the roadhouse
We were airborne
The seat belts snapped
as we bottomed out
In a cloud of black rubber and dust
The chubby combi
swerving
Correcting
back onto tarmac
Who would have thought?
A curve in the road?
My inattention to the road
Duly punished!
I refocused
I was tired!
But wouldn’t admit it
Accelerated
Bent into the wheel
Eyes to the road
As it disappeared into the never never
We had done 450 kilometres today
in this leg of the around Australia car rally
we have been leading since Adelaide
we left Alice last night
after the guys worked over night on the car
while we slept
In the company of Evan Green and Gelignite Jack Murray
The rally was an around Australia race
It was amazing
Me
being a total amateur?
ahead of the professional rally drivers??
the pressure was building
heading for Isa and the east coast on this leg
there were no scheduled stops
we just had to fend for ourselves
fatigue was crawling up my back
the sun
etching the curvature of the earth
shaking off this world
then over a rise
at speed
a gentle lift
sliding into a dip
as the car settles into the corner
like a repressed fear
a big red
flashes through the head lights
I swerve
But thankfully his dodging
is faster than mine
he knew what he was doing
shaken
we search for the next speck on the map
the appropriately named
Roadhouse
it’s time to stop
I’m was done
the roadhouse
pops out of a dip in the dust
as we slow
crackle
into the gravel driveway
the corrugated corner store cum pub
is set back from the road
with enclosed verandas
caked in dust
obscuring the advertising signs
haphazardly dappled around the building
with a block of four
log cabin motel rooms
In silent telepathy
through puzzled glances
really?
log cabins in the middle of a desert??
Unreal!
The motel stands at right angles to the road
almost on the road
miles from nowhere
there is only one car in front of the pub
next to the two fuel pumps
the pumps
powder coated with red dust
finger marks
clawing at the controls
no lights in the motel
the screen door squeaks
shaking off a curtain of red dust
out of the dimness
as we enter
as we are attacked
beaten
slapped
by thick, heavy, coloured, dusty plastic strips
that thud into us
wavering
pushing them aside
the telepathy clicks in again
our eyes meet
the fly’s must be bloody big around here??
we step through the veranda
bumping through a random collection of chairs and tables
into the light of the main space
greeted by the dart of the publican’s eyes from behind the bar
who was talking to the soul drinker
both elbows planted on the bar
engaged in a conspiratorial
whispered conversation
he does not miss a beat!
the momentum of the darting eyes
lifting
turning
as the publican unfolds
shadowing our passage to the bar
one elbow back on the bar
we are signed in
with few words
given the lay of the land
the do’s and don’ts
we are told
in no uncertain terms
the fuel pump, the grocery store at the end and the motel
the keys sliding across the bar
our attention darts
with the clink of a glass hitting the bar
a smacking
wipe of the mouth
with the back on the hand
announces the departure of the soul drinker
with a laconic wave
his lips moving but the dialect escapes us
we would like something to eat?
a stained, fly specked single page
plastic sheathed menu
is slide towards us
our desperateness reflected in our dinner choices
What will do the least damage??
we will settle in and be back in half an hour for dinner
nodding thanks
we exchange
apprehensive looks
as we run at the plastic flaps with our shoulders
pushing out through the door into the cooling night air
the curved horizon ablaze
cloaked by the starry universe
still!
our hollow treads on the motel veranda
echo
rattling the door
as the key is stiff
it finally gives way
swiping into the darkened room as we claw the wall to find the light
the room hasn’t seen a cleaner in years
evident by the layer of fine dust
remaking the bed
we unpack, shower
collect ourselves in preparation for the dinner
walking to the pub
each step
wafting
lofting
powder puffs of bull dust
clinging to every fold of our boots
prepared!
we karate chop our way through the plastic strips
turning to face the bar
laughing
the publican
was not amused!
we pull the only two stools up to the bar
buy the publican a beer
open a bottle of totally chilled white wine
we don’t drink much of that around here!
me wife will bring the food out in a giff
leaning
into our faces
elbows back to the bar
his ample bum
dusting the back bar
rattling the bottles
in a chinking conversation
as if announcing
the head lift
the close lipped
monotone stream
of what consciousness there was
the head turns
his wife
a short, stoic, stocky gin
bounces the plates into touch down
then leaves
no words being said
we wipe the knives and forks
eyes colliding
that telepathy again
moving the food around the plate
trying to discover
what it is?
as the well-worn, monotone of the publican continues
unabated
his father was a miner in Isa
retiring here after winning it in a card game one boozy, long night
he as a kid
started jackarooing at 15
bouncing around Queensland, up into the Cape country
hunting and fishing, working on the trawlers
Yeep
I worked with the bongs
Bloody good horseman when they’re sober
Dad
Yeep!
dropped dead
just there
pointing
they did not discover him for days
so here I am
There’s not much traffic
the truckies, of course
The tourist buses on the way to Alice
That kind of thing
Nothin around here
I put in the motel eight years back
Getting the odd grey nomad, german’s in combies
That sort of trade
We survive on the abos
Who live around the station
They work the properties
But mostly on the dole
On pay and pension day
they all come in here
buy their supplies
putting the remaining money on the bar until they drink it all
it always ends up in a brawl
the women can be worse than the men
soooo
I have to straighten them out with
Nancy
As he finishes the beer
His hand disappearing under the bar
Pulling out a length of thick, plastic hose
Uncurling to his full height
Flicking it above his head
His face deforming in contortions of enraged delight
bringing it down
with a scattering thud on the timber bar
splitting the bar nosing
as we landed with the plates
shattered
Nancy
ain’t no nancy
If you know what I mean?
I filled and sealed her with sand
Sooo
she packs a punch
keeps the buggers in line
She’s broken a few bones in her day
all I have to do
is pull old Nancy out
drop her on the bar
an it’s amazing how it quietens things down
you buggers
from down south
know fuck all what it’s like living amongst them
they’re good for nothin
you have no fucking idea
in fact
why don’t you come with me
at dawn tomorrow
they all camp around here
I can show you how they live
Intimidated
I arranged to meet at dawn for a tour
Withdrawing into the sanctity of the logged cabin
Locking the door
Drifting uneasily into an alcohol induced sleep
Dawn was a rude awakening
I staggered out to the car
While my partner packed
Pulling on a jacket
As it was still cool
The sun just peeping over the edge of the earth
A voyeur on the day
I prized open the dented door of the ute
Slamming it three times
With considerable force
As we moved off
Riding slowly
In and out of dips and rises
Bumping through rabbit holes
As the sun animated the earth
Rolling
Almost rhythmically
over the country
About a kilometre out
The shanties
Dotted around the pub
Almost in a perfect radius
Old rusted cars
Corrugated iron lean-to’s
Mattresses
Scattered about
The dogs
kids
everybody
sleeping together
Hazily stirring in the dust
Lifting heads
Quizzical looks
As we undulated around the country
Always at a distance
Deformed
Naked trees
Smoking fires
others being stirred into life
some
sitting in lounges
in the middle of the desert
surreal
with side tables
still drinking the night’s rewards
waving
shouting
who knows what
Little was said
The publican
knowing he had made his point
sitting tall in the front seat
his head hitting the roof
with each rabbit hole
I looked for the dent in the roof
as the ute settled back into the pub’s granular driveway
kicking the ute door open on the third push
three seems to work
we settled up
saddled up
pushing into the sun
on the next leg
from underneath the silence
the story
slowly crawled out
me
faltering in disbelief
of what
we had done to the first people of this wondrous land
we have taken
their way of life
their food
dignity
everything
and
like the publican
we are all
still living of the fruits of this theft
we drove on