There is something magical about road trips. Perhaps out of the inevitable and overpowered by excitement over the destination, they are generally considered as exciting and fun-filled. Normally, it is not an appealing idea for 3 grown men to squeeze into a smallish car filled to the brim with bags and personal belongings so that it takes considerable work to move one's little finger, throwing in 9 hours of bad singing, bladder stretching and outback scenery (which gets dry really quickly). Other than the obvious option of playing all the rock ballads from the 70s to today, and shout along with it. There's also sleeping, snoring, snacking and mooning oncoming car (which we certainly did not do but is a good option nonetheless), if you are not the driver of course. When you are the driver, you have the bonus option of swerve driving to get that small animal dodging cars on the road.
It is also one of the best time to check your taste in music with your traveling companions. It's a bit like being the first to say 'I love you' in a relationship, you play that song on your iPod, curious to see the reaction of others. It could be met by raw blatant enthusiasm, or awkward silence and looking out the window. Your guilty pleasure is not ratified by others' confession, Kelly Clarkson is still too girly for a bloke. But only under the perilous conditions can true bonds of friendship form, especially after you have shared 20 minutes of epic opera-rap accompanied by bagpipe, organ and children choir. Its an actual song, I will link it 'morrow.
I had been excited about this rural placement for a few days. I like the coast better than inland, so being a port already scores positively with me. But not only that, Port Lincoln is considered the 'seafood capital of Australia'. My love for fresh seafood and the idea of study vacation plus time away from FMC were concocted into a delicious cocktail that two-sip-Shawn couldn't resist.
You probably don't ever need to bring that much stuff for two weeks away. Unless you are a chick. But for some reason, going on a rural placement feels like being sent to a distant post, you should be ready for everything that could be thrown at you (hopefully not a tuna), and so I made sure I was prepared for everything. Workout gear, PJs, work shirt, going out shirt in case our GPs take us out, T-shirts for looking casual and blend-in as not to attract hostile attention when we go to a local bar, while emphysising my taste in clothes thus repel bogans. Jeans, shorts, work pants..and since I've been warned about how cold it can get, I had my trusty trench coat so that the local paper may report sighting of Neo wondering about in the windy and miserable rain.
And God forbid, should the most unlikely scenario arise, that I should feel the urge to study, I will need books! as a consequence of foolish innocence (I never study on vacations, but I can always convince myself into lugging 10kg of books around), I have a small person library with me, taking up half of the space in my suitcase.
The drive would have been more interesting if we spotted a kangaroo on the roadside taking a dump, but we didn't. The vast plain although inspiring, one's awe centre in the brain can only remain stimulated for so long. In the same token, the symbolism of the long lonely highway, stretching as far as eyes can see, vanishing on the other side of the horizon off a tiny gap between the tree line, soon loses its deep and meaningfulness too.
We stopped by Port Pirie, Augusta, Cowell, never thought of topping up fuel. We almost ran out of fuel. I was excited about the idea of hunting kangaroos for survival until we can wave down another car passing by, which would've taken 5 years. It would just be like the movie Castaway, and I can grow an awesome Jesus beard. But JD pulled into Arno Bay (a town as small as a fake Western movie set) to look for petrol station. We spotted one pump that is on holiday until tomorrow morning. Desperate, we went into the supermarket in search of salvation and salvation we did find.
We asked the checkout lady about nearest petrol station, highly trained to deal with stupid tourists as she is, without saying a thing, she led us to the back of the shop and called for the comical old handy man who smiled his eyes into two lines of hyperbola. Much to our relief, he topped us up with some of his reserve, while recounting an earlier rescue of the same nature today. He knew there're no alternative source of petrol within our reach, he could've asked for a premium for those precious petrol, but he charged us the same amount he bought it for. He didn't ask questions, he didnt need to know who we were or where we are going, all he needed was that we were travelers in trouble and needed his help, thats all he needed. That is the spirit of country I think.
We arrived at Pt Lincoln by nightfall in one piece, exhausted but excited. We survived the trip.
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