We had a day today that barely rates writing about. I wish it was due to the boredom of sustained inactivity, but it has more to do with it being one of those days for which you wished you’d just stayed in bed. Even if it was in bed that it all began, when I woke with a start, sometime before the alarm was due to sound.

A nightmare had roused me from my otherwise peaceful slumber, and I found myself bathed in a clammy, cold sweat. Despite the cold, the bed covers were strewn around at the foot of the bed from my tossing and turning at my invasive visions.

I had dreamt that we had turned into a caravan park, ostensibly to take a tour to see if it would be suitable for our requirements. As we turned the final corner, deciding that we would continue without stopping, we came to an impasse. A low carport roof was blocking our forward progress, and so a staff member was called for, to extricate our rig from this predicament. With the impressive twiddle of a wrench, the roof was raised to the extent that with some careful driving, our van would be able to fit beneath it. To make sure, the worker climbed up into ‘The Beast’ and accelerated successfully out of the park. Only he didn’t stop, turning savagely out onto the street, before roaring up and down the road at top speed. Up and down our precious rig went, the van sliding around, one side well up, off of the ground as high speed u-turns were conducted. All the while, I was screaming at the manager about wanting this guy fired.

As dreams do, this all happened in silent, slow motion Technicolor glory behind my fluttering eyelids, until such time that my brain could stand it no longer. I, as previously mentioned, sprang awake, dripping in sweat, while peering obliquely through the window to ensure that ‘The Beast’ was still securely attached to the caravan. It was.

I tossed and turned a little more, not having had a particularly deep sleep anyway, until the alarm went off and signaled that it was now time to get up and face the day. I had a list of chores that needed doing before we could hit the road, all of which I should have done yesterday, but had decided to put off until this morning. I was regretting this choice as I stomped around in the early morning chill, although at least it was an invigorating way to waken up fully.

Things took a little longer than expected, but we were in no major hurry this morning. Our plan was simple. Make the hour or so drive to the caravan park, which is situated in an outer suburb of Perth, unhitch the van with all possible haste, then head out for a spot of shopping. We had read about a craft and antiques fair, which promised not only to be expansive, but a great source of gifts to return home with. Should any time be left after the fair, there a few shops in Perth I love to visit every time we are over this way. We had even made a list, including their opening hours so that we could plan a strategy to ensure we made best use of our short time here. Finally, a trip to the supermarket to pick up supplies for tonights roast lamb dinner, before finally being able to kick back in the van and prepare for tomorrow.

With our plan in place, it was with a sense of excitement, and just a touch of exasperation at the ordinary driving skills we were witnessing, as we crawled off of the narrow two lane back roads that have been our home since we left Darwin and rolled onto the multi-lane freeways, all heading for Perth. As we edged closer to the city, the landscape changed from neat farmland to messy industrial areas and retail precincts. Even the urban smells are different, as the city seemed to encroach upon us.

Following the directions of ‘Shazza’ we were due to arrive at the caravan park by 10:30AM, possibly a little later than planned, but still leaving more than ample time to go about our afternoon of shopping. Even missing a turn off didn’t seem to faze me, as I thought about the goodies that were waiting to be found. A quick U-turn around a roundabout soon had us on the right track again, and we were only minutes from our destination when ‘The Beast’ let out a little squeal. I took it to be the belt again, and reminded myself to check it as soon as we stopped, a routine I have easily fallen into since having it changed. Thankfully, no abnormality has since been noticed, so I was of the thinking that it might have been just plain bad luck.

Five hundred metres down the road, I was twirling the steering wheel to pull into the caravan park, when ‘The Beast’ squealed again. This time a higher pitched, ominously continuous screeching. I killed the ignition as we rolled to a stop outside the caravan park office and sent Bec in to sort out the formalities, while I lifted the bonnet to check things out. All looked good on the drivers side, but my sigh of relief was short lived as I moved to the passenger side, where I found a bolt hanging out of one of the pulleys. This loss of connection with the mounting plate had allowed it to twist upwards and grind against a second pulley. My mechanical knowledge is limited to say the least, but I had a fair idea that this was most likely a bad thing. Who would have guessed that my nightmare might have been some sort of premonition?

Even I know that looks bad.

After unleashing what could have been called a tirade, had I uttered more than a single four letter word repeatedly, all the while kicking the tyre like that was going to fix the problem, I rang Trucks ‘N’ Toys. I’m not sure what I was hoping to achieve on a Sunday afternoon, but I figured it would make me feel better.

Much to my surprise, my call was answered, and I was soon getting the personal attention of Ben and John, in an effort to get us moving again. This involved removing the belt again so that we could at least park the van, rather than remaining camped in the middle of the driveway, which was where we were still sitting motionless. Of course, with the belt removed the luxury of power assisted steering and braking is also removed. Now, I am sure that there are a few readers out there that grew up in a world without these now essentials, but I am not one of them. Maneuvering a close to 7 tonne, 15 metre long rig with no brakes and limited steering is not a task for the faint hearted, let me tell you. Even at the slow speed necessitated by the tight environs of the van park. The twisting and turning of the backing up was the toughest, with everything happening in extreme slow motion.

With the van finally propped, a series of phone calls and messages went between us and the guys in Sydney, during which time I was give the instructions on removing the damaged components so that they could be examined in photographs. From this, the new parts that would be required could be determined. These parts are due to be shipped out to a local mechanic tomorrow morning, for fitting on Tuesday, after which it should all be good as new again. I really can’t say enough about the service these guys provide. Am I annoyed that there has been a subsequent problem with ‘The Beast’? Of course. But I am relieved that the follow up service that John and Ben are providing goes over and above what could be expected and speaks volumes for their business acumen. So, for that I am delighted. And I still feel that the sheared bolt that caused todays mangle of pulleys is most likely the result of it going undiagnosed earlier.

One of the pics I sent to Sydney, showing the shredded aluminium.

In any case, any thought of undertaking our planned shopping excursion went out the window. I even had to unpack the old treadly to go out and get the groceries for dinner. I knew I’d carted that bike around Australia for a reason, although my 10Km ride would have been 6Km shorter had I not gotten lost on the way to the shops. I even had to call Bec for directions, at which time she identified the source of my navigational error. It all became clear when she asked if I had turned left out of the van park. “Err, no?”

Even dinner didn’t quite go to plan, as we loaded up the oven with all of our goodies, then had to wait nearly 3 hours for it all to cook. I’m not sure if it is usual for these ovens or not, as we haven’t cooked in it often enough, but it is dreadfully slow. It was worth the ride and wait in the end, as we sat down to a lovely, if late, Sunday roast dinner, ruminating about our day of days, while trying to figure out what we are going to do tomorrow without transport. A wise old man once told me though, just tonight in fact, “don’t worry, be happy”. Thanks Dad, I’ll do that.

Until next time, stay safe, have fun and don’t forget to write.