Speaking of tires. Did you know Australians spell the word tyres? When I was working in Cairns, a surly little old lady was complaining about the "lack of education with today's youth" remarking that she saw a young girl "spell tyres with an i". Perhaps the girl was from North America you lovely ole' coot.
I took a rest at a family owned petrol station/caravan park outside a town called Marlborough. The cigarette company should sue the inhabitants, because there was nothing about the people who live there that would want me to become a Marlborough man. They were more like Twinkie Men.
I arrived in Rockhampton around 4:30pm to the welcome arms of my friend, and former work colleague, Bridget. She introduced me to her husband Pat who handed me a beer pretty much when I walked through the door. My kind of guy.
Rockhampton is the beef capital of Australia. Their beef is so popular that they have a yearly event, creatively called "Beef". Bringing in an international crowd, selling out the hotels and any space the locals can muster up. If you're interested Bridget and her husband have a couple rooms available. I only charge a 10% finders fee.
In keeping with Rockhampton's bread and butter, Bridget and Pat took me to a tavern/rodeo arena for a steak. This place actually has an indoor arena attached to it. Bridget boasted that she used to date the1998/99 rodeo champion. Pat and I pointed out that she didn't quite reach the top rung of bull riders. According to the winnings board, there was a Peter who beat her ex-Anthony by a mile.
The menu basically consisted of beef and more beef. I ordered The Jackaroo. It's a 500 gram cut of beef served with chips and salad. Bridget ordered the Jillaroo (250g) and Pat ordered the Mixed Plate (a unhealthy fill of steak, sausage, bacon, ham, egg, chips, and I think there was a salad mixed in for colour - for those of you familiar with The Vancouver restaurant called Memphis Blues, think of it as an Elvis platter for one).
We finished our meals, I took the last swig of my Bundaberg rum and Coke in a can (after tasting this rum I'm seriously considering canceling the Bundaberg portion of my journey, ewwww) and we headed into the Rockhampton night life.
They took me over to the Rockhampton bar/restaurant district where we stopped in a cocktail lounge for a drink or three. The crowd there was young and dressed to the nines. I felt extremely underdressed in my jeans until a young guy came in with a wrinkly t-shirt and Ferris Bueller shades.
Unbeknownst to me, Bridget and Pat's goal (let's just shorten their names to 'Brat' from now on) was to either A) Get me lucky or B) See my lack of game. The Brats picked out women that I might like and suggested I make my move. When I finally made a move on the Brats #1 choice I was let down. It seems she didn't appreciate me chucking a stuffed starfish at her that I just purchased from a lady selling items for a Lymphoma charity. Didn't she see that I am not only spontaneous, but charitable as well. Bridget was sure if she heard my Canadian accent I could have woo'd her, but that was enough of a first attempt for one night. Tomorrow perhaps I'll throw a potted cactus at a girl and see how that goes.
Today Bridget took me out to see the local beaches. We stopped at the marina for a delicious breakfast in the sun. It wasn't until I was walking around taking photos that I realized we were in mortal danger. A sign on a tree, not 10 feet from where we ate, stated 'Warning Snake - a venomous snake has been active in this area, stay alert do not walk through the gardens'. Perhaps the restaurant should warn their customers prior to sitting in the 'Snake Zone'. But, we escaped unscathed and will live to exaggerate our tale of survival to others in the future.
The beaches here are amazing. A mix of rocky shores and expanses of sandy oasis next to beautiful turquoise/blue water. Locals take it for granted. Bridget told me that they rarely go to the beaches. Seemed like a waste of epic scenery until I stepped out of Bridget's Rav4 into the blazing heat of the sun. When a town has sun and heat 330 days of the year, its no wonder they're quick to get out of it and into air conditioning.
I once thought the perfect life would be to live in a beach house, sit on a chair in the sand facing the water, and do my days work (let's imagine I'm a writer). Sounds like a great idea in theory. But when you think about it, the suns' glare on the screen would make it almost impossible to see, the heat would make it unbearable, and my pasty white skin would be red and I'd be in a hospital bed being rubbed with Aloe by a guy named Patty.
I'm off for a swim in the pool and a nap. I'll finish bragging about the Brat's hospitality tomorrow.
Who luvs ya? That's right, Jimmy does.
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