I picked the car up from Budget at about 1:00 pm in the afternoon, 4 hours later than I wanted too because I woke up feeling like death because I was still under the weather, so I ended up sleeping in. I picked up Brooks, Justin, and Summer, and we headed out of Adelaide to the Outback. I drove out of the city, and then let Brooks drive because the drugs were kicking in and within moments I was passed out in the car. It was the good kind of car sleep. I mean, the kind of sleep where you close you eyes, then open them and you are there. My face was plastered up against the window, my mouth was open, and I am sure that I was drooling. Considering that we were in a Toyota Yaris, which is roughly the size of my desk, I was amazingly comfortable all squished up in my seat.
By the time we got to what is considered the Outback, which took about 5 hours, I was wide awake and enjoying the scenery. It was absolutely beautiful. It was dusk and the colors were amazing. Purples, reds, and blues filled the sky and the setting sun seemed to dance across the mountains in the distance. It was truly surreal. In certain areas, it was so flat that you could see for miles and one side would be a vibrant green with vegetation everywhere, and the other was the famous red earth that everyone associates with the outback. Since it was so flat, over time Mother Nature had carved rivers every few kilometers as natural run offs for rain, and instead of having to build a lot of bridges; they just let the road just slowly dip down into the river. When you came to these crossings, you could look both ways and see the dry riverbeds. The signs would say “Flood Path Ahead” and “Cross at Own Risk”. In other words, if it started raining, those areas of the highway that dipped down would turn into a ragging river, and because our Yaris has the ground clearance of a three year olds tricycle, we would be stuck having to wait it out.
We were about an hour away from Wilpena Pound, when we started seeing sheep everywhere. There were no fences on the side of the road and we passed a sign that said “Free Range Grazing Next 10 Kilometers”. There were sheep just running across the road. Then all of a sudden “Bam!” I felt something hit the front of the car and I saw a cloud of vibrant colors and just as soon as it happened it was over. Brooks was doing about 120 kilometers an hour, which was the speed limit, and the event scared the hell out of him. I thought we hit a sheep. A red, purple, and yellow sheep. We are in the Outback, you never know.
We immediately stopped the car and I got out to check the front bumper. There was no dent, so either this sheep was nothing bur fur, or we hit something else. “A bloody Parrot” shouted Brooks. He was about 100 yards behind the car on one knee looking at the ground. There was a mass of feathers scattered about and the remains of a parrot. I kind of felt bad. Parrots are cool. If it was sheep, I would not have given a damn. Sheep seem to be pretty stupid. But a parrot, that is a beautiful bird. It is kind of like hitting a dolphin in a boat. No one wants to hurt Flipper. Brooks and I gathered up the Parrot, or at least what we could, and we dug him a little hole on the side of the road. Justin didn’t care. He was drinking beer and attempting to catch and ride a sheep. He has this weird love for sheep. Summer hadn’t even gotten out of the car. Brooks and I covered the hole with some rocks, wished the Parrot a good journey to bird heaven or wherever parrots go when they die, then we got back in the car and headed to Wilpena Pound.
We arrived at the resort around 8:30 that night. I was getting hungry and decided to make my way to the restaurant. I took one glance at the specials and I saw the "Australian Burger" . I swear I heard music from the angels of heaven and a bright ray of sunshine came down and illuminated the cheap plastic board that was displaying the specials. I had to have it. An hour and a half later and at least three pounds heavier I was the happiest person in the world. I was full, sleepy, and it started to rain. Bed time.
The next day we got up at about 8:00 am in the morning; I had really been up since 6:00 am because of the rain. I made my way into the restaurant at the Wilpena Pound Resort and got a good hardy breakfast and hydrated myself for the adventure I was about to embark on. We were hiking Saint Mary’s Peak today. Everyone at the park advised us against it because it was raining and could become dangerous, but we had driven all the way here mainly to hike Saint Mary’s, so we were doing it come hell or high water. High water did us in. There are two routes to the top, the easy route which takes you through the middle of Wilpena Pound and gradually up the mountain, 13.4 k’s, and the hard route which takes you right up the side of the mountain, 7.4 k’s. We are manly men; we are doing the hard route. We made it about 2 k’s when it started to pour down rain. Summer had had enough and took the keys and headed back. Justin, Brooks and I trekked on.
Everyone stressed the point that it was a pretty strenuous hike and when wet, it can be dangerous. Holy Hell. At points, I was literally climbing vertically up a rock face. I was in my New Balances, not quite hiking shoes, and by blue jeans were so wet that they were constricting my movements, not to mention rubbing in areas that are truly uncomfortable. Thankfully, it was really cloudy so I had no concept of how high I was, in a way masking the danger of hiking a mountain in the cold rain without the proper gear with thousand foot vertical drops off one side. It took us about 3 full hours to get to the top, and we spent maybe 10 minutes there at most. I have never been to Mount Everest, but I know it has to be really cold and windy. The peak of Saint Mary’s was colder than hell, more so because I was soaked, and at times there may have been 40+ mph gusts. There was 20 feet of visibility at most and all you could see in all directions was whiteness from the clouds and mist.
We were all miserable and it was unanimous to get off the top of the mountain and head back down. We ended up getting lost several times due to poor visibility and somehow we ended up taking the long route back. It was far easier, but that was quickly counterbalanced by the issue I had “down below”. I had already started the stiff man bow-legged walk as I like to call it. I was taking smaller strides because my feet were so far apart and I tried to keep from bending my knees to keep my jeans from rubbing. I continued this for about two hours and when I saw a sign that said 7.4 kilometers to Wilpena Pound Resort, I realized that I was going to be a hurting puppy later that night if I didn’t do something quick. I had the answer. It was a lot warmer once off the mountain, the rain had stopped, and the wind had calmed down a lot, so I just took of my pants.
We showed up at the park at about 4:45 pm looking like wet dogs, covered in mud, and I was in wearing my pink Tommy Hilfiger boxers, a rain coat, and my now brown New Balances. I did not care. All I wanted was a Coke and a hot shower. One hell of a day.
Thinking Drinking Man Lessons
1. Never turn down the Australian burger.
2. When hiking, make sure to wear comfortable clothes because if you get lost and end up walking half way around the world, you do not want a rash
Saturday, June 13, 2009
The Thinking Drinking Man Goes Grocery Shopping, Then Battles Pirates
I went to Woolworth’s at around three o’clock this afternoon to get some groceries. I did not plan on entering Adelaide Fantasy Land. When I was checking out and the girl was bagging my groceries, I heard a bunch of hooting and hollering coming down Rundle Street. I looked down the street and saw around 40 ninjas and 40 pirates. They were completely decked out and legitimately looked like ninjas and pirates. I asked the girl what was going on and she told me that every once in a while, someone organizes these events where people, mostly teenagers, get together, dress up, and just parade around the city like they are crazy.
Apparently, the ninjas were supposed to be “fighting” the pirates and they were all yelling at each other and doing the “Argh Matey” thing real loud. It caught a lot of people’s attention, and some were enjoying the spectacle, but I did not find it amusing in the least. I was tired, a little hung-over, I did not get my workout in, and all I wanted to do was go back to my apartment and eat some macaroni and cheese. Naturally, when I had paid for everything and was heading out the door, Captain Jack Sparrow and his entire damn crew was right in my way. Most of them looked to be between 15 and 18, and all the dudes were relatively scrawny. There was no way around them, so I headed straight through them. I am guessing that my 6”3” frame, wearing sweats and my orange Clemson jacket (Go Tigers), carrying groceries and standing among 40 pirates, with the tallest being 5’8”, was a site to see. It must have sparked a little curiosity among the pirates.
One of the pirates, a solid 5’6” and dressed like a ferry, stepped out in front of me, pretended to cut me down with his Toys R Us sword, and yelled, “Surrender the Booty!”.
Judging by his soft voice and feminine demeanor, I think he was after a different kind of booty. I gave him look that said, “You touch me with your little plastic sword, and so help me God, I will beat you down with this grapefruit in my hand”. He quickly got the picture, started walking backwards, tripped over his own feet, and inadvertently took down another four or five pirates with him. It was like watching a human bowling game.
The rest of the pirates, seeing the ruckus, looked at me and assumed that I was the cause for the five guys on the ground. For a second, I thought things were going to get a little hairy and I was fixing to go into battle with a bunch of 16 year old pirates stabbing me with plastic swords. Thankfully, they did not feel the same and thought it was in their best interest to get out of my way, which they did. Thinking Drinking Man 1, Pirates 0.
Thinking Drinking Man Lessons
1. If necessary, grapefruit can be used as a weapon.
Apparently, the ninjas were supposed to be “fighting” the pirates and they were all yelling at each other and doing the “Argh Matey” thing real loud. It caught a lot of people’s attention, and some were enjoying the spectacle, but I did not find it amusing in the least. I was tired, a little hung-over, I did not get my workout in, and all I wanted to do was go back to my apartment and eat some macaroni and cheese. Naturally, when I had paid for everything and was heading out the door, Captain Jack Sparrow and his entire damn crew was right in my way. Most of them looked to be between 15 and 18, and all the dudes were relatively scrawny. There was no way around them, so I headed straight through them. I am guessing that my 6”3” frame, wearing sweats and my orange Clemson jacket (Go Tigers), carrying groceries and standing among 40 pirates, with the tallest being 5’8”, was a site to see. It must have sparked a little curiosity among the pirates.
One of the pirates, a solid 5’6” and dressed like a ferry, stepped out in front of me, pretended to cut me down with his Toys R Us sword, and yelled, “Surrender the Booty!”.
Judging by his soft voice and feminine demeanor, I think he was after a different kind of booty. I gave him look that said, “You touch me with your little plastic sword, and so help me God, I will beat you down with this grapefruit in my hand”. He quickly got the picture, started walking backwards, tripped over his own feet, and inadvertently took down another four or five pirates with him. It was like watching a human bowling game.
The rest of the pirates, seeing the ruckus, looked at me and assumed that I was the cause for the five guys on the ground. For a second, I thought things were going to get a little hairy and I was fixing to go into battle with a bunch of 16 year old pirates stabbing me with plastic swords. Thankfully, they did not feel the same and thought it was in their best interest to get out of my way, which they did. Thinking Drinking Man 1, Pirates 0.
Thinking Drinking Man Lessons
1. If necessary, grapefruit can be used as a weapon.
Friday, June 12, 2009
The Thinking Drinking Man Goes White-Water Rafting
I have been white-water rafting twice, both times down the Chattooga in Tennessee. The Tully was a completely different experience. We got picked up outside our hostel at 6:30 am by R n R rafting and once we stepped on the bus, the driver asked us if we spoke English, yes we do, he pointed to the back of the bus. I laughed a little. The front of the bus was reserved for all the Japanese. They had a translator and everything. We, the English speaking people had Fabio. His real name was Fabio. I asked to see his ID for verification. Fabio was our tour guide and he would talk for a little while, then the translator would grab the microphone and we would hear Japanese for a few minutes. It was an interesting bus ride to say the least. Fabio was raised in Peru but had been living in Cairns for the last 12 years so his accent was very unique. He had quite the since of humor too. We went through this small town and he said “You see these two old guys on the bench here. They is millionaires. Oh, you American girls, you like that huh. Easy money”. Then he would laugh in his Peruvian Australian accent. I eventually managed to drawn it all out and got a little sleep on the hour and 45 minute bus ride.
We got to the river and we were put with Callum. He was 27 and had been a guide on the Tully for almost three years now. He reminded me a lot of a good buddy from high school. The only difference is that Callum did not have as bad of a receding hair line. All five of us were together and with Callum, the boat was well balanced. The Tully is considered one of the top rivers in Australia with numerous class four rapids. During the wet season, it is impossible to raft because there is so much water. Compared to the Chattooga, which has several class 5 rapids, the Tully was not as demanding, but what it lacked in difficulty, it sure made up in personality.
The scenery was amazing. We learned from Callum that the river was formed from a Volcano a long time ago and every once in a while, we would come to a bend and there would bee 100 foot tall cliffs on either side. The whole area was rain forest with the left side of the bank being World Heritage Park and the right side a national park. It was beautiful. We saw several Ulysses butterflies, yellow finches, Cassowaries, and some amazing foliage. Callum, who had a really conniving personality, took advantage of our ignorance when it came to Australian wildlife and at a calm part of the river, we paddled over to this beautiful tree. He told us that the tree leaves tasted like Red Bull and that the indigenous people would use it as an energy source. Believable. We stupidly grabbed a handful of leaves and stuffed them in our mouths. Not Red Bull. It tasted awful. He got a good laugh out of it.
Halfway through the trip, we stopped on the side of the river where R n R had a campground and we had lunch. There was a beautiful waterfall on the other side of the river coming down a mountain, giant perch swimming around, and these crazy looking birds skirting through the camp site. They reminded me of a Turkey and a Gamecock, but they were smarter than a Gamecock. That’s really not saying much though. But back to the point, these birds were very unique. They stood about a foot tall, were dark black with bright red heads and they had about a four inch yellow gizzard hanging down. They had some nasty looking claws on their feet so I kept my distance. They were very passive creatures though and were just looking for a free meal, but they Japanese were terrified of them. I would look up from my burger, see three Japanese women leaned over trying to get as close as possible to take a picture of this unique bird, the bird would squawk, and the Japanese girls would scream and run away. Thus leaving the bird with a free meal. An obvious victory.
After we finished lunch and the Japanese felt that they had completed their task of taking 5 million photos, we got back in the rafts for the second half of the river. This is where we had some real fun. We went through a couple of rapids, which Callum had named, but I do not feel comfortable repeating, and then we got to do something that you are not gonna get to do in the states. We beached the raft, climbed back up the river, then jumped off a rock and floated through one of the rapids. It was a solid class three, but as long as you stayed on the right side of the river, you avoided the big rocks. The translator was no longer with us so I am guessing that some of the Japanese girls did not understand Callum’s directions. They ended up on the left side of the river. I am still amazed that they came out with only a few bruises.
When we came to the last class four rapid of the day, we had to all lean to one side of the boat so we could squeeze through these two big rocks, then “hold on to your ass” as Callum would say. The name of the game was stay in the raft. We soon found out why. We were the first raft to go through, and the second raft came in a little sideways, got wedged up against the rock, and these two German girls fell out of the raft. They got pushed towards this big rock, which was at the end of the rapid, but right in the middle of the river, and then just like that, they were gone. They had been sucked under and were no where to be found. About two minutes went by and by now, the guides were all in positions with ropes and throw-ables just in case they popped back up, but I could tell by looking at Callum that their chances were getting slimmer and slimmer with every passing moment. Then out of nowhere on the back side of the rock, they popped up. After they coughed up a good gallon of water and managed to catch their breathe, we learned that apparently there is a little hole under the rock and got sucked down, bounced around for a few minutes, and with all the water rushing through, they got pushed out the other side. They definitely got their money’s worth.
We reached the pick up point at around 4:00 pm, making a grand total of 6 solid hours of rafting. I was beat, a little burned, and in need of a beer, and guess what, I got my answer. We all piled on the bus, and within ten minutes, we were at the R n R headquarters which doubled as a pub. We had a few beers with Callum, thanked him again for a hell of a time, then got back on the bus and headed home. I slept the whole way. So did Brooks, but he had his face up against the window and was drooling a little bit. One of the Japanese girls took a picture.
Thinking Drinking Man Lessons
1. When selecting a rafting company, look for one that owns its own pub at the end of the river. It is pretty convenient.
We got to the river and we were put with Callum. He was 27 and had been a guide on the Tully for almost three years now. He reminded me a lot of a good buddy from high school. The only difference is that Callum did not have as bad of a receding hair line. All five of us were together and with Callum, the boat was well balanced. The Tully is considered one of the top rivers in Australia with numerous class four rapids. During the wet season, it is impossible to raft because there is so much water. Compared to the Chattooga, which has several class 5 rapids, the Tully was not as demanding, but what it lacked in difficulty, it sure made up in personality.
The scenery was amazing. We learned from Callum that the river was formed from a Volcano a long time ago and every once in a while, we would come to a bend and there would bee 100 foot tall cliffs on either side. The whole area was rain forest with the left side of the bank being World Heritage Park and the right side a national park. It was beautiful. We saw several Ulysses butterflies, yellow finches, Cassowaries, and some amazing foliage. Callum, who had a really conniving personality, took advantage of our ignorance when it came to Australian wildlife and at a calm part of the river, we paddled over to this beautiful tree. He told us that the tree leaves tasted like Red Bull and that the indigenous people would use it as an energy source. Believable. We stupidly grabbed a handful of leaves and stuffed them in our mouths. Not Red Bull. It tasted awful. He got a good laugh out of it.
Halfway through the trip, we stopped on the side of the river where R n R had a campground and we had lunch. There was a beautiful waterfall on the other side of the river coming down a mountain, giant perch swimming around, and these crazy looking birds skirting through the camp site. They reminded me of a Turkey and a Gamecock, but they were smarter than a Gamecock. That’s really not saying much though. But back to the point, these birds were very unique. They stood about a foot tall, were dark black with bright red heads and they had about a four inch yellow gizzard hanging down. They had some nasty looking claws on their feet so I kept my distance. They were very passive creatures though and were just looking for a free meal, but they Japanese were terrified of them. I would look up from my burger, see three Japanese women leaned over trying to get as close as possible to take a picture of this unique bird, the bird would squawk, and the Japanese girls would scream and run away. Thus leaving the bird with a free meal. An obvious victory.
After we finished lunch and the Japanese felt that they had completed their task of taking 5 million photos, we got back in the rafts for the second half of the river. This is where we had some real fun. We went through a couple of rapids, which Callum had named, but I do not feel comfortable repeating, and then we got to do something that you are not gonna get to do in the states. We beached the raft, climbed back up the river, then jumped off a rock and floated through one of the rapids. It was a solid class three, but as long as you stayed on the right side of the river, you avoided the big rocks. The translator was no longer with us so I am guessing that some of the Japanese girls did not understand Callum’s directions. They ended up on the left side of the river. I am still amazed that they came out with only a few bruises.
When we came to the last class four rapid of the day, we had to all lean to one side of the boat so we could squeeze through these two big rocks, then “hold on to your ass” as Callum would say. The name of the game was stay in the raft. We soon found out why. We were the first raft to go through, and the second raft came in a little sideways, got wedged up against the rock, and these two German girls fell out of the raft. They got pushed towards this big rock, which was at the end of the rapid, but right in the middle of the river, and then just like that, they were gone. They had been sucked under and were no where to be found. About two minutes went by and by now, the guides were all in positions with ropes and throw-ables just in case they popped back up, but I could tell by looking at Callum that their chances were getting slimmer and slimmer with every passing moment. Then out of nowhere on the back side of the rock, they popped up. After they coughed up a good gallon of water and managed to catch their breathe, we learned that apparently there is a little hole under the rock and got sucked down, bounced around for a few minutes, and with all the water rushing through, they got pushed out the other side. They definitely got their money’s worth.
We reached the pick up point at around 4:00 pm, making a grand total of 6 solid hours of rafting. I was beat, a little burned, and in need of a beer, and guess what, I got my answer. We all piled on the bus, and within ten minutes, we were at the R n R headquarters which doubled as a pub. We had a few beers with Callum, thanked him again for a hell of a time, then got back on the bus and headed home. I slept the whole way. So did Brooks, but he had his face up against the window and was drooling a little bit. One of the Japanese girls took a picture.
Thinking Drinking Man Lessons
1. When selecting a rafting company, look for one that owns its own pub at the end of the river. It is pretty convenient.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
The Thinking Drinking Man Opens A Bank Account
Brooks and I headed out to the Commonwealth Bank this morning to open a bank account. We had to wait in line at the information center for a few minutes, and then a young lady and a young man came up and took us to the Customer Studio, Brooks with the man, David, and I with the lady, Emily. Emily was extremely helpful and I had everything taken care of within a matter of minutes. Brooks took a little longer cause he had to cash a bunch of travelers checks; the currency his parents convinced him he needed, yet only the bank would take them so he had been living off of me for the past two days, but no hard feelings, I knew he was good for it.
As I sat in a chair in the lobby, extremely uncomfortable because it was obviously made for someone probably half my size, some commotion at the currency exchange desk caught my eye. Brooks was sitting in line with David waiting to cash his traveler’s checks, and these two rough looking characters had just showed up. Rugged blue jeans, tattered jackets, mangy hair, and some crazy looking sea serpent tats running up their necks, but one look at their faces and you could tell they posed no threat to society, they were just a little cracked out on something.
They younger individual made his introduction by walking through the lobby of the bank and tipping over all the signs. David attempted to stop the commotion only to be scorned, “What the hell mate! No need to go crazy, just checking the signs to see if they are too top heavy. Don’t want anyone getting hurt”. The seriousness of the hobos response caught David by surprise, as if this nut job actually believed that the 2 foot wide by 4 foot high “Commonwealth Bank: Banking Made Easy” sign posed a real threat to all the innocent bankers. David, being completely caught of guard, took a step back, as if he now believed he was in imminent danger and Brooks, within arms reach of the commotion, innocently watched on, taking as much pleasure from the arising events as I was.
The older character then stepped in after the little confrontation and muttered something that only his deranged friend could understand. Then the younger fella, feeling he had completed his duty of checking the banks lobby signs for extreme danger, quickly shimmied to his pack, and within seconds of rummaging around, he became panicky and shouted, “Someone stole my bum bum” at the top of his lungs, catching everyone’s attention. He soon raced off towards the banks entrance, quickly followed by his pal.
Several minutes passed by and I thought the two lunatics were done parading around and had left to reek havoc amongst civilized society somewhere else. I was wrong Soon after, the older guy come careening through the lobby, jumped over a large fern, and tore off in the other direction, with David and security right on his tail.
By now, Brooks had cashed his traveler’s checks, and for fear of being tackled by a deranged Auzzie running like crazy as if being chased by some demon, we decided to head back to the Hostel. As we entered the main lobby, the younger crack head was in a panic, tearing his pack apart looking for this “Bum Bum”, and spilling sparkling purple and green condoms all over the floor.
As I sat in a chair in the lobby, extremely uncomfortable because it was obviously made for someone probably half my size, some commotion at the currency exchange desk caught my eye. Brooks was sitting in line with David waiting to cash his traveler’s checks, and these two rough looking characters had just showed up. Rugged blue jeans, tattered jackets, mangy hair, and some crazy looking sea serpent tats running up their necks, but one look at their faces and you could tell they posed no threat to society, they were just a little cracked out on something.
They younger individual made his introduction by walking through the lobby of the bank and tipping over all the signs. David attempted to stop the commotion only to be scorned, “What the hell mate! No need to go crazy, just checking the signs to see if they are too top heavy. Don’t want anyone getting hurt”. The seriousness of the hobos response caught David by surprise, as if this nut job actually believed that the 2 foot wide by 4 foot high “Commonwealth Bank: Banking Made Easy” sign posed a real threat to all the innocent bankers. David, being completely caught of guard, took a step back, as if he now believed he was in imminent danger and Brooks, within arms reach of the commotion, innocently watched on, taking as much pleasure from the arising events as I was.
The older character then stepped in after the little confrontation and muttered something that only his deranged friend could understand. Then the younger fella, feeling he had completed his duty of checking the banks lobby signs for extreme danger, quickly shimmied to his pack, and within seconds of rummaging around, he became panicky and shouted, “Someone stole my bum bum” at the top of his lungs, catching everyone’s attention. He soon raced off towards the banks entrance, quickly followed by his pal.
Several minutes passed by and I thought the two lunatics were done parading around and had left to reek havoc amongst civilized society somewhere else. I was wrong Soon after, the older guy come careening through the lobby, jumped over a large fern, and tore off in the other direction, with David and security right on his tail.
By now, Brooks had cashed his traveler’s checks, and for fear of being tackled by a deranged Auzzie running like crazy as if being chased by some demon, we decided to head back to the Hostel. As we entered the main lobby, the younger crack head was in a panic, tearing his pack apart looking for this “Bum Bum”, and spilling sparkling purple and green condoms all over the floor.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
The Thinking Drinking Man Goes Wicked
A Wicked Camper is one of the coolest things on the road. We rented ours for our end of the semester fourteen day excursion through the Outback and I can attest, without it, the trip would not have been the same. We knew we had to roll in style so we got the upgraded version. What does that come with? Not much. An air conditioner that did not work, a bench seat in the front wide enough for two small midgets, and a 125 hp 5 speed inline 4 that red lined at 3800 rpm's, making it necessary to switch into 2nd gear at a whoppin 9 mph. Needless to say, it took us a little while to get used to the King. And why am I referring to our 1981 Mazda van as a King? Because like all Wicked campers, they come with a unique paint job, and ours happened to be none other than the King himseld, Elvis Presley. So what if 5th gear maxxed out at 58 mph's, we had the King, and we sure as hell were rockin down the highway.
So a Wicked Camper is by no means a speed demon, who cares? Road trips are meant to be relaxing. So how about functionality. That's a big word, it must be important. A built in bed with a sink, grill, and plenty of storage underneath. Sounds pretty functional to me. A Wicked has everything. Our back seat, which tuned into the permanent napping grounds, was three small rectangular mattresses laid across a bunch of wood storage bins. In those storage bins is where we kept all of our clothes and food. It was not until three days after we left Adelaide that we realized we should not keep any food in the bin right above the engine. All of our potatoes turned into a wet mush that slowly snuck its way towards the back of the van and into our suitcases. You can imagine that finding your clothes covered in hot, sticky potato juice is not a good experience.
Next to that, the only issue I personally had with the Wicked's layout was the size of the bed. My 6'3" frame was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. The only place I could stretch out was on the roof of the van. The first night I was awoken at 5:3o am by a group of pidgeons that had decided to rest on my face. Pidgeons have surprisingly sharp claws. The second night, I decided not to be a Thinking Drinking Man, and had a few too many, resulting in some serious issues when I tried to get on top of the van. I was forced to sleep on a nearby picknic table. By night three, I had figured it out and was good to go.
We have covered appearance, we have covered functionality, lets talk reliability. On our longest stretch, from Alice Springs to Brisbane, the only thing between the two cities, which is all of 2,537 km, is the location where Spielberg got his idea to do Jurassic Park. I would tell you the name of the town, but it was a major let down and I can't remember. Needless to say, for that 2,537 kn stretch, we had the Wicked running for a solid 48 hours, only turning the King off the fuel him up. That is pretty impressive. Over the entire trip, covering nearly 7,500 kilometers, the only problem we had was in 125 degree heat near Uluru (Ayer'sRock) when our van over heated.
All in all, every person needs to experience a Wicked Camper. From the King posting up on the outside, to a mini hobbit home put on 4 wheels with a Scooby Doo interior on the inside, my Wicked Camper experience was amazing and if given the chance, I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Thinking Drinking Man Lessons.
1. Do not drink to much if you are sleeping on top of a van. 6 feet is a hell of a long way to fall.
So a Wicked Camper is by no means a speed demon, who cares? Road trips are meant to be relaxing. So how about functionality. That's a big word, it must be important. A built in bed with a sink, grill, and plenty of storage underneath. Sounds pretty functional to me. A Wicked has everything. Our back seat, which tuned into the permanent napping grounds, was three small rectangular mattresses laid across a bunch of wood storage bins. In those storage bins is where we kept all of our clothes and food. It was not until three days after we left Adelaide that we realized we should not keep any food in the bin right above the engine. All of our potatoes turned into a wet mush that slowly snuck its way towards the back of the van and into our suitcases. You can imagine that finding your clothes covered in hot, sticky potato juice is not a good experience.
Next to that, the only issue I personally had with the Wicked's layout was the size of the bed. My 6'3" frame was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. The only place I could stretch out was on the roof of the van. The first night I was awoken at 5:3o am by a group of pidgeons that had decided to rest on my face. Pidgeons have surprisingly sharp claws. The second night, I decided not to be a Thinking Drinking Man, and had a few too many, resulting in some serious issues when I tried to get on top of the van. I was forced to sleep on a nearby picknic table. By night three, I had figured it out and was good to go.
We have covered appearance, we have covered functionality, lets talk reliability. On our longest stretch, from Alice Springs to Brisbane, the only thing between the two cities, which is all of 2,537 km, is the location where Spielberg got his idea to do Jurassic Park. I would tell you the name of the town, but it was a major let down and I can't remember. Needless to say, for that 2,537 kn stretch, we had the Wicked running for a solid 48 hours, only turning the King off the fuel him up. That is pretty impressive. Over the entire trip, covering nearly 7,500 kilometers, the only problem we had was in 125 degree heat near Uluru (Ayer'sRock) when our van over heated.
All in all, every person needs to experience a Wicked Camper. From the King posting up on the outside, to a mini hobbit home put on 4 wheels with a Scooby Doo interior on the inside, my Wicked Camper experience was amazing and if given the chance, I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Thinking Drinking Man Lessons.
1. Do not drink to much if you are sleeping on top of a van. 6 feet is a hell of a long way to fall.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
The Thinking Drinking Man Throws Down
For a Friday night, I was really taking it easy. We had the Uni Ball the next night and I knew that would be a long night, so I was chilling out watching the Olympics. The rest of the crew was going out for a beer at the local pub London Tavern down the street and for the sake of nothing better to do, I joined them. Brooks and I grabbed a seat in front of one of the TV’s to watch the dream team dominate Argentina. I was about half way through my Cooper’s, which is a delicious beer, when out of nowhere, I got shoved up against the wall and spilled my beer all over my dockers. No worries though, I was wearing protection, my stain defender pants. As for the half empty beer in my left hand, big problem. I got pissed. It was pretty dark in there and I was looking around for the culprit when I heard, “What the @#% are you looking at?” I looked down and saw this fat guy, about 5’4”, completely decked out. He looked like a tool. He was wearing a white and red Dale Earnhardt Jr. racing jacket, black pants, and all white shoes and he reeked of alcohol. Once I got my bearings, I realized by his physical features and his accent, that he was an aborigine, and for some reason he was super pissed.
Brooks stepped in and said, “Relax man, we are just watching the dream team”. This guy was not convinced. He looked at Brooks, told him to go “do you know what” to himself, looked at me and said, “I know you have been watching me all night you racist pig, go @#$% yourself”. He then spit on my shoe. My new shoes. My new shoes that I have grown quite fond of. According to my buddy Joe, spitting on someone is second to whiping a booger on the face when it comes to “Best ways to start a fight”. He is right because I lost control of my emotions for a second, which I rarely do, and stepped in and gave him a little shove. Taking into account the adrenaline and beer, it was quite a bit more than a little shove and several seconds later, after watching this guy do some very interesting acrobatics as he went over a table and some chairs, he ended up about twenty feet away, face down on the floor with his ass sticking up in the air. The fact that he was about 5’4” and built like a bowling ball only added to his momentum as his tumbled from one side of the room to the other. As an innocent bystander, I can imagine that watching this whole scene unfold would have been pretty entertaining.
He got up, started heading my way, and for a few seconds I thought “great, I am fixing to get in a tussle with a short, fat, drunk aborigine. This is gonna be interesting”. He covered about half the distance between us, turned towards the door and tried to spit on me at the same time. He ended up spitting on himself which is kinda funny. I told him to have a nice day, he gave me the finger, and that was that.
The average American college student probably doesn’t come across this kind of situation to often. I wouldn’t necessarily say that I am privileged to have had such an encounter, but it was a new experience. Just one more to add to the list of Allen Brown’s adventures in Australia.
Thinking Drinking Man Lessons
1. When going out on the town, always wear protection - stain defender pants.
Brooks stepped in and said, “Relax man, we are just watching the dream team”. This guy was not convinced. He looked at Brooks, told him to go “do you know what” to himself, looked at me and said, “I know you have been watching me all night you racist pig, go @#$% yourself”. He then spit on my shoe. My new shoes. My new shoes that I have grown quite fond of. According to my buddy Joe, spitting on someone is second to whiping a booger on the face when it comes to “Best ways to start a fight”. He is right because I lost control of my emotions for a second, which I rarely do, and stepped in and gave him a little shove. Taking into account the adrenaline and beer, it was quite a bit more than a little shove and several seconds later, after watching this guy do some very interesting acrobatics as he went over a table and some chairs, he ended up about twenty feet away, face down on the floor with his ass sticking up in the air. The fact that he was about 5’4” and built like a bowling ball only added to his momentum as his tumbled from one side of the room to the other. As an innocent bystander, I can imagine that watching this whole scene unfold would have been pretty entertaining.
He got up, started heading my way, and for a few seconds I thought “great, I am fixing to get in a tussle with a short, fat, drunk aborigine. This is gonna be interesting”. He covered about half the distance between us, turned towards the door and tried to spit on me at the same time. He ended up spitting on himself which is kinda funny. I told him to have a nice day, he gave me the finger, and that was that.
The average American college student probably doesn’t come across this kind of situation to often. I wouldn’t necessarily say that I am privileged to have had such an encounter, but it was a new experience. Just one more to add to the list of Allen Brown’s adventures in Australia.
Thinking Drinking Man Lessons
1. When going out on the town, always wear protection - stain defender pants.
The Thinking Drinking Man Goes Skydiving
I have never been skydiving before. And since arriving in Australia, I was quickly scribbling through my list of "Things I've Never Done Before". What better a place to loose my skydiving virginity than Cairnes Australia. After I put down my deposit at the Tandem Cairnes office, I figured it was time to celebrate my new found sense of adventure, so I went out.
I was rudely awakened the following morning by Gloria, the live-in landlord from hell for Caravella Backpackers Hostel barking on the loudpseaker about someone leaving dirty dishes in the kitchen. I hoped down from my top bunk, landed on an pair of soccer cleats. Who the hell brings soccer cleats to the beach, and made my way outside to be greated by blinding sunshine and the realization that I was hungover. I headed towards the Mud Cafe next door and got my usual bacon and egg toastee with a strawberry milkshake. The bus picked me up at 10:00 am on the dot and after a two hour bus ride that seemed instantaneous cause I was passed out, I locked eyes with a very odd looking Asian man starring at me through the glass from outside the bus. He motioned to me to come inside so I grabbed my stuff and hoped off the bus. As I sat there in the pounding sun, cursing mankind for creating a beer as delicious as Cooper's Ale, Tuts, the "interestingly configured" Malaysian I saw earlier, who happened to by my tandem guide told me we had 22 minutes till we got on the plane. Then it finally hit me. I may possibly have only 22 minutes left on planet earth because I will soon be jumping out a plane at 14,000 feet with a complete stranger strapped to my back. FML. I quickly got up, did a few quick spins to get my bearings, and sprinted into the house. What was I doing? I am the Thinking Drinking Man, and I sure as hell am going to make the best of possibly my last 22 minutes on earth. A few minutes later Tuts walked in and I am guessing he told me it was time to go. He gave me the thumbs up, I belched, stepped over the three beers I found in the fridge, and marched towards the plane.
Let’s just say the plane was a lot smaller than I expected. It was a white and orange single engine Cessna 150 and it was about the size of my car. I would not feel comfortable 14,000 ft in the air in something the size of my car. I asked Tuts if the plane could make it to 14,000 ft, and he responded in broken English, “Yeah, but probably no higher”. Comforting.
As we ascended, the beer started to kick in and I became my usual inquisative self. I started taking note of my surroundings, and only then did I realize that Tuts was about the size of a small child. I am 6'3, 210 pounds. A small child, even a fat one, wouldn't be a third my size. Is this actually going to work? I started grilling Tuts, only to be answered in broken English that he was a pizza man three weeks ago. Before I could truly freak out and start going crazy, I heard the door swing up and before I could blink, my legs were hanging over the side of the plane with 14,000 feet of nothing between me and some really hard dirt. Tuts said something along the lines of "eh, uh, oh", which I later realized was "one, two, three", and within seconds I was flying through the air at 130 mphs strapped to a poor english speaking Malaysian wondering if he could even see the ground considering his head came up to me lower back. I better not fart or he may very well may pass out and then I would really be screwed.
Once I actually calmed down, I realized how amazing the view was. I had the Great Barrier Reef to my right and a tropical rain forest to my left. This is pretty awesome. But sadly, the feeling was quickly gone because seconds later we opened our shoot and I suddenly realized that the beers I pounded before I got on the plane was not my greatest idea. Tuts had use swirling in all directions and before I could yell at him to cut it out, I had Coppers coming out of my mouth and nose. Because of our speed, the barf was streaking down my face, over my shoulders, and onto Tuts' face, who instantly got really pissed that I had thrown up on him. Tuts unhooked me the second we landed and I did a few graceful barrel rolls across the grass and ended up face down some sand. I waited a few minutes before trying to move in hopes of convincing my fellow onlookers that I in fact was a bad ass and skydiving was a piece of cake. But before I could muster any strength, I was lifted up up by what appeared to be the Asian version of Frodo. I was still dizzy and very disoriented and by the time I came to, I saw Tuts in front of me flaring his arms and pointing to the bark all over his shirt. I gave him a quick head rub and a pat on the back and made my way to the van. Minutes later I was replenishing the Cooper's I had so easily given up a few minutes earlier at about 3,500 feet. Today was an awesome day.
If any of you'll plan on going skydiving in the near future, the Thinking Drinking Man has a few pointers for you.
1. Try to avoid getting drunk the night before.
2. Do not pound a few beers right before getting on the plane.
3. Make sure you have a cooler full of ice cold bruskies waiting on you the second you land.
I was rudely awakened the following morning by Gloria, the live-in landlord from hell for Caravella Backpackers Hostel barking on the loudpseaker about someone leaving dirty dishes in the kitchen. I hoped down from my top bunk, landed on an pair of soccer cleats. Who the hell brings soccer cleats to the beach, and made my way outside to be greated by blinding sunshine and the realization that I was hungover. I headed towards the Mud Cafe next door and got my usual bacon and egg toastee with a strawberry milkshake. The bus picked me up at 10:00 am on the dot and after a two hour bus ride that seemed instantaneous cause I was passed out, I locked eyes with a very odd looking Asian man starring at me through the glass from outside the bus. He motioned to me to come inside so I grabbed my stuff and hoped off the bus. As I sat there in the pounding sun, cursing mankind for creating a beer as delicious as Cooper's Ale, Tuts, the "interestingly configured" Malaysian I saw earlier, who happened to by my tandem guide told me we had 22 minutes till we got on the plane. Then it finally hit me. I may possibly have only 22 minutes left on planet earth because I will soon be jumping out a plane at 14,000 feet with a complete stranger strapped to my back. FML. I quickly got up, did a few quick spins to get my bearings, and sprinted into the house. What was I doing? I am the Thinking Drinking Man, and I sure as hell am going to make the best of possibly my last 22 minutes on earth. A few minutes later Tuts walked in and I am guessing he told me it was time to go. He gave me the thumbs up, I belched, stepped over the three beers I found in the fridge, and marched towards the plane.
Let’s just say the plane was a lot smaller than I expected. It was a white and orange single engine Cessna 150 and it was about the size of my car. I would not feel comfortable 14,000 ft in the air in something the size of my car. I asked Tuts if the plane could make it to 14,000 ft, and he responded in broken English, “Yeah, but probably no higher”. Comforting.
As we ascended, the beer started to kick in and I became my usual inquisative self. I started taking note of my surroundings, and only then did I realize that Tuts was about the size of a small child. I am 6'3, 210 pounds. A small child, even a fat one, wouldn't be a third my size. Is this actually going to work? I started grilling Tuts, only to be answered in broken English that he was a pizza man three weeks ago. Before I could truly freak out and start going crazy, I heard the door swing up and before I could blink, my legs were hanging over the side of the plane with 14,000 feet of nothing between me and some really hard dirt. Tuts said something along the lines of "eh, uh, oh", which I later realized was "one, two, three", and within seconds I was flying through the air at 130 mphs strapped to a poor english speaking Malaysian wondering if he could even see the ground considering his head came up to me lower back. I better not fart or he may very well may pass out and then I would really be screwed.
Once I actually calmed down, I realized how amazing the view was. I had the Great Barrier Reef to my right and a tropical rain forest to my left. This is pretty awesome. But sadly, the feeling was quickly gone because seconds later we opened our shoot and I suddenly realized that the beers I pounded before I got on the plane was not my greatest idea. Tuts had use swirling in all directions and before I could yell at him to cut it out, I had Coppers coming out of my mouth and nose. Because of our speed, the barf was streaking down my face, over my shoulders, and onto Tuts' face, who instantly got really pissed that I had thrown up on him. Tuts unhooked me the second we landed and I did a few graceful barrel rolls across the grass and ended up face down some sand. I waited a few minutes before trying to move in hopes of convincing my fellow onlookers that I in fact was a bad ass and skydiving was a piece of cake. But before I could muster any strength, I was lifted up up by what appeared to be the Asian version of Frodo. I was still dizzy and very disoriented and by the time I came to, I saw Tuts in front of me flaring his arms and pointing to the bark all over his shirt. I gave him a quick head rub and a pat on the back and made my way to the van. Minutes later I was replenishing the Cooper's I had so easily given up a few minutes earlier at about 3,500 feet. Today was an awesome day.
If any of you'll plan on going skydiving in the near future, the Thinking Drinking Man has a few pointers for you.
1. Try to avoid getting drunk the night before.
2. Do not pound a few beers right before getting on the plane.
3. Make sure you have a cooler full of ice cold bruskies waiting on you the second you land.
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