Darkness Rising
If week six was the apocalypse, week seven of our adventure is fallout - the time where the remaining few crawl out from the debris to scavenge, plan and (hopefully) rebuild. Sure, they’re shaken. Yes, they’re a little beat-up - but god damn it they’ve survived, and they will face whatever is next head on. Little do they know, there’s still a lot of challenge to come.
The seventh week of adventure began with a ridiculously huge breakfast, consisting of as many perishable foodstuffs as we could stuff in our stomachs. Appropriately plump, I tottered into town to buy paint for the mural. As I went back to my car, I spied a man, lying face down next to a dumpster. He looked like he might have been living rough, but he did not look like he was sleeping or passed out - he looked like he’d been dumped there. I went over and asked if he was okay. Absolutely zero response. I was genuinely worried at this point, and tentatively reached out to put my fingers on his wrist and check his pulse. It was strong, and his wrist was warm, which was a relief - but he was still unresponsive - so I called the police and let them know my concerns. They sent someone right away, and within two minutes I saw them help the man to his feet; he appeared to be okay. I breathed out, and drove off to get my paints.
Back to Pumbaa, and I was all set up. I toiled away the remainder of the day, outlining and filling basic colours for Pumbaa’s mural, which was already shaping up well. It was nice to be doing something that wasn’t crisis management, anyway.
…
The following morning, we packed our bags, loaded the rental car with everything we needed, and had the tow truck take Pumbaa to the mechanic. The tow truck driver was the same guy we’d had assess the bus on behalf of the RAC, so we updated him of the developing narrative. When we arrived, we provided as many details as we could to the disinterested, condescending receptionist, then drove over to have lunch at Matso’s brewery.
Pumbaa hitchhiking
Once we were satisfied, the next stop was the Airbnb. We set ourselves up, showered off, read for a while, and watched Chicken Run to cap off the night.
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It was the 30th of June - the day of the repairs, when we would know Pumbaa’s fate. We ate breakfast at Dragonfly cafe, then spent the first half of the day kicking back in the Airbnb - booking another one for the night, just in case Pumbaa wasn’t up to driving. By lunchtime, we had still heard nothing, which we felt was a good omen. We checked out, ate McDonalds in the drive-through parking lot and, at 3:00pm, called the mechanic. He said “yeah all ready for you guys, but I wanted to have a chat to you when you get here.” All ready for us! He probably wants to let us know what happened, and what to be cautious of, we reasoned. Still, the nightmare was over, so we drove up to the workshop to collect Pumbaa.
Turns out, this mechanic has a taste for suspense. When we arrived, he listed all the things that were wrong and what he had done to fix each issue…and ended by saying that Pumbaa failed a particular test, which indicates he has a blown head gasket. This means, he elaborated when pressed, that the engine needs to be taken apart and reassembled, which a) is an enormous job; and b) he cannot do. Well, that sucks.
We left the mechanic, despirited. Pumbaa could still drive, but we were unwilling to push our luck by risking it all on any big trip. We still had an appointment with another mechanic booked in for the 4th of July, but I had, without realising its continued significance, thrown away the piece of paper with the mechanic’s name - and boy, we have called a lot of them. We called all the mechanics we recognised, and visited a few, but no such luck, Alessandra cautiously drove Pumbaa to the nearby Airbnb, while I took the rental to the final name on the list. Success!
I explained the situation to the mechanic, and he advised that the job would be two full days of work - which he wouldn’t be able to do for another month, at least. His suggestion? Ship Pumbaa back to Perth, cop the cost, and sort repairs out there.
Well, things couldn’t look much worse, I thought as I drove to the Airbnb. Spoilers: it can.
When I arrived at the Airbnb, I found the host and my sweet Alessandra scrubbing the driveway; Pumbaa had leaked all his oil out. That’s right. Huge streaky pools of oil across the driveway. After leaving the mechanic. Well, at this point, it was just par for the course; I called our (now familiar) contact at the RAC, who came out and assessed the issue as being two things: there was no clamp on one of the pipes, which had, as a result, disconnected itself; and the oil cap was literally just sitting on top the engine block. In fact, he corrected, the oil cap does not screw on at all - a problem it did not have before the mechanic. So, our mechanic had solved a half dozen problems, and left us with two new ones. Not really what you want when you shell out half a grand for repairs.
My turn
We had a long talk with our Airbnb host and her friend, who lived in adjoining spaces to our lodgings, and they did their best to help. Despite the best intentions, however, we were left with a seemingly insoluble problem. See, this all happened on a Friday, and it was evening by the time the RAC assessor left. Neither the mechanic nor the shipping company would be open again until Monday, which left the weekend ahead to figure out. Thing is, there were no Airbnbs available for Saturday or Sunday nights, and the caravan parks were all booked out. We had nowhere to stay - and Broome is not a place where you want to risk your cars on the street overnight. The only option appeared to be towing Pumbaa back to Gateway Caravan Park once more; then towing him to the shipping people - assuming we could even arrange the transport back to Perth.
Never had a problem looked so devoid of ready solutions, so I did what anyone would do in this situation: called my mum. Then I went to get us chicken schnitzel with chips and gravy for dinner, and we watched a violent movie on Netflix, putting the whole thing off until the morning.
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Saturday morning began with the two of us sitting on the couch, staring blankly into the void. It was simply too much to think about. Eventually, we got started. Alessandra began by packing up the Airbnb and making enquiries of the caravan parks in town, while I extended our rental car hire and went to Mitre 10 to grab a hose clamp. I got back and tried to secure it, but everything was an inch out of reach, and all I succeeded in was getting dirty and annoyed. I went back to Mitre 10, looking for other options, and picked up an emergency fuel cap while I was there. My second attempt (crawling under the bus to try to get at the pipe from there) was even messier; and equally unsuccessful. Luckily, Alessandra had been more fortunate in her efforts, and had us booked in for a caravan park in town, through to Tuesday morning. We decided that we would keep our mechanic appointment on the 4th, to at least patch up the issues left by the last guy; and seek out shipping arrangements for Pumbaa in the meantime. The issue of where to go over the weekend had, at least, been overcome.
Once we arrived at the caravan park, we decompressed for a long while. We plugged Pumbaa in to charge, then left to collect groceries and a bag of Chicken Treat for a guilty dinner. Things were looking up.
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A normal day at last. Sunday was a laid-back catch-up day at the caravan park, beginning with Alessandra’s protein apple pancakes. I spent much of the morning writing, which was followed by a break enjoying some live music poolside, packet of crisps in-hand. Crisps gone, we wandered down to the beach, walking across the muddy expanse that sucked in our feet in the low tide. Once we were a good way out, we let Sabre get some energy out - which was great, until a huge dog came out of nowhere. Sabre handled it really well, gamboling about and trying to goad the other dog into racing him. We were still nervous, as Sabre can be unpredictable with other dogs, but our fears were, in this case, unfounded. We all came back to Pumbaa muddy and happy - though Sabre’s happiness turned to misery when he saw Alessandra grabbing the doggy shower hose attachment. He rushed to his bed and lay down, but it was no use - shampoo was coming for him.
The beach at low tide
While Alessandra cooked up schnitzel for dinner, I popped over to Coles to get us some ice cream for the evening, and we spent the remainder of the night warm and at ease, eating our ice cream and watching Titanic.
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The reprieve continued Monday, which was very much an art day for me. I slept in, and Alessandra surprised me with a coffee she bought while out on a long walk with Sabre. After slowly making our way through the morning routine, I went into town to run a few errands. Once back, I took to the mural once again, filling in a deep blue on the body of the whale; adding rich shadows and flecks of highlight.
Progress!
We’d been cooped up for a while, so we went to stretch our legs at the beach, letting Sabre frolic and romp about - with no other dogs around this time. When we returned, I spent a good few hours sketching studies of dogs. I loved mimicking the dynamic curves and organic shapes, truly feeling in a flow with my linework. By the time I looked up, it was already evening.
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Week seven of our adventure ended with Pumbaa’s second mechanic appointment. We got ready, sorted out another caravan park stay for the next several days, took a deep breath, and made our way over. Right away, the mechanic had a look and confirmed the diagnosis we’d already been given; however, he promised to look over the little things we wanted sorted. That was that, then - Pumbaa was going to be sent back to Perth on a freight truck, where we could then look at the necessary repairs. We dawdled; had breakfast at Green Mango cafe; drove the rental over to the caravan park for an early check-in; and took Sabre for a good run around at Cable Beach. Just after lunchtime, we got the message from the mechanic that he’d finished, so we collected the old bus and settled him in his spot for the next several days. The rest of the day was slow and uneventful - a mere passing of time. Tomorrow harkens the beginning of the eighth week on the road to grow; and, also, the final stage in planning for our temporary return to Perth.
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It has been an odd week. Challenges appeared one after another, sapping our energy and hope; followed by the period of calm that so often follows a violent storm. We can take a lot from our seventh week on the road. Here’s some of the lessons learned:
If you’re worried about someone, trust your gut - don’t assume someone else will ‘deal with it’
If you’re in a difficult situation and you don’t know how bad things are, plan for the worst. It’s easier than having to respond to the worst
If there’s no accommodation listed on websites, call up - you might get lucky with a cancellation
There is no age or situation where a call with your mum doesn’t make you feel better
Big problems are just made of lots of little problems. Cut up the beast; fight one piece at a time
Even the worst outcome isn’t so bad once you have accepted it and made a plan
