As the population ages and the term “Grey Nomads” becomes known to many, especially to the nation’s truck drivers, caravans, campers and motorhomes flood the highways and byways of this great land. “On the wallaby” is the descriptor mostly used by those in the know. But, hidden in those charming cliches are many pitfalls awaiting the unwary—even far worse for the know-all.
It is mostly the ‘newbies’ one finds tearing up the highways hurrying from place to place. Perhaps they can’t shake off a lifetime of discipline and punctuality in the workforce. You can tell that type through the rearview mirror on a long straight road in the outback. Their headlights appear to be on high beam as they bounce up and down from the undulating bad roads. When the vehicle draws nearer it looms as a caravan very poorly loaded, hence the lights appearing to be on high.
The time has come to pass—the blinker has been flashing for about two kilometres with the rig in the outer lane. At the time of passing all becomes clear—a greenhorn on the run. The forward weight of the van raises the tow car’s front end. The hissing and growling of a motor under stress becomes louder as it passes your window, the driver and passenger have grim faces staring into the distance as if waiting for a head-on collision and then the caravan comes into view.
The hurry becomes evident if it’s a family. On the sides, roof and rear of the van will be snow skis just in case. Surfboards, bicycles for every member of the family and probably inside the van you can bet there are golf clubs, tennis racquets, a blow-up kayak and all the lifejackets, plus a bloody barbecue. I’ve often thought that the big hurry for that mob is get from A to B every day in order to play with the panoply of toys in each and every way. The schedule is tight—not a minute to lose.
The other lot, the cashed up ones that tour more extensively opt for the motorhome. Just spin the seat around at day’s end and reach for a cold one in the fridge and watch the sunset. Motorhomes come in many sizes and costs.
Take Mervin, my neighbour down the street, he took delivery of his whopping new motorhome for the bargain price of almost $400,000. A brave purchase indeed, considering he had never been motorhoming before. In fact, he had never been camping before. But never underestimate the romantic lure of a grey nomad yearning to “get on the wallaby”. Magic sunsets followed by celestial astonishment—fresh air—at one with nature—bold adventure, etc, etc!
To make a $400K purchase more palatable, the beautiful monster came with a free home barbecue, although the motorhome already had one—it slid into a slot beside the toilet cassette—sensible engineering. Mervin invited half the street to break in his new, free home barbecue. The main reason was, of course, to establish a large degree of affluence and show off the many fancy gizmos on the formidable rig that dwarfed his house—as viewed from the street.
When exploring the many secrets his camper boasted, Mervin became particularly excited with the 10,000kg recovery winch that could haul the entire truck up a cliff face, so he reckoned, as he ran out the cable to check its length. It went as far as the garden tap in front of a lovely pine tree, then through a double-gang pulley and back to the rig—a goodly distance to be sure.
Three or four neighbours had now gathered to admire the monster. Choosing centre lawn for maximum envy, Mervin fired up the six-litre turbo diesel and selected reverse. Clearly, he had forgotten about the recovery winch. The water pipe bent at a perilous angle but refused to break as the big single-rear-wheels spun at about 50 kph throwing steaming mud everywhere. Mervin was neither tender of foot nor smart of thought. The neighbours kept their distance anticipating more drama—and they were right.
Believing the lawn was simply too soft for the heavy 12-tonne rig, Mervin engaged low-range four-wheel drive. Remarkably, the water pipe held and the rig dug ever deeper, grinding through the couch lawn before coming to rest, probably on the chassis and various fuel and water tanks. In that one moment Mervin made Grey Nomad history, he had bogged the thing on his front lawn and it was now about a half metre lower than the house—hence large mud dollops everywhere!
Not one bit daunted, Mervi had a plan—the recovery winch. The winch had a remote control and when he saw the cable still hitched to the water pipe now acting as a giant zipper opening the lawn he put the chain around something more sturdy—the pine tree of course. As seen on those off-road 4X4 TV shows, the driver juggles vehicle power and winch via the remote.
The onlookers now scattered in all directions lest the cable snap and decapitate a spectator or two. Meanwhile, all four wheels were slowly turning but the monster moved not. Mervin was visibly distraught as he suddenly appeared in front of the rig with his winch remote—the wheels still turning on fast idle with nobody at the wheel. The winch laboured under the load but the truck remained obstinate. Not so with the pine tree.
There came a wicked sound of cracking wood and snapping roots and in a split second the tree was ripped free, pitched forward on the rig smashing the solar panels. The wheels still turning to no avail. But Mervin, sick of the entire mess decided he had other fish to fry—his community barbecue later that afternoon. Funny thing, nobody seemed interested.
A week went by and one afternoon a huge recovery truck arrived to remove the motorhome. With chains and cables taught the monster was dragged slowly and at one point almost toppled over. The front lawn was wrecked and as for the monster, the last we saw of that was it disappearing down the street.
Mervin is now interested in a very large fishing cruiser. It sat on the new lawn in front of the house unused now for some months, the birds like it. There is a “For Sale” sign on it. Maybe Mervin gets seasick?
