Posted by email and NOT edited.
Australia is big and bold. It feels like the last frontier. The landscape changes every hour and the weather every minute. You drive from rainforest to desert in a flash. It is stark white sun one moment and gray and blustery the next. The moss seems greener, the coastlines sandier and the marshes marshier. The diversity enthralls me. The change invigorates me. My vocab here is annoying me. The waterfalls have been amazing. Unlike any I've seen and I've seen my share. Like any great waterfall, the rivers here tumble over plunging cliffs hungry to freefall; but they are different. Instead of splashing down in a violent pool, the water disappears into rock. This is no shit. We found a waterfall where you can walk right up to the base and stand on dry rocks. There is no river, basin, or pool to be seen. The water just disappears. It's like one of those desktop, garden-store, plug-in perpetual waterfalls but at a scale of thousands.
We scooted through Grampians National Park taking in a few of these waterfalls on our way to the Great Ocean Road. The Great Ocean Road is the world's largest war memorial, a tribute to, and built by WWI veterans. The views are unparalleled. Big blue waves transforming into white foam and they crash against the cliff walls. There are massive sandstone pillars entrenched in the surf. Unlike the waterfalls we saw at Grampians, here on the coast, the water does not disappear -- the land does. The greatest feature here are the ten sandstone pillars known as the twelve Apostles. There is also London Bridge, the Arch, the Grotto and Lord Ard (which was a big natural arch). We also stood on the most southern (and windiest) portion of mainland Australia where Australia's oldest lighthouse still stands and an old geezer named Pat tells tales of ships lost at sea.
The Great Ocean road runs along Australia's south coast for upwards of 100 miles. The road hugs the steep sandstone cliffs on the coast most of the way but at times it meanders inland through tall-timbered forest. The second day of our drive we found a tiny town called Gellibrand (pronounced Jelly Brand) in one of these forests with a nice campervan park. They had heaps of rain the previous few days and the camper park was pretty soaked. The Diplomat was worried the camper would get stuck as I pulled into our spot but I reassured her that I know how not to get stuck: "I've driven on 4 continents, Babe, I know how not to get stuck." She looked doubtful so I added: "And I've never gotten stuck where I needed a tow." The grass was wet and muddy and it got a little dicey pulling in but I did what any experienced driver would do: I gunned it forward. Yeah, there were a few deep trenches left behind but we were in place. It rained most of the night. In the morning we packed up, the Diplomat surveyed the muddy trenches more often than I told her that I know how not to get stuck. I got behind the wheel as she looked on. Popped it in gear, gave it some gas, bam, I was out of the spot quicker than the Diplomat could say tourmaline. I had won her over. Ten minutes later we were stuck on the side of the road in mud and I'm putting Heather in Wendy-the-newpaper-delivery-woman car to go get help. Yeah, as we were cruising back to the coast I pulled onto the grassy shoulder to take a picture and immediately saw trouble. The camper was sinking in the mud. Ahead was some gravel so I put the pedal down hard (as any experienced driver would do) but I saw a broken bottle in the tire's path, so I turned to miss it but by then it was too late. We had sunk to half our tire's depth. The Diplomat screamed. I told her…well you know the deal…I know how to not get stuck. "But we're stuck," she argued. "Not yet," I said. "I'm going to back her on out of here Right out of danger. You step back and watch, my dear." You can guess what happened. Jack shit. Sunk to the gunnels. Further efforts made it worse. I kicked up mud from East Timor to Tasmania trying to get us out. The Diplomat stood by the road watching. She was horrified. Her mouth hung open. It was as if our vacation was coming to a sudden end. It was as if I was sinking in quicksand and there was no saving me. But there was hope: Wendy the newspaper delivery woman. Wendy answered our hail and took Heather into town, to the local diner, where Paul was serving coffee to Cindy, where Paul thought Mark the pothole and timberfall service guy might be able to help. Meanwhile, I'm standing by the camper scratchin' my ass trying to figure out how this happened when I see a big, white, worktruck chugging down the road with none other than the Diplomat riding shotgun. She brought in the cavalry. She was my heroin. In no time Mark pulled us out and we were up and running. By the way, a pull does not count as a tow. My claim still stands. I've never been pulled out of mud.
Our next stop was Melbourne to catch a ferry to Tasmania. I enjoyed sharing with everyone I saw that I too was from Melbourne. Melbourne FLORIDA…hahaha! It was so funny. The ferry to Taz was an 11 hour trip. We learned that you are not allowed to bring any fruits, vegetables, or crossbows into Tasmania.
Next stop, Tasmania. Only one week left to go...
Greg and the Diplomat





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