Thank you all for all the great names. This is not going to be an easy choice. She's got to be named soon- It's too damn good lookin' to drive around the country without a name. Here's a few tales from the road...

I worked with a photographer in San Francisco that is a legend in the travel photography and before leaving the States I emailed him for any suggestions on favorite places to visit. He gave me the name of a homestead way the hell out in the country South of Canberra called Avalanche Homestead. He simply told me to, "find the guys that pig hunt and have a beer with them." That was enough for me to sniff it out.

I drove down miles of dirt roads, asking any local I could to point me in the right direction to the homestead. I was on a mission. I pulled up the long drive at about 6 PM and knocked on the front door. The older couple came to the door with bewildered looks as I began to explain why I was in Australia, why I was on their doorstep and who sent me there.

They invited me in the big vaulted house, gave me a beer and made me dinner. They called up one of their pig hunting buddies, and thinking I was in the same line of work as the previous photographer, they agreed to be at the house in an hour to go hunting. The Aussie word for "redneck" is "bogan." Used properly in a complete sentence like this: Two BOGANS came to the house with a truck full of dogs and knives to take the American pig hunting.

We drove out into the thick bush with beers in hand and four dogs taking every scent from the air to make a 'pig or no pig' judgement. One lead dog (the big one that holds the pig down by the ear) looks at the lead bogan in the side mirror and lets him know when he's on to something.

The lead bogan had about 5 rum and cokes throughout the drive. We saw a bunch of kangaroos and wombats, but not a damn pig. Once he found out I was not a professional photographer, he really could have cared less if we found a pig or not. He invited me to come with him a few days later to shoot kangaroos. I can't remember the name he had for it, but they shoot the kangaroo in the tail with a pistol so it can't jump away- then, armed only with a big knife, they fight the kangaroo hand-to-hand and when a good opportunity comes, slit its throat.

It would have been a good story, but I had to leave the next day to head down South to make it to the Rip Curl Pro Surfing Competition at Bell's Beach. Kelly Slater, Andy Irons, all the big dog's were there, the only thing missing was a decent swell. I got to see 3 days of the girls competition, but the guys still had not started when I left a few days ago. They had signs posted everywhere that said you would be prosecuted if you were found sleeping in your car on public property. All 3 nights I was there I parked the baby in a sweet little nook in a national reserve, marked by a dead kangaroo laying spread eagle on the side of the road. Nobody bothered me, but I froze my ass off.

I've decided to head to where it is guaranteed to be warm... the OUTBACK! With the wallet thinning out, instead of heading West to Perth to see more beaches, I am going to head straight up the center of the damn thing to Alice Springs and Ayer's Rock en route to Darwin. I'm going to grab a didgeredoo, a loin cloth and live the cheap life. I drove on the Great Ocean Road along the Southern Coast spotting lots of dead kangaroos and some amazing scenery in between. I made it to Adelaide this evening for Easter celebration. I bought a big 'ole chocolate thing on the way en lue of my annual easter basket.

Trying to find some people to drive North with me to share costs. Again Jennifer Anniston comes to mind, but after mingling through the hostels this evening all I've found is a Chinese guy who really wants to come with me, but has a MINIMUM 27 lengthy Chinese hairs coming from about the upper lip and sub-ear regions and some serious Shanghai dragon breathe to complement. He tells me the English translation of his name is Claude. Whatever Claude....