An Outback Christmas

 
 

The Bus

Aus xmas1.JPG (21681 bytes)

going round the corner
Aus xmas2.JPG (20579 bytes)

 

click on pictures to enlarge

 A slow moving road train lumbers through the centre of town, the disturbed wind whips up small clouds of dust and a team of four road weary cyclists heads for the sanctuary of their airconditioned rooms. I seem to have forgotten quite how cold it usually is back home in England. Air conditioning really is a fantastic invention I keep thinking to myself. I'm going to have to get it when I get back home again. Of course I'm well aware that back home, where the temperature never reaches thirty, I'll spend most of the next year wearing either a Gore Tex Storm Jacket or my favorite duck down duvet jacket. Still, over the last eight months in South East Asia we have all come to enjoy the shelter from temperatures up to 40 degrees, and humidity that you can cut with a knife, that a whirring electric box on the wall can bring. Tennant Creek is just one of those places where without aircon, most of us would be driven round the twist by a heat that is inescapable and penetrating in the worst kind of way. The Bureau of Metrology reliably informs us that the average daily max for this time of year is somewhere around 38 degrees, and at 9am the expected temperature is a shirt dampening 32.

On Christmas Eve we make our way out into the crazy hurly burly of Tennant High Street. We pass no more than half a dozen folks, and a single scruffy looking dog, as we head for the only open shop; the newsagent. Dean, Tim, Scrivs, Andrew and myself furtively scurry up and down the aisles. Shooting glances at each other intermittently, the comedy of the moment doesn't escape us. We're all in the one small shop trying to shop for each other for a few appropriate gifts. Deliberately we try to keep to different areas of the shop, trying in vain to maintain a small element of surprise for our Christmas celebrations. With such a limited range of presents here to choose from surely its inevitable that we'll all end up giving each other exactly the same presents - isn't it?

Whilst Dean and I, are being looked after at the Safari Motel bang in the middle of town, Andrew, Scrivs and Tim are living in the house of Robyn and Lyndsay from The Daly Waters. The amazing generosity and trusting nature of people here in the Northern Territories once again prods at our consciences. How would these fantastic people be treated on arriving in the UK? Would anyone breezily hand over the keys to their house, chirpily remembering at the last moment "Aw, just drop off the keys at the Mobil Garage - she'll be right !!!".

On Christmas morning we all enjoy a lengthy lie in; such a far cry from childhood days of springing out of bed before sunrise. It's the last thing on our minds this morning; we shall save our early morning quota for whilst we're on the road dodging the roaring midday temperatures. Between our hectic shopping schedule the previous day we had noticed a tiny advertisement for Christmas Lunch at Priester's Caféé - inside The Tennant Creek Transit Centre. The Bus Station has an empty echo as we walk in. This is shortly broken by a squeal of delight from Zoanne ; the daughter of Jackie Bradley who runs Priesters. She runs excitedly around us as we take settle into our plastic garden chairs in the main hall of the bus station. The cauliflower cheese, pork, roast potatoes and mixed vegetables are such a treat for us. Jackie fusses over us as we pile the food on to our plates. Zoanne screams around the table trying hard to distract us all from our food. After last year in Bam, the desert outpost in Iran, we had felt sure that Christmas in Australia would mark a return to normality. How wrong we were. As we lined up the chairs, and four of us and Zoanne made a pretend play-bus, 'situation normal' might be an accurate description of our unusual topsy turvy travelling lifestyle. Rich shouts out our directions as he's in the front seat. "Sharp right turn coming up" we make a squealing noise as we all lean heavily right. "Whoah ...Bumpy Road!!" we all shuffle up and down on our chairs. Zoanne drives between Tim and Dean and can't quite decide whether we're her new best friends or barking mad.

Our evening meal is expertly prepared by Tim who also lines up a Christmas quiz night - the highlight of which is surely the Charades round in which one person has to do impressions of people who we have met along the way to be guessed by the others. Fresh in our minds - the members of La Boheme are never far away - and our distant Captain is once again a good target for our jokes.

Dean makes her getaway from Tennant under cover of night at 3am on Boxing morning. The rest of us make final departure arrangements and steady ourselves in the face of what will be our toughest cycling since Tibet. The Police at Avon Downs Police Station, way out in the Barkly Tablelands have given us the all clear, and so our plan to ride the full length of the Stuart Highway has been dropped. Despite the chaos that is developing at the Georgina River, which has left hundreds of people marooned unable to reach their destinations, 'B-J' the Officer in Charge has kindly agreed to arrange a boat to take us across to the Cammooweal side of the river. The flooded river, and the towns of Cammooweal and Mount Isa are distant mirages shimmering in the distance for us as we make our first pedals out of Tennant. We have 640km of nothingness to cross. 640km of wild and barren tablelands. The road feared by motorists beckons for 4 British cyclists.