Bertha’s Back in Broome!

(This is a long and involved entry. It’s my way of processing events. Please feel free to skip this one if you’re bored)

It’s really ironic that after we left Broome with much regret, having identified all the things we missed out on doing, Lexie said “I wish we could stay for a whole month”!  After we left Fitzroy Crossing and headed to the Bungle Bungles, we never made it. Arghhh! We had engine issues and the end result was a tow back to Broome, where I write this now… At least we get to go to the Crab Races tonight!

It was yet another slow gradual incline leaving Fitzroy Crossing and after 2 hours Dunc wanted to stop to rest the motor a bit. The temp was hovering near high too often for his liking. It never got to the danger zone, but he wanted to let it cool for a bit. Just as we pulled into the truck bay, Dunc said the words that sent adrenalin shooting through my whole system. “The accelerator’s stuck! Shit! The accelerator is stuck down!” Straight away I thought I was Sandra Bullock! I had visions that we were going to career off the bay and scream into the distance and be lost in the middle of the outback. Or fall off the edge of the road and roll. Or any number of other equally horrific outcomes. Apparently there was no danger, and if he’d only added “but this is a manual and we are in neutral and everything will be ok” I might have reacted a little more reasonably. Sadly he was a little too busy to keep my raging imagination in mind and the end result was a slow cruise to a stop, an engine that was cut off mid scream and a wife that was left physically shaking in response to the adrenalin shooting through her system.

We are so fortunate that we had another bus-travelling family right behind us. They pulled in after about half an hour and we had company on that first, very stressful day. The children had entertainment in the form of other kids. I had company with Anita, but more importantly, Dunc had another person who understood the mechanics to work through the possibilities with. Kent was a marvel! He and Dunc worked right through the engine and they both spent a heap of time on the phone to (yet again) every diesel mechanic within 1000km. They also spoke to Colin, who rebuilt the engine in Tassie, and ended up with a diagnosis of ‘probable blower drive shaft failure’. This runs the governor and the fuel pump and was NOT spinning. No fuel pump = no fuel = no running engine. Understanding the problem was fine. Getting it solved was another thing.

Bertha is too big (Huh. Really?!) to tow easily. We needed a low-loader, with a strong winch to drag her up onto it, but her height (at 3.74m) would put us over the standard height restrictions and any tow company would need a permit. Arghhh. The end result was 3 days. THREE EFFING DAYS of being stuck in the middle of nowhere while Dunc made a million fruitless phone calls. We had plenty of water and the ‘new’ solar system/inverter was working a treat, so we did not think we were at any risk at all. For the first 2 days everything was fine. We had plenty of road trains stopping by to check their tyres and the odd motorhome or caravan popping past.

But then it was Friday and we stopped feeling complacent. Fitzroy Crossing was to our west, and Halls Creek to our east and the entire area is filled with indigenous communities. They run a number of tours and stores in Fitzroy Crossing, but I was disappointed to see that the local supermarket and the enormous roadhouse are both run by recently immigrant Asian families. I reflected on the fact that there were 2 large families – one working their butts off for minimum wage in the stores, and one sitting on their butts under a shady tree. Cultural differences… Anyway.

Our second day was Thursday – ‘payday’ and very quiet. Somehow we didn’t even get any road trains during the day. We had a lazy day pottering around and Dunc did some maintenance in between making phone calls. Dunc managed to smack his head on the edge of the bus bin door and split it right open! A little bit of sympathy and a cold washer fixed it, though there was discussion about driving to FC for stitches. The bleeding stopped before the need for that!

All this meant our third day stuck in the middle of nowhere was Friday. We started to get drive-bys from the locals. One or two cars cruised by slowly, with friendly faces waving from the open windows. By now we had contact with DWT transport in Broome and the lovely manager Danny was on the case and trying hard to find a solution for us. (We have since discovered that the ‘local’ firm in Derby had just resolved a court case from damage caused to a coach they had tried to assist. We can now understand their reluctance to help us.) Danny sounded keen to get us ‘out of there’ and was sending a prime mover up the next morning. We had taken the RAV out of the trailer in readiness, but as the afternoon went on, we got more and more drive bys. Cars-without-caravans zooming through fast without even slowing down. I was worried that the RAV wouldn’t be there in the morning, so we locked Baby Bertha back up in the trailer and slept with one eye open.

The morning brought our knight-in-shining-Kenworth-Truck. Pete had arrived during the night and we were up extra early to sort out the connection and hit the road. A solution had been found for the height issue – Bertha would be flat-towed by a prime mover. This meant that Dunc would have to ‘steer’. Bertha rides on airbags, but the air also powers the breaks which were locked on, so the prime mover had to provide air as well as forward movement.

It took the guys an hour or so to get hooked up. There was a solid bar connecting the two vehicles and an air hose wrapped around it. There was a moment or two when the post of the D shackle wouldn’t fit and all our hearts stopped. Too many layers of paint sprayed on the hitch point was the issue, but Pete had an alternative shackle and all was well.

They headed off at about 7am with an 8 hour drive ahead of them. Dunc had eaten an early breakfast and I packed him my version of a truckie lunch. LOL. I felt like I was making school lunches again. The children and I also had a long drive ahead of us – all the way back to Broome – and we had decided to do something highly unusual. I was going to stop at every roadhouse and BUY all our meals and snacks for the day.

So we started with breakfast back at the Fitzroy Crossing Roadhouse, a mere 100km down the road. This gave me the chance to ensure that Pete and Dunc had it all sussed before zooming off ahead of them. The kids and I had a yummy bacon and egg sandwich and got back in the car with only a short wait to hear the boys coming and the complaints about them blocking the road over the radio. They had quite a snake forming behind them, so I thought it might be more sensible to sneak out in front!

A looooooong drive later, we were safe back in Broome. Of course it was the weekend, and we tried to negotiate a stay in Bertha on the yard at either the transport company or the mechanic, but Broome has a MASSIVE anti-camping campaign and neither company wanted to risk the rangers fining them. Understandable, but a pain in the bum. In the end, we were towed to the cheapest caravan park outside of Broome for the weekend. Phew!