Bev and
Bruce

Inspiration

‘Queensland is so beautiful! We should hire a campervan and have a look at all of it! How about next year?’

Bruce, driving us home from our annual family visit to Brisbane, glanced at me incredulously. ‘Are you sure?’ he said, mistrusting, wondering if he had misheard me. I have a long history of preferring the city life of comfort and convenience so his surprise was not unjustified. Once convinced, he said assertively, ‘Right. Let’s do it!’

Over the intervening months, we investigated the Rosehill annual caravan show, analysed what was most important for our requirements, read countless brochures and decided where we wished to visit. Bruce spent countless hours at his computer, planning the routes, selecting caravan parks, estimating dates and times that would fit in with various family arrangements in Brisbane and Cairns until all the planning was done. We visited a campervan hire venue to see what sort of vehicle we would be spending four weeks together in, purchased a few items we needed for the trip and waited for 28th July 2009 to arrive.

As experienced campervanning friends heard of our plans, they were eager to give advice and recommendations, but one friend’s comments disconcerted me considerably. ‘What!’ she exclaimed. ‘This is your first trip in a campervan and you’re doing 7,500 kms in four weeks? ... I hope you two get on well together!’ she added in a final note of cautionary concern.

I assured her that we had a few clues about getting on with each other, learnt over the last twenty years of marriage, but was left with a sense of disquiet that would not easily be dispelled.

Picking up the van 27 Jul 2009

Monday 27th July arrived, unseasonably warm and sunny. We headed out to collect our campervan and once the paperwork was concluded and all functions had been explained to us, we climbed aboard and set off. Immediately our steep holiday learning curve began. The Volkswagen diesel van, seven metres long and about three metres wide, already had 113,000 kms on the clock. It was not new and everything rattled and clanked so noisily that it was impossible to converse in anything less than a shout. Worse than that, it had a manual gearshift and the synchromesh was so worn that it took even Bruce, an experienced driver of many vehicles, quite some time to master the gearshift. We stopped abruptly several times as the engine cut out in heavy city traffic. Both of us were now feeling as tight as violin strings. My heart sank as I realised I would have to master this beast, too.

‘The sooner I start, the better, I suppose,’ I said to myself and asked Bruce to drive to our local bush reserve. Its quiet street would allow practice without distressing many others. Oh, woe! Bruce drove the van under an overhanging tree branch. There was a loud crunching sound and he realised he had not allowed for the campervan’s high roof. Hopping out, he saw that the exhaust outlet over the stove hood had been damaged, muttered ruefully and decided we could do nothing about it at that moment, so should just keep going. I took the wheel and we had an even worse experience of kangaroo hopping around the reserve as I struggled with the gear changes and tried to remember how big the campervan was when it came to negotiating corners. It was already clear to me how easily we could topple if I were not careful.

Once we’d parked out new ‘home’ outside our town house, a very busy afternoon ensued. Back and forth we ran, modifying our ideas of what we could and could not take as we went along. This task took much longer than we’d expected so it was almost bedtime before we’d finished. We decided to retire early so we could get away in the morning before the peak hour rush.

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