 30ish guy and his wife rode up beside us and promptly crashed their bike. I helped them pick it up, his wife thanked me, and they went on to bed. The rider remembered nothing in the morning. One of the main reasons I wanted to go to bike week was to see a guy named Helge Pederson present 10 Years on 2 Wheels, a multimedia show based on his round-the-world motorcycle trip. I was excited to be going, having read his book 2 years ago. Michelle and I had preregistered for the show and since it was free, it fit in nicely with our travel budget. I would also have liked to attend the BMW reception but it was not free, had been sold-out, and did not fit in with our travel clothes - it was at the Hilton. Michelle, Doug and I watched the show and afterward, I got Helge to sign my helmet and pose for a picture. It was pretty busy for him, so I left it at that. Later on that night, Michelle and I decided to head out on the town since we were not going to The BMW Ball. We rode around for a bit and then decided to head back to the hotel for a beer - we were spending the night in the Hilton parking lot with Doug and family. Michelle and I rolled up to the front of the hotel, figuring the private BMW thing would be hidden in some other wing and that we might be able to have a beer at the bar before bed. Stopping at the front - they had it roped off for all the 2003 display models - I was approached by a man, neatly dressed, whom I assumed was security and about to kick us out. He was quite nice, lifted the rope to the area with motorcycles displayed on carpets, and invited us to ride in. I told him that we did not have invites to The Ball, to which he responded, "I'm with BMW. Come on in." Michelle and I looked quizzically at each other, parked the bike in the display, and walked in. It was quite obvious we were out of place; neither Michelle or I had washed clothes in a week and we were stinking; we also had riding gear and helmets in a ballroom where everyone else appeared well-dressed, enjoying martinis and the jazz group that had been playing for the group. Another person from BMW came over while the other man went and got us drinks. He said he recognized us as having ridden "the bike from Canada." "Come on in and meet some of these people. They like long distance riders and can be a great help (sponsoring)." Shortly after that, he took me over to the President of BMW USA Motorcycles and introduced us. He was quite drunk, shook my hand, and directed another person to take our address so we could keep in contact. Interesting. I'd love someone to sponsor a round-the-world trip for me in a couple of years... Minutes later, I was led to Helge Pederson's table: "You dat Canadian wit da tubes on ya bike. Sit down." he said. We talked about long-distance motorcycle travel, and why we lived where we did - he is from Norway. It was very cool. After speaking with Helge, another BMW guy bought us a couple more drinks and asked where we were staying, explaining that he might be able to arrange accommodations for us. We explained that we were expected back at the parking lot for the night. So, technically speaking, we did stay at the Hilton, right? Tell that to my wife. After Daytona Beach, we were supposed to head to Amsterdam with friends from Utah - he works for Delta and was cool enough to arrange Buddy Passes for Michelle and I. Well, somewhere along the line we all agreed to change destinations, and landed in Puerto Rico. We had a wonderful visit with them, touring the island for about a week. Aside from a near car-jacking, the trip was calm and peaceful - I'd like to brag that I outran the highjacker, though it's much more likely he wasn't that interested in our Hyundai hatchback. Such is life. I am, at present, back in lovely Pakenham, Ontario., facing the greatest threat to my safety thus far: my sisters children, Garrett and Jay. Take care. |
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