The Adventures - part ten

Adventures Part 10. (Boy, I am spoiling you mob, and not a word of encouragement, hummfh!)

NOTE: There has been an massive edit of Part 10, a few continuity issues, well OK mistakes, occurred during the original writing and the edit.  Gremlins! or summit. 

After Old Pete had a good rest after his rest-less night; he always had trouble sleeping when a luscious sheila was paying him lots of luscious attention, and to tell the truth, he tried to behave, but it was too hard, ifn' ya' know wot I mean.

Here is some late breaking news: The delicious, darling, Dr Reddie has announced the she is going to stay with the travellers, if they would have her, for the rest of the trip.

I may be easy for you dear reader, but now I have to refurbish the story by arranging another camel, or summit. But don't you worry your little head, I'll work something out.

Old Pete was all right with the suggestion, and told her he was happy to have her, any time, at which, Heidi and Dr Reddie giggled; however Old Pete had become equalised and had his equilibrium back in kilter with all the other bits and pieces that held him together.

Old Pete had heard of a truck stop that was further along the track. This track, which was no where to be seen on any road maps, 'cause it was a track and road maps only had roads, except for the Birdsville Track, which is actually a road and therefore qualifies for a road for the sake of a road map.

Another such trail, which is summit like a track is mentioned herein: There's a track winding back to an old fashioned shack along the road to Gundagai.

However, as this is only for historic purposes, and time has passed to change this track into a four lane Highway, I have only mentioned it as an aside, beside the track that is beside the Murrumbidgee River: however it is cross referenced if you should enter the verse from the information previously informed. However, it could well seem as though I am digressing, or getting off the track (Oh! How Droll). However, I shall consult my track map and get back on the road.

The said Truck Stop (Remember?) was some miles from where the intrepid , now, threesome, were enjoying yet another sojourn, (This is a Swedish word that Old Pete had passed on to me for literate reasons). However on further investigation, I have found that it is a word used by Romans and only spoke in Latin so as to confuse those that only spoke Swedish.

The said Truck Stop, which has been noted as one of those massive failures in corporate investment, has had only the one B Double, Mac, fifty-six wheeler with twin overhead fox tails and ten thou' shaved of the dip stick, stop there. According the the history of the desert, this event happened at precisely twenty, or so, years ago, or there about.

It will be some time before the camel party, which they often did, especially when over fed with the V8 mix of fine food,a good rub down by the gentle hands of the gentle Heidi, party that is. Well, before this party comes to the Truck Stop, where all will be solved in future travel arrangements of the travel party, which they did, and so forth. These travel arrangements will be a once only event for the travellers, as soon as I can invent what they may be.

In the interim, between future events and the events that are happening, that sort of interim, which could be described as a sort of intermission. but as there was no mission here-about to get inta', we have to settle for interim, which consisted of a mention from Heidi.

"Guess Vot?" Heidi asked one evening when no one was in a guessing mood.

"Vot?"

"Na you guess."

"Na' don't wanna."

Oh! ya' iss da spoilinheinimersportinkin."

"I iss mine birthenday, tomorrow."

"Oh! Really?" asked Reddie.

"It is really" Asked Old Pete.

"Ya' really, ya' tinken I tell zee fibberheinenhiemer about dis thina', Ya?" ( I think I am really picking up on this Swish Swedish langwidge, hey?)

Dear Darling Dr Reddie realised that she, and Old Pete were being unkind to this kind girl. Old Pete did too, after Reddie Jabbed him in the ribs several times, so.

"Oh! Heidi, that is wonderful, we must party, ya'?"

Old Pete picked up on the moment, which was good as he only had moments when not thinking about Reddie and the nights when he used to get a full nights sleep.

"Have you thought about what you want for a pressie?" Old Pete asked after Reddie had gone for a swim, naked and without a  'cossie' on.  Such goings  on never happened in my day, and now if it did it would not be skinny dipping but lumpy dumping.

"Ya' I haff, dear Old Pete, I vanna vatch. Pliss."

Now this did catch Old Pete off guard, but he thought it could not hurt anyone, I mean out here in the desert, poor little Heidi, with her desires, might well 'Vanna Vatch".

Old Pete, considered that as Reddie was to a part of this event, should have her say on the matter.

"Wot do you reckon, Reddie?"

"What do I reckon about what, darling?", (It was a slow night.)

"Do you think we could let Heidi watch?"

"Watch what?"

"Well, it is Heidi's birthday tomorrow, an' she said that she wanted to watch, an the only thing I could think that she would want to watch is...well you know."

"I think I should ask her, myself," Dr Reddie was a little perplexed at the suggestion.

"Okay, I don't' mind ifn' you don't."

It was not all that long before the Good Doctor returned, and Old Pete had heard the shrill laughter coming from the oasis, so in his cleverness he worked out that it was going to happen, and the girls were laughing in excitement. He also wondered if he had some new moves he could show Heidi, but he only knew three. His repartee consisted of,  him on top, her on top and both on top at the same time, which was a bit interesting. (I don't know, you will have to ask Old Pete.)

"Where would we get a Rolex from, out here in the desert?" Reddie asked the old fella.

"What's a Rolex?"

"A watch."

"A watch ?"

"Yes, dear Old Pete, Heidi would like a watch for her birthday.?

"As well as the other?"

"There will be no other."

"Bummer".

"You asked Heidi what she would like for her birthday, and she said I want a watch, not what you thought."

"I knew that."

So, folks, here is sit hoping for a flash of genius so that I can sort out, not only a transport problem but where we can get a Rolex watch from, and you think your life is difficult.

However, as it so happened and came to be, in the fullness of time and not forsaking the inevitable that inevitably occurs in somewhat different occurrences that occur in different places for different reasons other than to be an inevitable occurrence at a different place, a momentous problem solving occurrence would occur eventually, and did, Yea Verily, and so it did on the eve of the delicious Heidi's birthday, I, like in me instigated a thought into the bean box of Old Pete's idea receptor.

"I think I might take one of t he camels and ride on to the T ruck Stop, we wuz talking about, it is only a hundred or so miles down the track, so I reckon Ifn' I head out soon, I could be back in an hour or so."

"Vy, Why?" was the combined question from the girls.

"I dounno, HE, ain't told me yet, but I reckon ifn' I head orf' I can find out by me'sef." He is very smart sometimes is me' Old Pete, mate.

Mounting up on his well fed V8 camel, after stripping a lot of the extraneous and surplus goods and tackle from its carrying capacity, raising the Air-foil on the rear end, so as to keep rear end traction to a maximum, and doing a last minute check on the ground-effects stabiliser on the front end, he gave the beast a fairly solid jab with his spurs and landed down the track about a hundred yards.

Picking himself up out of the sand, Heidi handed him the lead rope of the V8 for the Old Fella to have another bit of the quick start trick. This time he decided to hang on a bit better, and it worked, the V8, with Old Pete still ensconced upon said camel landed fifty yards down the track, and with the legs of the camel rotating at full revs a large sand storm arose, which could be seen flailing off into the distance for the next twenty minutes.

Reaching into his reserves of human hospitality and cordiality along with a smattering of politeness, Old Pete said "G'Day".

Being a Truck Stop Operator and owner gave this person the traits of the said operation, and he replied with about the same amount of wot Old Pete had used in his greeting, "Yeah! G'Day".

Having established the age old meeting expressions, like, "'ow's the Cricket goin?" or "Could do with some rain." or "Be glad when the floods are over." or, well you know, them type discussions, Old Pete and the Operator, who's name happened to be John Stanley Bartholomew Alfonso Robert McGillicuddy , "But you can call me Lucky, " shook hands, after Old Pete had dismounted, catching his foot in the rigging on the way down, and landing flat on his nose on the concrete driveway, where upon Lucky asked "Ya' All right, mate?" and Old Pete said "Yeah! No worries".

Not having had a customer for about twenty years,Lucky was stuck for the next gambit. He had forgot what he was supposed to say when a likely looking customer came along, and just stood there scratching his bum-crack through his nicely pressed white overalls.

"Lucky, mate, I was wondering ifn' ya' knew where I could get a Rolex watch from?"

"Switzerland, mate, they come from Switzerland."

"No! I want one by tomorrow."

Poor Lucky, the first customer for twenty-bloody-years and he wants a Rolex watch...Tomorrow.

"I'll have a look in me' stock and see ifn' I got one somewhere."

"Yeah Thanks!" Old Pete offered.

It only took fifteen minutes, and Bluey was back with a watch in his hand.

"Bugga me, I had one, here ya' go, yours for ten thousand quid, on special this week."

"One problem, I what one to suit a shelia with a little wrist."

"Okay, hang about." and off he went.

Old Pete hung about. He looked around the place, in the diner with the cobwebs over the big electric stove, the display of confectionery in various states of decay, cigarettes lined up ready to go, but having nowhere to go they went nowhere. It looked desolate, it looked like something out of a fictitious story concocted by a very strange writer.

At the rear of the establishment stood the big Mac truck, the fifty-six wheeler, fifty-seven counting the one in the cabin. Double pantechnicon trailers,  the twin overhead fox tails looking a little worse for their state of stagnancy, dust on the windows making the poor beast look very forlorn and lost.

So now that I have you feeling sorry for the truck, and while the operator is looking for a feminine Rolex, and the camel is chewing on the rubber hoses on the fuel bowsers, and the desert issues forth with its eerie silence, which it does when it is really quiet, and far off mirages dance in the shimmering heat casting the spell of company, or townships, or trees or other stuff, Old Pete thought to himself that this must be one of the worst investment opportunities that the had ever seen, and he has seen some in his time.

Old Pete used to sell barbers pole paint once ,red and white in the one tin, and it came in those spirals, ready to apply, the business also carried a franchise for rocking horse manure, but it was too hard to get the good quality stuff.

He did have a good contract for selling refrigerators to the Eskimos, so that their food didn't freeze, but with no electricity in the area he was designated, he had to tell his customers that his 'fridges worked on kerosene. Of course, they found out and he left the area post haste, and as quick as his dog sled would carry him, which was pretty quick considering he had not had time to hook the dogs team up.

However, I digress, getting away from the subject at hand and, as is a perfunctory perpetration that occasionally seems to cross paths with my mind and my brain, which, I can admit, seem to live in different areas of my intellect that creates my intellectuality in large quantities, a bit like a burst of adrenalin when hit on the head with a large hammer. If you do doubt that , I invite you to try it sometime; it is so good when you stop.

"Mate, " Sed the operator, "I could only find five women's Rolex watches, I thought I had a couple more somewhere."

"Do they come in any other colours, mate.?" Old Pete honestly asked, being as he is the big 'horse' trader type of bloke.

"Na! Not that I know, only gold or silver."

"How much for the gold one in the nice presentation box with the ribbon and , artificial snow on the outside?"

"Before I tell you price, I will be honest with you..The ribbon is cockroach chewing wot chewed the cardboard cover off the box, and the snow is just cobwebs and dust. So, considering the condition you can have this one for a mere twelve-thousand dollars and twenty-seven cents."

"Not a real good way to present ya' stock, mate. No wonder you dont' get a lot of customers. I'll tell ya' wot, I'll give you a hundred bucks for it, and I'll take another one for the same price and a blokes one for the same amount, so that is five hundred bucks all up, that's me offer." Old Pete was a fair dinkum, Outback bushman, not an accountant.

"Make it four-fifty, and its a deal." neither was the Operator.

"Yeah, dun." and they shook hands and exchanged cash for goods with the Operator tossing two carrots for the camel to get it to stop chewing on the fuel hoses.

"One other thing, " Old Pete started, "The truck out the back, is that yours?"

"Well sorta'." Which is a very acceptable answer in this country when you really don't own an item but can see the potential for making a buck or two on a deal.

Old Pete accepted the answer, continuing with his thoughts in the direction of his thought pattern, which is not all that much a pattern, more a mosaic wot used to be the way Old Moses used to think, or so they reckon, or it could be described as one of those paintings that the bloke named Piccascerio, or Pissakka, or summit used to paint when he was on medicinal medication containing stuff wot made him see strange things, ifn' ya' know wot I mean. Really, I am being a bit hard on Old Pete, he is not too bad when he is full of it, like I am most times.

"I'll tell ya' wot." Old Pete said.

"Wot?" asked the Operator.

"I'll tell ya' wot I want ta' ask ya' about the truck."

"Wot truck?"

"The one out the back, the big Mac."

"Aw! that truck?"

"Is there another one I might 'ave missed?"

"Na!."

"Yeah!, well that truck."

"Wot about the truck?"

Come on, dear reader, this is the Australian Outback, folks talk like this here-about, believe me.

"Well, " Old Pete continued unperturbed, I mean he had been perturbed in the past, as well as being trepid rather than intrepid, and of course, that common old problem of tough men of the Outback, he had many times, on occasion, been found lacking, which is like licking when you have nothing to lick, an act that most Outback folk know about, but do not talk about for fear of being licked in the discussion because they lack the substance to lick, alack and alic, as me' Old Mate Bill Shakespeare never said.( I think it is prudent to leave Alass out of this bit of informative information.)

"Well, I'll tell ya about the truck," The Operator deigned to the designated Dinner of the truck stop so that they, they being Old Pete, the Operator, and of course, Wilber the V8 camel..Yes, Wilber. could sit in the comfort of the air conditioner and have a stubbie of good cold beer from the commercial size fridge.

Wilber tossed his stubbie in one flick, so the congenial Operator just put the slab of beer on the table and said "Help ya' sef'" which all and sundry did, as deigned.

Informative Notation: In this country a carton of beer in glass stubbies as opposed to the long neck bottles, is called a slab. The slab is also a measure of distance as in: "How far to Bulladealah?" the distance is then measured on how many slabs of beer you could consume in the time it took to travel the distance, and could be as such:"Oh! About a slab and a half, Mate."

Deigned: Deemed worthy, or from the French, Dingus worthy...Fair Dinkum.

"Where do ya' get the electricity from, mate?" Old Pete asked, suing mate as I have not come up with a name for the Operator as yet.

"Out of them switches on the wall, why?"

"Where does it come from before the switches?" Old Pete was being facecial .

"How the bloody heck would I know?. I am a Truck Stop Operator, not an bloody electrician."

"No need to get your knockers in a knit," Old Pete tried to calm him.

"So, grab a stubbie, and we will go look at the Mac truck, ifn' ya' interested." The Operated calmed.

It is here that the writer has laboured over the conundrum of extra transport for Reddie. I solved the birthday present fairly easily, but the transport thing is a bit more complicated; however, I am not a genius of nothing, well I am, no one pays me to be to be a genius, so I just have to carry this burden of super intelligence along in my modesty bag, which is almost overflowing with accolades and stuff.