Epic Camping Trip- Day 4

Dear John,

I know I should have hated day 4, but my life is all about refining fire these days, so it was fitting to feel the burn. Plus, you seemed to be ticked enough for all of us that day. Secretly, your cantankerous attitude made me laugh. Although, it may have become less secret when I laughed directly at you. Whoopsy. But wouldn’t you say that in retrospect, it was one of the most memorable experiences of the whole trip? Heat exhaustion, ice massages, and wormy rivers? I mean, this is the stuff that legends are made of, or at least slightly better than average sitcoms. So, maybe I’m just crazy, in fact almost certainly so, but I wouldn’t have had day 4 any other way. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. 

Love and Hugs, 

D. 

Sun, Sun go away. Stop trying to fry my brain...tra lalalala.

My theory about extreme weather conditions has always been that it’s better to be cold than hot since you can always add more layers but can only strip so many- especially when you’re the only girl on an outback camping excursion. My native land of Ohio has always given me plenty of opportunity to test the theory’s validity, from steamy, humid summers to ice storms and snow barricades, and often experiencing all four seasons within one day’s time. But never, in my whole life, have I ever been so hot as I was in Goulburn National Park. It was 40 degrees in the shade. Celsius. For all my Fahrenheit peeps, that’s 104 degrees. Yea. I guess it does have “burn” in the name.

Not quite the structure you'd expect from a doctor, industrial designer, computer guru, and artist. Sometimes, survival ain't pretty kids.

Normally off-roading would be fun...if it weren't for the squeaky noise of death coming from the front wheel.

You would think that we would be the only crazy people to go out to the middle of nowhere to roast as a form of recreation. Not at all. Despite nearly an hour of 4WD trekking down dirt roads pocked with holes, hills, and gravel, the park was full of happy go-lucky campers and their sweaty kids, on bikes of course. Also, they had taken all the shady spots. In our rush to escape what we previously thought to be blistering heat in the Warumbungles, we idiotically arrived in the peak hours of the sun. We pulled up, parked, and then began to die a slow sweaty death. Our campsite was lovely in that there wasn’t really anyone else around it. It was torturous in that it didn’t have one spot of shade, although it did have a picnic table, which was our saving grace. Tom came to the rescue with one of his ideas, believe it or not. We parked the car a few feet away from and parallel to the picnic bench and used our tents to construct a makeshift hovel of shade. Inside it, we could still feel our blood boiling, but at least Jono’s sunburn, received in no more than 10 minutes in the sun, wasn’t going to deepen to third degree status. Yay! Score 1 for Tom! Then came Tom’s next idea- a whole case of Sapporo beer. It was the only cold thing we had to drink, but of course the worst possible thing when dehydrated and toasty. Demerit 1 for Tom. Tsk tsk. John and I were fine as we were not high on pot, nor did we ingest 10 beers. Tom and Jono were a little bit worse for the wear.

Tom and Jono...swooning, sweating, surviving, if only just.

Nothing like a few boys rubbing ice all over one another...um, wait.

And I should reconcile my previous statement, because John wasn’t really fine. He was TICKED. His appreciation for the scorching temperatures was non-existent. He sat in a camp chair, a proper one that wouldn’t collapse under him, not saying a

Hot and stewing, stage 1.

word, barely breathing it seemed, just stewing in his own juices. And to be fair, John was at a disadvantage by two factors. Firstly, his core body temperature seems to run lower than the average human being’s for he always feels hot in comparison to others. It’s like putting a popsicle on the counter and the popsicle thinks, “Hey, it’s really hot out here,” even though it’s just room temperature and then putting the popsicle in the oven and listening to it cry, “I’m melting! I’m melting!” (John, if you prefer to be compared to fudge bar or tv dinner, let me know. The analogy is flexible). John’s second disadvantage was that he had discovered something wrong with his car…again. John has had an unfortunate series of events with his Lexus Land Cruiser. Just one day before we left for the trip, he got a flat on one of his brand new tires. And now, there was a strange grinding, whining, death-like noise coming from the front driver-side wheel. Oh joy. Nothing like car trouble in the middle of no where. Alas, we couldn’t even begin to inquire what the problem might be lest we burn ourselves on the car. So poor John just sat and stewed.

Stage 2, the meltdown.

Bless Tom, for even in the thick of heat and dismay, he remained peppy and energetic, passing chunks of ice from the esky (also known as a cooler outside of Australia) to all of us. Thus began the great Ice Rub of 2012. I iced my neck with one hand and the back of John’s knees with the other. Tom iced his normal-colored neck and Jono’s bright red one. Then John laid down on the air mattress and Tom was icing him down while I took a little squat in the nearby bush, not realising that a family caravan was parked just up the hill. Sorry kids, for that unexpected anatomy lesson. I returned and Tom moved on to icing Jono’s ears while I iced John’s neck, head, and legs and then John iced my back and shoulders and threw some down his shorts and so on it went until we were out of ice and back to despair. Then came Tom’s moment of pure glory.

Stage 3, utter despair.

The River of Worms, in all its glory. And Tom, in his.

All along the trip, Tom had been anxious to jump into any body of water he could find. River, water hole, puddle. It didn’t matter. And always, he was frustrated when we vetoed his plans. Thus, when he was thoroughly high and equally drunk, he decided that he would find a way, with or without us, to the river that our campsite overlooked. Thirty minutes had passed and we began to prepare the search party for Tom’s retrieval when up the path he came, his clothes wet and declaring success. Without so much as a word, John, Jono, and I picked up and followed Tom to the river. I nearly cried when I saw that crystal clear water flowing over pebbles and hopped in without hesitation. The water was shallow at our entry point, allowing us to lay down and submerge up to our ears. The water was cool, but not frigid, so our bodies weren’t shocked, although my eyes were a bit when Tom tossed of his clothes and busted out a swim in his briefs. Where to look…where to look? Lying there, the sounds of the world were murmured, only the rush of the water flowing past and the occasional rolling of a pebble was clear, as clear as the blue sky with wisps of white draped across it, and the realisation that I’ve never been happier. I might have laid there until dark fell if John hadn’t suddenly popped up and exclaimed, “Are these leaches?”

"Are these leaches?"

Standing up, we found that we all had hundreds of little writhing worm-like creatures on our bodies, although they were no bigger than an eyelash in length. Nonetheless, it’s somewhat disconcerting to have hundreds of writhing anything on one’s person, no matter the size. We then had a choice: Cool off in parasite infested water or return to our state of inferno? We chose parasite-infested water. It was fairly evident that they weren’t leaches, since none of them were latching on, although their existence did shorten our resolve to stay in the water much longer, I’m sure. Then we had yet another bonding moment of picking worms off one another, backs, butts, and hair. All worms must go! Having really, long thick hair, I couldn’t help but think for the remainder of the evening how many of those little worms must be nestled in my long lockes, possibly burrowing into my brain for a little grey matter feast…but then just shrugged and said, “Well, that’s adventure for you.” Sometimes, it’s all you can do and thus far my brain has proven to be worm free. +1 for Tom.

Me, "That's a lot of meat." The boys in chorus, "That's what she said." Le sigh.

By the time we got out of the water, the sun was setting and six hours had passed since our arrival in Goulburn. We had made it past the cruelest heat of the day and now, ironically, had to start a fire upon which to cook dinner. Sausages, crumbed lamb chops and lamb steaks, roasted potatoes and onions all popped and sizzled and then soothed our hunger as the stars began to appear. The boys had laid out the mattresses and sleeping bags and were staring at the stars as I, being the anal retentive one of the group, assuaged my OCD by organising and cleaning the campsite. I was in my own head space, because I knew that after the heat today and the looming car issue, John wouldn’t want to spend any more time camping. He was clearly off it. And, I was really quite sad about it. Sure, it was a pain in the butt to constantly tear down and set up camp and attempt to pack the ridiculously overcrowded car thanks to Tom’s absurd amount of crap, but I loved the simplicity of life, the company, and dangit, had finally perfected the art of popping a squat somewhat elegantly. And, I admit, I liked looking after the boys, as hopeless as they were sometimes. It felt good to be a part of a group, a necessary part of it, to be helpful and nurturing in cooking meals, always knowing where the item one of the boys needed was, and whether they knew it or not, keeping tabs on everyone’s feelings and well-being. Life on the road is often tough, not because I have so little, but because I have so little to give. What I miss most about home is cooking 7-course meals for a couple friends on Valentines day, making cakes for weddings, first birthdays, anniversaries and every other occasion, taking friends kayaking in the good ole Ketchup and Mustard duo, surprising Lil Rhonda Hello Kitty birthday decorations and homemade ice cream cake, baking cookies for the neighbours Chubbs and Wanda, and maybe most of all, surprise presents. So I was on my own kind of high every time one of the boys audibly enjoyed the food I cooked, or when John gave his car keys to me for safe keeping, or I easily located something for which the boys were frantically searching. And soon, all that would be over and I’d be back to mooching off my amazing friends in Coogee, then on the road, alone, again. So I was solemn, quiet, ninja-like in all my movements until John finally called out, “Diana, where are you?” to which I replied, “I’m sorta naked behind the car.” I was changing of course. I don’t often sit behind cars in the nude. Not often.

Who knew that surrounded by so little, there could be so much.

I went and laid down with the boys, but didn’t fully enjoy the stars as the muscles around my left ribs began convulsing. Whether dehydration, vitamin imbalance due to diet of mainly sausages, or Jerome, I was having a hard time hiding the flinches of pain on my face and retired to the tent. Jono and Tom decided to sleep out under the stars, eventually waking up quite cold and covered in a thick layer of dew, persuading them to spend the rest of the night inside their tent. John went to bed shortly after I did, and like every other night I gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, “Goodnight, John,” to which he replied, “Goodnight, Diana.” It was very Walton-familyesque less about a dozen family members. It wasn’t long before we were asleep, and good on. We had a long day ahead of us, rife with a roller coaster of emotions, car repairs, smells, and the ending to an experience of a lifetime.

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