Look at 'er gleamin' in the sunlight

I have found the love of my life here in Australia... she's been around the country a few dozen times, but

look at her. I went and hung-out at the King's Cross Backpackers Car Market down in Sydney for about 3 days learning the approach to buying one of these beauties while Down Under. The old parking garage was filled with about 50 genuine, true blue backpackers vehicles of all shapes and sizes, each puffing out a dose of its original "rode hard" eau de exhaust. The goal is to get the least shitty car possible. One that stands a chance of getting you around Aussie. I don't know if this piece will get the job done, but boy is she fun to look at and she handles like a Big Wheel.

Here are the facts... 1986 (somewhere about the time Thriller came out?) Ford Falcon GL Station Wagon. These puppies apparently run forever and are scrapped all around the country for easy parts. What really sold me was the set of Bull Bars on the front of this baby. When you drive at night out in the Outback, there are supposedly some issues with kangaroos jumping out into your path... and it takes this car so long to get up to speed, that once she's rollin'... she's rollin'... kangaroo or not. She's got a big picture of Taz markered on the hood by a previous owner.

Here's the kicker... all these backpackers cars come with all the essential camping equipment to survive anywhere. You open up the back of my car and out falls mattresses, tents, sleeping bags, camp chairs, portable TV, camp table, stove, soccer ball, pots, pans, plates, cutlery, coolers, maps, one of those things you put on the steering wheel to deter thieves (shitty old Ford Falcons must bring top value in the black market), and a french fry covered copy of George Michaels "Faith" cassette. What else do you need?

The only problem is that she needs a name. I need some consultation, some feedback on what the perfect title would be. Take a good look at her and throw some names out. Notice the curves in her body... the little dents and scrapes... the virtual high performance machine. I'm going to pick a winner in a few days time and that person will get a didgeredoo or a boomerang or maybe your very own wombat. Post them names.

While backpacking Europe a year and a half ago I was in a bus station in Seville, Spain buying a ticket to the coastal town of Cadiz when an Australian guy asked me where I was heading. I told him, he pondered for a moment and then asked me if I wanted to go meet up with some of his friends for a few weeks in Morrocco. I said, "Why not?" and off I went. One of the coolest experiences of my life.

We get back to Spain and met up with the rest of his Australian buddies who had converted a big van into a quazi RV for the backpacker type- complete with bunks, stove, and that's about it. I ended-up touring up the East Coast of Spain, into France and Italy with this crew and had the time of my life. I told them I would come visit them in Australia in a year or two... they laughed it off and thought they would never have to see the American again... muhhaaahhhaaaa.

I landed in Sydney, called 'em up and ended up back at their place 2 blocks from Manly Beach... and that's where I've been for the past 2 weeks. Every morning is started off with a surf, or more rather the other guys go surfing while I get beat up by the waves and get Man-O-Wars wrapped around me- then talk about how good the surf was.

We've had barbeques out on the beach the majority of the nights I've been here. This past Friday night I went and saw Jack Johnson in Centennial Park in downtown Sydney. The most amazing show I have ever seen in my life. Accompanied by one of his buddies tickling the ivory he somehow made you feel like it was just a couple of you jamming on the back porch in Hawaii rather than stuffed next to 20,000 of your closest pals, one of them being the fat girl that has had too much to drink and insists on doing her "Jack Johnson Dance," falling down, getting up and doing it all over again while belting out the wrong lyrics at the wrong time. A little sweetheart she was.

I flew solo to the concert, apparently attracting and promoting the old drunk bitches to dance and tell me how much they love or hate America. The line-up was amazing... G-Love & Special Sauce, Donovan Frankenreitter, Xavier Rud (a white Australian dude that plays his version of aboriginal acoustic music- one man band playing guitars, percussion, didgeredoos, harmonica and singing... awesome), then Jack. Seem him if you get the chance.

The next day I got christened into my first Super 12 Rugby match. The Waratahs vs. the Stormers from South Africa. I din't know what the hell was going on, and they don't have TV timeouts for explanation. The game was over before I knew it, but it had to be done. I also had to field the usual questions in my small version of a press conference regarding the fact that we are pansies in America because we wear pads.

I am heading South today towards Canberra to find some guys that go boar hunting as described by the photographer I worked with in San Francisco. I smell bacon. Then it's through Melbourne en route to Bell's Beach for the Rip Curl Pro Surf Competition... the largest in Australia. I'll go tell heroing stories of the time (every morning) I was at Manly beach and I almost drowned while 6 Man-O-Wars had wrapped themselves around my neck stinging the Be-Jesus out of me. They'll ask, "So how's that left break up there?" My reply... "Strong to very Strong"

Let's get this car named