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Q: What do you get when you have a girl that found a car she loves, over five hours away and a sense of adventure?
A: An Overnight Road trip!
I've loved the design of the little car for years. Whenever I see one on the road or in a car park, I gaze longingly and get a little excited. It has a big bum, hideous wheels (factory standard) and stylistically was ahead of it's time.
Truth be told, I don't think it ever really had it's time.
I made a semi-effort to find a co-pilot for the adventure, but gave the idea away pretty quickly.
I'm going alone.
Departing Brisbane, Thursday evening:
An overnight bag with little more than a change of clothes and a wad of cash. Many neatly folded hundred-dollar bills. My sketch book and some graphite pencils. A hire car, the open road. Windows down, the winter night tousling my hair, driving by moonlight. Loud music playing, singing at the top of my lungs when the silence or road noise starts to lull me into sleep. Stopping for a few hours rest in a park on the outskirts of town or, by the beach.
Waking up early morning, I'll have breakfast in a café, return my hire car to the Bundaberg depot and make my own way to my new car. Hopefully, this one has a name.
Then, lazily, we will drive home. I'll visit the places I remember from my childhood and learn how she likes to be driven. If she likes it gentle or rough, if she is loud or quiet. In the five-and-a-half hour drive home, I will find out what ails her and think of ways to making her feel (and run) better.
I can hardly wait to get to know her, or to get to find parts of myself long forgotten on those long highway stretches.
Because this is, the first time ever, I've been alone outside my comfort zone.
So far from home.
And, I can hardly wait.
See also: Scared shitless.
A: An Overnight Road trip!
I've loved the design of the little car for years. Whenever I see one on the road or in a car park, I gaze longingly and get a little excited. It has a big bum, hideous wheels (factory standard) and stylistically was ahead of it's time.
Truth be told, I don't think it ever really had it's time.
I made a semi-effort to find a co-pilot for the adventure, but gave the idea away pretty quickly.
I'm going alone.
Departing Brisbane, Thursday evening:
An overnight bag with little more than a change of clothes and a wad of cash. Many neatly folded hundred-dollar bills. My sketch book and some graphite pencils. A hire car, the open road. Windows down, the winter night tousling my hair, driving by moonlight. Loud music playing, singing at the top of my lungs when the silence or road noise starts to lull me into sleep. Stopping for a few hours rest in a park on the outskirts of town or, by the beach.
Waking up early morning, I'll have breakfast in a café, return my hire car to the Bundaberg depot and make my own way to my new car. Hopefully, this one has a name.
Then, lazily, we will drive home. I'll visit the places I remember from my childhood and learn how she likes to be driven. If she likes it gentle or rough, if she is loud or quiet. In the five-and-a-half hour drive home, I will find out what ails her and think of ways to making her feel (and run) better.
I can hardly wait to get to know her, or to get to find parts of myself long forgotten on those long highway stretches.
Because this is, the first time ever, I've been alone outside my comfort zone.
So far from home.
And, I can hardly wait.
See also: Scared shitless.
S_Eldorado