The East Coast Road Trip

by Steve Deeks

  In the midst of waving away the fog circulating my face, suddenly I heard a thud. Immediately we looked behind us where a small bird had for some reason best known to itself decided to fly into a nearby window, before collapsing on the ground. The weird individual sprang to his feet, far quicker than I would have thought possible for a man of his conditioning, and attended the bird, which was not moving. He picked it up, looked anxiously at it and placed it delicately back on the floor, seemingly unsure what to do, before being forced into drastic action, where unexpectedly he began performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation in a desperate bid to keep the bird alive.

  For a few seconds it seemed from our vantage point there may be hope, before confirmation duly arrived of the sad news. “She’s dead,” he sobbed, and then looked to the sky sceptically with tears rolling down his cheeks, as if to question whether there was a god. “Come now little Sheila,” he said softly. And after digging a small hole near some bushes, he gently placed the dead bird inside and lightly kissed its head before covering it over with soil. “That’s the best grave I can do. Now go. Be free. Fly again my little princess.” The man walked back over to us and smoked the rest of his roll-up before heading off disconsolately in a world of his own misery, seemingly forced to rethink his entire belief system after the tragic death of the bird.

  It was good news for us, though. “Thank god he’s fucked off,” Mark said, taking a deep breath and a large swig of beer.

  “I don’t think he would ever have left us,” added Sam, still looking dazed and ever so slightly tortured from the whole ordeal.

  We finished our drinks and made a hasty exit, in case any other strange people tried to latch on to us. Desperate not to be late for the cookie-making grandma Mrs Miggins we marched purposefully up the street. As we arrived outside the shop a look of tension appeared on everyone’s face, as they anticipated doing the “deal”. Looking from side to side, as if he had MI5 on his tail, Mark flicked his head toward the entrance. “Let’s go in boys,” he whispered.

  “I’ll see you back at the car,” I replied shaking my head, having had enough excitement for one day, and wanting more than anything to just sit down and sip my drink without having to mingle or look at weird locals.

  Mark winked conspiratorially. “Yeah good idea, you keep look out.”

  I waited painfully for over half an hour until they finally returned after what looked like a successful operation judging from the childlike grins on their faces. “We got the goods mate,” Mark announced, like he had just robbed several suitcases full of cannabis from a load of gangsters at gunpoint. I rolled my eyes as I was forced into bringing him back down to earth. “What you mean the chocolate cookies, as opposed to the five kilos of cocaine?”

  I was given a patronising look as Mark hit back, “Yeah the cookies…they’ve got gear in them though yeah.”

  “So Mrs Miggins told you. I bet she thought you had ‘mugs’ written all across your foreheads. How much were they?”

  “Nah doubt it mate, we got a right result – only $38 for ten cookies.”

  After I’d finished laughing I pointed out that you could buy a packet of cookies for around $2.

  “Yeah but these are special cookies, you know?”

  “Yeah so special they cost you $38.” I shook my head, grinning at their misfortune.

  “We’ll see, we’ll see.” Somehow I wasn’t afraid of being shown up. But, in any event, there was no shame in being duped by a true professional like Mrs Miggins.

  Chapter 12 – Byron Bay

  With rain pounding against Stevo it was more than a welcome relief to pull into Byron Bay after being on the road for an hour and half. Our moods reflected the dark wetness outside following a tense journey where it was hard to see more than a few feet in front, despite the windscreen wipers going berserk to clear off the unrelenting flow of water.

  We parked up in a space overlooking the sea – not that you could particularly tell it was the ocean due to the blackness, with only the crashing of waves giving it away. With everyone tired and hungry we decided to alleviate our starvation by opting for Domino’s Pizza. But before we made our way there - and with no apparent public convenience – Sam and I were forced to use the great outdoors. Joyfully splattering all over some bushes thinking no one was around, a family suddenly appeared from out of nowhere. “Look daddy there’s two men going for a wee,” the voice of a small child suddenly said.

  Desperate to avoid a family of strangers from seeing my third leg I instantly turned away, pushed out as much water as I could before performing a few token shakes and walked away like an innocent man, trying to convince myself they hadn’t seen anything. Sam followed, but seemed more relaxed about it. “I don’t care if they saw my dick,” he smiled cheekily.

  I nodded. “No I bet you don’t. You Swedes are known for walking around naked.” As I looked down I noticed a bigger than usual wet patch around my groin. Unfortunately this was a familiar consequence when finishing peeing prematurely.

  While rubbing the area around my lower regions hard in a desperate attempt to dry the patch we nevertheless strolled down to Domino’s and ordered our pizzas. And then waited. And waited. There was a spotty teenager – who can’t have been older than 17 – managing the place, if that is the correct description. But it would be no exaggeration to say that a blind chimp could have done no worse. In fact they probably would have done a great deal better. Red faced and confused, he looked out of his depth at attempting to coordinate this most intellectually advanced of operations; whereby orders had to match the cooked pizzas. I even felt slightly sorry for him that he had been thrown in at the deep end. That was until I continued to wait and wait, and then wait some more.

  It was clear that my order had been cocked up. “Which country is the pizza being shipped in from?” I asked, attempting to lighten the stiff atmosphere. Unable to even raise a false smile he apologised and said it would be ready shortly. A further 15 minutes later it did, having actually being made this time. Still, one hour to wait for a pizza when you’re starving, tired and not in the most forgiving of moods after endless travelling, was not exactly what I needed. The box was enticingly hot and had that delightful smell emanating from it. I couldn’t wait to tuck in.

  With it still raining and too cramped in the car, Sam and I went over to the adjacent children’s park and found a sheltered spot under a slide, where at long last we could sink into our delicious pizzas. Or so I had, perhaps foolishly, assumed. The dough base bore the resemblance of charcoal, leaving me none too impressed after the ordeal I had been through. “Spotty faced twat,” I muttered, referring to the useless kid who had taken my hard earned money. Despite this I began by cautiously eating the less burnt bits, but I soon realised it made no difference as every mouthful tasted like burnt toast, apart from for the fact it had cheese and meat on it.

  Just as I was about to frisbee the remaining half of one of the worst pizzas of my life, I felt the presence of a man enter the park area. “Hello my friends, I see you under there,” he said, peering below the slide in an authoritative yet somewhat odd tone. I immediately thought we had either done something wrong or that he was a sandwich short of a picnic, with him a representative, perhaps, of the local tramp community. As it turned out I think I was right on both counts but couldn’t be totally sure. “So you like it here? Been here long?” he said in a friendly enough tone. But with every word he seemed to get weirder and weirder, especially as in normal life you would explain why you were interrupting people you’d never met before, particularly when they were eating food and sat under a slide in a park, as this, if nothing else, would tend to indicate they were not keen on socialising.

  “So you like this park by the looks of it,” he continued. I glanced at Sam, who by now was opened mouthed with confusion as the individual launched into a discussion about the history of the area. “My great, great grandfather owned this place. This p
ark you’re sat in now, he owned it.” Pride was bursting from his voice.

  “You must be very honoured,” I replied, attempting to placate him so hopefully he would kindly fuck off.

  Unfortunately this backfired. “Oh yeah mate, defo. Not everyone can say their great, great grandfather owned such land.” I was still none the wiser where this strange conversation was heading. “You see, he was an Aboriginal. Everyone looked up to him.”

  “How does this affect me while I’m eating a pizza?” I muttered, my patience being severely eroded with every passing second.

  After babbling on with his inane irrelevance a bit more, he added, “So even though they took our land, we say ‘fuck you this is our land’.” It was at this point - somewhat belatedly - I realised that he must be an Aboriginal too, if his great, great grandfather had been, unless of course he had been adopted. I had overlooked this striking fact mainly because I had been falling asleep throughout most of his conversation. Though in my defence he didn’t look like an Aboriginal, which merely added to my confusion.

  “Anyway,” he said, as if by some miracle he was finally about to leave. “Any of you guys got a few dollars you can spare?”

  “I knew it,” I mumbled. This was a technique I’d been on the receiving end of countless times before, normally at train stations or after you’ve just withdrawn money from a cashpoint, whereby the slightly menacing individuals essentially attempt to bore you into submission. To be fair to them, though, it often works as people will do anything to see the back of these irritating leaches, so sparing a bit of change always seems like a good deal. On this occasion I had no coins but came up with a good deal all around. “I’ve only got notes on me,” I began, the man’s eyes suddenly lighting up like he had hit the jackpot. “So obviously I can’t give you any of those…but what I can do is give you the rest of this lovely pizza.”

  After momentarily looking despondent having foolishly assumed I would be handing out what little cash I had like the lottery, he seemed to perk up again once I made the pizza offer.

  “Ok mate sounds good.” He held out his hands like a beggar, which, I suppose, he was, although perhaps more highbrow than some in his industry.

  “Here have mine too,” Sam continued, adding to the appearance of being a good Samaritan, even if the reality was somewhat different with him also unable to stomach any more of his burnt to a crisp pizza.

  “Cheers guys. You know you’ll always be welcome here in this park. My great, great grandfather would be proud of you two.”

  “I’m sure he would. Enjoy your pizzas,” I replied with a cheeky grin. And with that we smugly walked off having cunningly disposed of our vile pizzas to this unsuspecting individual, while looking as pure as the Virgin Mary. More importantly, however, we had finally freed ourselves from the clutches of this nauseating fool.

  We met the others, who had luxuriated in eating their pizzas in the safety of the vehicle, and decided that we should get some rest for the night. But with it gone 11pm and just before Christmas, everywhere we tried was packed. Having weighed up the merits of all five of us sleeping in the vehicle, as well as the possibility of staying up on an all night bender – “It works out cheaper than staying in a hostel and you get drunk, “ Simon suggested temptingly – in the end we decided we would camp. Anywhere. It didn’t matter if it was not a prime location just as long as there was some grass so we could rest our weary heads.

  We spent the next 20 minutes driving around aimlessly before we came back full circle. The options hadn’t been great, with the outstanding choice being some land adjacent to the park where Sam and I had suffered our unfortunate ordeal with the local Aboriginal. We concluded that it was vital we stayed as far away from this man and his associates as possible, though. “We’ll probably get robbed at knife point but only after he has told everyone the story of his great, great grandfather,” I said, wincing at the thought of ever seeing him again.

  “Plus our tents will probably get pissed on by everyone coming out of the bars and clubs later,” Mark added wisely.

  Simon smiled, “Not everyone’s like you.”

  “Thank god,” Sam joked.

  We drove off in a different direction this time and found ourselves meandering down some winding track before we arrived in an area sheltered by trees with a reasonable expanse of grass. Encouragingly, there were a handful of camper vans and tents, which confirmed that this was indeed an appropriate spot to pitch up on. After doing three laps of the small area we settled on a piece of grass farthest away from everyone else, right by a stream that was partially sheltered by some overhanging trees. In the pouring rain Mark and I went through the painstaking ordeal of putting up the tent – which even for someone now as experienced as myself at erecting portable shelter, wasn’t easy in such wet and dark conditions – and then blowing up our famous inflatable bed. The others were forced to stay in the car after discovering that half their pegs and bottom cover was missing, which would have meant lying on wet ground had they opted to go ahead with the tent option.

  Relieved to have finally got our luxurious tent up Mark and I got back in the car for a bit of relaxation before sleep. I hadn’t realised but the others had all eaten their magic cookies more than an hour ago when we pulled up to get food. They all looked exactly the same as they did before. “So they’ve done a lot then…well worth the $38 you paid,” I said triumphantly, following my prediction they had been conned by Mrs Miggins.

  They badly wanted to believe the cookies had done something, but sadly for them they all knew deep down they hadn’t. “I think I feel a bit different,” Simon suggested weakly, before letting out a sudden snort like people do when they’re high. Never one to mess about, Sam was having none of it especially feeling as though he had been robbed, which of course he had. “They are shit,” he said scathingly. This was music to my ears. Never one to be silent for more than half a second, Mark was strangely quiet, which was all the confirmation I needed that these were no better than a packet of economy $2 biscuits. “Not so sure of your cookies now are you?” I added smugly.

  Changing topic quickly, Mark decided to use the moment to confirm what his plans were. The rest of us had decided we would be staying in Byron Bay, providing we could find somewhere that would put us up, while Mark had been dithering over whether to drive back to Sydney in time for Christmas or stay with us. “I’m gonna leave tomorrow,” he suddenly announced purposefully. “If I’m on the road by lunchtime I reckon I’ll be back in Sydney the day before Christmas Eve. The girl mate I’m staying with is having a massive party Christmas Eve so hopefully I’ll be able to get my dick soaking wet in some gash if I’m back in time.”

  The rest of us looked at each other wearily, as Mark continued to fill us in on his latest target. “There’s this one I pulled before who’ll be going so if I don’t get with anyone else I’ll just have her.” Clearly his mind was made up after assessing the pros and cons of the situation. Of course, it was a shame he would be leaving us but he had clearly taken the decision he was more likely to get laid by going back to Sydney and knowing how much this meant to him we couldn’t stand in his way. In any case we would see him when we got to Sydney.

  Perhaps due to nostalgia, as opposed to the cookies, the conversation then shifted toward some of the high points of our road trip, before Sam cut off Mark’s reflections at the various women he’d been with and sensationally admitted to a secret relationship down the east coast, “You remember that Irish girl we met at Fraser Island and then Brisbane?” We paused, straining our brains. “You know…the one who was more than ten years older than me?” Suddenly it all came flooding back. “Well, we’ve been seeing each other,” he went on sheepishly. “But don’t say anything if you see her – no one’s supposed to know. She’s embarrassed that I’m ten years younger than her.”

  I don’t think Sam realised what he had let himself in for, “Have you fucked her then?” M
ark enquired demandingly.

  “We’ve done stuff, you know…-“

  “-You mean you haven’t nailed her yet and you’ve been seeing her all the way down the coast?” Mark scoffed patronisingly, as if this was one of the great crimes of the century.

  “Well…I have fingered her and licked her out…oh and she wanked me off once.”

  “So you haven’t fucked her then? That doesn’t count then mate sorry.” Mark in his endearingly cutting way had been affronted and deeply mystified at how someone could be seeing a woman without full-blown penetration.

  “Those fucking time wasting women piss me off. Either they want it or they don’t. She’s not getting a bad deal either is she by the sounds of it? You want to at least make her suck you and jerk you off more. You’re not her fucking slave.” His anger was bubbling over, partly through indignation at how a friend of his could be so mistreated but more, it seemed, out of his own painful memories of similar situations from his past.

  Once things had calmed down we decided it was time to sleep. Mark and I made our way into the tent. “So this could be the last time we ever sleep together,” I winked.

  Mark smiled. “Yes mate I guess it is. Keep away from my arse though yeah?”

  Unable to let him have the final say I instantly hit back, “And don’t even think of tea-bagging (placing your testicles) my face when I’m asleep. Save it for someone else.” And off to sleep we went together for the final time.

  I awoke early the next morning, or what felt like early, as you never could be totally sure when having no accessible clock while in a tent. The sun was beginning to shine and there was stirring coming from the other nearby campers. Mark was comatose in a pool of his own saliva, while there was nothing but silence coming from Stevo. I thought about getting up and waking everyone just in case we were on private land but instead laid in the comfort of my own warmth, as the early morning wildlife began to awake. Then, one by one the engines of the nearby campervans started up and made off. “They’re early risers, they must be all going somewhere,” I thought, feeling slightly suspect at why all of them were leaving. Nevertheless I put this out of my mind and continued to lie about dreamily.