T - 1

 

T Minus One

 July 27th, 2025

(or at least it was meant to be posted then but you know ... rural and remote internet ...)


I think that’s what we used to call it. T for Take-off. Maybe it was B for Blast-off. Anyway, it hasn’t happened.

I purred happily along in my new-old Triton for 120 kms before it died.

Partially died, I guess.

Financial hassles have been ensuring I haven’t departed yet from the Big Cold City of the South, aka Melbourne. Haven’t-ish. Circulating between daughter units, grandkid (mokopuna) units.

Post-colonial sensitivities may mean I have to drop my appropriation of Māori terminology. I thought it was a mark of respect, but aroha mai, … oops … sorry … it may not be.

I’ll re-assess linguistics when I return to the Shaky Isles, but for now will stick to the tongue of Mother Canterbury. Not even Cantuar. That’s Latin. I think. I failed School Cert Latin.

So yeah. Partially died. Killing time while the Australian Superannuation Demon sorts out its logistical indigestion, I was heading bush again. I couldn’t remember why, though I remembered when I got there that my EFTPOS card was awaiting me there. So back to the beginning of the loop within the Loop. Now armed with an EFTPOS card though as yet few Fs to POS.

It’s a good thing I’ve owned Tritons for the last 14 years. I took a back route from town to bush, went up a hill between Wallan and Romsey and a barrage of pretty lights lit up on my dashboard. Power dropped by about 80%.

Choice, bro.

I’ve been there before.

Not that time in my old Holden Kingswood, sweeping up a hill on the Northern Motorway, through Ku-ring-gai National Park. Right hand lane, passing a bevy of tricks, and “poof,” I wasn’t. I was stationary, in a clou
d of black smoke. Bye, bye engine. A ride in a tow truck and a few unexpected nights in Gosford.

No. This time it was all too familiar. I stopped when I could, and rediscovered what I strongly suspect are all the joys of a clogged EGR valve. Exhaust Gas Recirculation to the initiated.

Believe me, I’m initiated.

After letting the engine cool for ten minutes I limped on. Gingerly at first, but then at normal pace. No further losses of power.  But oh, I remember those symptoms. Everything will be fine for a few days. Except that a little orange light will remain on. Roughly it translates as “your donk’s got issues, mate.” Or it does in Australia. In Kiwiland it’d be something like “Your ute’s buggered, bro.”

But I think it’s only temporarily buggered. I’ll nurse it back to the dealer today – even for an older car I have some rights under law after 120 kms – and we’ll start negotiating to get the EGR un-buggered.

T Minus One. I was planning to leave Adelaide today. It’ll now be some days before I leave Victoria.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

here we go loop de loop

Image
It must all begin somewhere. And end I guess, but I can’t write about that. Somewhere. That could be the whole “when a sperm met an egg” (in Kileleshwa I think but … let’s skip that …*Shudder*). I think it better start a couple of decades later. Finishing a degree, wondering what would come next, setting of with a vague dream of riding a Gold Wing  around Australia, jackarooing, finding love, whatever. Some new-found faith dimensions, too, but they were kind of parallel. It never happened. I knew how to ride motorbikes, horses, even how to grub thistles, but bugger-all else. Apart from a degree-worth of some sort of knowledge of literature and religious studies. But I was incapable of flogging myself off for job interviews. Selling family photos door to door up the West Coast to Marble Bar? That one fell through. Attaching the felt to pool tables? That did too. Attaching press stud buttons to women’s tennis skirts. That one didn’t last long, not least because I lost...
Read more

Relocations

Image
  Departures, arrivals, despairs and elations The bold wiggly lines show my journeys in the past .. .   (July 16th and 17th)   Call me crazy but my preferred arrival time for a scheduled departure is about three hours early. A coffee, a thought, an ascent into stillness. All these in preparation for cattle handling. Coats off, shoes off (if they’re Naughty Shoes), digital frisking … Mooo. Baleful stare; no further resistance permitted. Levered into a shoebox. Ignore neighbour. No “Hi,” no smile, no “nice day for it.”   Existential aloneness at three centimetres. No I don’t want a bloody cookie. They used to be called biscuits in my country before American colonization. Okay. Recolonization. My lot colonized too. (And is there a relationship between colonization and colon? Back door? Hmm. Much time for thinking, levered into a shoe box of silence). Ah … but the rare joys of a good hotel. Turns out I had a $40 credit with the pre-paid booking. A ...
Read more

due to unforeseen ...

Image
... circumstances, we are not quite where we thought we were. All was tickety-boo for hundreds of kilometres. I left the happy environs of Daughter Unit #1. Admittedly after five kilometres I realized I’d left the mice on a fencepost, contemplating the future, but that was soon solved. 08:15, second departure. Checked in at Daughter Unit #5 to load the car, and off I went. 10:20 and 60 kms under the belt. Passed Bendigo, the previous zenith of this excursion. Refuelled at Ouyen, having nearly run dry when I didn't refuel at Sea Lake. Bought a pie and soggy chips because the young woman selling them looked sad.  They were down there with the worst I've ever had. Down there with serves at Narrabri and Quilpie, years ago.  Once chance, guys. I’m not buying your calorific slop again. The ubiquitous sparrows were happy.  Onward and upward. Bought a few supplies at Red Cliffs, then turned West, young man, leaving Victoria at exactly 18:00. Had to feast my face on a punnet...
Read more