A rock slid from under me and I scudded down the slope. Grabbing a gnarly stump, I dug my heels into the dirt. Then looked down. Beneath my feet, nothing.
Mr. B was not in a good mood as we headed for Kingoonya. He moaned, ‘Hurry! No more stops.’ Then he groaned, ‘Oooh, I’m feeling a bit seedy, you know.’
Dad frowned and glanced in his side mirror. ‘O-oh.’
Then. Thump! Thump! Thump!
I bolted upright.
Dad scrambled out of his cocoon like a scalded cat. ‘What’s that?’
He waved a torch in every direction.
In the front, Mr. B spread a detailed map over his knees and dashboard.
‘I say, ol’ chap,’ Mr. B cleared his throat, ‘where, exactly are you taking us?’
‘Mount Liebig bore,’ Dad replied.
‘Are you sure we can get there without our trusty guides?’
‘Eventually, we have the map.’
‘But, where’s the road?’
At Haasts Bluff station we filled up with petrol, water, and supplies to last us in this virgin land. We were going where not many people, except the Indigenous, had gone before. Upon entering the land belonging to these people; there would be no shops, no houses, and no roads. To salute our departure from civilisation, we bought something to eat and drink. I ate a meat pie.Read more "The T-Team with Mr. B (28)"
‘You need time to appreciate these places,’ Dad explained.
‘Bit rough if we only have two weeks for school holidays.’ Mr. B’s voice sounded like the robot from Lost in Space.
We continued to bump over the rocks and sand where two-wheel drive vehicles fear to tread. Dad recalled his days travelling by donkey along this same track when he explored Palm Valley with his Arunda students.
‘O-oh!’ Dad uttered as the Rover’s underside scraped over some boulders.