12,500 miles later, I am home safe and sound, swept up by Rob at Heathrow and sped back to to where I belong. Even as, for the last time, I collected my bag from the carousel and reeled and swayed through customs, I had a huge grin on my face, knowing that any moment I'd see him waiting patiently 'on the other side'. Now I'm not a great one for purple prose and sentimentality, but the simple truth is that I couldn't have done this trip, couldn't have achieved everything I have without him, his support, his patience and love. A combination of sleep deprivation and seeing his happy face in the waiting crowds, and I felt quite wobbly. Neither of us are really the type of person who goes in for extravagent displays of public affection (to be honest, I rather disapprove of it as a rule) but yesterday we made a very happy exception! It was wonderful to see him again.
Now whoever's idea it was to design and launch the Boeing 777 and put it into very long haul service has never travelled in 'coach' in their lives. My tenacity at Perth International (getting there at 12,30am for a 6.00am flight) paid off and I was assigned emergency exit row seats for both parts of the journey home. Might have been the glimpse of menace in my face when I was checking in, but the cheery woman at the check-in desk had me where I wanted to be in next to no time. It's 11 hours from Perth to Dubai, and frankly I just don't think 777s are adequate for the job at hand. Fortunately for me, the guy I was sitting next to was a good-humoured sort, because the fundamental draw back of said planes is the complete lack of elbow room. If you put your arms out as if you are going to be hand-cuffed, that'll give you some idea of how much space you are afforded on either side - and I was fortunate to have an aisle seat! Emirates cabin crew are very good though, and I was able to nap i.e. loll and dribble, for much of the flight.
I vaguely remember changing at Dubai - the terminal was a maelstrom of activity, and the light outside sort of bleached everything out, as if the whole place had been over-exposed, but this may also have been something to do with my foggy head! Very fast connection, and I was suddenly boarding one of those Airbus A380s, the vast double-decker planes only recently coming into service. Extraordinary sense of space, like the very first time I ever boarded a 747 but more so. Huge seats in economy, enormous overhead lockers, and even though it was pretty full, only a vague sense of 'the battery chicken'. These planes are so big, they don't hurtle down the runway, but rather amble along to the point where you don't even notice the wheels leaving the tarmac. Emirates also have a camera under the nose of the plane so you get to see what the pilots see when taxiing, accelerating down the runway and taking off - very exciting!
A profound sense of time suspended, many trays of miniature food and no doubt too many miniature bottles of wine, more movies watched - Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy was especially good - more wailing babies tolerated, and then 'suddenly', after 24 hours we bumped onto British soil and I was back, five weeks to the day since I flew out of Birmingham, the world completely circumnavigated.
So let the jet-lag commence, the boiling of bio-harazardous laundry, the terrified peak at credit card statements, the restoration of broken IT equipment, the cataloguing of research materials and the slow, gentle adjustment of the traveller returned.
Looks like spring has arrived in England. Am so looking forward to catching up with friends and family.
It's great to be back.
Tuesday, 20 March 2012
Monday, 19 March 2012
"It's oh so nice to go travelling...but it's so much nicer to come home"
Have arrived ridiculously early for my long, 20 hour journey back to England, home and heart. After a rather frantic series of attempts to add funds to my 'pay-as-you-go' mobile broadband, I am back online - touch and go for a moment there. Apparently the check-in folks for Emirates begin 'editing' seat allocations around 2.00am, so I have 90 minutes to keep all possible digits and limbs crossed that I will get my desired EE row seat all the way home. Yes I know I bang on about this, but as I have a 36" inside leg measurement, whenever the person in front of me reclines their seat, my knees get crushed. No fun on a flight that takes 12 hours! Suffice to say I've got my natty black stockings on again but fear I will have to keep my shoes on the entire journey home, for fear of posioning the air.
And so 'The Big Trip' comes to a close. Five weeks of travelling, talking, listening, laughing, packing and unpacking. I've reconnected with old friends, hopefully met some new ones, listened to hilariously funny anecdotes and painfully sad stories of loss. I've visited three countries and by the time I get home will have flown on 14 planes. I've rented 5 cars and travelled by train, plane, bus and car. I've stayed in people's homes, hotels, B&Bs and motels. I've visited 10 cities and seen quite a few small towns and even smaller villages. I've lost count of the number of marathoniers I've met, emailed or spoken with by phone. I have blogged almost everyday. And I have gathered a vast amount of research material on the Marathon. This latter, and the meetings and conversations far exceeded any of my expectations and I'm so grateful to all those who took the time to see me, all showing such patience, generousity and wonderful hospitality. I even got to see two of the original Marathon cars and best of all, drove one of them, fast down a country road!
And I've learnt a thing or two about myself - I am extremely capable, mostly confident in myself, hold fast to the importance of politeness and good manners, expect certain standards when paying for goods and services and have developed the ability to spend long periods of time on my own (I can remember a time not long ago when this was not the case). I have also allowed myself to entertain the possibility that I can write. Of course, others will judge this in the end, but a little self-belief never did anyone any harm.
And I'm ready to go home, back to Minch', to Rob, to puppies, to regular daily life. Funny how a switch suddenly clicks, and really all I want is to be homeward bound. Staring out across Perth and the Swan River this afternoon, the sun shining, crazy birds laughing and whooping above my head, all I could think of was coming home. I have had enough of this travelling malarky, and cannot wait to see Rob and get home again.
A few pennies will now need to be earnt to pay for some of this trip - the Aussie Dollar/Sterling exchange rate is not for the faint-hearted!
I've had a ball writing these blogs. They've been a way for me to reflect on things, on people, on situations and events. They've also kept me connected with folks important to me, and will serve as a record of my own 'marathon' in search of the Marathon.
And regarding this? Now the work really starts!
Thanks for reading.
And so 'The Big Trip' comes to a close. Five weeks of travelling, talking, listening, laughing, packing and unpacking. I've reconnected with old friends, hopefully met some new ones, listened to hilariously funny anecdotes and painfully sad stories of loss. I've visited three countries and by the time I get home will have flown on 14 planes. I've rented 5 cars and travelled by train, plane, bus and car. I've stayed in people's homes, hotels, B&Bs and motels. I've visited 10 cities and seen quite a few small towns and even smaller villages. I've lost count of the number of marathoniers I've met, emailed or spoken with by phone. I have blogged almost everyday. And I have gathered a vast amount of research material on the Marathon. This latter, and the meetings and conversations far exceeded any of my expectations and I'm so grateful to all those who took the time to see me, all showing such patience, generousity and wonderful hospitality. I even got to see two of the original Marathon cars and best of all, drove one of them, fast down a country road!
And I've learnt a thing or two about myself - I am extremely capable, mostly confident in myself, hold fast to the importance of politeness and good manners, expect certain standards when paying for goods and services and have developed the ability to spend long periods of time on my own (I can remember a time not long ago when this was not the case). I have also allowed myself to entertain the possibility that I can write. Of course, others will judge this in the end, but a little self-belief never did anyone any harm.
And I'm ready to go home, back to Minch', to Rob, to puppies, to regular daily life. Funny how a switch suddenly clicks, and really all I want is to be homeward bound. Staring out across Perth and the Swan River this afternoon, the sun shining, crazy birds laughing and whooping above my head, all I could think of was coming home. I have had enough of this travelling malarky, and cannot wait to see Rob and get home again.
A few pennies will now need to be earnt to pay for some of this trip - the Aussie Dollar/Sterling exchange rate is not for the faint-hearted!
I've had a ball writing these blogs. They've been a way for me to reflect on things, on people, on situations and events. They've also kept me connected with folks important to me, and will serve as a record of my own 'marathon' in search of the Marathon.
And regarding this? Now the work really starts!
Thanks for reading.
Saturday, 17 March 2012
Sticky Moustache!
It would appear that at this establishment, guests are expected to provide their own milk when using the advertised 'all day tea and coffee' facilities. I got told off for using someone else's milk yesterday! I also noticed that the proprietors padlock the kitchen at night. It's official - it's 1981 and somehow I've slipped though a rip in the fabric of time and ended up back in a boarding house during my first year at university. Keep expecting a prickly old Polish woman to step from behind one of the piles of old 'stuff' everywhere and warn me not to cook curry in the attic! This did actually happen when I was first living in West London.
Fremantle. 'Freo', as the locals call it. Looking at its history, I'm again struck by how 'young' Australia and its towns and cities are. The British claimed possession of this natural port in 1829 - colonists began to arrive the same year. Convicts were disembarked here between 1850 and 1868. One hundred years later, this was where 72 Marathon cars were off-loaded from the SS Chusan, a gang of drunken (or at least hungover) stevedores attending to this task with less than absolute dexterity - I have film footage, showing at least one car swinging on the crane and bumping the side of the ship! Although one of the 'sheds' has now been given over to cafes and a much-touted, but rather tawdry market, most of the harbour is a busy with large container ships depositing goods up and down the keyside. There's also a passenger liner terminal, although its berth was empty. As the sun beat down, I sat over coffee and watched the to-and-fro, imagining the chaos of 1968, the cars and drivers all emerging from 9 days at sea, some with family there to greet them. Not for the first time I also realised my father would have docked here, back in the days before 'supertankers', when standard size oil tankers and freighters sailed the Indian and Pacific Oceans.
Many of the buildings around the port date back to the late 18th and early 19th centuries, and in keeping with Fremantle's 'other' role as a tourist attraction, are all spruced and pristine. Beautiful, pastel-coloured stucco, stone pillars and arched balconies, embossed letters spelling out the building's purpose - Dock Building, Customs House, P&O Building etc. Equally impressive, though of a slightly moe contemporary vintage is the Port Authority Building, built in the early 1960s and a fantastic example of that period's architecture. Once again, the sunlight casts its spell, enhancing lines, edges and details.
A wander around 'downtown' Freo, Saturday lunchtime crowds spilling off pavements, more cafes and restaurants than you can shake a stick at, a fragrant and bustling produce market, complete with tanks of 'choose your own' lobster, and then decide to head south and see what I can see. As suggested by Matt, and in honour of our Minch' friend Peta, I had thought of heading south to 'Bunbury', but it's a long drive and getting on in time, so instead make for Mandurah. Set on the Peel Inlet and Harvey Estuary, in only ten or fifteen years, Mandurah has grown to be one of the region's largest 'cities'. I suspect it's very busy at the best of times, but today I discover a huge festival. Stalls, music stages and crowds throng either side of the waterway, and there's a water ski-ing competition in full swing, the loud-speakered commentary delivered with a broad Irish accent - perhaps a nod to St Patrick's Day, there are certainly enough green, foam-rubber hats everywhere. Mandurah has a stunning location, so I park the rental car, join the crowds filing back over the narrow bridge and wander the stalls, gobbling an ice cream until I need to go and find water to wash chocolate sauce out of my beard! Everyone looks happy and relaxed, and it's all a little intoxifying.
Have begun to realise that this area of Australia is a rather lovely tourist destination. I've found parts of Perth which I'm really liking (Beaufort Street close to the slum B&B is a wee bit trendy and buzzing, with a wonderful supermarket called 'Fresh Produce', wherer I have been getting my dinner), and provided you have a car, there are many smaller 'cities' along the coast. Today I will go north, although as I drove back into Perth - pretty spectacular drive along the water - I saw the evidence of an earlier reported bush fire at City Beach, smoke pluming into the blue sky.
Let's see if I can get through an entire day without getting sun screen in my eyes!
Fremantle. 'Freo', as the locals call it. Looking at its history, I'm again struck by how 'young' Australia and its towns and cities are. The British claimed possession of this natural port in 1829 - colonists began to arrive the same year. Convicts were disembarked here between 1850 and 1868. One hundred years later, this was where 72 Marathon cars were off-loaded from the SS Chusan, a gang of drunken (or at least hungover) stevedores attending to this task with less than absolute dexterity - I have film footage, showing at least one car swinging on the crane and bumping the side of the ship! Although one of the 'sheds' has now been given over to cafes and a much-touted, but rather tawdry market, most of the harbour is a busy with large container ships depositing goods up and down the keyside. There's also a passenger liner terminal, although its berth was empty. As the sun beat down, I sat over coffee and watched the to-and-fro, imagining the chaos of 1968, the cars and drivers all emerging from 9 days at sea, some with family there to greet them. Not for the first time I also realised my father would have docked here, back in the days before 'supertankers', when standard size oil tankers and freighters sailed the Indian and Pacific Oceans.
Many of the buildings around the port date back to the late 18th and early 19th centuries, and in keeping with Fremantle's 'other' role as a tourist attraction, are all spruced and pristine. Beautiful, pastel-coloured stucco, stone pillars and arched balconies, embossed letters spelling out the building's purpose - Dock Building, Customs House, P&O Building etc. Equally impressive, though of a slightly moe contemporary vintage is the Port Authority Building, built in the early 1960s and a fantastic example of that period's architecture. Once again, the sunlight casts its spell, enhancing lines, edges and details.
A wander around 'downtown' Freo, Saturday lunchtime crowds spilling off pavements, more cafes and restaurants than you can shake a stick at, a fragrant and bustling produce market, complete with tanks of 'choose your own' lobster, and then decide to head south and see what I can see. As suggested by Matt, and in honour of our Minch' friend Peta, I had thought of heading south to 'Bunbury', but it's a long drive and getting on in time, so instead make for Mandurah. Set on the Peel Inlet and Harvey Estuary, in only ten or fifteen years, Mandurah has grown to be one of the region's largest 'cities'. I suspect it's very busy at the best of times, but today I discover a huge festival. Stalls, music stages and crowds throng either side of the waterway, and there's a water ski-ing competition in full swing, the loud-speakered commentary delivered with a broad Irish accent - perhaps a nod to St Patrick's Day, there are certainly enough green, foam-rubber hats everywhere. Mandurah has a stunning location, so I park the rental car, join the crowds filing back over the narrow bridge and wander the stalls, gobbling an ice cream until I need to go and find water to wash chocolate sauce out of my beard! Everyone looks happy and relaxed, and it's all a little intoxifying.
Have begun to realise that this area of Australia is a rather lovely tourist destination. I've found parts of Perth which I'm really liking (Beaufort Street close to the slum B&B is a wee bit trendy and buzzing, with a wonderful supermarket called 'Fresh Produce', wherer I have been getting my dinner), and provided you have a car, there are many smaller 'cities' along the coast. Today I will go north, although as I drove back into Perth - pretty spectacular drive along the water - I saw the evidence of an earlier reported bush fire at City Beach, smoke pluming into the blue sky.
Let's see if I can get through an entire day without getting sun screen in my eyes!
Friday, 16 March 2012
A Tale Of Two Volvos
If you ever find youself in Perth, and it's a bright, crystal clear day, head for Kings Park and Botanic Gardens. I realised my final marathonier lived close by, so I picked up my rental car and drove up there early. It's an extrardinary place, high up above the city with a spectacular view across the high-rise skyline, Swan River and Darling Range. It almost feels artificial, it's so perfect. Memorials to Perth's war heroes glow against the blue sky, and even though Perth is slipping into autumn, the beautiful colours and exotic shapes of the specimen plants and trees are glorious. Too late for Kangeroo's Paw, but was fascinated by the giant Boab tree, it's huge, fat trunk pocked with scars from when it was transported almost 2000 miles to its new resting place in July 2008.
Understandably, given it's location and vistas, the immediately adjacent residential area is very 'high end', the spill-over of the parkland teeming with joggers and European cars (very expensive here as import duties are high, thus a status symbol). It was to here, and a 'condominium'-style highrise that I journeyed to meet my final matharonier. Max. Shorter than I, smart in expensive 'casual' shirt and jeans, trim and fit, hard to spot his 85 years. Up to his 6th floor apartment, one of those large, airy and spacious places, full of gorgeous furniture and momentoes of his life. Sitting on his balcony, again the city and river stretching out before us, we sped though his pre-Marathon life, how he came to be a rally driver, and his path to the 1968 event. Theirs was a frustrating but record-breaking 10,000 miles, with more than one theory about their car's mechanical failure in Eastern Europe, but their role in sealing the Women's prize for the Volvo 145 crew is crucial and gripping in equal measure! Jokes about 'poms' and offers of assistance with tracking down one of the Dutch competitors follow, and then I took my leave to ensure I'm not ticketed in the restricted parking space I found. One more fascinating marthonier, generous with his time and hospitality. An honour to meet him.
Spent more time idling in the Kings Park sun, watching people in the foreground, tiny white yachts and miniature motorway traffic in the distance, before deciding to drive on to find one of Perth's beaches. Max made various recommendations for excursions, as did a coffee-shop waiter earlier in the day. Parked the car and sat on Cottesloe Beach, watching a tall ship glide by, swimmers and paddlers and sun-worshippers, and the low sun descend slowly towards the water, the light beyond description.
After the horrors of my B&B, I'm glad I've been able to make a connection with this city, and will continue my explorations over the net two days - a trip to Fremantle today (or 'Freo' as it's called locally) and then beyond. Must try and find a beach towel from somewhere. Max told me to take the shark attack issue seriously, so I may just paddle! Tomorrow I may drive north along the coast and again see what I can find. It's a nice way to end the trip, nothing required of me, no-one to see. I think one of my favourite parts of each day recently has been to find coffee and a comfortable spot, turn on my little white laptop and write - the text continues to be an unstructured, unruly flow for now, but that's fine. It's all raw material, and fun to compose - 'hang on, didn't I use that word a few lines ago?', or 'hang on, how many check-points were there in total?'.
All of this means I can minimise the amount of time I need to spend in this slum of a so-called hostelry. Have been furtively trying to take pictures, as I fear no-one will believe how awful it is - I tried but just couldn't find any suitable alternatives at such short notice.
Ah well, it's all part of my journey on The Marathon Trail...
Understandably, given it's location and vistas, the immediately adjacent residential area is very 'high end', the spill-over of the parkland teeming with joggers and European cars (very expensive here as import duties are high, thus a status symbol). It was to here, and a 'condominium'-style highrise that I journeyed to meet my final matharonier. Max. Shorter than I, smart in expensive 'casual' shirt and jeans, trim and fit, hard to spot his 85 years. Up to his 6th floor apartment, one of those large, airy and spacious places, full of gorgeous furniture and momentoes of his life. Sitting on his balcony, again the city and river stretching out before us, we sped though his pre-Marathon life, how he came to be a rally driver, and his path to the 1968 event. Theirs was a frustrating but record-breaking 10,000 miles, with more than one theory about their car's mechanical failure in Eastern Europe, but their role in sealing the Women's prize for the Volvo 145 crew is crucial and gripping in equal measure! Jokes about 'poms' and offers of assistance with tracking down one of the Dutch competitors follow, and then I took my leave to ensure I'm not ticketed in the restricted parking space I found. One more fascinating marthonier, generous with his time and hospitality. An honour to meet him.
Spent more time idling in the Kings Park sun, watching people in the foreground, tiny white yachts and miniature motorway traffic in the distance, before deciding to drive on to find one of Perth's beaches. Max made various recommendations for excursions, as did a coffee-shop waiter earlier in the day. Parked the car and sat on Cottesloe Beach, watching a tall ship glide by, swimmers and paddlers and sun-worshippers, and the low sun descend slowly towards the water, the light beyond description.
After the horrors of my B&B, I'm glad I've been able to make a connection with this city, and will continue my explorations over the net two days - a trip to Fremantle today (or 'Freo' as it's called locally) and then beyond. Must try and find a beach towel from somewhere. Max told me to take the shark attack issue seriously, so I may just paddle! Tomorrow I may drive north along the coast and again see what I can find. It's a nice way to end the trip, nothing required of me, no-one to see. I think one of my favourite parts of each day recently has been to find coffee and a comfortable spot, turn on my little white laptop and write - the text continues to be an unstructured, unruly flow for now, but that's fine. It's all raw material, and fun to compose - 'hang on, didn't I use that word a few lines ago?', or 'hang on, how many check-points were there in total?'.
All of this means I can minimise the amount of time I need to spend in this slum of a so-called hostelry. Have been furtively trying to take pictures, as I fear no-one will believe how awful it is - I tried but just couldn't find any suitable alternatives at such short notice.
Ah well, it's all part of my journey on The Marathon Trail...
Thursday, 15 March 2012
Have You Been Boiling Kangaroo Meat?
And so to the ends of the earth... Perth is, I think, the most remote city in the world. I rather suspect that explains alot, based on my immediate reaction. More of this later.
Four hour flight from Melbourne, during which I watched The Descendants, the George Clooney film set in Hawaii. Extremely good, very funny. Also watched most of My Night With Marilyn - all seemed a bit uninvolving somehow. Anyway, arrived in 33 degree heat, which was very pleasing, and then onto my final accomm's which was not. All I can say is that I will only be here for 3 nights, as I plan to get to the airport around midnight on the 19th, ever anxious to secure that Emergency Exit row seat for the long journey home. I have absolutely no intention of ever running a B&B, but if Rob and I did, it would be spotless, comfortable and professional. The guys running this place should, quite frankly, be ashamed of themselves. Imagine the scene - very hot weather, only a bit of a breeze, and you walk into the entrance area of a house. The first thing that hits you is the smell. It's as if they've been boiling their own dog-food! Everywhere is shabby, dusty to the point of dirt. My room is clean-ish, but shabby in a 1950s boarding house kind of way, but at least it has air-conditioning, although the presence of someone else's 'shorts', stuffed down between the night stand and the wall makes me feel not a little queasy! There's a garden out the back, chock-full of all manner of rubbish, broken VDUs, old paint cans, broken air-conditioning units and a mixture of perhaps clean and obviously dirty towels. The shared bathroom is shocking, dodgy shower head, the ceiling looks like a work-in-progress, started long ago and never finished. Breakfast this morning was in an untidy, over-stuffed dining room, more 'stuff' cluttered everywhere and also very dark. Let's just say I'll settle for toast and cereal from tomorrow - wasn't given a choice this morning, and being such a polite person, I hadn't the heart to decline what was presented. However, I do draw the line at tinned baked beans! There is a communal area to make tea and (instant) coffee - those who know me well know I am a self-confessed coffee snob - but to retrieve milk means opening a door into refridgerated food-related horrors the average paying guest really shouldn't be confronted with.
I have decided to find it all hilariously funny, and as I will be collecting a rental car shortly, will be doing everything in my power to remain out-and-about from early morning 'til late at night. I did look and see if I could find somewhere else to check into from today, but nothing doing, even on those late-booking sites. At least I can leave an honest review on Trip Advisor, to warn any other poor, unsuspecting traveller to avoid at all costs!
Am seeing Max Winkless this afternoon - Max and his co-driver John Keran had an extraordinary adventure in 1968. A potentially marathon-ending mechanical failure in their Team Volvo in Asia left them scrabbling for replacement parts and then a record-breaking sprint to get to Bombay before the ship sailed. Regardless of the huge amont of penalty points incurred, they resolved to continue onwards, and in Australia realised the privately entered and completely unprepared Volvo station wagon, crewed by four women (only two of whom had any competitive racing experience) could win the Women's Cup, as long it they made it to Sydney. The women were in real trouble in the Outback (illness, mechanical and structural problems, exhaustion), so Max and John basically escorted them across to Sydney, enabling them to take the women's prize ahead of at least two top-class female rally drivers (Rosemary Smith being one, plagued with mechanical trouble in her Lotus Cortina, but that's another story!). Very excited to meet Max as my last marathonier of the trip - 40 when he competed in 1968, he is now a spritely 84!
After that, the exploring begins! 4 more days to go... hellish B&B nothwithstanding, I aim to make the most of it.
Four hour flight from Melbourne, during which I watched The Descendants, the George Clooney film set in Hawaii. Extremely good, very funny. Also watched most of My Night With Marilyn - all seemed a bit uninvolving somehow. Anyway, arrived in 33 degree heat, which was very pleasing, and then onto my final accomm's which was not. All I can say is that I will only be here for 3 nights, as I plan to get to the airport around midnight on the 19th, ever anxious to secure that Emergency Exit row seat for the long journey home. I have absolutely no intention of ever running a B&B, but if Rob and I did, it would be spotless, comfortable and professional. The guys running this place should, quite frankly, be ashamed of themselves. Imagine the scene - very hot weather, only a bit of a breeze, and you walk into the entrance area of a house. The first thing that hits you is the smell. It's as if they've been boiling their own dog-food! Everywhere is shabby, dusty to the point of dirt. My room is clean-ish, but shabby in a 1950s boarding house kind of way, but at least it has air-conditioning, although the presence of someone else's 'shorts', stuffed down between the night stand and the wall makes me feel not a little queasy! There's a garden out the back, chock-full of all manner of rubbish, broken VDUs, old paint cans, broken air-conditioning units and a mixture of perhaps clean and obviously dirty towels. The shared bathroom is shocking, dodgy shower head, the ceiling looks like a work-in-progress, started long ago and never finished. Breakfast this morning was in an untidy, over-stuffed dining room, more 'stuff' cluttered everywhere and also very dark. Let's just say I'll settle for toast and cereal from tomorrow - wasn't given a choice this morning, and being such a polite person, I hadn't the heart to decline what was presented. However, I do draw the line at tinned baked beans! There is a communal area to make tea and (instant) coffee - those who know me well know I am a self-confessed coffee snob - but to retrieve milk means opening a door into refridgerated food-related horrors the average paying guest really shouldn't be confronted with.
I have decided to find it all hilariously funny, and as I will be collecting a rental car shortly, will be doing everything in my power to remain out-and-about from early morning 'til late at night. I did look and see if I could find somewhere else to check into from today, but nothing doing, even on those late-booking sites. At least I can leave an honest review on Trip Advisor, to warn any other poor, unsuspecting traveller to avoid at all costs!
Am seeing Max Winkless this afternoon - Max and his co-driver John Keran had an extraordinary adventure in 1968. A potentially marathon-ending mechanical failure in their Team Volvo in Asia left them scrabbling for replacement parts and then a record-breaking sprint to get to Bombay before the ship sailed. Regardless of the huge amont of penalty points incurred, they resolved to continue onwards, and in Australia realised the privately entered and completely unprepared Volvo station wagon, crewed by four women (only two of whom had any competitive racing experience) could win the Women's Cup, as long it they made it to Sydney. The women were in real trouble in the Outback (illness, mechanical and structural problems, exhaustion), so Max and John basically escorted them across to Sydney, enabling them to take the women's prize ahead of at least two top-class female rally drivers (Rosemary Smith being one, plagued with mechanical trouble in her Lotus Cortina, but that's another story!). Very excited to meet Max as my last marathonier of the trip - 40 when he competed in 1968, he is now a spritely 84!
After that, the exploring begins! 4 more days to go... hellish B&B nothwithstanding, I aim to make the most of it.
Wednesday, 14 March 2012
Stories, Schnauzers and Silent Movies
And so my Melbourne visit comes to a close. Must say have really liked the city and would really like to come back as a tourist.
What a stay - finishing with a meeting with third-placed marathonier Ian Vaughan at a coffee shop near Albert Park, and I could hear Formula 1 cars screaming around the circuit in prep' for the Australian Grand Prix. Ian thought I was nuts to be flying out a day before it starts, but was really enthusiastic and interested about my project. Charming and friendly man, obviously busy, it was a pleasure to sit and talk about his experience and memories. Now this guy was a real contender in 1968 and it was fascinating to speak to one of the top drivers - running 10th at Perth, he skillfully worked his way up the field, knowing he couldn't catch the Citroen, but all to play for to achieve 2nd place. He brought a huge scrap book which I could happily have spent the day going through. Maybe another time - so many pesonal photographs of the Marathon, plus press clippings etc. It was a privilege to meet him.
I had also arranged to visit another marathonier, who was part of a privately-entered crew in an Alfa Romeo. I already knew quite a few stories about this team, and had been emailing back and forth with his son, as his father is in residential accommodation struggling with vascular dementia. It doesn't need me to say that dementia is a cruel, horrible illness, and although Steve had said his father Tony was excited to talk about 1968, by the time we met yesterday, he was struggling. Despite my protests, they insisted on treating me to a fantastic seafood lunch, and I did pick up some wonderful stories about Tony Theiler's pre-Marathon rallying career and fearless driving style (after one rally crash, he and his co-driver were missing for two days and he ended up in hospital for 9 months!). Sadly, although I threw in lots of prompts and facts about 1968, his memory wasn't there. That said, he had a great time and his son told me afterwards that the whole meeting was great stimulation for his father. As before, it's such a thrill to meet these extraordinary folks - Ian said it was a huge shame I hadn't met Tony earlier as he was known as a real character.
Hilarious stay at my B&B - a whole other kind of story! Huge house, probably late 1900s, chock-full of 'art', a baby grand piano groaning under framed photographs, two Schnauzers waiting to escort me down to breakfast every morning, barking the warning of my impending arrival! An insistence that I watch The Artist, and woe betide if I didn't finish it (I was actually watching the end as I was packing this morning, which was possible only becasue it's a silent film!). Drinks at 5.00pm everyday, which supposedly run til 6.00pm, but the other evening Howard and I were still nattering at 7.45 - boy could he consume the Sauvignon Blanc! Lots of fun, a pleasure to natter... I had a blast with these guys, listening to film, tv and theatre 'gossip', and generally being made to feel like it was 'home-from-home', even if they disapproved of my not wanting a huge cooked breakfast every morning!
So another 'full on' leg of the trip, all I could have hoped for... some disappointment I couldn't see everyone who had expressed an interest. Will however follow up with email communication so hopefully can still get a few other insights.
And so on to Perth - another unknown quantity. It will be hot. I only have one meeting arranged (which fingers crossed will include a tour of the start of the Aussie Marathon route), so will have time to explore. Apparently there are more shark attacks in the water off Perth's beaches than anywhere else in Australia, so suspect I will be paddling only! Much to do there, and I'd like to go down to Fremantle at least, if not the Margaret River area. We shall see - Australia has been shockingly expensive. Am also really enjoying writing, just to get things down so I can return later and expand, amend etc. Will have plenty of time to continue this over the next 4-5 days.
Five more days and home. Where has it gone?
What a stay - finishing with a meeting with third-placed marathonier Ian Vaughan at a coffee shop near Albert Park, and I could hear Formula 1 cars screaming around the circuit in prep' for the Australian Grand Prix. Ian thought I was nuts to be flying out a day before it starts, but was really enthusiastic and interested about my project. Charming and friendly man, obviously busy, it was a pleasure to sit and talk about his experience and memories. Now this guy was a real contender in 1968 and it was fascinating to speak to one of the top drivers - running 10th at Perth, he skillfully worked his way up the field, knowing he couldn't catch the Citroen, but all to play for to achieve 2nd place. He brought a huge scrap book which I could happily have spent the day going through. Maybe another time - so many pesonal photographs of the Marathon, plus press clippings etc. It was a privilege to meet him.
I had also arranged to visit another marathonier, who was part of a privately-entered crew in an Alfa Romeo. I already knew quite a few stories about this team, and had been emailing back and forth with his son, as his father is in residential accommodation struggling with vascular dementia. It doesn't need me to say that dementia is a cruel, horrible illness, and although Steve had said his father Tony was excited to talk about 1968, by the time we met yesterday, he was struggling. Despite my protests, they insisted on treating me to a fantastic seafood lunch, and I did pick up some wonderful stories about Tony Theiler's pre-Marathon rallying career and fearless driving style (after one rally crash, he and his co-driver were missing for two days and he ended up in hospital for 9 months!). Sadly, although I threw in lots of prompts and facts about 1968, his memory wasn't there. That said, he had a great time and his son told me afterwards that the whole meeting was great stimulation for his father. As before, it's such a thrill to meet these extraordinary folks - Ian said it was a huge shame I hadn't met Tony earlier as he was known as a real character.
Hilarious stay at my B&B - a whole other kind of story! Huge house, probably late 1900s, chock-full of 'art', a baby grand piano groaning under framed photographs, two Schnauzers waiting to escort me down to breakfast every morning, barking the warning of my impending arrival! An insistence that I watch The Artist, and woe betide if I didn't finish it (I was actually watching the end as I was packing this morning, which was possible only becasue it's a silent film!). Drinks at 5.00pm everyday, which supposedly run til 6.00pm, but the other evening Howard and I were still nattering at 7.45 - boy could he consume the Sauvignon Blanc! Lots of fun, a pleasure to natter... I had a blast with these guys, listening to film, tv and theatre 'gossip', and generally being made to feel like it was 'home-from-home', even if they disapproved of my not wanting a huge cooked breakfast every morning!
So another 'full on' leg of the trip, all I could have hoped for... some disappointment I couldn't see everyone who had expressed an interest. Will however follow up with email communication so hopefully can still get a few other insights.
And so on to Perth - another unknown quantity. It will be hot. I only have one meeting arranged (which fingers crossed will include a tour of the start of the Aussie Marathon route), so will have time to explore. Apparently there are more shark attacks in the water off Perth's beaches than anywhere else in Australia, so suspect I will be paddling only! Much to do there, and I'd like to go down to Fremantle at least, if not the Margaret River area. We shall see - Australia has been shockingly expensive. Am also really enjoying writing, just to get things down so I can return later and expand, amend etc. Will have plenty of time to continue this over the next 4-5 days.
Five more days and home. Where has it gone?
Monday, 12 March 2012
Two Decades In One Evening
It's 32 degrees! This pleases me greatly - provided I can find shade when I need it (and sun screen factor 30+!), I'm as happy as can be in hot weather.
Yesterday was one of those kinds on this trip when I had nowhere to be and no-one to see. Also it was a public holiday in Melbourne, so while the B&B guys went to see the Grace Kelly exhibition (!) in Bedingo, I stayed here, washed a large amount of rather toxic laundry, and then sat writing on the balcony. The occasional excursion for coffee apart, I pretty much sat all day in the shadey heat, bent over my laptop. Must say it was rather lovely. Spent quite a bit of time researching international monetary policy since 1944 - Bretton Woods anyone? - and must say I've learnt a thing or two about post-war financial and commercial reconstruction. Don't worry, there is a point to it all, I promise!
During the afternoon, I got a call from my friend who lives here in Melbourne. I last saw her in Sydney in 1992, and we first met when I was an extremely 'green' 18 year old in Shropshire. As she is currently house-sitting for friends, she suggested a barbecue dinner and came by to collect me. Variations on a recurrent theme on this trip - how do you catch up after 20 years, during the course of one evening? Conversation threads twist and ravel up. Unimaginable, life changing events only glimpsed as the talk take its own, excited, random path, glancing upon the many milestones that two decades have offered up - "and then this happened, and then that...". Sitting out on a deck belonging to an elegant, open-spaced house in a rather wealthy part of Melbourne, gazing out over the downtown Melbourne skyline, yet again I look through a window into my past as I skim through a summary of 20 years of life. It's a very particular feeling, as things I had completely forgotten come back into focus. Listening to her tell of certain, awful moments during past-times, I felt quite bereft - the end of her 26 year marriage some 13 years ago, the death of her 28 year old son in a car accident in 2004, the huge changes that occurred as a result. I hadn't known about these things, and can remember her son as a mischievious six year old, then an awkward 16 year old. Nothing prepares for these dreadful events, and I realise yet again that grief never really goes away, it just becomes more familiar as time passes, and therefore, hopefully more manageable. Yet still, we laughed about how we were then, who we are now, what we want for the future. We swapped stories about love, contentment, ambition, and watched the sun settle and vanish behind the skyscrapers, seeing each one light up for the night-time. The light in Australia is breath-taking, especially as the shadows lengthen, and while she cooked, I tried to capture something of this with my iPhone camera.
All too soon it was time to depart, and with hear-felt pledges to not let another 20 years go by, I was in a taxi and heading back to the B&B, to finish watching a film of the Australian Volvo Team's recce of the Marathon route from Sydney to London, and then of the Marathon itself, with more colour images I hadn't previously seen - having watched Bob Holden drive his Volvo from Sydney to London to scout the route in reverse, it was especially poignant to then see his smashed Marathon Volvo and both him and his co-driver bed-bound in an Indian hospital. They had crashed headlong into a stray Indian Army truck and were out of the event, Bob needing reconstructive surgery on his face and nose. It's a huge shame that I missed Bob on this trip, as he was in Melbourne when I was in NSW, and now vice-versa, but am hopeful we will be able to converse by email in the coming months.
My first 'interview' today - another Ford Australia crew-member, Graham Hoinville, and another top-ten finisher (the Aussie Ford Falcons won the Team prize).
How lucky am I?
Yesterday was one of those kinds on this trip when I had nowhere to be and no-one to see. Also it was a public holiday in Melbourne, so while the B&B guys went to see the Grace Kelly exhibition (!) in Bedingo, I stayed here, washed a large amount of rather toxic laundry, and then sat writing on the balcony. The occasional excursion for coffee apart, I pretty much sat all day in the shadey heat, bent over my laptop. Must say it was rather lovely. Spent quite a bit of time researching international monetary policy since 1944 - Bretton Woods anyone? - and must say I've learnt a thing or two about post-war financial and commercial reconstruction. Don't worry, there is a point to it all, I promise!
During the afternoon, I got a call from my friend who lives here in Melbourne. I last saw her in Sydney in 1992, and we first met when I was an extremely 'green' 18 year old in Shropshire. As she is currently house-sitting for friends, she suggested a barbecue dinner and came by to collect me. Variations on a recurrent theme on this trip - how do you catch up after 20 years, during the course of one evening? Conversation threads twist and ravel up. Unimaginable, life changing events only glimpsed as the talk take its own, excited, random path, glancing upon the many milestones that two decades have offered up - "and then this happened, and then that...". Sitting out on a deck belonging to an elegant, open-spaced house in a rather wealthy part of Melbourne, gazing out over the downtown Melbourne skyline, yet again I look through a window into my past as I skim through a summary of 20 years of life. It's a very particular feeling, as things I had completely forgotten come back into focus. Listening to her tell of certain, awful moments during past-times, I felt quite bereft - the end of her 26 year marriage some 13 years ago, the death of her 28 year old son in a car accident in 2004, the huge changes that occurred as a result. I hadn't known about these things, and can remember her son as a mischievious six year old, then an awkward 16 year old. Nothing prepares for these dreadful events, and I realise yet again that grief never really goes away, it just becomes more familiar as time passes, and therefore, hopefully more manageable. Yet still, we laughed about how we were then, who we are now, what we want for the future. We swapped stories about love, contentment, ambition, and watched the sun settle and vanish behind the skyscrapers, seeing each one light up for the night-time. The light in Australia is breath-taking, especially as the shadows lengthen, and while she cooked, I tried to capture something of this with my iPhone camera.
All too soon it was time to depart, and with hear-felt pledges to not let another 20 years go by, I was in a taxi and heading back to the B&B, to finish watching a film of the Australian Volvo Team's recce of the Marathon route from Sydney to London, and then of the Marathon itself, with more colour images I hadn't previously seen - having watched Bob Holden drive his Volvo from Sydney to London to scout the route in reverse, it was especially poignant to then see his smashed Marathon Volvo and both him and his co-driver bed-bound in an Indian hospital. They had crashed headlong into a stray Indian Army truck and were out of the event, Bob needing reconstructive surgery on his face and nose. It's a huge shame that I missed Bob on this trip, as he was in Melbourne when I was in NSW, and now vice-versa, but am hopeful we will be able to converse by email in the coming months.
My first 'interview' today - another Ford Australia crew-member, Graham Hoinville, and another top-ten finisher (the Aussie Ford Falcons won the Team prize).
How lucky am I?
Sunday, 11 March 2012
Daily, Little and Often - The Prescription for Writing!
The only way to begin getting a feel for a brand new city is to wander. Get lost, work it out, stumble across places and views, get coffee and just surrender to the sights and sounds. Melbourne feels very different to Sydney - at first appearances I think it's the architecture, and in the centre, the river. I took a tram from my base in Hawksburn/Toorak (apparently pronounced T'Rak by locals, like 'Tronno' for Toronto) and trundled over to Federation Square. There a number of festivals happening this weekend and month in Melbourne, so the centre was packed with folks strolling amongst craft stalls and along the river. Very hot and clear blue skies, so I ran to buy some sun screen - I can go from nought to burnt in 60 seconds on my forehead! Then meandered my way through the crowds, along the river, gazing at the towers of glass and steel and generally soking up the 'flavour' of downtown Melbourne. Past the Arts Centre with its impressive, Eifel Tower-like construction rising from its roof, and past one of two sites for the National Gallery of Victoria. Trams ply their way up and down the streets, disappointly no longer liveried in the traditional, Melbourne green and yellow - it's a long time since I drove streets shared with trams, and have had to learn the 'hook turn', whereby you bear left to turn right!
Finally put off my the sheer numbers of people, I scour the map and head for a tramstop to take me to St Kilda Beach. Deposited at the shore, I set off and walk up and down the esplanade (a favourite word!), looking out across the water to where sailboats cluster in the middle distance, beyond which lie large tankers at anchor, and not for the first time think of my father, merchant master mariner, and how he must have anchored out there back in the mists of time. Over to my left I can see Port Melbourne where another huge liner is docked. It's all a stark difference to Bondi, with a much more relaxed feel - couples, families and individuals loll on the grass or the beach, skateboarders and cyclists race up on down the walkway, and I settle on the edge of the boardwalk to turn on my laptop, blink through the glare of the sun on the screen, send emails and write.
I've realised the only way I can write is much the same as how I put together these blogs. I've got an idea for how I want to present the Marathon stories, weaved into my own story about I came to begin researching this 44 year old adventure. I suspect it won't be to the tastes of most motorsports fanatics or dedicated petrol-heads, but that's okay. A few years ago, Graham Robson - an award-winning motoring writer and historian - published a fantastic book about the 1970 London to Mexico World Cup Rally. During a visit to the Classic Car Show at Birmingham's NEC in 2010, I was told by a motoring journalist that unless I was able to produce a similar book to this, there was no point in trying. Now I am more certain than ever that pubished or not, my idea will be far removed from this written documentary of the World Cup Rally, for one simple reason - yes, of course it would be great if rally enthusiasts were keen to read what I have written, but unlike the World Cup Rally book, I want anyone and everyone to be able to read the stories and adventures of some of the 255 1968 marathoniers, and not just motorsports junkies (no offence to them!). So that's my aim, my objective.
Shame that the chance to meet with a few more folks down at Philip Island didn't materialise this weekend - for me it's important to make sure I don't become a pest and chasing or 'stalking' people just won't meet the ends. No matter, I have two or three folks lined up in Melbourne (including first-placed Aussie Ian Vaughan, who I must admit to being very excited to meet!), plus Max Winkless in Perth. Together with the material I have amassed to date, I am truly thrilled with the breadth of information and anecdotes. Now all I need is 12 months to process it all!
Finally, while there are still quite a few days to go, my thoughts are beginning to turn homeward. The wonders of Skype have kept me in touch with Rob (still don't quite believe it's free of charge!), but by the time March 20th arrives I will be ready wing my way home.
Emirates better allocate me that Emergency Exit row or I'll start chewing an armrest, if you ask me!
Finally put off my the sheer numbers of people, I scour the map and head for a tramstop to take me to St Kilda Beach. Deposited at the shore, I set off and walk up and down the esplanade (a favourite word!), looking out across the water to where sailboats cluster in the middle distance, beyond which lie large tankers at anchor, and not for the first time think of my father, merchant master mariner, and how he must have anchored out there back in the mists of time. Over to my left I can see Port Melbourne where another huge liner is docked. It's all a stark difference to Bondi, with a much more relaxed feel - couples, families and individuals loll on the grass or the beach, skateboarders and cyclists race up on down the walkway, and I settle on the edge of the boardwalk to turn on my laptop, blink through the glare of the sun on the screen, send emails and write.
I've realised the only way I can write is much the same as how I put together these blogs. I've got an idea for how I want to present the Marathon stories, weaved into my own story about I came to begin researching this 44 year old adventure. I suspect it won't be to the tastes of most motorsports fanatics or dedicated petrol-heads, but that's okay. A few years ago, Graham Robson - an award-winning motoring writer and historian - published a fantastic book about the 1970 London to Mexico World Cup Rally. During a visit to the Classic Car Show at Birmingham's NEC in 2010, I was told by a motoring journalist that unless I was able to produce a similar book to this, there was no point in trying. Now I am more certain than ever that pubished or not, my idea will be far removed from this written documentary of the World Cup Rally, for one simple reason - yes, of course it would be great if rally enthusiasts were keen to read what I have written, but unlike the World Cup Rally book, I want anyone and everyone to be able to read the stories and adventures of some of the 255 1968 marathoniers, and not just motorsports junkies (no offence to them!). So that's my aim, my objective.
Shame that the chance to meet with a few more folks down at Philip Island didn't materialise this weekend - for me it's important to make sure I don't become a pest and chasing or 'stalking' people just won't meet the ends. No matter, I have two or three folks lined up in Melbourne (including first-placed Aussie Ian Vaughan, who I must admit to being very excited to meet!), plus Max Winkless in Perth. Together with the material I have amassed to date, I am truly thrilled with the breadth of information and anecdotes. Now all I need is 12 months to process it all!
Finally, while there are still quite a few days to go, my thoughts are beginning to turn homeward. The wonders of Skype have kept me in touch with Rob (still don't quite believe it's free of charge!), but by the time March 20th arrives I will be ready wing my way home.
Emirates better allocate me that Emergency Exit row or I'll start chewing an armrest, if you ask me!
Saturday, 10 March 2012
Goodbye Bondi Beach
So a new chapter. Melbourne. Have to confess it was a relief to leave Bondi, if not Sydney. My last overnight in my pokey little Bondi place and I nipped out for a smoke, came back up, unlocked the door to my room and the key jammed in the lock - on the outside. 9.30 in the evening in a building where the street door was off its hinges for 'repair', leaving an open door frame! Call the owner who flaps and says she'll call her handyman, but maybe I could jam something against the inside of the door 'for now'. Are you kidding? I tell her to call me within the hour if the handyman calls back, and then call the hotel I stayed at and book a room. Mad dash rush to pack, just finish when a knock at the door. Handyman. He fiddles with the lock and calmly informs me that if I turn the lock to ten o'clock, the key will come out, and anyway it's a good neighbourhood etc. ARE YOU KIDDING ME??
One more shower in the race-against-time bath and I fled, bag and baggage yesterday morning, loaded up the rental car, had a quick mooch around Bondi Beach as it was very sunny (first time I had actually seen it!) and headed for the airport. Quick flight down, courtesy of Quantas (they served curry as the inflight meal!), picked up another rental car (which I couldn't start - in Australia, manual transmissions won't start unless you have the clutch fully depressed - who knew?) and drove to my Melbourne accommodation. A far cry from the dubious delights of Bondi, lovely old house run by two 'gentlemen sharing', and made to feel very welcome. Sat and nattered with them over alot of semillon sauvignon blanc, and discussed the arts, internal and external communications (Sally one of them is a comm's person for Melbourne Arts Centre!), film and tv (the other was a tv director and in the 60s a black-and white minstrel in London!!), travel, 12 years of running a guest house and so on.
There had been talk of me driving down to Philip Island to see some marathoniers who have congrageted there at a big motorsports event but looks like that won't be happening now. However, still have three folks to see here plus seeing another old friend from 20 years ago. Also I want to explore a bit and carry on writing. One place I want to see is Hanging Rock (of Picnic At Hanging Rock fame - fantastic film from Australia's best period of film-making) but otherwise just mooch about and see what I can see, as a first time visitor to Melbourne. Have already noticed the old architecture from the late 1900s everywhere. Apparently, with the Australian Grand Prix happening next weekend, many roads are closed (I shall miss it by 2 days) so traffic is a bit chaotic. No matter.
It's a blue sky without a cloud, I get to do laundry tomorrow (blessed relief!) and as I now have some odour-eaters for my stinky shoes, I'm happy and good to go. Ah the simple things are always the best, if you ask me!
One more shower in the race-against-time bath and I fled, bag and baggage yesterday morning, loaded up the rental car, had a quick mooch around Bondi Beach as it was very sunny (first time I had actually seen it!) and headed for the airport. Quick flight down, courtesy of Quantas (they served curry as the inflight meal!), picked up another rental car (which I couldn't start - in Australia, manual transmissions won't start unless you have the clutch fully depressed - who knew?) and drove to my Melbourne accommodation. A far cry from the dubious delights of Bondi, lovely old house run by two 'gentlemen sharing', and made to feel very welcome. Sat and nattered with them over alot of semillon sauvignon blanc, and discussed the arts, internal and external communications (Sally one of them is a comm's person for Melbourne Arts Centre!), film and tv (the other was a tv director and in the 60s a black-and white minstrel in London!!), travel, 12 years of running a guest house and so on.
There had been talk of me driving down to Philip Island to see some marathoniers who have congrageted there at a big motorsports event but looks like that won't be happening now. However, still have three folks to see here plus seeing another old friend from 20 years ago. Also I want to explore a bit and carry on writing. One place I want to see is Hanging Rock (of Picnic At Hanging Rock fame - fantastic film from Australia's best period of film-making) but otherwise just mooch about and see what I can see, as a first time visitor to Melbourne. Have already noticed the old architecture from the late 1900s everywhere. Apparently, with the Australian Grand Prix happening next weekend, many roads are closed (I shall miss it by 2 days) so traffic is a bit chaotic. No matter.
It's a blue sky without a cloud, I get to do laundry tomorrow (blessed relief!) and as I now have some odour-eaters for my stinky shoes, I'm happy and good to go. Ah the simple things are always the best, if you ask me!
Thursday, 8 March 2012
Petrol-Headed Perfection
Tired and happy...
I have driven hundreds of miles in my little rental Nissan and visited parts of Southern Queensland and New South Wales that for any other purpose I would never have thought to. I've driven through small towns, large towns and some cities (Cuffs Harbour, Gosford). I have been inside a host of folks' homes, been made tremendously welcome, given food and overnight accommodation. I've seen incredible cars, and spiders-in-the-bath that would have had most Europeans running for the nearest shot-gun. I've slept in pleasant motels, nasty motels, a small pavilion made of recycled hardwood and a lovely guest room in a huge house 'under consruction'. I've woken to the noisy laughter of kookaburra and the pounding of torrential rain on a wood-shingle roof. I've nursed my car up alarmingly steep motorway inclines, and down breath-taking, winding gorges. I've negotiated pelting rain and 'air-conditioned' my through hot sunshine. I've watched lazy black and white pelicans, been harrassed by bossy seagulls and demanding butcher birds. And I've listened to stories - wonderful, hilarious, passionate stories about driving 10,000 miles across Europe, Asia and Australia. I've listened to rumours, speculations, jokes, disappointments and sadnesses. And I've met the most extraordinary group of folks imaginable - all obsessed with cars, with racing, with pushing the limit, with adventure. All in all I haven't really stopped since last Saturday morning, and have finally found time to sit and reflect in my basic little apartment back at Bondi, almost a week since I set off to meet representatives of the Aussie chapter of those heroic folks from 44 years ago.
Gosford. I stayed in Gosford. Now it's not my place to criticise Australian towns and cities. After all, I'm just a visitor, a passerby... no doubt it has many qualities it only discloses to the frequent visitor. Me? I was struck by how much it felt like 1978. An odd feeling for an odd 'city'. Having time on my hands on Wednesday, I decided to get in the car and explore. I 'did' Gosford in about 60 minutes, including the seafront. As I ended up travelling for longer than previously planned, I needed to, shall we say, replenish my supply of 'smalls', so went in search of Gosford's finest gentleman's outfitter. A small shopping centre led to a sense of time-warp, and it took all of my energy to find said requirements and beat a speedy exit, the echoes of late-70s 'soft rock' fading behind me, only complimented by a man in a kilt playing an accordian with many rows of older people sitting and clapping.
I then decided to drive further afield and found The Entrance. Am still not sure whether I was 'in' The Entrance or 'at' The Entrance... regardless, a small town located at, you guessed it... and there I sat, writing and watching the waves crash beyond a spit of scrubland and sand where pelicans drifted to and fro. A very pleasant afternoon, and I finally began writing - no doubt many 'virtual' crumpled up bits of paper lie ahead, but I have begun. I will do more this afternoon, and where possible will now try and write everyday, as I have the germ of an idea and want to run with it. Very interesting I must say.
Yesterday I journeyed up to Lake Macquarie to see a marathonier who, as the leader of a three-man crew, drove a significantly enhanced Australian Ford Fairlane, the enhancements being 'safety features', developed and installed as a result of a big insurance company competition in 1965-6. So impressed was the insurance company, that two years later, it was their idea to enter the car in the Marathon. Why not show that a car with previously unthought of safety features (we're talking padded dashboard, collapsible steering column and anti-burst door locks - sound familiar?) could cover the distance? Said marathonier, Brian Lawler, had me in fits as he gently recounted one comedy moment after another, finishing every punchline with the phrase 'fair dinkum'. A lovely man, an honour to meet him.
Next, down to Dural in Sydney, via a meeting up in a MacDonalds in Wairara, to see John Bryson, veteran rally navigator par excellence and father of a new champion in the field of classic car rallying. Over MacDonalds' coffee, John regarded me suspiciously at first, but when I began to ask him all sorts of questions, he relaxed, and twinkling behind a bushy white beard, began to explain his part in 1968. Next I was whisked over to view the car his son will drive across the US in May - now this will probably mean nothing to you, but I was confronted with a Leyland P76, bonnet (hood!) up, mechanics beavering away to make sure the car was in readiness to be shipped to the US today. A little bit of geek heaven, the P76 has a fascinating place in the history of Australian car production. Go look it up! Finally, I followed John back to his home, descending down the Galston Gorge. There was me, following a Marathon veteran down a steep, winding road full of thrilling hairpin bends, me trying hard to keep up with him. Hog-heaven! To his house, down a long and winding muddy track and in to meet his wife, a successful rally driver in her own right, and rally-driver son. An entire family of petrol-heads! And there I stayed, nattering, questioning, drinking wine and eating dinner, accepting their insistence that I stay the night. A rare and unexpected treat and a special honour, if you ask me!
So, many miles still to go, many folks to see, but my NSW/Queensland visit has been fantastic, more than I could ever have hoped for. Onwards to Melbourne tomorrow - who knows what lies ahead?
Oops better go move my car - parking restrictions in Bondi are shocking!
I have driven hundreds of miles in my little rental Nissan and visited parts of Southern Queensland and New South Wales that for any other purpose I would never have thought to. I've driven through small towns, large towns and some cities (Cuffs Harbour, Gosford). I have been inside a host of folks' homes, been made tremendously welcome, given food and overnight accommodation. I've seen incredible cars, and spiders-in-the-bath that would have had most Europeans running for the nearest shot-gun. I've slept in pleasant motels, nasty motels, a small pavilion made of recycled hardwood and a lovely guest room in a huge house 'under consruction'. I've woken to the noisy laughter of kookaburra and the pounding of torrential rain on a wood-shingle roof. I've nursed my car up alarmingly steep motorway inclines, and down breath-taking, winding gorges. I've negotiated pelting rain and 'air-conditioned' my through hot sunshine. I've watched lazy black and white pelicans, been harrassed by bossy seagulls and demanding butcher birds. And I've listened to stories - wonderful, hilarious, passionate stories about driving 10,000 miles across Europe, Asia and Australia. I've listened to rumours, speculations, jokes, disappointments and sadnesses. And I've met the most extraordinary group of folks imaginable - all obsessed with cars, with racing, with pushing the limit, with adventure. All in all I haven't really stopped since last Saturday morning, and have finally found time to sit and reflect in my basic little apartment back at Bondi, almost a week since I set off to meet representatives of the Aussie chapter of those heroic folks from 44 years ago.
Gosford. I stayed in Gosford. Now it's not my place to criticise Australian towns and cities. After all, I'm just a visitor, a passerby... no doubt it has many qualities it only discloses to the frequent visitor. Me? I was struck by how much it felt like 1978. An odd feeling for an odd 'city'. Having time on my hands on Wednesday, I decided to get in the car and explore. I 'did' Gosford in about 60 minutes, including the seafront. As I ended up travelling for longer than previously planned, I needed to, shall we say, replenish my supply of 'smalls', so went in search of Gosford's finest gentleman's outfitter. A small shopping centre led to a sense of time-warp, and it took all of my energy to find said requirements and beat a speedy exit, the echoes of late-70s 'soft rock' fading behind me, only complimented by a man in a kilt playing an accordian with many rows of older people sitting and clapping.
I then decided to drive further afield and found The Entrance. Am still not sure whether I was 'in' The Entrance or 'at' The Entrance... regardless, a small town located at, you guessed it... and there I sat, writing and watching the waves crash beyond a spit of scrubland and sand where pelicans drifted to and fro. A very pleasant afternoon, and I finally began writing - no doubt many 'virtual' crumpled up bits of paper lie ahead, but I have begun. I will do more this afternoon, and where possible will now try and write everyday, as I have the germ of an idea and want to run with it. Very interesting I must say.
Yesterday I journeyed up to Lake Macquarie to see a marathonier who, as the leader of a three-man crew, drove a significantly enhanced Australian Ford Fairlane, the enhancements being 'safety features', developed and installed as a result of a big insurance company competition in 1965-6. So impressed was the insurance company, that two years later, it was their idea to enter the car in the Marathon. Why not show that a car with previously unthought of safety features (we're talking padded dashboard, collapsible steering column and anti-burst door locks - sound familiar?) could cover the distance? Said marathonier, Brian Lawler, had me in fits as he gently recounted one comedy moment after another, finishing every punchline with the phrase 'fair dinkum'. A lovely man, an honour to meet him.
Next, down to Dural in Sydney, via a meeting up in a MacDonalds in Wairara, to see John Bryson, veteran rally navigator par excellence and father of a new champion in the field of classic car rallying. Over MacDonalds' coffee, John regarded me suspiciously at first, but when I began to ask him all sorts of questions, he relaxed, and twinkling behind a bushy white beard, began to explain his part in 1968. Next I was whisked over to view the car his son will drive across the US in May - now this will probably mean nothing to you, but I was confronted with a Leyland P76, bonnet (hood!) up, mechanics beavering away to make sure the car was in readiness to be shipped to the US today. A little bit of geek heaven, the P76 has a fascinating place in the history of Australian car production. Go look it up! Finally, I followed John back to his home, descending down the Galston Gorge. There was me, following a Marathon veteran down a steep, winding road full of thrilling hairpin bends, me trying hard to keep up with him. Hog-heaven! To his house, down a long and winding muddy track and in to meet his wife, a successful rally driver in her own right, and rally-driver son. An entire family of petrol-heads! And there I stayed, nattering, questioning, drinking wine and eating dinner, accepting their insistence that I stay the night. A rare and unexpected treat and a special honour, if you ask me!
So, many miles still to go, many folks to see, but my NSW/Queensland visit has been fantastic, more than I could ever have hoped for. Onwards to Melbourne tomorrow - who knows what lies ahead?
Oops better go move my car - parking restrictions in Bondi are shocking!
Tuesday, 6 March 2012
Kangaroos, Killer Snakes and Crocodile Pies
Finally saw some kangaroos yesterday morning. A whole herd of them just mooching in a field next to the road. Dime-a-dozen to your average Aussie, it was an astonishing sight, adults and young all grazing without a care in the world.
Saw this sight enroute to my next marathonier appointment. David Liddle was part of a three man crew in a Holden Monaro driven by one of the key Aussie personalities involved in the Marathon. The Sydney Daily Telegraph co-sponsored the event plus the Holden team, and David McKay was a Telegraph columnist, successful race car driver, entrepreneur, raconteur, bon vivant and all those other descriptive words used to suggest supreme confidence, capability, wealth and connection! Basically, McKay was at the heart of organising Holden (i.e. General Motors Australia) to put a three car team together. He also pretty much hand-picked the crews, undertook a recconeuter ('recce') of the European/Asian leg of the Marathon prior to 'kick off', and generally represented the 'face' of the event for the newspaper. David Liddle was a mechanic working for McKay, and was chosen to ensure the McKay Holden kept going in perfect order.
Living in rural tranquility outside Port Macquarie, David had an amusing and refreshing attitude towards his participation in 1968, basically viewing it as a 'job of work', even to this day. His stories of how he travelled over to London for the Marathon start were hilarious, and from what I can gather, the actual run in Car 36 was not exactly a happy one! We sat and chatted the morning away, at one point stepping outside where I was able to realise the size of his farming land (beef cattle). We got talking about how Aussie wildlife is like nothing we experience in Europe, and he told me how kangaroos basically hop up to the front door. With a chuckle he also described an encounter with a black snake in one of his out-houses. Originally from New Zealand, where there are no poisonous beasties to speak of, he isn't a fan of snakes, and explained that black snakes can be deadly but are extremely timid, so he did his best to make sure the thing could wriggle off. He also explained that black snakes are essential as they keep out the brown snakes. Brown snakes are deadly and have a tendancy to sneak up and bite you just for fun! At this point I decided it might be time to wander back to the house, furtively glancing at the ground around my feet as I went.
Fortified by lunch kindly prepared by his wife Christine, I then set off for Gosford, some 200 miles south. Something I am really enjoying is the constant sight of flowering trees in bloom, the vivid blossoms in scarlet, orange, vivid purple and bright blues and yellows. Blue and violet Morning Glories grow like the white 'bind weed' we see along railway lines in England, and Birds of Paradise dot the side walks of each small town I drive through. Also, I may be slightly more tolerant of British roadworks and speed limits in future - it feels like the entire Pacific Highway is being altered or re-laid with speed restrictions of 35 mph everywhere. In genera,l restrictions are more severe on Aussie roads - even on the motorways and main highways, the max is 68 mph, which is tricky to adhere to when you're trying to overtake a monster truck before the passing lane runs out!
Australian radio is frankly rubbish, and it's a good job I have a radio button on the steering wheel as I am constantly having to change stations. Good grief, bland music seems to infiltrate every station, even ABC, and as 'AM' is still widely in use, the reception is shocking. Have been following the floods situation however - all eyes were on Wogga Wogga yesterday as the flood waters were due to peak and were threatening the levies which stand to 36 feet. The flood waters were at about 33 feet yesterday afternoon. Looking out of motel window, the skies again look unhappy, so will pack my unbrella when I go off to explore Gosford later this morning.
Finally, as I hurtle along the Aussie highways, I keep noticing signs for 'Fredo Pies - Home Of The Famous Crocodile Pies'! Haven't been tempted yet, but you never know!
Saw this sight enroute to my next marathonier appointment. David Liddle was part of a three man crew in a Holden Monaro driven by one of the key Aussie personalities involved in the Marathon. The Sydney Daily Telegraph co-sponsored the event plus the Holden team, and David McKay was a Telegraph columnist, successful race car driver, entrepreneur, raconteur, bon vivant and all those other descriptive words used to suggest supreme confidence, capability, wealth and connection! Basically, McKay was at the heart of organising Holden (i.e. General Motors Australia) to put a three car team together. He also pretty much hand-picked the crews, undertook a recconeuter ('recce') of the European/Asian leg of the Marathon prior to 'kick off', and generally represented the 'face' of the event for the newspaper. David Liddle was a mechanic working for McKay, and was chosen to ensure the McKay Holden kept going in perfect order.
Living in rural tranquility outside Port Macquarie, David had an amusing and refreshing attitude towards his participation in 1968, basically viewing it as a 'job of work', even to this day. His stories of how he travelled over to London for the Marathon start were hilarious, and from what I can gather, the actual run in Car 36 was not exactly a happy one! We sat and chatted the morning away, at one point stepping outside where I was able to realise the size of his farming land (beef cattle). We got talking about how Aussie wildlife is like nothing we experience in Europe, and he told me how kangaroos basically hop up to the front door. With a chuckle he also described an encounter with a black snake in one of his out-houses. Originally from New Zealand, where there are no poisonous beasties to speak of, he isn't a fan of snakes, and explained that black snakes can be deadly but are extremely timid, so he did his best to make sure the thing could wriggle off. He also explained that black snakes are essential as they keep out the brown snakes. Brown snakes are deadly and have a tendancy to sneak up and bite you just for fun! At this point I decided it might be time to wander back to the house, furtively glancing at the ground around my feet as I went.
Fortified by lunch kindly prepared by his wife Christine, I then set off for Gosford, some 200 miles south. Something I am really enjoying is the constant sight of flowering trees in bloom, the vivid blossoms in scarlet, orange, vivid purple and bright blues and yellows. Blue and violet Morning Glories grow like the white 'bind weed' we see along railway lines in England, and Birds of Paradise dot the side walks of each small town I drive through. Also, I may be slightly more tolerant of British roadworks and speed limits in future - it feels like the entire Pacific Highway is being altered or re-laid with speed restrictions of 35 mph everywhere. In genera,l restrictions are more severe on Aussie roads - even on the motorways and main highways, the max is 68 mph, which is tricky to adhere to when you're trying to overtake a monster truck before the passing lane runs out!
Australian radio is frankly rubbish, and it's a good job I have a radio button on the steering wheel as I am constantly having to change stations. Good grief, bland music seems to infiltrate every station, even ABC, and as 'AM' is still widely in use, the reception is shocking. Have been following the floods situation however - all eyes were on Wogga Wogga yesterday as the flood waters were due to peak and were threatening the levies which stand to 36 feet. The flood waters were at about 33 feet yesterday afternoon. Looking out of motel window, the skies again look unhappy, so will pack my unbrella when I go off to explore Gosford later this morning.
Finally, as I hurtle along the Aussie highways, I keep noticing signs for 'Fredo Pies - Home Of The Famous Crocodile Pies'! Haven't been tempted yet, but you never know!
Monday, 5 March 2012
Persistence
"Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not: unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not: the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan 'press on' has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race."
Calvin Coolidge, President of the United States of America 1923-1929
Amidst the flurry of anecdotes and comments shared by Grahame and Bruce the other day, Bruce was keen to give me a copy of the abovementioned quote, and suggested I save it to read later. A philosophy I believe he holds true to himself and his life, I also think it's an appropriate leitmotif for my Marathon odyssey. I keep recalling snippets of opinion and recall that Bruce uttered, not least his instruction to me that I should stop smoking immediately and make sure I get a colonoscopy as soon as I return to the UK, observing that at my age ("what are you, fifty?"), not to have one was bloody stupid! Very cross with myself for being so wrapped up in listening to these great guys that I forgot to get a photograph of us all.
So, there's nothing like road-kill to make you realise you're not at home anymore. During the seven hour drive from Coolangatta to Port Macquarie yesterday, my eyes were popping at the sight of the corpses of enormous dead snakes on the roadside, in my innocent North West European eyes, the size of boa constrictors! A fascinating road journey from Southern Queensland down into Northern NSW, a mixture of motorway-like roads and undulating two-lane highway with occasional and much needed passing lanes. Across river after angry swollen river, through small towns and large, my gutless little automatic Micra needing every bit of encouragement on the twisting inclines, it was an interesting mix of concentration and visual tourism. Nearly came a cropper just once, when the car in front decided to brake and turn left at the last moment just as a passing lane began, which in turn had the not one, not two but THREE huge articulated trucks deciding to pass me nose to tail, the entire length of which forced me to nearly come off the road as the passing lane ended before they quite got by. Talk about adrenalin!
I made a brief stop at Byron Bay, which I visited some 20 years ago. My memory of this rather famous coastal resort was of a long beach, blue sea and dolphins in the distance. This time, its impact was rather blunted by being under another grumpy, threatening sky. Took some time to sit by the beach with coffee and write a few emails, watching the brave tourists weather the stormy, muggy conditons and sunbathe or try and ride the surf. Then onwards, listening to ABC radio, all attention on Julia Gillard's recent and controversial cabinet reshuffle, and the rising flood waters of NSW, Northern Victoria and parts of Queensland. Forecasts indicate peaks later this week and a low pressure front forming again off the NSW coast. Judging from the weather reports, I don't think escaping to Melbourne will provide me with any respite, although Perth continues to have clear, blue skies and 36 degrees!
Got into Port Macquarie around 5.30pm yesterday afternoon - ah the wonders of Trip Advisor! Parked up, found a coffee shop and had a quick look online at recommended hostelries. Found one around the corner, and here I am at The Port Aloha Motel, which is pretty good and very central. A quick trip to the supermarket chain Coles (I suggest similar to Asda or Tesco), and I was esconced for the night, more rain preventing any desire to explore, and my sleep was interrupted only by the hysterical laughing of a kookaburra in the trees across the road.
Off to see another marathonier this morning, and then will be up to my own devices until Thursday morning, so a continued tour down the coast towards Sydney, with a probable stop over at Gosford for a few nights and a bit of exploring - there's little point returning to Sydney as I would only have to come back up the coast for my Thursday meeting anyway. Then back to Bondi for Thursday evening before a few more meetings on Friday.
My only big regret is that despite Max's efforts, there will a number of guys who I just won't be able to see. I considered beggaring about with my itinerary, but as a consequence of the strong Aussie Dollar, this country is prohibitively expensive. Will at very least try and make calls or send emails. Still, another two to meet in Melbourne, and another Max to see in Perth. I will be coming home with more stories, more information and a stronger sense of these amazing people's 'Marathon In The Dust' than I ever thought possible.
Calvin Coolidge, President of the United States of America 1923-1929
Amidst the flurry of anecdotes and comments shared by Grahame and Bruce the other day, Bruce was keen to give me a copy of the abovementioned quote, and suggested I save it to read later. A philosophy I believe he holds true to himself and his life, I also think it's an appropriate leitmotif for my Marathon odyssey. I keep recalling snippets of opinion and recall that Bruce uttered, not least his instruction to me that I should stop smoking immediately and make sure I get a colonoscopy as soon as I return to the UK, observing that at my age ("what are you, fifty?"), not to have one was bloody stupid! Very cross with myself for being so wrapped up in listening to these great guys that I forgot to get a photograph of us all.
So, there's nothing like road-kill to make you realise you're not at home anymore. During the seven hour drive from Coolangatta to Port Macquarie yesterday, my eyes were popping at the sight of the corpses of enormous dead snakes on the roadside, in my innocent North West European eyes, the size of boa constrictors! A fascinating road journey from Southern Queensland down into Northern NSW, a mixture of motorway-like roads and undulating two-lane highway with occasional and much needed passing lanes. Across river after angry swollen river, through small towns and large, my gutless little automatic Micra needing every bit of encouragement on the twisting inclines, it was an interesting mix of concentration and visual tourism. Nearly came a cropper just once, when the car in front decided to brake and turn left at the last moment just as a passing lane began, which in turn had the not one, not two but THREE huge articulated trucks deciding to pass me nose to tail, the entire length of which forced me to nearly come off the road as the passing lane ended before they quite got by. Talk about adrenalin!
I made a brief stop at Byron Bay, which I visited some 20 years ago. My memory of this rather famous coastal resort was of a long beach, blue sea and dolphins in the distance. This time, its impact was rather blunted by being under another grumpy, threatening sky. Took some time to sit by the beach with coffee and write a few emails, watching the brave tourists weather the stormy, muggy conditons and sunbathe or try and ride the surf. Then onwards, listening to ABC radio, all attention on Julia Gillard's recent and controversial cabinet reshuffle, and the rising flood waters of NSW, Northern Victoria and parts of Queensland. Forecasts indicate peaks later this week and a low pressure front forming again off the NSW coast. Judging from the weather reports, I don't think escaping to Melbourne will provide me with any respite, although Perth continues to have clear, blue skies and 36 degrees!
Got into Port Macquarie around 5.30pm yesterday afternoon - ah the wonders of Trip Advisor! Parked up, found a coffee shop and had a quick look online at recommended hostelries. Found one around the corner, and here I am at The Port Aloha Motel, which is pretty good and very central. A quick trip to the supermarket chain Coles (I suggest similar to Asda or Tesco), and I was esconced for the night, more rain preventing any desire to explore, and my sleep was interrupted only by the hysterical laughing of a kookaburra in the trees across the road.
Off to see another marathonier this morning, and then will be up to my own devices until Thursday morning, so a continued tour down the coast towards Sydney, with a probable stop over at Gosford for a few nights and a bit of exploring - there's little point returning to Sydney as I would only have to come back up the coast for my Thursday meeting anyway. Then back to Bondi for Thursday evening before a few more meetings on Friday.
My only big regret is that despite Max's efforts, there will a number of guys who I just won't be able to see. I considered beggaring about with my itinerary, but as a consequence of the strong Aussie Dollar, this country is prohibitively expensive. Will at very least try and make calls or send emails. Still, another two to meet in Melbourne, and another Max to see in Perth. I will be coming home with more stories, more information and a stronger sense of these amazing people's 'Marathon In The Dust' than I ever thought possible.
Sunday, 4 March 2012
An Aussie Called Bruce!
The resort towns of the Gold Coast apparently shut down around 10.00pm on a Sunday, and given that this appears to include motels, I had one of those comedy moments last night, driving back and forth up and down the coast road trying to find a place to sleep! Visions of sleeping in my little Nissan Micra loomed large in the headlights, but finally managed to find The Miami Shore Apartments and Motel! So, ceiling fans a-whumping, I cozied down in my rather institutional sets of rooms and listened to an extremely inebriated Scottish man loudly cursing a companion on the street below, before dozing off. Having braved the shower this morning, the pressure of which could easily have dowsed and fire in a high rise building (seriously, more than a few seconds beneath and I suspect it would have begun stripping the flesh off my bones!), and ventured out beneath a grumpy and grey Queensland sky to track down a coffee shop, am now refreshed and more able to reflect on what was a most extraordinary and quite humbling day yesterday. I had arranged to visit a man who was working for the NSW Volvo dealership which supported the Aussie Volvos in the Marathon. A successful competitive driver and navigator in his own right, and first class 'petrol-head' (he has a collection of 42 cars!), I arrived as planned at 10.00am before I knew it, 9.30pm came and went! In addition to his memories and extensive knowledge of the Marathon, he also described his life around cars, at one point ditching a job as a teacher in the early 60s to go and work for minimum wage in a garage, so he could be around cars. He slowly worked his way up, and by the time of the Marathon, was working for the Volvo dealership, of which one of the Marathon Volvo drivers was a director. I think it will always be with regret that although he wanted to compete in '68, and reports that he was asked, the powers-that-be felt he could not be released from his work as the owner needed him to be on the ground while he was competing himself. Regardless, he was and is a wealth of knowledge and stories, so sitting amidst piles and piles of books, magazines and model cars (!!), I sat and listened, recording everything. We eventually regrouped to the porch outside where I continued listening while also keeping an eye on a increasing number of huge butcher birds ("they like meat", Grahame winked) that began to gather on the ground by my feet and in the tree above our heads. At some point, one of them even hopped onto my bench and pecked my back! Apparently Grahame feeds them so they congregate there - cue second reference to Daphne Du Maurier in as many weeks!
During lunch in a local French cafe, my ignorance was alarmingly exposed when Grahame and the French waitress began talking about the difficulties and challenge of running a French business in Australia, owing to the hangover of anti-French feeling caused by the nuclear testing programme at Mururoa Atoll. I had no idea that Australians stopped buying all things French, and there were even examples of open hostility of French people living or visiting the country. I had no idea of the severity of ill-feeling. Also during lunch, Grahame received a call to confirm that another veteran of the Marathon would be able to join us in the afternoon - he had previously cried off owing to ill health.
All I can say is that had Bruce Hodgson not been able to come over yesterday, I would have missed the opportunity to meet and spend time with a man at once hilarious, passionate, blunt and candid about both the Marathon, Aussie motorsports in general and life/growing old. I had been forewarned that Bruce doesn't suffer fools or time-wasters, but as he got into his stride, cracking cheesy joke after joke, I was able to chuck a few sarcastic retorts back at him, and to my delight (and relief) we hit it off famaously. Now I could write another ten paragraphs about his stories, but for now will just say here was a man who had an illustrious and incredibly successful career in motorsports in Australia and internationally (look him up!), has a mischievious attitude towards life and in recent times has faced cancer, severe hypertension and a couple of life-threatening cranial subdural haematomas with the kind of devil-may-care resolve that frankly should put most of us younger folks to shame. Bruce is 80 years old.
I finally begged my leave and returned to my rental car gone 9.30pm (after having dinner in the fascinating 'Italian Australian Club'), knackered, exhilerated and thrilled to have had the chance to be in the presence of two fascinating, knowledgable folks.
Onwards to Port Macquarie today for another meeting tomorrow morning - sadly I suspect my coastal drive will be through further downpours.
During lunch in a local French cafe, my ignorance was alarmingly exposed when Grahame and the French waitress began talking about the difficulties and challenge of running a French business in Australia, owing to the hangover of anti-French feeling caused by the nuclear testing programme at Mururoa Atoll. I had no idea that Australians stopped buying all things French, and there were even examples of open hostility of French people living or visiting the country. I had no idea of the severity of ill-feeling. Also during lunch, Grahame received a call to confirm that another veteran of the Marathon would be able to join us in the afternoon - he had previously cried off owing to ill health.
All I can say is that had Bruce Hodgson not been able to come over yesterday, I would have missed the opportunity to meet and spend time with a man at once hilarious, passionate, blunt and candid about both the Marathon, Aussie motorsports in general and life/growing old. I had been forewarned that Bruce doesn't suffer fools or time-wasters, but as he got into his stride, cracking cheesy joke after joke, I was able to chuck a few sarcastic retorts back at him, and to my delight (and relief) we hit it off famaously. Now I could write another ten paragraphs about his stories, but for now will just say here was a man who had an illustrious and incredibly successful career in motorsports in Australia and internationally (look him up!), has a mischievious attitude towards life and in recent times has faced cancer, severe hypertension and a couple of life-threatening cranial subdural haematomas with the kind of devil-may-care resolve that frankly should put most of us younger folks to shame. Bruce is 80 years old.
I finally begged my leave and returned to my rental car gone 9.30pm (after having dinner in the fascinating 'Italian Australian Club'), knackered, exhilerated and thrilled to have had the chance to be in the presence of two fascinating, knowledgable folks.
Onwards to Port Macquarie today for another meeting tomorrow morning - sadly I suspect my coastal drive will be through further downpours.
Saturday, 3 March 2012
Mr. Stahl, I Presume?
So, am sitting here in a coffee shop at Coolangatta Airport, which serves the Gold Coast in Queensland. Am almost delirious as it isn't raining! Before me lie meetings and interiews with three Marathon veterans, and a leisurely drive down the coast back to Sydney, which should see me back at Bondi sometime on Wednesday. Will pick up a rental car shortly, wrestle with my sat nav and drive on to meet the first two guys I will interogate.
Since my last missive I have covered some distance... after the rather fraught attempts to resolve my broadband access problems, which saw me riding a bus back and forth between Bondi Beach to Bondi Junction like some kind of demented public-transport nut, I finally managed to sort things out, and am back online. The roads in and around Bondi are astonishingly busy at all times of the day, as if rush hour begins at dawn and only begins to ease late in the evening. I think it's a universal condition that whenever a city experiences heavy rain-fall, its inhabitants jump in their cars and drive somwhere, anywhere!
Picked up a rental car at Sydney Airport, and drove through what seemed like a never-ending length of tunnels out to Glenwood in the north west suburbs of Sydney to have dinner with my friend Kim - she had previously warned me that the girls were very excited about my visit, and she had also arranged partner and friend to be present to hear about my 'marathon' mission. A lovely evening was spent nattering over dinner and a plentiful supply of wine (thanks guys!) and having my laundry done for me into the bargain (eternally grateful!). I retired to the shocking pink boudoir that is four year old Jasmine's bedroom - I now want a Finding Nemo night-light - and no doubt frightened everyone in the house with my glass-splintering snoring. Up early, quick coffee and farewell to these kind and generous folks, ad then set off for the four hour drive to Wingen (look it up!) in NSW, where one Max Stahl resides. Max - what an extraordinary man. One of a three man team in a big Mercedes in 1968, he was also a prolific motorsports journalist and successful competitions driver, and what he doesn't know about the history of Aussie motorsports just ain't worth knowing. He has been exceptionally helpful and generous these past ten months, so having the opportunity to meet with him in person was a treat. A fascinating drive, through small towns and green countryside peppered with those glorious 'pub hotels', all verandas, balconies and ornate pillars, nearly 200 miles later I arrived at my destination, a tiny settlement beyond the town of Scone. A warm welcome was received, Mrs. Stahl busy in the kitchen rustling up lunch for us, and away we went into Max's 'den', where has a vast archive of documentation cataloguing his working life and more. Now the thing about my previous contact with Max is that he had pretty much provided all the information there could be about his experience in 1968, yet there was absolutely no way I was going to pass up the chance to sit and natter with him (and he did say, he'd have offended if I'd chosen not to see him!). We spent the time reviewing stories and memories he had previosuly provided, trawling through his files so I could copy anything of interest (a vast treasure trove!) and checking on who else I could approach while I'm here. He really has gone the extra mile to facilitate contact with other marathoniers, so I now have two folks to see in Melbourne, and possibly three! Amusingly (and not for the first time), references were made to the ship crossing from Bombay to Perth, whereby there are stories and incidents that will never be shared! That voyage would make a book in its own right! A lovely and much welcome lunch, and a lrge number of document cipies later, I thanked them both and set off back to Sydney - strange how four hours on a motorway can be mind-numbing, but four hours following a mostly two lane, fast but winding road through alien landscape can pass by so quickly. Home to bed, before starting again this morning at 4.45am.
Have to confess it's good to be out of Sydney for no other reason than the rain is saturating everyone's spirits as well as the ground. Moind you, from what I could see this morning driving to the airport, last night's Mardi Gras was still evident with bedraggled, be-costumed revellers meandering home after a night on the town (etc!). At 5.00 in the morning, the sight of a skinny-hipped young man wandering along the pavement wearing nothing but a pair of red 'hot-pants', plus red horns and a red forked tail had me chuckling all the way to the car rental drop off!
As I wrte I suspect the city street cleaning department is hard at work hosing away layers of glitter and sparkle from Sydney's streets!
Since my last missive I have covered some distance... after the rather fraught attempts to resolve my broadband access problems, which saw me riding a bus back and forth between Bondi Beach to Bondi Junction like some kind of demented public-transport nut, I finally managed to sort things out, and am back online. The roads in and around Bondi are astonishingly busy at all times of the day, as if rush hour begins at dawn and only begins to ease late in the evening. I think it's a universal condition that whenever a city experiences heavy rain-fall, its inhabitants jump in their cars and drive somwhere, anywhere!
Picked up a rental car at Sydney Airport, and drove through what seemed like a never-ending length of tunnels out to Glenwood in the north west suburbs of Sydney to have dinner with my friend Kim - she had previously warned me that the girls were very excited about my visit, and she had also arranged partner and friend to be present to hear about my 'marathon' mission. A lovely evening was spent nattering over dinner and a plentiful supply of wine (thanks guys!) and having my laundry done for me into the bargain (eternally grateful!). I retired to the shocking pink boudoir that is four year old Jasmine's bedroom - I now want a Finding Nemo night-light - and no doubt frightened everyone in the house with my glass-splintering snoring. Up early, quick coffee and farewell to these kind and generous folks, ad then set off for the four hour drive to Wingen (look it up!) in NSW, where one Max Stahl resides. Max - what an extraordinary man. One of a three man team in a big Mercedes in 1968, he was also a prolific motorsports journalist and successful competitions driver, and what he doesn't know about the history of Aussie motorsports just ain't worth knowing. He has been exceptionally helpful and generous these past ten months, so having the opportunity to meet with him in person was a treat. A fascinating drive, through small towns and green countryside peppered with those glorious 'pub hotels', all verandas, balconies and ornate pillars, nearly 200 miles later I arrived at my destination, a tiny settlement beyond the town of Scone. A warm welcome was received, Mrs. Stahl busy in the kitchen rustling up lunch for us, and away we went into Max's 'den', where has a vast archive of documentation cataloguing his working life and more. Now the thing about my previous contact with Max is that he had pretty much provided all the information there could be about his experience in 1968, yet there was absolutely no way I was going to pass up the chance to sit and natter with him (and he did say, he'd have offended if I'd chosen not to see him!). We spent the time reviewing stories and memories he had previosuly provided, trawling through his files so I could copy anything of interest (a vast treasure trove!) and checking on who else I could approach while I'm here. He really has gone the extra mile to facilitate contact with other marathoniers, so I now have two folks to see in Melbourne, and possibly three! Amusingly (and not for the first time), references were made to the ship crossing from Bombay to Perth, whereby there are stories and incidents that will never be shared! That voyage would make a book in its own right! A lovely and much welcome lunch, and a lrge number of document cipies later, I thanked them both and set off back to Sydney - strange how four hours on a motorway can be mind-numbing, but four hours following a mostly two lane, fast but winding road through alien landscape can pass by so quickly. Home to bed, before starting again this morning at 4.45am.
Have to confess it's good to be out of Sydney for no other reason than the rain is saturating everyone's spirits as well as the ground. Moind you, from what I could see this morning driving to the airport, last night's Mardi Gras was still evident with bedraggled, be-costumed revellers meandering home after a night on the town (etc!). At 5.00 in the morning, the sight of a skinny-hipped young man wandering along the pavement wearing nothing but a pair of red 'hot-pants', plus red horns and a red forked tail had me chuckling all the way to the car rental drop off!
As I wrte I suspect the city street cleaning department is hard at work hosing away layers of glitter and sparkle from Sydney's streets!
Thursday, 1 March 2012
Bondi, Bugs and Broadband Breakdown
Bondi. Bondi Beach. Throws up so many evocative images of beach, surf, sun, surfer-dudes, bikini-clad babes and budgie-smugglers (Speedo's for the overly protected/uninitiated!). Sadly, despite the warmth, when it's pelting with rain, it might as well be Brighton or Budleigh Salterton in February...
Yesterday was a bit of a roller-coaster of highs and lows - I relocated from my lovely hotel to a little studio apartment I found, literally a few minutes' walk from the famous beach. Much cheaper than the Kirketon Hotel, it will serve as my base until I fly out to Melbourne on March 10th. All I can say is, because I will be heading off this evening to drive and fly up and down northern New South Wales and into Queensland to visit and interview a host of Aussie 'marathoniers', I won't have to spend too much time sharing this adequate but 'basic' room with the large community of permanent-resident cockroaches that scuttle about the kitchen surfaces! Not in the same league as their New York cousins, but nevertheless... by my calculations I will only spend a total of 3-4 nights here, so my fellow inhabitants needn't fear being usurped by me.
So, I have shoes and I have a plan. This makes me happy... today I will rent a car at the airport and then drive on up to my friend Kim's for dinner. As she lives in the North West suburbs of Sydney, this will point me in the right direction for driving up to see Max Stahl tomorrow morning. Max was part of a three-man crew in one of the large Mercedes that competed in 1968. A prolific motoring journalist, he has been extraordinarily helpful these past 18 months, sending me huge amounts of information, and has brokered a series of potential interviews with other Aussie marathoniers during the coming 6 days. I am very excited at the prospect of meeting him and spending time in his company, nattering about the Marathon. Back to Sydney in the evening, I will then fly up to Brisbane very early Sunday morning, rent another car and meet up with a few more folks, including, I hope, one Bruce Hodgson, who came sixth in '68. Given that British cars and crews came first and second, Bruce and his crew were one of the highest placed Aussies, so were lauded by the locals back then. It will be a privilege to meet him. Then I will slowly and methodically drive south along the coast and visit other folks. I was hoping to see Bob Holden, who in '68 with his co-driver was in collision with a great truck in India, which meant he and his co-driver ended up out of the Marathon and in hospital with severe facial injuries. Unfortunately, Bob will be away next week, so I will look into somehow returning to Sydney before March 20th. All those I have been in touch with are keen to meet, although think I'm nuts! Anyway, I will continue south until I reach Sydney again where I will be meeting at least one more person on Friday, including Gerry Lister, who still owns his Volvo from 1968, and was even talking about entering the proposed 2014 Sydney to London Marathon! Time and again I have been struck by the passion and adventurism of these extraordinary people, and am amused that on a number of occasions, they have wondered why I am so fascinated by this precedent-setting motorsports event. I say 'how could I not be?'
Highs and lows. I forked out approx. £50 for a month's worth of mobile broadband, so I could access the internet at all times during my travels (until now I have been able to use wi-fi). Got to Bondi only to discover that the broadband device wouldn't load. A mad-dash bus ride to Bondi Junction to find a Telstra shop followed, only to determine that the fault lies in my laptop and only a full reinstall of Windows will repair the problem. A miserable ride back to Bondi followed, but then found an internet cafe where I could use free wi-fi. A few glasses of Sauvignon Blanc later and I had managed to book flight and car rental, and receive and read an incredibly restorative email from Rob, who as is his want, pointed out how capable and resourceful I am. Of course he was completely unaware of my travails, but it came, as always, just at the right moment. "Don't get soppy!", I hear him cry - well, all I can say is to have the rock-solid support, love and encouragement I constantly receive from him is all I really need to battle rain, buses, technical glitches, wet feet and bugs (oh, and a healthy credit card limit!).
Right, off to work out where at the airport the car rental bit is, and pack an overnight bag.
PS The shower here is good and very forceful, which is great. However, the drainage from the bath is extremely slow, so this morning it was an hilarious race against time to finish washing before the tub overflowed!
Yesterday was a bit of a roller-coaster of highs and lows - I relocated from my lovely hotel to a little studio apartment I found, literally a few minutes' walk from the famous beach. Much cheaper than the Kirketon Hotel, it will serve as my base until I fly out to Melbourne on March 10th. All I can say is, because I will be heading off this evening to drive and fly up and down northern New South Wales and into Queensland to visit and interview a host of Aussie 'marathoniers', I won't have to spend too much time sharing this adequate but 'basic' room with the large community of permanent-resident cockroaches that scuttle about the kitchen surfaces! Not in the same league as their New York cousins, but nevertheless... by my calculations I will only spend a total of 3-4 nights here, so my fellow inhabitants needn't fear being usurped by me.
So, I have shoes and I have a plan. This makes me happy... today I will rent a car at the airport and then drive on up to my friend Kim's for dinner. As she lives in the North West suburbs of Sydney, this will point me in the right direction for driving up to see Max Stahl tomorrow morning. Max was part of a three-man crew in one of the large Mercedes that competed in 1968. A prolific motoring journalist, he has been extraordinarily helpful these past 18 months, sending me huge amounts of information, and has brokered a series of potential interviews with other Aussie marathoniers during the coming 6 days. I am very excited at the prospect of meeting him and spending time in his company, nattering about the Marathon. Back to Sydney in the evening, I will then fly up to Brisbane very early Sunday morning, rent another car and meet up with a few more folks, including, I hope, one Bruce Hodgson, who came sixth in '68. Given that British cars and crews came first and second, Bruce and his crew were one of the highest placed Aussies, so were lauded by the locals back then. It will be a privilege to meet him. Then I will slowly and methodically drive south along the coast and visit other folks. I was hoping to see Bob Holden, who in '68 with his co-driver was in collision with a great truck in India, which meant he and his co-driver ended up out of the Marathon and in hospital with severe facial injuries. Unfortunately, Bob will be away next week, so I will look into somehow returning to Sydney before March 20th. All those I have been in touch with are keen to meet, although think I'm nuts! Anyway, I will continue south until I reach Sydney again where I will be meeting at least one more person on Friday, including Gerry Lister, who still owns his Volvo from 1968, and was even talking about entering the proposed 2014 Sydney to London Marathon! Time and again I have been struck by the passion and adventurism of these extraordinary people, and am amused that on a number of occasions, they have wondered why I am so fascinated by this precedent-setting motorsports event. I say 'how could I not be?'
Highs and lows. I forked out approx. £50 for a month's worth of mobile broadband, so I could access the internet at all times during my travels (until now I have been able to use wi-fi). Got to Bondi only to discover that the broadband device wouldn't load. A mad-dash bus ride to Bondi Junction to find a Telstra shop followed, only to determine that the fault lies in my laptop and only a full reinstall of Windows will repair the problem. A miserable ride back to Bondi followed, but then found an internet cafe where I could use free wi-fi. A few glasses of Sauvignon Blanc later and I had managed to book flight and car rental, and receive and read an incredibly restorative email from Rob, who as is his want, pointed out how capable and resourceful I am. Of course he was completely unaware of my travails, but it came, as always, just at the right moment. "Don't get soppy!", I hear him cry - well, all I can say is to have the rock-solid support, love and encouragement I constantly receive from him is all I really need to battle rain, buses, technical glitches, wet feet and bugs (oh, and a healthy credit card limit!).
Right, off to work out where at the airport the car rental bit is, and pack an overnight bag.
PS The shower here is good and very forceful, which is great. However, the drainage from the bath is extremely slow, so this morning it was an hilarious race against time to finish washing before the tub overflowed!
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