I’m sitting here on Monday the 23rd of August, 2021 at 7:30 in the morning listening to the traffic go past my house. It’s a strange feeling to be back in my hometown. I’m glad I went away when I did as I somehow stayed just ahead of Covid the entire 2 months. I got home the day before lockdown so I got to see my family briefly before I had to bunker down at home.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
If this is your first time reading anything I’ve written, I’m a verbose oversharer and this is almost 6,000 words long so it will take around 20 minutes to read. Scroll through and look at the pictures if you want, or take the time to read it all if you’re up for a story.
When I last posted, I was just leaving Moranbah. I posted that blog, got in my car, and drove to the thriving metropolis known as Nebo. I had written about the town in a story a few years earlier so to actually be there, sitting in the pub or driving past Salmon earthmoving was trippy. It also made me realise how off I was after only doing my research with Google maps. It’s not the same as physically being somewhere.
I remember sitting in the pub at around 4 in the afternoon, dressed up like a bit of a fool in a psychedelic Turtle Skull t-shirt and short shorts. All around me were people in hi-vis who had just knocked off work, and I was getting a couple of looks. In short, I was far from comfortable. I finished my beer and thought fuck it, there’s still a window of time to make some noise, so I drove off and found somewhere to play.
I had a good night at the pub after that, I felt like I’d actually achieved something. I took that energy and ended up meeting 2 backpackers who from the sound of it had been fucking and drugging their way around the country. They were both blokes so don’t get any ideas, it was just chatting. Plus I had to stay sober in case I needed to move my car that night once I’d found somewhere quiet to park and sleep, so all in all it was a mild affair.
I woke the next day and headed up towards Lake Proserpine, opting to go via Mackay. I had lived there for about a month back in 2007, crashing at a family friends house, Russ, and hanging out with Tommy and Hannah back when Tommy was still in school. The thought of going back there was good, I wanted to see what it was like and what had changed. As it turns out, on the drive there I found this awesome spot and couldn’t say no to a jam.
After this, I headed to Mackay. I was looking forward to it on the drive but when I got there… it was just a big town. I even went to the old house where Russ used to live, but without the people I loved inside it’s walls, it was just that, a house. I drove on to Lake Proserpine, feeling a range of emotions as I drove. The introspection was doing me good, looking over my life and where I was, at 35, compared to where I had been at 21.
When I got to Lake Proserpine, I was reunited with Harry and met his friend, Tom.
I would travel with Tom and Harry for the next couple of weeks. But this first night, I got drunk with Harry, accidently punched Tom in the head trying to demonstrate a superman punch, and in general got pretty loose. This was backed up the next night with Tom when he got on the bundy and I got on the beer and gummies. Then the next night when we arrived in Townsville and we were at a backpackers so I figured we had better get some beers.
I was starting to get concerned with my drinking. I know I have a rubber arm, it’s very easy to twist and get me drinking. With drinking comes smoking, and it’s around $50 for a pouch of tobacco. My budget, which hadn’t been big to start with at around 8 grand, was rapidly going down. I had this idea before I left of living cheap and playing music almost daily. Going to bed when it got dark and drinking minimally, if at all. Definitely not smoking. Free camping every night.
Instead, I had found myself doing the opposite. There was little music. There was a lot of socialising, which led to a lot of drinking and smoking. There were nights in back packers and caravan parks cause Harry and Tom weren’t set up for stealth camping in the back of the car like I was.
The amount of money I spent was my own doing, I’m not blaming anyone. Hell, I was the one leading a lot of the inebriation. But I was starting to become acutely aware that things were starting to get out of hand.
Then a few things happened in Townsville.
One was I went swimming. I barely put my head under water but my ear filled up and the water wouldn’t come out l. I totally lost hearing in my right ear. My left has never been great ever since I blew my eardrum. So I could only listen to people on the left of me, through my relatively fucked ear, and the last thing I felt like doing was making music. The other was my car. The horn would randomly honk and the entire car would reset, from the clock to the radio and a couple of times the dash would shit itself and the dials would go whack. This was happening sporadicaly, at one stage every few minutes.
My mood changed. I tried to put this stuff to the side, but let’s be honest, I couldn’t hear properly and had no idea if I’d done permanent damage to my ear. On top of that I thought my car was fucked. I began to consider how I would get home. Could I fly? Or catch a bus or a train? I could take my music gear and maybe jam at random stops if I went by road. That was the whole reason I left after all, I had decided to live out of my car and play music in remote places in Australia. Instead, all I’d done was get pissed on the east coast. Again! This is what I’d done at 21, had I learnt nothing in 14 years?
I thought further. Where could I leave my car in Townsville? Is it even an option? It’s over 2,500 k’s away from my home town, and I was paying rent on a unit there with money I had set aside. I would have to at least head home, pack the unit up, use that money to fix the car and figure out how to get back to Townsville. I had family in Cairns, but that was still four and a half hours away (350 k’s). I thought if I could just get there, maybe I could get my hearing checked and my car either sorted or leave it there while I figured out what to do next.
A lot of thoughts swirled through my head and not many positive emotions were felt in regards to my actions. There had been far too little music, and far too much drinking.
As it turned out, after a chat with a random bloke at a free camp on the edge of Townsville, my car was fine. I just didn’t have the battery terminals on tight enough! Yes I know, I’m a fucking idiot. But days of worry and stress were alleviated after 1 minute with a screwdriver, with no money spent. No more fear about if my car would get up to Cairns or what I would do with it. One half of my uneasiness was gone. I drove north and felt better with every kilometre. My cars issues were solved. The trip could continue. The relief was palpable as my mood lifted, but physically, not much had really changed apart from a few turns of a screwdriver.
My ear however, I got more worried about. It was 5 days now of no hearing, and during a chat with my dad he said don’t fuck around with it, an infection in your ear is awfully close to your brain. I went to a doctor in Cairns once I got there. They looked in and laughed, saying it was so full of wax they couldn’t see anything and there was nothing they could do. The next day I went to another place and got the wax suctioned out. My hearing returned instantly, and the relief was glorious! Immediate problems solved, I could get back to enjoying my trip.
We had opted to camp one night in Cairns before we headed on to Port Douglass. I’d lived in Cairns for 3 months back in 2007 so I was looking forward to the Daintree as I’d never seen it before. I had my moment reminiscing, as I found my old house and walked down familiar streets, but I was future focussed. Especially after we met Kevin Sullivan.
See when we got to this caravan park, there was this sign saying sausage sizzle and music. So we thought fuck it, why not. Harry and I watched it and in that moment, it was great! This bloke called Kevin was a cop, as was his wife. Not just regular cops but detectives who worked in forensics, looking at crime scenes and trying to work out how people died. They got sick of it and opted to quit doing that and instead travel around the country in a caravan doing a musical tour as they homeschooled their kids on the road. I’m not a huge country music fan but that night, I loved it.
Afterwards Harry and I spoke with Kev and his wife. It was super inspiring for me, and confirmation that I was doing the right thing by playing music around the country. Sure, I didn’t have a caravan or a van, but I did have my gear with me and a place to sleep.
With my ears healed and our hangovers gone, it was on to the Daintree. I opted to leave my car in Port Douglass as Harry could go off road in his xtrail so I piled into his car with Tom and we headed off, with me sleeping in Harry’s new rooftop tent.
The Daintree was cool. We spent a few days there and got inebriated as we explored the area. We saw a snake. We shit ourselves swimming as we knew there were crocs around but hoped they weren’t near us. We also just chilled out and talked shit a lot.
We eventually headed back south to Cairns and I spent a couple of nights with my cousins. I hadn’t seen them in years and it was a real highlight of my trip. People bang on about family, and while I know all of my family are dear to me in their own way, it’s not something I prioritise. Perhaps I should. Seeing my cousins kids made me realise that I’m kind of an uncle, and it sucks not being a part of their lives. I was told by Ruby that I had to come back in 2 years when she was 10, so I guess that’s my plan.
All too soon it was time to go. We parted ways with Tom, who was opting to stay in Cairns, and Harry and I went south. Harry was heading to Airlie beach while I would head west from Townsville.
When we stayed together that last night, at a free camp an hour out of Townsville, it was with mixed feelings that we parted ways. We had been travelling together for a couple of weeks and had been talking about this trip together for months. He almost came but decided he had other responsibilities and couldn’t do it in time. We did however start something together on our last day, a project called disposable happiness. Let’s see what comes of it in future.
While Harry headed south, I was also somewhat excited to be doing something that I found to be proper scary. I was going to trust that my car was fine, as it hadn’t played up in a week or so, and drive solo across the country from Townsville to Katherine where my mate Sam lived. It was a drive that took me 5 days to do, and was over 2000 k’s long. I fucking loved it too.
I jammed every day of that drive. It became a compulsion. I would wake up from free camping on the side of the road and head off, knowing I had a long drive ahead of me, no clue where I was going to be sleeping, but also knowing I had to do a song somewhere. I loved seeing how the terrain changed. There’s a few places I didn’t stop at however, so all I can think about now is that I have to go back one day and play music out there.
Stuff happened on the drive, but in reality, nothing happened. The border crossing was interesting. I got through ok but it was the most intense crossing I had done, with a cop grilling me about where I had been. All in all, I drove a fucking long way. I’d stop and eat. I’d refill my water bottles. The car had no issues, apart from me realising how much more petrol I used driving at 130 k’s.
Eventually I got to Katherine, and my mate Sam.
Sam had pulled a funny and shaved his head and grown a goatee. He was house sitting for his friend, Miles, and the timing worked out perfect. We quickly got down to business, buying a slab, some gin, and a pouch of tobacco, then sat on the back porch and watched the dogs.
This, or some version of this, would come to dominate my life for the next 10 days. It was great to see my friend, it had been months after all, but man, it’s with mixed feelings I look back on that time. We spent a couple of days watching the entire bushtucker man series which was great. We watched a movie that turned out to be not so great.
We laughed and drank and smoked and listened to the Presidents of the USA. We also left the house and did some stuff, but in general, it was too fucking hot to do much after midday, and we wouldn’t be active till late in the morning.
A week turned into 8 days, then 9. I had decided to stay a bit longer, as Sam said it was fine. He was going to take me in to work with him on the Monday and I’d be able to see the RAAF base and stuff. So Sunday morning we had a couple of beers and planned to go and hang out at Edith Falls and chill there for the day. Miles was getting home so I’d stay the night at Sam’s.
Then things changed a bit.
See Cairns had been getting a few cases of Covid in the week after I left. Once again I had narrowly avoided it, leaving just before it happened and getting into the Northern Territory. But on that Sunday, moments after Miles came home as we stood on the back porch having a smoke, he announced that Cairns was now a hotspot and it was backdated a week. He had been in Cairns, it’s why Sam was house sitting, and he now had to get tested and isolate in his house. The house Sam and I were standing in the backyard of.
Phone calls were made and plans changed. As Sam and I had a safety beer, deciding what to do, we got the news that I could no longer stay on base with Sam, and he couldn’t go to work until Miles had his result. Miles hadn’t been to any hot spots, but as the whole area of Cairns was declared a red zone, even though he had practically no risk of being exposed to Covid, he was not to leave his house. I was thankful I had only talked to Miles outdoors, but if I took up his offer and chose to stay at his house to sleep, I’d be in a confined space with him. I too would have to find out what his test result was before I could leave Katherine.
It was 2:30 in the afternoon.
I finished my beer and decided. It was time to get the fuck out of here and head home. I was 3,400 k’s away and I didn’t have enough money left if I had to go into mandatory hotel quarantine. It’s $3000 for 14 days and that tap on the shoulder could come at any time if I’d been in an area that was declared a hotspot. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t break the law and put people at risk if there was a chance I might have Covid. I’d have found the money even if I had to beg or borrow it from someone, but I really didn’t want to do that. Instead I got in my car and headed south, with no beer or tobacco after a solid 10 days of abuse.
The start of that trip south was a detox. I’m not saying the withdrawals were really bad, but there was a bit of shaking, and a lot of craving. I ignored it and drove, stopping to play music every day. After about 3 days, I began to feel back to normal. I would wake up excited and have energy. I looked forward to wherever I was going to go. There was a lot of solitude and reflection and it was just what I needed.
It took me 12 days to drive south. It could be it’s own blog post truth be told, but instead, here’s the trip in a nutshell.
I checked out the Devil’s Marbles and felt small and insignificant. The guitar’s electrics went and it wouldn’t work properly. My attitude went from elation at the trip to confusion and fear. I decided to grit my teeth and make noise even if the guitar didn’t want to work properly. I looped what I could, defying the instinct to put the music to the side and just drive home as fast as I could while my car still ran and I had some money. What was the point of the trip if I couldn’t play music out here anyway? I was finally in the desert, this had been the whole purpose of the trip and 2 days in it was over? Not an option.
I went to Alice Springs and was stoked to find a music shop there! I got the guitar fixed and while it cost more than I would have liked, it worked. I’d brought all kinds of things with me but a soldering kit? Nope. Next time. With the guitar fixed the rush home was seen for what it was, fear and avoidance. I wanted to get home because it meant safety and I had a reasonable excuse about why I went home without playing more music. I could get some money by working a few shifts and it would take that internal pressure off. But there was still a lot to see and do and I had no excuses now the guitar was working.
The West Mcdonnell ranges were amazing and I car camped out there for 4 nights instead of 1. I was relatively isolated and enjoying the scenery, not no mention making music at some fantastic places. I started to get some confidence in what I was doing and as the days passed, I relaxed. I slowed down and took my time. With the music, I held the space. I didn’t look up a lot when I played, but I ignored the looks I got from people who would randomly see me and didn’t rush the songs. My ego wanted people to take notice of me. My fear wanted no one to be around. My soul just wanted to play music.
I listened to that deeper part of me and played whether there were people there or I was alone. I took my time to set up my gear so that I could express myself to my fullest capacity, regardless of what my ego or fear screamed at me. I grew somewhat more comfortable in uncomfortable situations. There was a rush every time I played, be it to 10 people or no one at all. I had audiences and I had none. I gained some and I lost some. I didn’t care, I was doing this for me, not them.
I went further south. I saw Pine Gap, well the sign for it. The skin on my finger tips started peeling and it felt like my hands were inside gloves (it’s still peeling as I write this but it’s looking a lot better). My car started playing up. I lost power steering a couple of times and it wasn’t always starting when I turned the key. I was over 2,000 k’s away from home, petrol was over $2 a litre, and I was down to $1500 in my savings account. I knew that would probably all be gone if I needed to get the car towed, let alone however much it would cost to actually fix the car. I was also paying rent back home. So even if I got a job out here in the desert, $1000 of it would be going straight towards rent for a house I wasn’t living in. I was sick of that after 2 months. I considered going home straight away but I thought when will I ever be back here? There were a lot of walks, would I even be able to walk these trails then? Sure, I have every intention of heading back in a year or two, but a lot can change. I pushed the fear to the side and played my music and went on walks alone into areas of the world I had only ever heard about.
I played in front of Uluru at a place that would normally be crawling with tour buses but no one was there because of Covid. I went on a walk through the Valley of the Winds and had the place to myself, seeing not a soul for 3 hours. I checked out Kings Canyon but I’ll be honest, by then I knew I was pushing my luck. Covid had finally arrived in the Northern Territory. Katherine and Darwin were in lockdown for 3 days and I’d missed it by a week yet again. I figured it was only a matter of time before a case popped up in Alice Springs, and then I’d be fucked trying to cross the border into South Australia to get home. So I did a huge mission, driving from the Lasseter highway up to Kings Canyon, doing the rim walk, then driving back to the Lasseter, the Stuart, then onwards into South Australia to cross the border that afternoon.
There were cops on the Northern Territory side but no one in South Australia. It was weird. I drove further in and passed a sign saying welcome to South Australia. I had made it into the state then, but there were no checks. Weird, especially with the cases of covid popping up in Katherine.
I pulled into a rest stop around 4. I like to be set up well before dark. I would generally set up the car then cook some food around 5:30 before it got dark, so I could clean everything and pack it away. I’d frequently go to bed with the sun at 7:30. It was a somewhat healthy lifestyle, well maybe not the diet of pesto pasta, cheese and gherkin sandwhiches and the odd banana, but my circadian rhythm was good.
Anyway I’d been at this stop for an hour or so when this bloke from Horsham comes and says G’day. He mentions how the border crossing to get into South Australia had a line a kilometer long. I’m confused, I thought I’d crossed the border. I had, but it turns out the cops were at a place called Marla, 160 k’s into the state as that was the closest place that had phone reception. It’s a barren place out there, I’d barely had phone reception since I’d left Sam over a week ago.
I was a bit pissed as I had really smashed the drive to cross the border that day. I didn’t have a great sleep that night as all kinds of possibilities floated around, but it was with relief that I drove through the border crossing with no issues around 8 AM the next day. The policeman at the border informed me that I had 72 hours to cross the state. I wasn’t allowed into South Australia like the other states. I was only allowed to cross it.
Game on.
I was on the final leg of the journey and while I had wanted to explore South Australia a bit, I was also ready to go home. I felt like I had been incredibly lucky so far, I had stayed just ahead of Covid the entire trip and while my car was showing signs of distress after 10,000 k’s of driving, it was still working.
But 72 hours is still 72 hours. And I had my music gear with me in the back.
I managed to get a couple more jams in on the way through even though I couldn’t stop as much as I’d like to. I was specifically told I couldn’t stay in Coober Pedy or Port Augusta longer than an hour. I opted to go around Adelaide, you never know what can happen in a big city, and headed off east from a rest area near Dublin, checking out some great scenery near the Barossa valley.
I drove and drove that day. It was Friday the 20th of August. I was going to stay in the Grampians. I checked out little desert. I stopped at some rest stops and thought about setting up my bed. But in the end, I drove all the way home that last day, arriving after dark. It was with some measure of dissapointment that I realised upon getting home, that I had been gone 68 days. One more would have been the magic 69! The next day, on what would have been day 69, word came down that regional Victoria, where I live, was going into lockdown in a couple of hours at 1 PM. Had I stayed out one more night like I’d intended, I’d have pulled off the most amazing of trips in regards to timing.
It was funny how much that annoyed me. I couldn’t shake the feeling though. Instead of being happy that I had achieved something insane, as everyone in my state has been locked down pretty much the entire time I was away, I was annoyed I had headed home and missed the last night of ‘freedom’. I mean really, what’s one more night camping out in my car after you’ve been gone for 68? What did I think I had missed out on? But I couldn’t shake the feeling. Why was my brain not letting it go? As I unpacked my car I went through what it could be. Then it hit me.
The lockdown would mean I could no longer play music outdoors. Lockdowns have a habbit of being sold to us as being ‘a week long’ but it might go on for months. I’d been gone for almost 70 days and my friend in Melbourne had been under lockdown the entire time, apart from one week. I hadn’t even had a chance to have a beer with Matty prior to going as he had been locked down when I left (regional Vic was open thankfully so I could leave the state via NSW, SA wasn’t letting Sicktorians through back in June). Lockdowns are law you understand, it’s not just stay at home guidelines. Once the lockdown hit at 1 PM, I would get fined if I was caught out of my home without an essential reason to leave. While exercise is deemed essential, playing music outdoors isn’t. By this stage, outdoor jams had become a compulsion. On the road I wouldn’t feel satisfied until I had made some noise outdoors, like I had ‘failed’ the day if I didn’t do it. I looked at my watch. 12:30. I had 30 minutes to lockdown.
The idea tumbled around in my head as I grabbed the last of my camping stuff and began putting things away. This was an opportunity, and it was time limited, there was no u-turn, no re-do. Had I learnt nothing during the trip? There was only one option, only one way the story could end. I grabbed my gear and threw it in the back of the car. It was now 20 minutes to lockdown. Where could I go, set up, play, and pack down in 20 minutes? It needed to be close. I started driving, frantically trying to think of a place. I would only get one chance.
I opted for a lookout over Buckley’s falls. You can see a bit of the Devil’s Pool underneath, a place I used to swim with friends as a kid. Roaring into the car park, I saw cars everywhere. People were out getting the last bit of Saturday sunlight before they had to go indoors. This was not ideal. My fear was screaming at me while my ego shouted back. I wanted somewhere quiet. I wanted no one to see this last, rushed jam. But there was no time, I couldn’t get anywhere else before the lockdown hit. I figured now was the time and I had little options left. I saw a lookout point and no one standing there. It was in front of a car with p plates, and a guy and a girl were sitting there looking out at the view.
Now I’ll play in front of people but playing in front of two early 20 year olds is not ideal. I have no idea if they filmed me and sent it to their friends on snapchat or some shit, but I knew I had a time limit and I couldn’t be fussy. So I set up in a mad rush, took a breath, stood on this bench and played.
Before I had struck my first note, a family wandered up and stood at the lookout. They had obviously been looking forward to the view, and there I was. I wanted to apologise. I wanted to pack up my gear and let them enjoy the view. Then I thought fuck it, I have as much right to do my weird shit as they do to look at the view. So I played, they looked out, and we both held the space together. We gave each other public privacy I guess you would say. They left and I finished the song not much later. I looked at my watch and realised it was 1:03. I wanted to do another song, I had the gear set up, the view was now undisturbed, and I was warmed up. But that wasn’t in the spirit of what I was doing. The reason this jam in particular was difficult was because it had a time limit. There would be no second song, no re-do. It was a one shot crack. So I packed everything up and went home.
After all, this spot is just down the road. I can always play here again.
Now it’s 12 hours later, almost 7:30 PM Monday night. I’ve spent most of the day writing this and I’m totally fine with that, I enjoy writing. I’m locked down and can’t go outside to jam anymore, so I’d rather do this than watch Netflix or drink beer. I’ve got almost 2 terabytes of footage to edit and 5 hours of music to mix and sort through. I’m actually ok with the thought of a lockdown as I’ve got plenty to do and no social distractions sounds ideal.
Sure, there’s the lack of money. I now have $500 in my savings account and 3 weeks to get enough money to pay rent. But now that I’m home, I’m sure something will pop up. I’ve applied for a job and I’ll do some more applications soon, and some shifts are bound to come up where I normally work. I just need to not buy shit and lock down on this project while I wait.
I feel like I learnt something out there in the desert. To slow down, turn my phone off for a while so I don’t get outside influences, and focus on my immediate needs. Life doesn’t need to cost much, and our world has been here for a lot longer than the concept of currency. I don’t like to live in this state for too long, poverty can get overwhelming quickly, but I’ve been here before. So long as I’m open to opportunities if they come my way, I’ll be alright.
Till then, I’ll keep creating. By doing that, I’ll keep smiling. It’s that simple.
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