ACROSS AUSTRALIA IN A P6B

This is a tale of a fairly ordinary crossing of Australia, west to east style. Done out of a job by those that know better (or those that control the purse), I was at a loose end for the first time in nearly 4½ years. Having a friend involved in the political scene, and with the upcoming 1993 “GST” election, I thought I could amuse myself there well.

So packing up my gear and stashing half at my parent’s place, I still had the P6B stuffed to the hilt, such that the headlights were better suited to spotting possums.

Just 2 days (and weekend days at that) and final going over on the car, facing the drive across the Nullabor with some trepidation, I purchased the de-riguer spares (Fan belt, hoses, oils, container for water, etc). I also had the car run up on hoist for a quick going over. To my horror, one of the uni joints in the half shafts was a bit sloppy. Enquiries as to whether I could get this replaced (on a Saturday morning) were met with disbelief. A last ditch was to obtain the replacement bearing kit.

Setting of on a fine Sunday morning, with my mother traveling with me for company, we cleared the hills behind Perth by midday. The journey was uneventful until some 5 hours later at Coolgardie the dreaded “knocking” of a buggered bearing became evident. By this stage we had already booked ourselves into a hotel for our overnight stay. Tense is one description for the next 170 odd klicks to Norseman

Fate was fair to us that day, and we made it in the darkness (almost 8pm) to town without incident. The next morning I set out to trawl the local garages to find a mechanic who appreciated my restlessness. By 8:30 I had it up on a hoist, supervising some poor apprentice in dismantling the rear end of my car.

The key to all this was the preparation. Without the bearing kit, I would have paced that town for at least an extra day waiting for delivery, and then most likely suffered that usual fate of receiving the wrong part.

I knew little about pressing out bearings, and the next two hours was an interesting education on the use of vices, oversized and undersized sockets to drive the bushes out, and when to employ the gas axe to provide extra encouragement. End result, I was back on the road with no trauma before midday.

Striking east towards Adelaide for some reason seemed quite a daunting task., With roadhouses becoming more scarce (in fact not really, but seeming like that) and armed with everyone’s horror stories, including those of my folks who were occasional traveler’s of the dirt track it used to be. For some reason every rhythmic bump and grind, whether by road or engine seemed to augur doom.

My nerves were being tested. I even had the bonnet up checking the fan belt when the ignition light appeared, but that was just a loose shovel clip at the back of the alternator (it still drops of from time to time).

Somehow, by the time the SA border loomed, I had begun to relax, and infact the rest of the journey was trouble free (mechanically). Nullabor Roadhouse overnight, then ploughing on to reach a place called Carathool in western NSW late the next night (or was that early morning). Sharing the driving certainly made the push worthwhile, dropping in on an old friend of my Mother’s.

Perhaps my only horror was driving at night, and having relinquished the wheel, waking to find Mother playing a judgement game on when to dip the lights. Now, my car has never had well aligned lights courtesy of some little front-end bingle and dodgy repairs prior to my ownership. With a heavily laden boot they tended to look up a bit. Mother decided she would try to judge the dipping of the lights to within 5 white posts of the oncoming vehicle.

In reading the new national road rules in the paper, the new rules is that lights are to be dipped by at least 200m distance from the oncoming vehicle. Having grown up in the country, and done a lot of driving since, particularly with spotlights, I have always considered it proper to dip much earlier than this. But these events do pass us by.

Canberra, the original destination was then reached after 4 days, and not too much difficulty. The election passed, and I drifted back into my original game (exploration geology) and found myself working up in NT. After a 3 month period, they let me out for a quick break, and taking advantage of company paid flights, I came to Canberra to rescue the car from my Uncles back yard. Sydney beckoned for some quick partying with some friends.

Thus, at 9:30am, slightly hungover in the Eastern Suburbs, I fueled up once again, and pointed the car west. The next 3 days saw me break some personal driving records, and impressed me on the ease of the old car to drive. Having driven many miles in Japanese 4WD’s, they seemed a breeze in this car. With a big day of 950 miles in the middle, I covered Sydney to Perth, and collapsed on a friend floor around 4:30 pm, who had enough sense to pull the cork from a bottle of red as part of the recovery program.

To keep fuel economy records, all fuel was purchased on credit, and this leads to an amusing little side story. A week after returning to work in the NT, I received an urgent message to contact my bank. So calling them to find out what the problem was, they stated that they had tracked my card moving rapidly across the country, and were concerned that I may have lost it (particularly as I was now in the NT).

I wish the fuel economy figures were more amusing. With the load I was carrying I struggled to average 16mpg.