Thursday, 15 December 2011

Quading in the Wet Season!

The kids were up at the crack of dawn this morning and there was no way we could do two days in a row of sitting around home without killing each other or getting divorced so I packed the esky and hubby strapped on the quads, a text message around found two more quad riders that were keen to play in the mud, then we were off.

We dumped the cars and trailers in a quarry off the main road so we could quad in.  I smothered cream over the kids until they were white and slimy. Camel packs on for water, esky full of chicken, crackers and beers.  Quads were full of fuel and ready to go.  We were all almost ready to zoom off when my friend realised he had the keys to his mates quad instead of his; major bummer when you've got no spare in the truck.  He had to drive home and do the swapsies.  Too bad so sad, he had to catch up to us.

The rest of us took off, doubling a kid and straddling the esky, up the dirt track.  The last few weeks of storms had made some mad mud swamps and to get through them you have to drop her in gear, hold on and hope you dont have to jump off and push.  The first few swamps weren't too bad.  Hubby with my son zoomed off and around obstacles crusty-demons style, throwing his ass-end out as many times as he could to try and cover us girls in sticky mud.  I had an extra 30kg of esky and supplies on the back of mine so there was no issue in skidding out on every corner. 

Now my hubby might have some skill but I have to say I'm an ordinary rider let alone when I'm overloaded.  It wasn't long before I came across a muddy wall and trying to negotiate the sides, misjudged and my front tyre gave way leaving me with no other option but jump off and save my daughter on the front.  No sympathy from my hubby just a "you've got to be kidding me..." I laughed my ass off and got on to have another crack at it.  It was one slippery, sticky mother of a bog and it didn't help that I have no co-ordination either.  My daughter on the front just shakes her head and asks me "shall I get off again mum? Do you want me to ride with dad?" while I negotiated the next bog hole. If it wasn't bogs chipped away at my riding confidence it was the bloody sticks that jam up under my feet as I skip along and threaten to take out one of my legs unless I stop and unjam it. 

We arrived at creek crossing number one and pulled out my campfire of wood jammed underneath my engine.  We were all looking forward to being able to wash off under the waterfall and lay about in the rock pools but unfortunately no such luck this time.  She was bone dry.  Bummer!  It was going to be hot.  We cracked a courage can, crossed over the rocky embankment and pushed onto the next crossing. Surely there'd be water in there. It runs almost all year long......


There was only one other choice.  Keep pushing on up the track, through the big swamp and out onto the plains to the shack or limp home with our tails between our legs...  The thunder above us cracked and the rain began to pour really heavily.  At least we could cool off in the rain.  As you cruise through the bush the smells of rain and dirt and euchalyptus trees are enthralling to the senses.  Nothing make you feel more alive than riding fast through the bush with the wind in your hair, eyes open for pigs and on the quest for a waterhole.  None of us considered going back for a second.

Our mate caught up to us at the "Barra Bar" shack, a few sheets of iron on posts overlooking the glorious, prehistoric looking Wenlock River canal; home of the biggest population of crocodiles.  We cracked a beer, ate our chicken or sausage sangas and soaked in the serenity while the thunder storm cracked and poured over the top of us.  

On our way back home the creeks all had water in them but not enough for this girl to wollow in so we pressed on back to the trucks.  On the way home we saw a mob of kangaroos that jumped, panicking, in front of us.  One big kangaroo side-swiped us and we nealy came a-gutsa but sheer luck saved us, yet again for eating the mud.

No pigs this trip but a bloody fun day in the mud.

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