tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39448367511244964892024-02-19T17:24:05.183-08:00Auto JournalAdventure through transportationBudd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.comBlogger86125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-51362159508646616432013-01-24T18:53:00.002-08:002013-01-24T18:56:01.992-08:00The Napa Adventure: Prep<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The next adventure is just around the corner. The goal, to drive from Osoyoos BC, Canada all the way to Napa California on a single tank of fuel. Challenging enough as it is, the vehicle in question is a Porsche Cayenne. The bad news, it's the dead of winter and vehicles loose fuel efficiency in freezing conditions. The good news is that the Cayenne is diesel powered with a 100L tank. Will we make it to Napa, or will we end up stranded on the side of the road? My marriage likely hangs in the balance!<br />
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I'll report back on our progress as much as possible, and hopefully figure out how to upload photos from the phone. Till next time.</div>
Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-84442829766231061362013-01-11T11:51:00.003-08:002013-01-11T11:51:57.949-08:00First Impressions: Tesla Model S<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://www.teslamotors.com/sites/default/files/model-s-signature-red_1920x1200_a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://www.teslamotors.com/sites/default/files/model-s-signature-red_1920x1200_a.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">Times they are a changin,’ it used to be
driving a Porsche or Aston Martin would get heads turning on the sidewalk.
Today, only heads full of grey hair snap to attention at the sound of a grumpy
V-8, the younger generations won’t lift their heads from vital smart-phone attention
for anything less than a full electric vehicle (EV). It’s the eco cars that are
now all the rage, yet the Tesla Model S is a car that grabs everyone’s
attention.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">Tesla has created an all new driving
experience with the Model S, starting from scratch in redesigning the
automobile as a whole. It’s not the anemic EV stereotype but a sleek and mean
rocket, overflowing with tech and sports a sexy look. It won’t just be science
geeks wanting a rip in this ride. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<a href="http://www.teslamotors.com/sites/default/files/model-s-interior1_1024x768.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://www.teslamotors.com/sites/default/files/model-s-interior1_1024x768.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">The coolness factor gets turned to eleven with
touch operated door-handles, and a dash void of any dials or buttons, just a
17-inch iPad-like interaction interface that controls everything one would want
with the car, fully adjustable to the user with steering wheel controls. With a
key fob the car turns on by sitting in the driver’s seat and off by getting
out. Best of all, the S cures range anxiety, getting 257km with the base, opt
for the more expensive 85kWh battery and that number improves to 480km. It is
the first road trip capable EV.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">The beautiful thing about electric cars is
their ability to make the exercise of driving relaxing. The smooth propulsion
of electric power will actually calm you in the worst congestion yet will shoot
your body full of excitement on a clear road. The S shoved me into the seat
back like nothing I’ve ever driven and corners nearly as well. However, it’s also
practical with two massive trunks and seating for up to five adults and two
children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">I end with this; there are few modern cars
that I would buy, and furthermore, I loathe automatic transmissions. However, Tesla
has created an all new joy of driving with the Model S and I yearn to one day
own one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">Specs:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">Price: </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">$ 64,500 base, </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">$ 114,300 as tested</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">Engine: </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">Rear-mounted, three phase, four pole AC
induction motor, RWD</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">Power: </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">416 hp, 443 lb-ft </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">Weight: </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">2,223 kg </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">Range: </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">257 km with 40 kWh battery, 370 km with 60 kWh
battery, 480 km with 85 kWh battery<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-953271672837123552012-12-14T15:07:00.000-08:002013-01-11T11:19:24.203-08:00First Impressions: 2013 Honda Civic<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQFKq6ItA4-jQpz_UQ5oddtDbfzXnOTefpK9Lyh4wCoMlmTfg_acDhxaAReauatjCHBX17Y0fk4LXZAd8peFS1d8yQSp6qU8SFvLXiX6mR6Uvm9dgcsX1x9-PhinJ7kH-JYiq_m8v90OOl/s1600/civic_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQFKq6ItA4-jQpz_UQ5oddtDbfzXnOTefpK9Lyh4wCoMlmTfg_acDhxaAReauatjCHBX17Y0fk4LXZAd8peFS1d8yQSp6qU8SFvLXiX6mR6Uvm9dgcsX1x9-PhinJ7kH-JYiq_m8v90OOl/s640/civic_3.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Let’s start out by
saying I’ve always liked the Civic, in particular in its last generation as it
sported a unique look that made it stand out from the rest of the econo-boxes.
The problem began when those other econo-boxes started to build much more
interested designs. On top of that, they’ve filled those designs with fantastic
new features that you would only find on only top tier luxury barges. Then when
it came time to redesign the Civic for the 2012 model year, more than a few
journalists were unimpressed with the result, myself included. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhde_eTk5tkALl8ECCCikKjPGh-ACgDcL8w3G26L0Bgi4QcLMkmFB9p32sPYiEIvvgsdvyJG1ToSZ1gkpY7zoJTdAXjsOg7x1tO7ELLw60WCMH8QRnGssaL8X9CAxmI8ptG46D3MJVwGW7u/s1600/civic_4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhde_eTk5tkALl8ECCCikKjPGh-ACgDcL8w3G26L0Bgi4QcLMkmFB9p32sPYiEIvvgsdvyJG1ToSZ1gkpY7zoJTdAXjsOg7x1tO7ELLw60WCMH8QRnGssaL8X9CAxmI8ptG46D3MJVwGW7u/s320/civic_4.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">As others were
striving forward with new unique designs and technology, Honda chose to take a
more mainstream direction, leaving a car that needed a sharp eye to catch what
work had actually been done. Likewise, the interior treatment seemed even more
cheap and plastic than before, but what’s worse, Honda finally succumbed to
pressure for more torque, putting a big lazy 2.4L engine into the Si rather
than the high-strung 2.0L I have loved for well over a decade. The result was
disappointing to say the least, yet sales did not waver as the Civics golden
name and price kept the car on top of the sales sheets.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">However, you can only
fall upon your laurels for so long and after only one short year, Honda is already
showing a mid-cycle refresh of the Civic for 2013. So what’s new? Well, the
2013 model receives all-new front and rear exterior styling, new wheels and
extensive interior styling upgrades on all models. The devil is in the details
and the new exterior looks do go a long way in improving the styling while the
new soft touch materials on the dash and doors also bring the Civic up to par
with the rest of the top end of the compact segment. Mechanically, retuned
steering and firmer suspension sharpen the Civics’ handling, and actually made
the car feel much more refined and sharper while on a short test drive,
something lacking last year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, extensive
body and chassis upgrades further improve the ride comfort and interior
quietness. Honda has also packed Bluetooth HandsFreeLink, Bluetooth Audio, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>colour i-MID display, USB/iPod connection,
heated front seats, text messaging feature, easy to use steering wheel audio
controls standard equipment on Civic LX, the highest sold model.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgntvAgNFX7HbFJUYLM1dN13D_T-q8GWUKxie6Y9kRlTcRTgaZmp1Zk4SPn3Gg-NMFSzyv8DNRrFHW25Gosj2B9HwyUK28C6GXYq-clYBA7Mxy3nMdh1HgBQwMpPUcrSFbZamgM9p6MIqZl/s1600/civic_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgntvAgNFX7HbFJUYLM1dN13D_T-q8GWUKxie6Y9kRlTcRTgaZmp1Zk4SPn3Gg-NMFSzyv8DNRrFHW25Gosj2B9HwyUK28C6GXYq-clYBA7Mxy3nMdh1HgBQwMpPUcrSFbZamgM9p6MIqZl/s320/civic_2.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">The result is a much
higher quality vehicle from the 2012 model year, everything the Civic should
have been in the first place, it’s good to see Honda is getting back on track
after a few very trying years. However, I’m still not happy with the move to a torqueier
but lazier 2.4L powering the Si, although I seem to be a minority. Regardless,
Civic fans have a much better, more competitive vehicle to take on the likes of
Ford, Hyundai, Chevy and Mazda. And maybe I’ll have my screaming 2.0L in the
hot hatch rumoured to be coming our way soon. More on that later.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><strong>SPECS:</strong></span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Price: $15,440 - $26,190</span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Engine: 1.8L I-4, 2.4L
I-4</span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Power: 140hp-128lb.ft.
(1.8L) - 201hp-170lb.ft. (2.4L)</span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Layout: Front Engine –
Front Wheel Drive</span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Weight: NA – Slightly heavier
than 2012</span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Fuel Efficiency (City/Hwy/Com)
L/100Km: 7.1/5.0/6.2 (1.8L) - 10.0/6.4/8.4 (2.4L)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgntvAgNFX7HbFJUYLM1dN13D_T-q8GWUKxie6Y9kRlTcRTgaZmp1Zk4SPn3Gg-NMFSzyv8DNRrFHW25Gosj2B9HwyUK28C6GXYq-clYBA7Mxy3nMdh1HgBQwMpPUcrSFbZamgM9p6MIqZl/s1600/civic_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQFKq6ItA4-jQpz_UQ5oddtDbfzXnOTefpK9Lyh4wCoMlmTfg_acDhxaAReauatjCHBX17Y0fk4LXZAd8peFS1d8yQSp6qU8SFvLXiX6mR6Uvm9dgcsX1x9-PhinJ7kH-JYiq_m8v90OOl/s1600/civic_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhde_eTk5tkALl8ECCCikKjPGh-ACgDcL8w3G26L0Bgi4QcLMkmFB9p32sPYiEIvvgsdvyJG1ToSZ1gkpY7zoJTdAXjsOg7x1tO7ELLw60WCMH8QRnGssaL8X9CAxmI8ptG46D3MJVwGW7u/s1600/civic_4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
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Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-40776193764266160542012-10-11T14:28:00.000-07:002012-10-11T14:28:53.714-07:00First Impressions - Chevrolet Volt<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHe2bHE15-4ILSdKHIOH1dqKPFKdTKCfswoIUnkjoFwIhDDsUBKGyy0TadOsnqNxvwb7N-MxMTj6ANFBDifEG4mExlGfVhzx2_18_bsgFNwUo_pHyeZtG6eiozYRZddxtra-jGHkvcj-wW/s1600/DSC_0238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi95wJQXmwrDje_JAHjZFeQrhYFbPMHVrHfVFstEgkwaddxmOQnp4RCSmZG9AUfH9YzvABPz6mighcHGm4Fn5U0gMA1Lc45HrogEi1uGZ3g1hY7pfx0Idms2sg_zM4FuaAhOUBibZNlutCN/s1600/DSC_0268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi95wJQXmwrDje_JAHjZFeQrhYFbPMHVrHfVFstEgkwaddxmOQnp4RCSmZG9AUfH9YzvABPz6mighcHGm4Fn5U0gMA1Lc45HrogEi1uGZ3g1hY7pfx0Idms2sg_zM4FuaAhOUBibZNlutCN/s640/DSC_0268.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">It is the environmental halo car of the newly
reorganized GM, the new direction for a company that needed drastic change to
become competitive once again. I was looking forward to driving the Volt, two
years after having tested the prototype in electric mode only. While I’ve been
a pretty big fan of the electric car, the Volt was a good meal that left a sour
taste in my mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">Let’s start with the good, because deep down,
it is a good car. I love the looks; the interior design is fantastic for a
company that used to launch vehicles with interior designs that were outdated
before they even made it to the production line. Build quality has been vastly
improved over older GM’s; the Volt is a solid, tight feeling car with high quality
buttons and dials. For the first time I’ve driven a car where the light dimmer
switch actually dims all light emitting sources inside the car from a single
point, even the annoyingly bright high beam light. And finally, the serenity of
electric drive; this car is so quiet that the loudest distraction was the gears
in the differential coming under load when pulling away from a stop, bravo GM,
in electric mode the Volt is a champ.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHe2bHE15-4ILSdKHIOH1dqKPFKdTKCfswoIUnkjoFwIhDDsUBKGyy0TadOsnqNxvwb7N-MxMTj6ANFBDifEG4mExlGfVhzx2_18_bsgFNwUo_pHyeZtG6eiozYRZddxtra-jGHkvcj-wW/s1600/DSC_0238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHe2bHE15-4ILSdKHIOH1dqKPFKdTKCfswoIUnkjoFwIhDDsUBKGyy0TadOsnqNxvwb7N-MxMTj6ANFBDifEG4mExlGfVhzx2_18_bsgFNwUo_pHyeZtG6eiozYRZddxtra-jGHkvcj-wW/s320/DSC_0238.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">However, there is a lot of damning issues left
unfinished, imperfections that really should have been taken into account back
in the research and development days, simple and common sense issues that
should have been sorted before the car was ever put into production. Dual
screens bombard the driver with distracting information while the centre stacks
layout is confusing at best. Even after a week I couldn’t figure out how to get
certain operations to work, and had my eyes away from traffic far too much.
However, even when I was watching the road, massive A-pillars with a steep rake
killed peripheral vision, making left-hand turns almost a crap shoot. The
rear-view mirror is mounted high on the windshield behind a raised portion in
the roof. This not only obscures the majority of the view out the back but even
rendered the auto-dimming function completely useless. The blind spots are
large and the shifter will draw blood putting the car in park.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">However, the most disappointing letdown was
the Volts fuel efficiency once the petrol engine engaged. Averaging 6.3L/100km,
the Volt not only gets its ass kicked by Prius, a TDI Golf also gets nearly
1L/100km better efficiency on the highway, pretty much making the whole point
of the Volt mute. The Volt was designed for Range Anxiety racked Americans that
want kill their dependence on fuel while still being able to drive long
distances. If you need to drive long distances you’re better off buying a Golf
TDI that is $15K cheaper and gets better efficiency. A city dweller that does
the odd road trip, save $1,500 on a Nissan Leaf with nearly twice the range and
save it for a rental when you need to travel. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">I know I’ve been hard on it, I do actually
like the car, but there are just way too many short comings for a car that
costs over $41K. Hopefully a good mid-cycle refresh will iron out most of the
issue I’ve had, however, how this car won so many awards is beyond me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-44882980574109127042012-09-25T12:39:00.003-07:002012-09-25T12:45:59.948-07:00First Impressions: Chevrolet Corvette 427<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2-URrGeFz4IIzi2R3lno75WFgaPBBWHC1sBaZKF8FZC3o7h4-HLJxfuGPH2gdrpk2eoS_AVUbUGtIAiztsxp2p69tLv9EVHa8K4l6mPtAUKfNAmKv1qGZrD8EqPZEHExTAaRpasBzoHEV/s1600/DSC_0165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2-URrGeFz4IIzi2R3lno75WFgaPBBWHC1sBaZKF8FZC3o7h4-HLJxfuGPH2gdrpk2eoS_AVUbUGtIAiztsxp2p69tLv9EVHa8K4l6mPtAUKfNAmKv1qGZrD8EqPZEHExTAaRpasBzoHEV/s640/DSC_0165.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">In all my years as an Automotive Journalist, I've
yet to put my hands on a Chevrolet Corvette. Stubbornly, I've always shunned
the Vette as an "all engine, no poise" poorly built muscle car
without really driving one. Well, know I have and I’m beginning to change my
tune.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRHTgAIY5OSZdXD0BfDj58z03ux_WsPCz7RX8cJRI9rbwAfEv21fP1-3Z1Yt8_CnqedUY8YeeU9LG8lkbZ9keWFmB8-R2kE3WgokyPKJ5PwUXsh6oTipoWlgiRitjYlg9-0TM-1Z35CKi4/s1600/DSC_0216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRHTgAIY5OSZdXD0BfDj58z03ux_WsPCz7RX8cJRI9rbwAfEv21fP1-3Z1Yt8_CnqedUY8YeeU9LG8lkbZ9keWFmB8-R2kE3WgokyPKJ5PwUXsh6oTipoWlgiRitjYlg9-0TM-1Z35CKi4/s320/DSC_0216.JPG" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">Where I got it right, the interior is painfully ugly
and went out of style in the late 80’s. Really, it still uses buttons from that
era. The seats feel as though they are planks of plywood with a bit of
low-density foam tossed on top. The steering knocks about, the clutch pedal is
longer that a tractors and it drives like an old pickup when not pushing it to
the limits. Finally it’s the poster car for the man’s midlife crisis, as not
one 20 or 30 year old gave me the thumbs up, but every guy over the age of 50
were drooling at the sight of it.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNtzxoJ6bCuSjhJ9T668uS1MoaQZdTKXbakZCIjz6J20B0qhpCjdj7cMuIVuU42HbFuZ8IlNm4rPisOCsusfR68vYEcE60S9qOzJIRUoCrtNcpDrooWQOiow7g6ze0UQ35jFLL0CwogfKv/s1600/DSC_0178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNtzxoJ6bCuSjhJ9T668uS1MoaQZdTKXbakZCIjz6J20B0qhpCjdj7cMuIVuU42HbFuZ8IlNm4rPisOCsusfR68vYEcE60S9qOzJIRUoCrtNcpDrooWQOiow7g6ze0UQ35jFLL0CwogfKv/s320/DSC_0178.JPG" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">Where I got it wrong, it is a beautifully balanced
car, the magnetic ride and super sticky, super wide Michelin Pilot Sports will
have it bending physics theories in corners, the brakes are some of the best I’ve
ever experienced, the seating position is that of a proper sports car. When you
do start to push it, the truck feel of the controls goes away and everything
starts to make sense, and finally, it’s just really good fun to drive, while
having no refinement, no real technology, it harkens back to when sports cars
where no nonsense, no frills, single minded speed demons. Other than a USB port
to play you favourite music, a GPS unit to save the real man from the embarrassment
of asking for directions and traction control to keep everything on the
straight and narrow when in civil environments, there is nothing else added to
the 427 Vette that doesn’t make it go faster.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">So do the old guys know something we don’t? I’m
beginning to think they do, or I may be in denial of how much my hairline is
degrading. Either way, the Vette is a proper sports car, a car that nostalgically
brings back the true joy of driving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-24346667253743279942012-03-29T23:13:00.001-07:002013-01-11T11:40:58.943-08:00Australian Adventure: Log 15<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s been much too long since I’ve posted a blog entry of
this incredible expedition; however, it is with good reason<s>,</s> as the team
has been through an amazing series of challenges. From Roma, we left Rick’s
house and took off from town with several onlookers cheering us along. Our
destination of choice is Dubbo; however, landing in the town of Miles, we’re
forced to concede to the massive storm system to our front. There are big nasty
clouds all around us from the north down to the south east, a wall of rain and
wind blocking our path. In Miles, we have to make the decision to change course
once again, pushing south to work a crosswind rather than a full headwind. It
cuts a large amount of distance off our route south, but it keeps us going. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Glenn makes a late landing in the village called The Gums. There is nothing
here other than a couple derelict shacks and a rundown Road House sitting on
the junction of two roads. The locals are not as hospitable as others we’ve had
the pleasure of running into, and we set up in the truckers parking behind the
Road House. It’s not a particularly pleasant sleep with trucks coming and going
all night long, their generators starting up and shutting off. It’s another
night with little sleep, but we’re back on the road, Glenn lifting off early in
a bid to get down to Goondiwindi but sets down 3km short of the town on Moonie.
We spend the day at the Road House here, the heat outside keeping me in the
shelter of the air conditioned bar, buying overpriced coffee to keep my seat.
We’re in wild pig territory here and the wall of the Road House is decorated
with the heads of several different species of wild Boar. It seems that every
truck that goes by is a pig or Roo hunter’s truck, the padded bars on the
windows and rifles under the windshield giving away the drivers profession. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The winds just aren’t calming down today though. We move out
to the Cricket pitch to make a lunch and waste away another couple hours, but
as the sun begins to sink; the possibility of an evening flight is lost. We
look around for a spot to camp as the cricket pitch parking lot has several no
camping signs up. Instead we pull behind the bushes on the driveway to a
farmer’s paddock. There are “No Trespassing” signs everywhere, but we set up
camp for the night hoping no one witnessed us sneak in. We should be gone
before the farmer comes to work tomorrow morning, hopefully.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next morning brings with it kinder winds. Glenn is able
to get up and heads straight west towards St. George. Again, he’s forced to set
down short of the goal, about 60km out of town. We are forced to set up camp on
a derelict side road as storm clouds finally catch up to us. We knew that at
some time the run would be stopped with the coming weather, it just sucks that
we are stuck out in the middle of nowhere. The storm hits us that night, Craig
and I are in the camper while Glenn and Mark are out in tents. The amateur
stitching job that I did to the canvass roof over my bed gets its first real
test as torrents of rain fall on us all night long. The rain is relentless and
my stitching fails big time. At first a small drip of water drips onto the mattress
beside my head. I grab a towel and place it under it. The roof above is
starting to pool water though and shortly a wet area in the middle starts to
open up another leak from saturation. I place another towel in the middle of
the bed and shift my body into a crescent shape in a vain effort to keep dry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">However, the rain is relentless, the saturated spot in the
middle of the canvas is now dripping in four different places at a much greater
rate, and the stitched rip is now a full pouring waterfall onto my bed. It’s a
good thing it’s still quite warm out as my bed gets wetter and wetter. I soon
give up the fight to keep the water from entering and just try to get some degree
of sleep in the bathtub. The sleeping bag is soaked, the mattress nothing more
than a giant sponge keeping as much water under me as possible. Sleep is futile
and all I can do is wait for the light of day to come so that I can get out of
the pool that is my bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Finally the sun rises and the others begin to wake. I did
not sleep a wink all night, emerging from my sleeping bag dripping as though I
just got out of a pool. Mercifully, the sun has broken through some of the rain
clouds and I can pull all my sleeping attire out to dry. I wring rivers of
water out of the shirt and boxers I was wearing. The sleeping bag and mattress
are also heavily laden with water and I wring as much out as I can and lay them
out in the sun to dry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglnF2M7x55jQbOmqOom0EyR5orMU4xQR6mZQiOLHebrK08-IwS5XaRJGqLau2JICNn-1lHPPIzNg1gluWxr1XShn-7I3RuJCHuc5_CchchvcfLbFkEwKrbQhm8za-nIEpqkydnRtuaGKCq/s1600/St+George+n+080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglnF2M7x55jQbOmqOom0EyR5orMU4xQR6mZQiOLHebrK08-IwS5XaRJGqLau2JICNn-1lHPPIzNg1gluWxr1XShn-7I3RuJCHuc5_CchchvcfLbFkEwKrbQhm8za-nIEpqkydnRtuaGKCq/s320/St+George+n+080.JPG" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The winds are still high and rain squalls rotate through
every hour it seems. There is no chance for Glenn to get back up in the air and
we’re forced to spend the day on the ground, deteriorating from boredom. Walks
down the old road and highway get boring quickly, and watching all the ants
come and go from their little holes in the red clay ground also gets old soon.
Craig spots a white snake making its way across the highway and we go up to
investigate. It turns out not to be a snake but a row of several caterpillars
all linked up for the daunting crossing of the highway, out in the open for
predators to sweep in. I guess there is safety in numbers and by being all
linked up, they do look like a snake from a distance, scaring away some rodents
possibly. I run back to camp to grab a camera and tell Mark and Glenn. We are
all so bored that the sight of some caterpillars crossing the road turns out to
be the most exciting part of the day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com2Woodlawn Ln, St George QLD 4487, Australia-28.001676807403094 149.2218017578125-28.225869807403093 148.90594475781251 -27.777483807403094 149.53765875781249tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-82667885576549230562012-03-18T21:33:00.001-07:002012-03-18T21:33:18.253-07:00Australian Adventure: Log 14<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDYA47jPwf5s0GIzXYdPV2mIxUr281gxCemWk7un7uRIb4uFamkqhTXiHFaGbfZYz_ndvPDrekSs1aSy8-fkVFwZHZENHdj6VHlqwT9mzXlx9pvkg0PJo1E_eoGAH5cjaTVPkVsDWg4M92/s1600/Roma+163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDYA47jPwf5s0GIzXYdPV2mIxUr281gxCemWk7un7uRIb4uFamkqhTXiHFaGbfZYz_ndvPDrekSs1aSy8-fkVFwZHZENHdj6VHlqwT9mzXlx9pvkg0PJo1E_eoGAH5cjaTVPkVsDWg4M92/s640/Roma+163.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m up early once again, the mere sound of Glenn’s tent
unzipping is enough to get me out of bed, even if the night sky is still
untouched by the suns rising rays. It’s like the army all over again, I’d
automatically wake at 5 am every morning for that was the regimented routine. I
put together a round of teas for Glenn Mark and I, and Mark and Glenn negotiate
over the computer, watching with worried eyes as weather systems advance on our
location. Rain is on its way in the next couple days and will likely hold us
up. A quick decision is made to bypass Emerald and cut south. Winds are pushing
in from the coast, so Glenn’s thinking is that changing direction south will
allow a few more days of travel, only having to fight crosswinds, rather than
meeting the systems head on in a fight for Emerald. This also means that we are
sacrificing highway miles up north, so we’ll have to find more down south
before we cut across to Perth. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">With the early morning leave from Barcladine, I’m not so
eager for a breakfast this morning as the weight of a deep-fried seafood platter
is still sitting in my stomach. Glenn makes a successful flight first down to
Blackall, where I get in a much needed swim at the local pool. Day upon day of
sitting in the Nissan has stiffened my back, the mere act of turning to look
out the window to find Glenn high up in the sky is almost becoming painful. The
good swim does wonders to loosen up my muscles; I’ll have to make use of pools
more often when they become available. Glenn’s evening flight sees him land in
rodeo grounds just past the town of Tambo, offering up an excellent spot to set
up camp. After a good meal cooked by Mark, I take the opportunity to sit out
under the big sky, taking in the mass of stars that come out in the Outback
sky. It really is amazing how much more you see out here, and I take every
chance I can to do some star gazing before fatigue gets the better of me.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-qBvBb7XTl-B0LJ-3YhyksEshHwgRQep3hZDE9_XDVf1dl4a57LxfamS9yzXf_pdUa07Nfl546Q7hEW_ilJlv_auDUWsI6QafQxXXKbgOumerU3yoZSCYpl_71urLSaK5-YucrtHudYQB/s1600/Leg+2+092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-qBvBb7XTl-B0LJ-3YhyksEshHwgRQep3hZDE9_XDVf1dl4a57LxfamS9yzXf_pdUa07Nfl546Q7hEW_ilJlv_auDUWsI6QafQxXXKbgOumerU3yoZSCYpl_71urLSaK5-YucrtHudYQB/s320/Leg+2+092.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next morning, Craig and I walk the Paramotor out to the
truck pullout over on the highway. It’s another stroll through long grass; the
injection of adrenaline from the threat of the legless menace is more than
enough to wake whatever sleep was still in my eyes. With the wing set out,
Glenn hits the starter and gets nothing but a click. Within a split second, I
know what is about to happen. A furious tirade of profanity spews from Glenn’s
mouth as he continues to hit the starter button to no avail. He thinks the
battery is dead and Craig runs back through the wet grass while Glenn and I
stripe down the Paramotor. Craig is back in a flash and we button up the Paramotor
with a fresh battery. Glenn hits the starter button once again, “CLICK.” Boom
goes Glenn, he’s so mad that he can’t even string different words together,
just constantly yelling out “f@#$, f@#$, f@#$, f@#$….” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We pull everything over to camp, and start to strip the starter
off of the Paramotor, however, there is a special technique to get it off and
we decide that it is easier to just do a full engine swap with Marks motor that
is stored in the truck. Another hour later we have swapped motors, but the
wiring harnesses are different! Another long while of cutting, soldering and
shrink wrapping, and we’ve managed to get Glenn’s machine tip top once again,
but we’ve lost a good portion of the morning. Glenn takes to the air with
little effort and gets a good head start as we have a huge mess to clean up
after the frantic search for spares, tools and stripping a new engine out its
box in the trailer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We catch up to him just before the town of Charleville. The
name sounds familiar to us, and as we start to notice the signs of flood
waters, we quickly remember why. It was Charleville and the neighboring town of
Mitchell that were evacuated last week, making the news. The devastation of the
surrounding area was immediately evident, all the paddock fences were covered
in debris, trees had mud reaching as high up as ten meters in some cases and
the bridge entering the town was destroyed, yet being a good six meters over
the rivers current level. The town itself was saved for the most part as it
sits on high ground, but environment all around the town was left in ruin. We
spent our mid-day break here, making use of an air conditioned Road House as a
refuge from the searing mid-day heat. This is also where we would say good bye to
Mark for a couple of days, he’s off to Sydney to partake in an event put on by
Tourism Australia where he can schmooze with big wigs and celebs while giving
interviews to all the countries major news stations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On our way out of town, we stop at the local fuel station to
top up the LPG (Propane) for the truck, finding that the pumps are out of
service. We top up all the Jerry Cans in hopes that we can make it to the next
town on petrol alone. We drop Mark off at the bus station and book out of town
after Glenn. The route we take back east once again follows the river that
flooded, and from Mervon to Mitchell, the landscape and infrastructure is raped
by the forces of the flood waters. The bridge in Mitchell fared even worse than
that in Charleville, being washed away completely and we take a makeshift
fording ramp across the now tranquil stream. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">With Mark now gone, Glenn’s focus and determination is left
nearly unchallenged as he pushes to make up as much distance as he can. His
risk taking is getting more and more exciting for Craig and I on the ground as
he makes some spectacular takeoffs, battling wind and obstacles. One morning,
he climbs out into a field with a runway that is too short and just wide enough
to fit his wing. With liftoff, he’s just kissing the trees on the left side,
but not getting the height to clear the tree’s in front, cranking over on his
toggles, he swings right and just clears the paddock, averting disaster by mere
feet. It’s an impressive feat, however, Craig and I start to wonder if he’s maybe
starting to push too hard, taking chances that are too large.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMzjmdvBZW51gdpUC8WLIO7dw3316ozg4bn-YImS7nsjRACGiyCqRXneshNRBr-TLFP6NQ2nExCTZlk_c70ggJEb2Mv05FSGABFhaPO6Lj1l5d-n7noDm7Y1n0aFC3PNRXOBJpPS35rrdF/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMzjmdvBZW51gdpUC8WLIO7dw3316ozg4bn-YImS7nsjRACGiyCqRXneshNRBr-TLFP6NQ2nExCTZlk_c70ggJEb2Mv05FSGABFhaPO6Lj1l5d-n7noDm7Y1n0aFC3PNRXOBJpPS35rrdF/s320/Start+of+Leg+2+200.JPG" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">From Mitchell we push on to Roma, and Glenn is already on
the ground on the outskirts of town chatting with a local. We pull up to meet Rick,
a large man with large personality, shooting from the mouth and sporting a big
gut. “I saw this UFO falling from the sky, and figured I’d come over and see
what it was.” He is an extremely good natured person, inviting us up to the
shop for a couple of beers, then even gave us his house in town that he was
renovating. We set up the trailer in the driveway and had full use of the
bathroom and fridge. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMzjmdvBZW51gdpUC8WLIO7dw3316ozg4bn-YImS7nsjRACGiyCqRXneshNRBr-TLFP6NQ2nExCTZlk_c70ggJEb2Mv05FSGABFhaPO6Lj1l5d-n7noDm7Y1n0aFC3PNRXOBJpPS35rrdF/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We knew that we’d likely be stuck here a couple of days, as
the winds were forecasted to be high, and the hospitality of Rick was a welcome
surprise, making us feel right at home and tossing us another beer once we were
all set up, having a good long chat in the back yard before our beds beckoned
us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-50067500204981152222012-03-18T18:23:00.000-07:002012-03-18T18:23:31.389-07:00Australian Adventure: Log 13<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOrtOQLLx1iywPD4qYiWnxsulXl3snBaBQUqZ9FxkfeiwzAuljrzFPOYmP1rngHRJSy_smTRtz0im6tUiJAnjQbELjYdZG3oepfjsTsVpPkrerPS4B0mlfOxxhl07yc7o52TxjrpkJ3Gad/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOrtOQLLx1iywPD4qYiWnxsulXl3snBaBQUqZ9FxkfeiwzAuljrzFPOYmP1rngHRJSy_smTRtz0im6tUiJAnjQbELjYdZG3oepfjsTsVpPkrerPS4B0mlfOxxhl07yc7o52TxjrpkJ3Gad/s640/Start+of+Leg+2+210.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we fight our way west, headwinds are getting stronger and
stronger, challenging our forward momentum. We arrive in the town of Longreach,
it’s a small town of maybe 2000 people however, we’re taken back as the tail-wing
of a 747 looms over the hangars at the airport just out of town. Glenn gets a
shot of adrenaline shoot through him as he flies over what is listed as a rural
airport, the sight of a 747 on the tarmac making him search around for equally
frightening air traffic. However, not to worry, it’s only part of the Qantas
Museum; placed here because this was the town the company began its operations.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was a quick launch this morning, well before the sun even
came close to breaking the horizon, and my stomach is arguing with me over the
lack of breakfast. As we pass by the massive 747, we find a Road House to get
fuel, and I take the opportunity to grab something to eat, the only thing
available is a nasty little sausage roll that looks as though it’s been sitting
under the heat lamp for days. Back on the road, I’m not quite sure if what I’m
eating is actual meat in the centre of the sausage roll, as we race to catch up
to the lone remaining pilot. Mark is sitting in the back of the truck, not
making much sound as the reality hits that his dream of a world record has come
to an end. He’s doing his best to now concentrate on the charity side of the
expedition, however the pain is obvious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Soon, we’re passing through the town of Ilfracombe. It’s a
quaint little village that has a display of farm machinery running the entire
length of town on the left side of the highway. It looks like a great place to
stop, a couple nice little café’s look quite inviting, however, Glenn is
nowhere in sight and we need to catch up. To our surprise, we find him just on
the outskirts of town, sitting by the road side, the mid-day heat and thermals
forcing him to call an end to the morning flight sooner than expected. However,
this does mean that we get to make use of the café.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We truck Glenn back to town, straight to the café, where he
wastes no time ordering up a proper eggs, bacon and sausage breakfast. Having
already chosen my breakfast purchase, I had to make do with a Flat White as
Glenn works a proper meal. We’re in town for several hours before the winds
calm for an evening flight. I do a couple laps of the town getting pictures of
the machinery and giving myself yet another sunburn before it’s time to leave. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm0ZcaEPeH2552ZJs8I_2Ths0tpgg7ZQuwjWqpdz4BK_9CUXYBC1mOOfNaFnzk_DD_-m1aH7eZhHzKWkocSzVHok18gK8NVjmRjP9slbvVqhJ732Bacbp6kcG4XF8Ox0xFWS6pLTECVaPC/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm0ZcaEPeH2552ZJs8I_2Ths0tpgg7ZQuwjWqpdz4BK_9CUXYBC1mOOfNaFnzk_DD_-m1aH7eZhHzKWkocSzVHok18gK8NVjmRjP9slbvVqhJ732Bacbp6kcG4XF8Ox0xFWS6pLTECVaPC/s320/Start+of+Leg+2+171.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Glenn is back in the air and heading for Barcladine. We’ve
already planned to make an early landing here as there is a storm front moving
in all around us, and we’ll have to make a decision in the morning whether to
fight on east towards Emerald, or cut south to bypass a certain halt to wait
out the storms. He makes to the outskirts of town just as the sun slips beneath
the horizon, a perfect landing only minutes from a Caravan Park. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Setting up camp with the luxury of electricity, water,
toilets and showers, we set about filling our stores and getting a much needed
shower in before treating ourselves to a pub dinner. No cooking or dishes
tonight. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZYge0dW8veAP7qre-kI1cTnO3LDtJR7xw7FkwwwFfCDXglABFluHMD1T7t89Hx7axz1yLhED0QDwlcWzoakSQDOhlQPI80WIb4l3a4G2XaGogl_rvU9dW5OsZ8alHlA9ZyPX56fMbORFE/s1600/Leg+2+019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZYge0dW8veAP7qre-kI1cTnO3LDtJR7xw7FkwwwFfCDXglABFluHMD1T7t89Hx7axz1yLhED0QDwlcWzoakSQDOhlQPI80WIb4l3a4G2XaGogl_rvU9dW5OsZ8alHlA9ZyPX56fMbORFE/s320/Leg+2+019.JPG" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Caravan Park manager suggests a good bar to try, the
Shakespeare Hotel and to not miss getting a photo of the “Tree of Knowledge.”
Not quite sure what he meant, however, we packed along the cameras anyway. A
walk into the centre of town soon displayed a rather modern piece of art
centered in what is really a classic old Outback town, the contrasts where huge
as a large green lit structure enveloped a dead tree. Inside, spires of wood
streak down from the top creating a magnificent display of light and art, the
dead roots in the ground on display through a glass floor. It’s something we
really were not expecting. According to a plaque near the site, the tree was an
icon that proclaimed the start of the Labour Party in Australian politics. The
Aussies sure take their politics seriously to keep the tree on display with
such extravagance. After some meandering around the area, our stomach’s
beckoned us on to the Shakespeare Hotel, where I made the mistake of ordering
the seafood platter, receiving a massive plate of deep-fried objects of varying
shapes and sizes, all tasting the same, of grease. I knew I shouldn’t have
ordered it and the after affects wood sit in my stomach well into the morning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Despite the shower before bed, the nights heat brought gave
me little chance of sleep, and the scream Gallah’s made their annoying return
at four in the morning. Despite the luxury of a Caravan Park, the night would
bring little rest as finding sleep is still a challenge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZYge0dW8veAP7qre-kI1cTnO3LDtJR7xw7FkwwwFfCDXglABFluHMD1T7t89Hx7axz1yLhED0QDwlcWzoakSQDOhlQPI80WIb4l3a4G2XaGogl_rvU9dW5OsZ8alHlA9ZyPX56fMbORFE/s1600/Leg+2+019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com0Barcaldine QLD 4725, Australia-23.5524673 145.2885214-23.7853653 144.9726644 -23.3195693 145.6043784tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-32707546794101542622012-03-02T15:43:00.000-08:002013-01-11T11:42:13.049-08:00Australian Adventure: Log 12<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3t9IggSqYwCoLsb2F_xqVThmC2isfdO2mToBSzCp4g5E-hZYnTR_o6O3DE-_d_fjY1OHAMtpYn76VyQ2BStELxEWsBquH4ypz6tz0TSBrVKBHE7GaOUIqWNW7lDELQTojvFrnNnFEBY0/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3t9IggSqYwCoLsb2F_xqVThmC2isfdO2mToBSzCp4g5E-hZYnTR_o6O3DE-_d_fjY1OHAMtpYn76VyQ2BStELxEWsBquH4ypz6tz0TSBrVKBHE7GaOUIqWNW7lDELQTojvFrnNnFEBY0/s640/Start+of+Leg+2+079.JPG" width="640" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3t9IggSqYwCoLsb2F_xqVThmC2isfdO2mToBSzCp4g5E-hZYnTR_o6O3DE-_d_fjY1OHAMtpYn76VyQ2BStELxEWsBquH4ypz6tz0TSBrVKBHE7GaOUIqWNW7lDELQTojvFrnNnFEBY0/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The team has taken a massive hit. After Mark has broken one
of his propellers on the first leg of the journey, we’re down to no spares; one
prop for each pilot is now all we have. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The boys have just completed their longest flight of the
trip, a 160 km early morning run that started well before the sun broke the
horizon. We’re so far out in the Outback now that landing on the highway is
ideal, there are no cars seen for hours and it provides a great runway for both
landings and take offs. We’ve been under the pilots all morning and the
conditions are good when they land. Glenn asks for a refill, they want to get a
second morning run in before the heat of the day makes the thermals too strong.
Craig and I top up both tanks and lay Marks wing out across the road for
takeoff. However, there is a bit of a crosswind in the air and a set of power
lines off to his left. With a heave and handful of throttle, he brings the wing
up into the air above him and begins to scamper off down the road. But the
crosswind catches him and angles the wing off to the right; he counters which
is sending him towards the power lines. He lifts up off the ground and steers
once again to avoid the lines, however, the steering input kills some of his
speed and as he has just taken off, the wing loses lift an crashes back down to
Earth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Painfully I watch as Mark crashes into the abrasive road
surface, the sickening sound of metal striking the rock surface and breaking.
It’s all a blur and it looks like there was debris flying from the Paramotor. I
run down the road after him, he’s already up by the time I get there, shouting
out in a panic, “Is the prop ok, is the prop ok!” Glenn and Craig are charging
up behind shouting the same question. I inspect the rear of his Paramotor to
find what I had suspected, the carbon fibre blades are shattered at the tips,
the metal structure around the fuel tank has buckled and broken free to stick out
into the path of the propellers. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Heartbroken, I tell Mark, “It’s done,” then turn and slash
my throat with my hand signalling to the others the day is done, and likely the
trip for Mark. Glenn comes to a stop; his face falls as all hope dies, turns
and walks with heavy steps back towards the camper. Mark is still asking in a
panic whether the prop is ok or not, he either didn’t hear my first answer or
most likely could not let himself believe the answer. I give him the bad news
clear and to his face and the disappointment in his face is enough to nearly
bring a tear to my eye. He drops the damaged Paramotor and walks back to the
camper as slowly and painfully as Glenn.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Craig and I pick up the pieces from the shattered machinery
and drag it back to the camper. Glenn is in deep thought, wondering around,
while Mark is sitting silently on the other side of the road, gazing off into
the prairie. We inspect the damaged Paramotor further to find the damage was
even greater than we first thought, some expert welding and fitment will be
needed to get the Paramotor running again, however, nothing goes up without a
prop. Mark grabs a breath, picks himself up off the side of the road and comes
over. “I’m out, Glenn get up in the air and carry on.” Both Glenn and I protest
the snap decision as this was Marks dream to complete a flight around
Australia, breaking a record in the process. Mark doesn’t want to hear anymore,
the painful situation too much, and wants Glenn to get going, but we insist on
a team meeting to further discuss the situation and where we go from here. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">With some quick words, the decision is made that Glenn will
push on to the next town, Mark will make some calls and try to get a new prop
in, and will come back to cover Glenn’s tracks once a new prop has come. Glenn
flies to the next town while Mark sits in the back of the truck, working the
phones trying to source a new prop. Ben from Kangook, someone we met while down
in Brisbane supplies several Paramotor parts and Mark has him courier in a new
prop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We hold up at a caravan park, happy to finally have a shower
and fresh water at hand, the new prop will take a couple days to come in. The
wait also gives us time to make repairs to the camper which is beginning to
fall apart, weld up Marks frame and get some necessities. I’m holding fort at
the camp as the others are in town, the Caravan Park manager shows up telling
me there is a package in. Glenn shows us just after and picks it up. He hurries
back and rips the package open, but something doesn’t seem right. Pulling the
prop out, it is a two blade propeller made of wood, not a carbon three blade.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mark returns, excited that he found some essential tools,
the smile on his face sinks as he catches sight of the prop over in the corner
of camp, stopping mid-sentence. “Oh no,” he mutters, the twin blade prop will
not work on the Parajet motor. The heartbreak from a couple of days ago was
replaced by hope, destroyed in a split second by heartbreak once again. “The
Prop won’t work,” claims the Parajet rep over the phone to Mark. “The fastest
we could get you one is in two weeks’ time,” The Parajet factory is based in
England, and we are in the middle of the Outback.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcEXWonyE2WZVocuBKv6iQA5rw4_FieDJox4eXD5Z_ljU140-hbORW5UJoDwJlCmFMycB_GzvmMGOB0R8Yj2tsUTntK_lbYxyC3TNZfyQSbsDDSipFN6Bx-xgod-rVGO1JFnbHxi_1hOFv/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+122.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcEXWonyE2WZVocuBKv6iQA5rw4_FieDJox4eXD5Z_ljU140-hbORW5UJoDwJlCmFMycB_GzvmMGOB0R8Yj2tsUTntK_lbYxyC3TNZfyQSbsDDSipFN6Bx-xgod-rVGO1JFnbHxi_1hOFv/s320/Start+of+Leg+2+122.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Two weeks would kill any chance of making the world record
as Glenn is scheduled to leave at the end of April. Another team meeting is
called and we have the painful choice to make, do we wait and give up on the
record, or do we push on, now only Glenn will be capable of the record? The
hard decision is made, Glenn will push on alone. Mark will join him once the
new props are shipped to join him in the rest of the journey. It’s a
heartbreaking decision, as this was Marks dream, and all the hard work and
finances to put this all together came from him and Jackie. For the next couple
weeks, Craig and I will have Mark riding along on the ground, and not flying overhead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-45191300802432814392012-02-28T17:46:00.000-08:002012-02-28T17:46:43.191-08:00Australian Adventure: Log 11<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO4nYJMFiKYWneujdXGk4o6iv-k-LqUG-uzsTDV4j5PUo8Yth7rJjrXA8H530xzNvmcvufB4QKxPy1qEYNNjDCqDWPQekH3OUDPJa2uDLBw1cjsgSTOtSfKi5NSLRM6yO-VVJXN6h94Xod/s1600/Leg+2+016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO4nYJMFiKYWneujdXGk4o6iv-k-LqUG-uzsTDV4j5PUo8Yth7rJjrXA8H530xzNvmcvufB4QKxPy1qEYNNjDCqDWPQekH3OUDPJa2uDLBw1cjsgSTOtSfKi5NSLRM6yO-VVJXN6h94Xod/s640/Leg+2+016.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We’ve been fighting the wind along the entire second leg of
the trip. The pilots putting in long hard days and risking dangerous takeoffs to
keep pushing towards Toowoomba, to keep the kilometres piling up. The Outback
is as flat as I’ve seen any part of the Earth’s surface, creating magnificent
sun rises and sets, however the daily grind down the straight flat highway is
becoming tedious. However, at least it’s much easier to find the Paragliders in
the sky, no hills or tree’s obstructing our view. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUFReSgwxONIBTNXAFIQVxI22yaj6UAIF4l6i6PtDCdngv5EB3KobUuwlGvGS2MXP2HGcy_xVFP94iah5-3Y3ZHbA12vTaYmX5L5F4qSGpVDi3Q5cdR1XA-_JJ1xzD2XOmhPCUdKT0PJ5Y/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUFReSgwxONIBTNXAFIQVxI22yaj6UAIF4l6i6PtDCdngv5EB3KobUuwlGvGS2MXP2HGcy_xVFP94iah5-3Y3ZHbA12vTaYmX5L5F4qSGpVDi3Q5cdR1XA-_JJ1xzD2XOmhPCUdKT0PJ5Y/s320/Start+of+Leg+2+143.JPG" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The pilots are in view as they set down 60 km from the town of
Winton. Known for the cache of dinosaur bones as well as petrified tracks of a
pre-historic dino-stampede left in the red bed rock of the Outback. I finally
get my first proper Aussie meat pie at the local bakery in town, and a rare
chance to check internet, something that is even rarer than water out here.
After a quick beer in the Tatts hotel, we head back out to the Paramotors and
put Glenn back up into the sky. Pushing forward back to town, we fill the
tanks and top up on groceries then wait for him on the outskirts of the town.
After a good half hour, still no sign of the floating jellyfish in the sky. We
push down the road even further, calling them on the radio as we go. Still no
sign or call, we figure he must have bypassed the town and we missed him
while in shopping. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We rocket out of the back side of town hoping our decision
is the right one. I begin to do the math in my head, the average speed that has
been traveled in headwinds that is usually around 35 to 45 kmh over the two
hours that we’ve left him, he must have already passed, and made a large cut
bypassing the town and getting a run on Longreach. We make the call to pursue down range; however, both Craig and I have an uneasy feeling. That is what
most likely happened, however, if we are wrong and he had engine trouble,
then we are driving away from him, rather than catching up. With the sun
sinking, the seriousness of the situation increases. Before we go, we give one
last hale on the radio that goes unanswered. The radio has a 25 km range, so he
most certainly has bypassed the town, and we missed him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We first check the airport 3 km
out of town, just in case. No Glenn. We then shoot down the A2, Craig and I
fixated on the horizon, looking for any sign of the Paraglider. Over the first
crest, no wings, over the next crest, no Glenn, past the forest, no Glenn
We don’t worry too much, as conditions have calmed down significantly, and he
would be able to get 70 kmh out of the wing, and knowing the charge he's been
on, he's likely trying to make the most of a rare spot of luck. However, soon
the crests become farther and farther apart and our anxiety of seeing the wings
over each increases with each failure. We are now 50 km out of town and the sun
is now down. I’m still trying desperately to raise Glenn on the radio to no
avail. Now it’s getting serious, we’re in the middle of the Outback, the sun
has gone down, and we’re missing a man. We result to trying to hail down
oncoming vehicles to ask if they’ve seen the floating Paramotors fly by.
However, there are no cars on the road, only three Road Trains, all three
refusing to stop in our aid, despite being pulled over, with hazard lights
blinking, flashing our high beams and I out in the middle of the road waving my
arms, pleading for the big trucks to stop; all three rush by.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At 60 km out of town, I do some more math, and he
shouldn’t be this far out. He must have had issues at the beginning of the
flight, several hours ago. Hopefully he's caught a ride back into town, and
is sitting at the bar, drinking a beer and chuckling with the bar tender and
patrons about how his ground crew left him for dead. We turn around and race
back towards town, still trying to raise him on the radio. About ten
kilometres from town, I give one last call out into the radio waves, and still
get no return. If Glenn is in town, he would have heard this call, and our
hearts start to sink, as morbid possibilities run through our heads. Hopefully
his radio just ran out of juice, as this has been an issue.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi39nQnVBitPLRZDx3mkLd808RzIaB_R_8JYEbUhuZ2rzsTwkTgkurNKY0k_maMA7BoK6d7iPq-s4ryzIu3KD0z6qKcXS868cGQwny_MDaZPY8CEEg9sVLqg_V3m4FrngFXOtKFIHEvgzYc/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi39nQnVBitPLRZDx3mkLd808RzIaB_R_8JYEbUhuZ2rzsTwkTgkurNKY0k_maMA7BoK6d7iPq-s4ryzIu3KD0z6qKcXS868cGQwny_MDaZPY8CEEg9sVLqg_V3m4FrngFXOtKFIHEvgzYc/s320/Start+of+Leg+2+097.JPG" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we enter town, I’ve been gazing the side of the road the
entire trip, hoping that Glen was just slow and set down at the road side. To
my relief, I see the distinctive silhouette of the Paramotor and wing all
folded up beside the highway. I call to Craig, “I see him, stop.” Just then, a
whistle comes from a nearby house, where a local has been keeping an alive Glenn company
for the last couple hours.</span><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The story goes; Glenn was working the hardest winds that he had
seen yet on this trip, only managing to eke out a measly 22 kmh, half of what
we figured he were capable of. When we worked our way 10 km out of town and
made the call on the radio, he was still fighting the winds, just over 25 km
away, and would set down due to the turbulence not too far from where we
stopped. After a long wait while we were racing in the opposite direction, Glenn, waiting by the roadside starting to realize no one was coming. So back up
into the air he went, fought his way to Winton, buzzed the town and landed
near a park, just on the far side of town where we would find him several
hours and a tank of fuel later. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Predictably, the usual flow of profanity spewed from Glenn’s
mouth; however it was a cockup of unreliable radios, no phone, no phone numbers
and the ground crew loosing rearward sight of the pilot that all lead to what
could have been a fatal situation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO4nYJMFiKYWneujdXGk4o6iv-k-LqUG-uzsTDV4j5PUo8Yth7rJjrXA8H530xzNvmcvufB4QKxPy1qEYNNjDCqDWPQekH3OUDPJa2uDLBw1cjsgSTOtSfKi5NSLRM6yO-VVJXN6h94Xod/s1600/Leg+2+016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi39nQnVBitPLRZDx3mkLd808RzIaB_R_8JYEbUhuZ2rzsTwkTgkurNKY0k_maMA7BoK6d7iPq-s4ryzIu3KD0z6qKcXS868cGQwny_MDaZPY8CEEg9sVLqg_V3m4FrngFXOtKFIHEvgzYc/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUFReSgwxONIBTNXAFIQVxI22yaj6UAIF4l6i6PtDCdngv5EB3KobUuwlGvGS2MXP2HGcy_xVFP94iah5-3Y3ZHbA12vTaYmX5L5F4qSGpVDi3Q5cdR1XA-_JJ1xzD2XOmhPCUdKT0PJ5Y/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
</div>Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com0Winton QLD 4735, Australia-22.3900928 143.0390909-22.4047743 143.01934989999998 -22.375411300000003 143.0588319tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-45386055497949795062012-02-19T18:20:00.000-08:002012-02-19T18:20:56.857-08:00Australian Adventure: Log 10<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrFgBhYNfI0CiCx6R-V8lRD8G5ekzk3hxMeeoAFSABiuOWJu5l6lnF9NY64J4ee8WLTwu517ae_ll7B39gYDtBgRHhgw0OFZsVfVrHmi7sE8XfyjqP4i4N2tHGrvB6tf-gYSS5h9MT8Jm6/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrFgBhYNfI0CiCx6R-V8lRD8G5ekzk3hxMeeoAFSABiuOWJu5l6lnF9NY64J4ee8WLTwu517ae_ll7B39gYDtBgRHhgw0OFZsVfVrHmi7sE8XfyjqP4i4N2tHGrvB6tf-gYSS5h9MT8Jm6/s640/Start+of+Leg+2+085.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRd6XsX-84j2YgZVce8NWXDiTRxsLuCmO2gViTYLkxJN7vFYW9u2VIYVrTf2kw6ZMPMIykwRyo2SYkVLXM35-NFAEjPosCP2uY0GZ_gIabRWWNt56sCzd9Pg3zmSmZpV4cl_sHFSD4HKSo/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRd6XsX-84j2YgZVce8NWXDiTRxsLuCmO2gViTYLkxJN7vFYW9u2VIYVrTf2kw6ZMPMIykwRyo2SYkVLXM35-NFAEjPosCP2uY0GZ_gIabRWWNt56sCzd9Pg3zmSmZpV4cl_sHFSD4HKSo/s320/Start+of+Leg+2+084.JPG" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“That’s not a knife, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this</i>
is a knife,” are the words going through my mind at I look upon a large
fighting knife hanging on the wall behind the bar at the Walkabout Creek Hotel
in McKinlay. Sheathed with a belt that has the name “Crocodile Dundee,” written
into the belt, I’m sitting at the famous bar that was the location for
shooting, “27-years ago today,” barks out the bar tender. This is the site of
our mid-day stop after an impressive morning flight from Cloncurry to start leg
two.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgedD48rd32dwOorq6qhfmXnYVKRuQ5xQVV40b7-C2FNDWS2QkhsLwPNsQc9pvIssajBvKDpriftkNtjbEqs4mgZR5xiOB87EBhQq9NeseuLhN2TnzTYJpJFwnbIZk8zj7wWRaSrGtrEPxq/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgedD48rd32dwOorq6qhfmXnYVKRuQ5xQVV40b7-C2FNDWS2QkhsLwPNsQc9pvIssajBvKDpriftkNtjbEqs4mgZR5xiOB87EBhQq9NeseuLhN2TnzTYJpJFwnbIZk8zj7wWRaSrGtrEPxq/s320/Start+of+Leg+2+089.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">McKinlay is an impressive landing point as Mother Nature is
going to grind us through the ringer for the next week. The slight headwinds
that we were battling on our way from Townsville to Cloncurry have changed
direction 180-degrees and strengthened. The challenges of leg one will turn
into battles for leg two. Taking shelter from the stifling mid-day heat at the
Walkabout Creek Hotel, a beer at the bar that Dundee used to call his office
was not only refreshing, but completely called for. The bar is wonderfully
decorated with pictures from filming, complete with a massive crocodile having
beers on the porch next to crew members, and lots of paraphernalia not only
from filming, but militaria (caps, badges, insignia, uniforms) boomerangs, traps,
and newspaper clippings from mammoth floods and weather. On the side is the
pool room, complete with the “Never Never Safari Tours” sign board. What a cool
place to spend the mid-day halt, as Glenn and Mark chat up the owner about the
movie, the local economy and employment. Most ranches and stations are losing
all their young workers to the money and easy careers of the cities, while
mining is taking over as the primary resource over farming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The visit is too short, and we’re back out in the heat, and
the pilots back into the air, pushing on towards Kynuna. Craig and I motor over
the barren landscape, the road long and flat, we chug along just behind the “jellyfish”
so as not to lose them. Not that we could, the land is so flat that you can see
the curvature of the earth, and even after a 15-minute rest stop, the paramotor
wings are still quite visible just above the horizon. The heat of the day is
ruining the refreshing shower I finally got back in Cloncurry, the first since
Townsville.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYLQ3gBXcaRjgR-HKrC93ItN3SLQO_61g7MJdPZW5kgiVp_zo72qlXve_cXuax8laUZKsqK8GOFSTzBf-sSBSUoreB0b1azOvCzYyXEBO526EiwYhX3upFQQR70cnGLmlBOiZ0_mnR2obJ/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYLQ3gBXcaRjgR-HKrC93ItN3SLQO_61g7MJdPZW5kgiVp_zo72qlXve_cXuax8laUZKsqK8GOFSTzBf-sSBSUoreB0b1azOvCzYyXEBO526EiwYhX3upFQQR70cnGLmlBOiZ0_mnR2obJ/s320/Start+of+Leg+2+096.JPG" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The pilots battle on in the headwinds, and the sun is
starting the shoot for the horizon as we pass a sign saying we’re ten
kilometres from the village of Kynuna. The sun is down, and darkness is setting
in as we enter the tiny village with a strange name. However, we notice that
Glenn is losing altitude just as we are approaching the local bar, the Blue
Heeler, with a bright neon sign blazing on the roof. Every time we come to a
town this size, the bar is almost always entirely empty, except for the odd
rugged sun baked local needing his after work beer. However, the Blue Heeler
has four people sitting on the porch sipping at their cold beers as Glenn comes
swooping into the parking lot just in front, shouting out, “Do you have a beer
ready for me” just before his feet hit the ground. The patrons are beside
themselves as Glenn comes to stop. We arrive just as he and Mark are getting
bombarded with questions, “Where the hell did you come from mate?” and “Know I’ve
seen everything,” uttered from the porch. The bars owner has a beer in Glenn’s
hands even before I get to the scene, and is asking me what I want as I step up
onto the porch. A XXXX bitter is in my hands in seconds, as Glenns spectacular
landing sparks off great conversation and stories, ten strangers coming
together and sharing a great night of fun and beers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE0aVC4T1wtCuDiW7MlDeRAyeqKN9XXL6pEdmBA4mUtnJ0z6KnwOElCIZzHuW6_xZpNJs7p7V7qimQsLhnY_V_-U9LpMp_4xKW22RjC_Iaf_PN4HNPSqk0uVLQXZ6S3ISDf_6WKauCmlxP/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE0aVC4T1wtCuDiW7MlDeRAyeqKN9XXL6pEdmBA4mUtnJ0z6KnwOElCIZzHuW6_xZpNJs7p7V7qimQsLhnY_V_-U9LpMp_4xKW22RjC_Iaf_PN4HNPSqk0uVLQXZ6S3ISDf_6WKauCmlxP/s320/Start+of+Leg+2+108.JPG" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The owner even offers us a plot at the caravan park in the
back to stay the night, and some wild pig meat for our freezer. Needing to be
up early, we take the camper to the park in the back, and thankfully, showers
are also on the premises. However, the insects here are insane, a bright light
on the restrooms pull the majority away from us, but we are still swarmed with
hundreds of thousands of flying beetles, mosquitoes, and all manner of other
creature. We’re eaten alive as we eat our dinner, the clear night sky is
offering up a spectacular star gazing experience, but the mass of bugs forces
us to the sanctuary of bed. I notice that the sink just beneath the light is
filing with the dead insects as they fight for the light, a good ten
centimetres thick at the bottom of the sink and climbing. A fresh shower before
I turn in, I try to kill as many Mossies that make it into the trailer on my
return; however, there’s literally thousands of other insects flying around, camouflaging
the blood suckers. My fight futile, I jump into bed, my skin crawling with a
mass of little legs, I pull a sheet over my head to keep them from going in my
eyes, nose and mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The night is a disturbing one, with very little sleep, my
arms and ankles raw from hundreds of bits from the Mossies and No-see’ems. It
was a great day, but <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com0Kynuna QLD 4823, Australia-21.5789363 141.9208943-22.523963799999997 140.65746679999998 -20.6339088 143.1843218tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-57229877360508893892012-02-16T16:44:00.000-08:002012-02-16T16:44:40.677-08:00Australian Adventure: Log 9<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioXLIAmzxYC_j7OgzS1uw9aLqzLCuC6QuOjbelO_gBkDorxsaDcLRgi5Oh-sxC6lQOp9pVAToGaMn4Te17tuol1Bgs6XGH7FU9rziwvkZ-_zynPnMTqzrCerzFn2vUoaOjgRnJWiux6XT_/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHEet0r4jvxQDZ8pNOfFaJFVWGNttW3PS-VWhe-tT_sw6VBq3-UvRw8R8v72Ykg980avd1Ize9xG4oDMJgmpoYOIZP8QHmCC-gAsUvY9vZOgWFV3Sl5vnhpkrBlEKP3o2myWW5A0n4_Zj/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHEet0r4jvxQDZ8pNOfFaJFVWGNttW3PS-VWhe-tT_sw6VBq3-UvRw8R8v72Ykg980avd1Ize9xG4oDMJgmpoYOIZP8QHmCC-gAsUvY9vZOgWFV3Sl5vnhpkrBlEKP3o2myWW5A0n4_Zj/s640/Start+of+Leg+2+023.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the middle of the night, half awake, I feel something
moist and cold pressing against my cheek. My mine explodes into action at the
possibility of what animal is touching me, fears of deadly snakes fresh in my
mind. I dart back and look up to see a big wet nose pressed up against the
screen where my head was laying a split second earlier. Thankfully a herd of
cows came grazing into camp, one big one giving me sniff as I sleep, adrenaline
pulsing through my veins. Back to sleep, need to be up early tomorrow.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt2aO0Rshw7ZbOjDfsk2lWi4LMWWS_7lqwZ3t-n37c1BuiaNFTNrG2KuxZVEDVuLopUDfyK2WQ_Ut8tVQgp5GIe97y9BUv9QKX9pYT6TWvm0BJVVNVpMSyIoh8k7nVlTT7GdMpNBNTA_9-/s1600/Torrens+Creek+158.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt2aO0Rshw7ZbOjDfsk2lWi4LMWWS_7lqwZ3t-n37c1BuiaNFTNrG2KuxZVEDVuLopUDfyK2WQ_Ut8tVQgp5GIe97y9BUv9QKX9pYT6TWvm0BJVVNVpMSyIoh8k7nVlTT7GdMpNBNTA_9-/s320/Torrens+Creek+158.JPG" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The airstrip is an interesting place, cut from the forest,
it is an extremely long runway built on compressed red clay. The recent rain
storms creating drainage veins that deposit red sand off to the sides. It’s
perfect for take-offs, and after several hours of tuning last night, Craig and
Glenn now have both Paramotors running at optimal efficiency, now getting up to
four hours of flight time out of the 12.5 litre fuel tanks, rather than the
original two.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Both pilots lift into the air with little drama while Craig
and I break camp. Stopped by a train as we got back to the highway, Craig
wisely decides not to push his luck, however as we turn left onto the highway
and start to catch up to the train, we’re motoring down the highway at about
90-kmh when a large dark mass leaps from the roadside weeds. With my heart
skipping a beat I move away from the door, expecting a massive impact, but all
I hear is a squeal and the sound of hooves locking up on the tarmac as the huge
wild Boar spins 180 and darts back into the bush. Scared out of the weed by the
passing of the train, my senses are heightened from yet another lesson learned.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioXLIAmzxYC_j7OgzS1uw9aLqzLCuC6QuOjbelO_gBkDorxsaDcLRgi5Oh-sxC6lQOp9pVAToGaMn4Te17tuol1Bgs6XGH7FU9rziwvkZ-_zynPnMTqzrCerzFn2vUoaOjgRnJWiux6XT_/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioXLIAmzxYC_j7OgzS1uw9aLqzLCuC6QuOjbelO_gBkDorxsaDcLRgi5Oh-sxC6lQOp9pVAToGaMn4Te17tuol1Bgs6XGH7FU9rziwvkZ-_zynPnMTqzrCerzFn2vUoaOjgRnJWiux6XT_/s320/Start+of+Leg+2+014.JPG" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We’re now leaving the foot hills and stretching out into the
Outback plains, the land becomes flat and the horizon straightens out. For a
Canadian that has yet to fully experience the prairies, these “Downs” as the
Aussies call it are really quite spectacular. What’s also impressive is the
bloody heat. We may have left the misery of the humid coast, but now the
temperatures are shooting towards 40-plus degrees during the late afternoon.
The skies are clear and the searing Aussie sun beats down on us. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmL_NcgLVyQmuMbQ67AvNqGj8NOHFXQntDCLMs6qOF_FLsTVSuEC-QNk_DU2K8xM5pKnIaAhUQZiXUznk1RL7S4zoTzSzTNKSE0FFfUCg-RFPmtkWNi7xxl8GzRPmJgVFK1GLA6VDWzd5V/s1600/Start+of+Leg+2+009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmL_NcgLVyQmuMbQ67AvNqGj8NOHFXQntDCLMs6qOF_FLsTVSuEC-QNk_DU2K8xM5pKnIaAhUQZiXUznk1RL7S4zoTzSzTNKSE0FFfUCg-RFPmtkWNi7xxl8GzRPmJgVFK1GLA6VDWzd5V/s320/Start+of+Leg+2+009.JPG" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The pilots bypass Hughenden and make a run for Richmond in
the decent weather. After a quick refueling, they’re back in the air heading
for Richmond. While the Jellyfish are bypassing towns in an effort to get leg
one finished as soon as possible, Craig and I are able to enjoy the attractions
of these slightly larger towns, both Hughenden and Richmond being well known
for dinosaur fossil finds as the entire area used to be a massive inland sea.
No wonder it’s so bloody flat, the land here used to be a sea floor. Hughenden
has a couple life size dinosaurs on display as well as the massive wind
machines called Comets, which use the power of the wind to pull water up from
an underground lake, from one to two kilometres beneath the surface. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Richmond is known for the Koronosaurous, a gigantic
Crocodile that used to prey on the dinosaurs, and also have a life size example
sitting out in front of a learning centre, however, we don’t have time to
doddle around a museum as the pilots are still pushing on for Cloncurry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After a couple days travel, we make it to Julie Creek for a
mid-day stop, and boy is it getting hot. Glenn thankfully found an airport to
land at, which had an air conditioned old ticket counter shack for the now
defunct Trans-Australian Airlines. With the heat beating down from the sun high
overhead, we’re also bombarded from the reflected heat rising from the black
tarmac. Some time in town at a local air conditioned pub for lunch was called
for, but the cheapest meal on the menu was Fish & Chips for a whopping
$18.00, in a pub! A quick beer not to be impolite and we find a grocer to make
our own lunch out at the airport, then its back in the air for a final push to
the end of leg one in Cloncurry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The winds have been somewhat kind these last couple days as
the pilots have been able to put is some decent distances, and our arrival into
Cloncurry comes with a well-deserved night at a caravan park, a much needed
shower and even a dip in the pool to cool off from the heat on a day off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Leg one is finished, however, leg two is looking daunting.
The internet is telling us that after battling light headwinds all the way to
Cloncurry, the wind has changed just at the wrong moment, giving the pilots
strong head and cross winds across to Emerald. On top of that, the trip will be
even more desolate than the trip from Townsville, so we make sure the food,
water and fuel are all topped up for the trip across the Outback.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com0Cloncurry QLD 4824, Australia-20.7043534 140.505613-21.1796574 139.87389900000002 -20.229049399999997 141.137327tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-12818789646520109622012-02-15T15:51:00.000-08:002012-02-15T15:52:26.191-08:00Australian Adventure: Log 8<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8jcyJZQ6f82AQ4Y2UBFmdttSYgz6Pssrnmk-GM9V9KVjRICDofC7hKg6SNZe698UWnlYtZ8Nw8YjtudXAmJPXQtcaRIZvSFeHCQG5rFb88nNbg2x7cyFOV28O45s4Yg7wPqoEbd47JeF/s1600/Torrens+Creek+006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8jcyJZQ6f82AQ4Y2UBFmdttSYgz6Pssrnmk-GM9V9KVjRICDofC7hKg6SNZe698UWnlYtZ8Nw8YjtudXAmJPXQtcaRIZvSFeHCQG5rFb88nNbg2x7cyFOV28O45s4Yg7wPqoEbd47JeF/s640/Torrens+Creek+006.JPG" width="640" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The cold dew, Road Trains and Rail Trains kept me up for
most the night, but I roll out of bed as soon as I hear Glen moping around in a
morning crank. After a series of takeoff miseries with Mark yesterday, we hope
that we can get him up in the sky early today. By 6 am, he’s harnessed up and
ready to go, but like yesterday, the winds are dead, and moving all over the
place. Morale is low, for the whole team and Mark needs a good takeoff to give
not only him, but the whole team a lift in spirits.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik4zA7CMYzO3kzORZroIJ5vfxkKbqWwXCkUldFbhAUf-5bVo-r3wKbcQoUYhtSbw68EydQtOs_3iaNpSzVqysU561cEOV3kZdQ57WJI0AeT27eV6Q8BfK4qV_FTggGVznQi9YsrvrigXE7/s1600/Torrens+Creek+021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik4zA7CMYzO3kzORZroIJ5vfxkKbqWwXCkUldFbhAUf-5bVo-r3wKbcQoUYhtSbw68EydQtOs_3iaNpSzVqysU561cEOV3kZdQ57WJI0AeT27eV6Q8BfK4qV_FTggGVznQi9YsrvrigXE7/s320/Torrens+Creek+021.JPG" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With the Parajet spinning, Mark gets off to a slow run and
struggles down the field, his sail is pushing him from left to right to left
again. He’s two thirds the way across and still stumbling. Finally with a great
blast of throttle, his feet come up, the Paramotor sinks and just kisses the
ground, the three of us hold our breath as he skims out of the freshly cut
Cricket pitch and into the long grass beyond. He lifts out of the long grass,
but directly ahead, a stand of trees look him straight in the eye. With
throttle maxed, he splits between two trees, just grazing the right tree with
the tip of his wing, and lifts into the safety of open air. A huge sigh of
relief and pleasure comes over the three of us left on the ground, nervous
chuckles of what could have been. Had Mark caught one of his guide wires on the
branch he hit, it would have been disastrous, ripping him around and dragging
him out of the sky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Glen rushes back to his Paramotor, with a nervous grin,
barking away, “Jeez, that guy is going to give me a god damn heart attack,”
followed by the usual swearing and cursing that regularly spews from his mouth.
He throws his Paramotor onto his back, powers up, and shoots into the sky with
a fair bit of difficulty himself, taking an uncharacteristically long run to
get up, the dead air playing havoc with everyone. However, now it was time for
the drama’s to hit Glen. His motor bouncing the throttle, something didn’t seem
right, then the issue went away and the two floated off into the distance.
However, as Craig and I broke camp, we start to hear the familiar drone of the
Paramotors coming back. Glen does a quick fly by, yelling at us that he’s lost
his flight computer, a little handheld screen that displays GPS, Compass,
Direction, Altitude and such, a rather important and expensive bit of kit.
Craig and I scour the takeoff path as Glen comes in for a landing, cursing and
yelling his frustrations. Glen and Craig continue to run back and forth on the
field in search for the little black computer, while I scan the video footage
for a clue, not are found. On my way back out to show Glen the footage, maybe
he can see something I can’t I stumble upon it just around the starting area,
sitting neatly in the grass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Carrying his Paramotor back to the takeoff point, Glen try’s
to start his motor to get back in the air with Mark who is circling above.
Whah, whah wah. The battery is dead, and another stream of profanities spews
from Glen’s mouth as he dismounts once again. Craig and I rush to the camper
and break open the spares box. Thankfully a spare battery is sitting there and
we rush it over to Glen’s machine hoping that it came with a good charge. After
a couple failed attempts to start and frustration rising, Glen finally sparks
life into the Parajet, and rockets in to the air with the upmost of anger. We
cheer as he gains altitude and swings by, his attitude turned 180-degrees
kicking his feet in the air with joy and cheering us on. We’re back on the
road, back on task.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQGTyfA8NbXXnHClxRWEf14HszzoS0DfMfZZTGJiK1WDVbaPrP0c0DSmCXBlp-poVyZykkj7JfJG4Ef9s6p-eB-O76Iru7hd2xtO0Ca9xATJd0gzPtpDXOeA8Jf0i3vzV5sP5FmUUvzNDj/s1600/Torrens+Creek+142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfTj3rjjN9JPkYLWCtDh5d3ZVxLNNfpZFg9ujiE-Hde5Et63Mpm6LvJN28XEXNK17AOIVfvY-TpQUfa4fMgso_EGyvIJV8R5nrhqmoQaCxwIkQe4k23roOKlL9prDoFZvcU-MifTUdlKs/s1600/Torrens+Creek+108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfTj3rjjN9JPkYLWCtDh5d3ZVxLNNfpZFg9ujiE-Hde5Et63Mpm6LvJN28XEXNK17AOIVfvY-TpQUfa4fMgso_EGyvIJV8R5nrhqmoQaCxwIkQe4k23roOKlL9prDoFZvcU-MifTUdlKs/s320/Torrens+Creek+108.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After a refill at an airfield in Pentland and more takeoff
dramas for Glenn as the wind just will not keep in the same direction, they
finish off a good mornings flight in the equally small village of Torrens
Creek. We make our way back into the village centre, a bar and gas station, and
find parking in a field next to the bar with power, and we head in, Mark is
buying a round for thanks, as are patience with his liftoffs kept a pressure
free environment. The inside of the bar is unique to say the least, the
bartender is working on a Harley in a garage off to the side and meets us
inside the bar, which is covered in felt pen autographs and graffiti, flags,
photos and mementoes of passers buy. The bearded bar keep at first seems
annoyed that we interrupted his Harley time, but after we buy a round, he’s
deep in conversation with Glen, who has a knack for getting to know everyone he
meets. Many subjects are covered, why we’re here, what the weather is like, how
far down the road the next towns are, but what peaked my attention most was his
talk of killing three large snakes in the last couple days in and around the
building. “Yup, big Blacks they were. Gotta watch out for them, this is real
snake country, and they’ll kill yah quick. And they’re vicious too, they’ll
attack you!” My phobia, while being controlled at the moment just took a real
hit. It didn’t help that when we left the bar, I was buzzed by a hornet about
3-inches big and found a beetle up against the wall the size of my hand.
Everything in this country seems to want to kill me; everything is bigger,
meaner and poisonous. And everywhere I look, nature is fighting itself. Bird in
particular are constantly screaming, fighting and keeping me up all night. Even
as I write this, some big white Parrot is screaming out its death throes as it
is slowly devoured by something evil behind the leaves of the tree on the other
side of the road. Australia is such a beautiful place, yet so raw and viscous
at the same time. I love and despise it at the same time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We move the launch area out to an old abandoned World War II
airstrip just on the other side of town. More dramas plague Marks engine and
we’re spending another night on the ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com0Torrens Creek QLD 4816, Australia-20.7695949 145.021345-21.709418900000003 143.7579175 -19.8297709 146.2847725tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-8990694484838668362012-02-14T16:54:00.000-08:002012-02-14T16:54:49.337-08:00Australian Adventure: Log 7<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPj_5hUGiiSd7CqCZKhURYaL6JG5_lFY6yntNl6r2Y87ZEIBOyMCRzpMJCPtEHibNuB6h8537yPmvdiaNUhYeMQj95X66do28wkIW0Q1gVvjA_gm6Hhow6RFU8FO0n015gqXyUtR3kwYM/s1600/Torrens+Creek+046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPj_5hUGiiSd7CqCZKhURYaL6JG5_lFY6yntNl6r2Y87ZEIBOyMCRzpMJCPtEHibNuB6h8537yPmvdiaNUhYeMQj95X66do28wkIW0Q1gVvjA_gm6Hhow6RFU8FO0n015gqXyUtR3kwYM/s640/Torrens+Creek+046.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The adventure is underway, the heaps of rain that fell last
night has soaked the airstrip, but that didn’t stop Mark and Glenn from lifting
up into the air after yet another few early morning anecdotes from eccentric
Roy, the airfield custodian. Mark takes a few try before he’s able to get up
into the air, then Glenn lifts off in follow. Craig and I break camp and after
another chat with Roy, a couple shots of the local Kangaroo, we’re off down the
A6 in chase of the “Jellyfish in the sky,” as Glen and Mark quickly become
known as. We are relieved that we are finally doing what we were supposed to
be, and that we could now concentrate on the task at hand and not all the
little worries about what could go wrong.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5EF8kBCo4mxspGwpyAi9f033c5M_Of0-Y6nkd4bTAB7YY1ZcdSyxVnCYEs9Hz-YLgJOdwYJ3FEymHkZ77voYrtF3UWIzgpsMHlf9HCJwmpWLJRLzkZobQOqVAf8bCwbuNdzIZFOeRzxRu/s1600/Torrens+Creek+060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5EF8kBCo4mxspGwpyAi9f033c5M_Of0-Y6nkd4bTAB7YY1ZcdSyxVnCYEs9Hz-YLgJOdwYJ3FEymHkZ77voYrtF3UWIzgpsMHlf9HCJwmpWLJRLzkZobQOqVAf8bCwbuNdzIZFOeRzxRu/s320/Torrens+Creek+060.JPG" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We’re headed for the prescribed landing point just past
Challengers Towers, a gold mining city about 90 km down the road. Along the way
we keep gazing in to the sky looking for the colourful wings and into farmers
paddocks just in case. We see nothing for 70 km, then as we round a bend, there
is Glen, circling above the road only a couple hundred meters in front of us. A
quick look into the paddock to the left I catch Mark on the ground. We pull
over, not knowing if there was a physical or mechanical problem that forced the
two onto the ground well before the goal. Craig runs into the tall grass beside
the road, jumps a fence and checks on Mark. I go to follow, but pull up short
of the grass, in the back of my mind; I know that this is snake country, and
that that tall grass is snake territory. I yell to Craig to ensure Mark is
unhurt, he yells back, Yeah, he’s fine, just misread his fuel level,” and I get
away with not having to venturing out into the unknown. There isn’t a whole lot
I’m scared of, but one of my biggest frights is snakes, and Australia is home
to eight of the ten most deadliest. We pack up the wings, lay the paramotors by
the fence and shove off to Challenger Towers to get some food and internet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Challengers Towers is an interesting mining town built
during the gold rush, with classic Outback architecture. The people are
extremely friendly and we are approached everywhere we go, asking what we were
doing. “Whats a Paramotor?” After a long break at a caravan parking lot, Glenn
and Mark came to the conclusion that the conditions were not clearing up enough
for an evening run, and so we packed up and headed out of town, stopping at a
tourist stop near a display mine shaft and wooden elevator tower to see if
overnighting was allowed.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0JktyGhvfJEmEIO6G9hi-Db5BptxtH63cB1VZz6Gm0FFhyO4_PVlbeChM3WdmKmdPPrh82D3k35SbWA6_MX7GoqkJn3_SWiojrljWA2tFGTWnOXvo8pG02foLLXCdH2yX83_y4a-iu7wL/s1600/Charters+Towers+Area+012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0JktyGhvfJEmEIO6G9hi-Db5BptxtH63cB1VZz6Gm0FFhyO4_PVlbeChM3WdmKmdPPrh82D3k35SbWA6_MX7GoqkJn3_SWiojrljWA2tFGTWnOXvo8pG02foLLXCdH2yX83_y4a-iu7wL/s320/Charters+Towers+Area+012.JPG" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The mosquitoes were out, and as the sun dipped down to the
horizon, a massive bat came flying over. Soon another one flew over, then a
couple more. Glenn has seen this phenomena several times, and comments, “here
they come, we’re going to see millions of the little bastards.” Sure enough,
the sky was being blacked out with the dark wings of hundreds of thousands of
bats. They were coming from the south west, and three main arms stretched over
us, as the herds moved off to the East. What a phenomenal sight, it was rare
that I ever get to see a single bat in Canada, and now the Moon was being
blackened out by the sheer mass of Bats from horizon to horizon. After a good
half hour of watching the spectacular sight, our stomachs started talking
louder than the squeal of the Bats overhead and we pushed out to “6 Mile
Bridge” where a camping friendly rest stop was found just on the other side
overlooking the long bridge. As we pulled into the lot just up from the water,
a warning sign read, “WARNING – This area is inhabited by Crocodiles!” However,
the others did not fear these words, and to be honest, it didn’t bother me much
either, my fear was of the serpents in the tall grass. A quick dinner is made,
and we’re off to bed, Glenn and Mark not fazed by the proximity to the river
and its rather large deadly inhabitants, and string up the hammock and tent
once again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Next day, we’re up with the suns pre-dawn light, and get
out to the motors just after the sun breaks. I know that I now will have to
venture into the deep grass over to the paddock to help Mark and Glenn get up
into the air. The other three trump confidently through to the fence not
fearing the ground they walk, while I stumble along at a snail’s pace, carrying
as much equipment as I can, so that I only need to make the unnerving walk
once. I prod the grass with a long stick, but the ground is covered with old
cuttings, disguising the bottom few inches. As I make my way to the fence line,
the other three chuckle at my fear, however in the freshly munched grass of the
cows paddock, I’m much more confident. Mark has a couple failed attempts to get
into the sky, narrowly missing the barbed wire fence, then the wind changes and
we need to relocate the runway up over the hill. With another attempt, Mark
runs down through the paddock, ironically over the bleached bones of a dead
cow, then loses his feet and comes crashing down to the ground. His Paramotor
smashes into the ground, the rear frame bends and catches the carbon fibre
prop. RACK… the black propeller explodes into tiny shards, pieces hitting me
several meters away as I try to film the event. Mark has broken a prop, and the
only spare we have left is 10 klicks down the road at the rest area, where we
left the trailer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com1Homestead, Campaspe QLD 4820, Australia-20.363127 145.652834-20.378013499999998 145.633093 -20.3482405 145.67257500000002tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-16229352461655010882012-02-12T22:49:00.000-08:002012-02-12T22:49:14.679-08:00Australian Adventure: Log 6<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnSES_ESuZ0BHFj4y1oVSBWZ04FsQ_evg3oeWWzxewoPPTyGelS-68eJRQicDuQ-tS_CFYkQDJEBSj_zVG27aA0o95al1fh-hqltrTarO78y_lTlMDtphyphenhyphengoCe-7MLOVrbVk-UdLIA4Idt/s1600/Expedition+Start+007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnSES_ESuZ0BHFj4y1oVSBWZ04FsQ_evg3oeWWzxewoPPTyGelS-68eJRQicDuQ-tS_CFYkQDJEBSj_zVG27aA0o95al1fh-hqltrTarO78y_lTlMDtphyphenhyphengoCe-7MLOVrbVk-UdLIA4Idt/s640/Expedition+Start+007.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That night was one of the worst I’ve ever experienced. The
heat was relentless, the humidity was just gross and there was no breeze to
cool down the camper. Still suffering from heat stroke, not able to sleep in
the heat, I lay in bed sweating profusely. It really is gross, no mater what I
do, I can’t stop sweating, its like I’m in the middle of a hard summers run,
but I’m just lying in bed, creating a pool underneath. I pull out a towel to
lay on and another for the pillow to save some kind of hygenic sanity, but the
water is coming out faster than I can replace it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is a night from hell, and the sun just couldn’t rise fast
enough. I didn’t get one wink all night, and all I wanted to do is get up and
sweat somewhere else, other than in my bed. Like a cruel trick, the sun breaks
just as the early morning temperatures come to a non-sweating level, bumping
them right back up again. Enough is enough, I’m getting up. My head still aches
from the heat stroke and my energy is at zero as a meander over to the
washrooms for a quick shower. It feels great to get under some cold water, but
all the washing is for not as I’m a sweaty mess as soon as a make it back to
the trailer. All its good for is taking off the layers of old sunscreen, bug
spray and previous perspirations in turn for fresh layers</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWUZc2BYwtDzGPJ-yPGezT-8sJH7DHoxopcp5ajAJzmMQ2G7-kmT4aMPCC3vjiwke_sAi3z2drDNdPef_YIBTq1TtJ6GNCE03X211QAJLuJ0FCe0qe0kiDeyYvX9sSk0D65Gb_YCU_IXOZ/s1600/Expedition+Start+030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWUZc2BYwtDzGPJ-yPGezT-8sJH7DHoxopcp5ajAJzmMQ2G7-kmT4aMPCC3vjiwke_sAi3z2drDNdPef_YIBTq1TtJ6GNCE03X211QAJLuJ0FCe0qe0kiDeyYvX9sSk0D65Gb_YCU_IXOZ/s320/Expedition+Start+030.JPG" width="212" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8SQmYFvfz1MF_M_Hyq1IHzi3ZnTOB8N3MFBAF5LaOOsoxkAo_zZ5Pyvh4xisyb2pnnXLE_tNRRa3wiTxQdreDWj5yeft9gkkRHQ6JlHGDY3bdxHaF7cqx_anPn70dGz52JvxYLqn5cCpA/s1600/Expedition+Start+018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8SQmYFvfz1MF_M_Hyq1IHzi3ZnTOB8N3MFBAF5LaOOsoxkAo_zZ5Pyvh4xisyb2pnnXLE_tNRRa3wiTxQdreDWj5yeft9gkkRHQ6JlHGDY3bdxHaF7cqx_anPn70dGz52JvxYLqn5cCpA/s320/Expedition+Start+018.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s an early run out to an airstrip about 50km out of
Townsville, we are greeted by the airstips caretaker, an eccentric old guy
named Roy, who amusses us with all the anecdotes we could ever ask for. Then
when he’s not chuckling out a story, he’s “whooping” with amazement at
everything he sees. He’s a character to say the least. Glen and Mark are
setting up the Paramotors for their first flights. However, it wouldn’t take
long for drama to ensue as Marks first take off is late and sketchy at best. He
clips a tall bush at full throttle, and circles around the airstrip looking
rather uncontrolled. Then he makes a dart for the ground, not letting up his
speed and crashes into the ground at nearly 50 kmh. Craig runs to the crash
site while I get the money shot on video, problem was the sun was obscuring the
screen and missed the whole shot. Regardless, Mark is on his feet, just a
couple bruises to tell he had just fallen out of the sky. The issue was a
mirror strapped to his wrist to check his fuel levels. It had become tangeled
in his steering and brake lines on takeoff, and sent him on an uncontrollable
ride into the ground. However, he’s all fine and after a couple flights, both
pilots know what needs changing and what’s good to go. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Headed back to town, its still early in the morning,
however, with the sun much higher in the sky, I can feel the heat stroke
soaking back in. I’ve had a camel back hanging from my mouth for nearly
24-hours now, and I’m already on litre number 4 of water today. A headache, bit
of nausea and very little energy had me and Craig moping around the site,
slowly loading up the truck and camper to move out to the airstrip that night,
so that the pilots can take off first thing in the morning and we can hit the
road.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Arriving back at the airstrip, We’re greeted by Roy once
again, and yet another couple stories distract him as we set up camp next to a
barn. I start cooking up some sausages for dinner while darkness falls, multi-tasking
as I set up a camera to shoot a spectacular lightning storm that his floating
in from the west. Glen and Mark are making last minute modifications to the
paramotors before we all sit down to eat dinner and watch the spectacular light
show going off in the distance. A full moon and clear sky behind us shines more
than enough light for us to eat. It looks as though the storm won’t quite make
it to us, then a few minutes later, we see that it is spreading out to the
sides, and an arm of cloud has actually reached around the back of us, almost
like a hook, reeling us into the storm. A quick cleanup and we’re off to bed; I
throw a towel over the hole in the roof above my bed, just in case it rains. in
the darkness, then a quick clean up and off to bed.</span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN6NQOMxRvTig3si6Y7gPeLUPGME8kTX-eiJObLJEYlwwx5FEtDGdY1cIYjNe5ItYBg4Y3ZQLZxvPiBsuIDU2WPsk6jPfhfXby_-driWH-9vcSQy8zNl-w8gZQ_-yiv3gxwoTEGIwhQEpz/s1600/Expedition+Start+067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN6NQOMxRvTig3si6Y7gPeLUPGME8kTX-eiJObLJEYlwwx5FEtDGdY1cIYjNe5ItYBg4Y3ZQLZxvPiBsuIDU2WPsk6jPfhfXby_-driWH-9vcSQy8zNl-w8gZQ_-yiv3gxwoTEGIwhQEpz/s400/Expedition+Start+067.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Out here the temperature is much cooler, less humidity and a
breeze being sucked in by the storm is making form one of the most comfortable
nights yet. I’m just about to fall asleep when… CRACK… the inside of the
trailer lights up as a streak of lightning strikes somewhere very close. All of
a sudden, the silent streaks of lightning we were watching earlier were now
upon us with the upmost fiery. Sheet lightning fills the sky, Buckets of rain
begin to fall, and the trailer begins to shake with the force of high winds. At
first nothing is coming in as we have all the windows open to cool the camper
down. Then, water starts to spray in from the left side, and Craig and I close
it up. Then the wind picks up even more, one of the paramotors just outside
topples over and I notice a light in the garage. Glen has dragged his tent into
the barn then runs out to save the paramotors in the driving rain. Craig in
nothing more than his underwear, bolts out the door to help, quickly returning
completely soaked, while I’m trying to zipper up the right side as the wind has
changed. Then the trailer begins to rock back and forward, the wind pushing it,
the walls bubbling in like some great force on the other side wants to get at
us as the lightning continues to streak all around us, great booms of thunder
quickly follow. Somewhere out in the tree’s, Mark was still in his hammock,
likely getting rocked around more than us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I jump back up into my bed, the angle of the rear window is currently
enough to keep the rain out, at least for now. However, the tear in the fabric
roof above my head is giving up the ghost as the towel has blown away and water
begins to stream down next to my head. I spend several more minutes maneuvering
my mattress and laying down another towel to soak up what was getting in, but
it was a fruitless attempt.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mercifully, the crashes of thunder became more and more
distant, and the rain eased to a slight shower to nothing at all, and the
bright full moon showed its face once again. With a mattress only slightly
damp, I could now get some much needed and earned sleep. Our introduction to
the expedition proper was official and something we will not soon forget. The
boys will be in the sky for the first leg in the morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com07 Hillside Crescent, Townsville QLD 4810, Australia-19.259294140463897 146.810302734375-19.738841140463897 146.178588734375 -18.779747140463897 147.442016734375tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-30516591042445704262012-02-12T22:26:00.000-08:002012-02-12T22:26:01.090-08:00Australian Adventur: Log 5<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdmav4dsvu_ccuhd21Fjv9B-vHE6TWWc7pM0kPdEWw-Us-zOqJeL_JgIXzUEcVB8qDCWb3WRw9H_vNkypIdgtfJbWZANaYYpBNhBOTMDGZqNWkQrSPQM9v-IXZ_AD2BEqUhPdc3DCDDxs9/s1600/Aus+Prep+and+Travel+069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdmav4dsvu_ccuhd21Fjv9B-vHE6TWWc7pM0kPdEWw-Us-zOqJeL_JgIXzUEcVB8qDCWb3WRw9H_vNkypIdgtfJbWZANaYYpBNhBOTMDGZqNWkQrSPQM9v-IXZ_AD2BEqUhPdc3DCDDxs9/s640/Aus+Prep+and+Travel+069.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Still in a shiver, I’ve watched the sun come up, unable to
sleep in the cold damp humid camper. The rest stop we laid up in was quite a
nice large park with a pond in the middle. Several different kinds of birds
scoured the ground in search of their early morning breakfast while a thick
eerie fog hung in the humid air. Enough is enough, I’m getting up and going to
have myself a bird bath over in the washrooms, grab my towel and go for a walk
in the early morning fog as the others sleep. Walking past the pond full of
vegetation and wildlife, my mind can’t help but realize that I’m now getting
into crock country, and my senses are on high alert, even though I know there
is little danger. A quick splash, wash and dry and I’m a new man heading back
to the camper.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The rest of the crew are now rolling out of bed, getting
ready for a long days travel towards Townsville, 1200 kilometres away. As we
hit the road, the fog lifts and the blazing sun beats down, temperature
shooting north of 30-degrees and it isn’t even 8 in the morning. While the rest
of the crew are basking in the heat, my Nordic blood is reacting in a much
different manner. The refreshed cleanliness of my morning wash turns into a
mid-morning mess of sweat and burning skin. I figured a day spent in the car
wouldn’t require slapping on the sun block for at least a couple more hours, oh
how wrong I was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As is becoming a morning ritual, we find a McDonalds in
Bundaburg for a bit of breakfast and short jaunt of Facebook and blog updating.
Then it’s back on the road heading north, where more heat and humidity lies in
wait. Now with sunscreen on, it doesn’t seem to matter, with the sun beating
down at an angle; my left arm is a slave to the unrelenting rays. Stuck in my
seat, the Nissan just keeps getting hotter and hotter, and word of stopping on
a beach a ways up the coast is a refreshing sound as I sweat away, only the hot
breeze coming through the window keeping me sane.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we work our way north, the scenery change is magnificent.
The lush tropical hills of Surfers Paradise fads into the wide open expanses of
savannah, wide open flat country with large trees sparsely spread throughout,
with low pointed mountains far off in the distance, it’s a mixture of the
African savannah and coastal mountains of Asia. By 2 pm, I’m working my third
litre of water, and it occurs to me that I haven’t gone to the washroom yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCKJFalUMlfr228oo8NNK1sZGR6LnhaCOrVaj2GjCXmhCVyznWXJwJRDrKYBYKM8Eh3jENMTI9kCAPkYDJn-ubqNASinFoz2kDQE2K5CHrwAjhmtE53vhSUtHtrfRWPDhhHoJydI-5YsQ4/s1600/Aus+Prep+and+Travel+068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCKJFalUMlfr228oo8NNK1sZGR6LnhaCOrVaj2GjCXmhCVyznWXJwJRDrKYBYKM8Eh3jENMTI9kCAPkYDJn-ubqNASinFoz2kDQE2K5CHrwAjhmtE53vhSUtHtrfRWPDhhHoJydI-5YsQ4/s320/Aus+Prep+and+Travel+068.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Soon, we come across sand dunes, and just beyond the beach,
and we pull over for a much needed dip, four men peeling themselves out of the
hot stinky Nissan. The ocean never looked so good, it’s just a shame it’s so
far away. We hit at the height of low tide, and the long shallow beach
stretched on for kilometres, a refreshing dip a frustratingly harsh hike away.
So, a quick moment to unwind on the beach, and we are back into the stink box
for another 8-hours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">By the time it was my turn to drive, darkness had fallen,
and reaching Townsville today was just not going to happen. As fatigue took its
toll, I searched for a rest stop to spend the night. However, it would take
another hour before we would find anything, and in our desperation, a truck
stop would have to do. However, the Nissan began to run rough pulling into the
stop, stalling several times when jumping on the clutch, a new challenge is
likely ahead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wake up in another sweaty mess, just wanting to get out of
bed, very little sleep as big diesel rigs pass by all night. However, a
glorious sunrise gives some beauty to an otherwise uninspiring truck stop. Back
on the road, it only takes us a couple hours to reach Townsville, a nice
tropical city on the ocean that wraps around a large plateau. It’s a beautiful
city, and we find a caravan park right on the ocean. Ah, we’ll get that ocean
swim after all. “Nope, there’s stingers in the water there, the closest
swimming area is down the coast,” utters the attendant at the park. Damn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We set up, and do final checks on all the equipment and
electronics giving Glen and Marks issues, while the truck is giving me and
Craig stress as well. The humidity here is ridiculous and the temp is well over
30, how far I have no idea, and I don’t want to know, however, it all hit me in
an instant, lifting a load into the roof rack. All of a sudden my head goes
light, and my heart begins to race. I know exactly what going on and stumble
over to the tap to douse my head and body with water, which doesn’t make me any
wetter than my already sweat drenched cloths and take in as much water as I my
stomach can handle. My energy level plummets as heat overtakes my body. “I’m
out,” I comment as I stumble over to the shade of a tree. The heat finally got
me, I’d been battling it since I landed two weeks ago, and now I lay exhausted
and useless against a tree, as mosquitos attack every inch of my body; a camel
back tube constantly hanging from my mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com0LOT 3 Bruce Hwy, Clairview QLD 4741, Australia-22.105998799750552 149.52392578125-22.577141299750551 148.89221178125 -21.634856299750552 150.15563978125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-39096743099481892782012-02-12T22:11:00.000-08:002012-02-12T22:11:14.219-08:00Australian Adventure: Log 4<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLmyVGwh-cmKhhHOrXAAZS6zkoXuJUVt6fH-HcNju3lq1W2BQ1wA_HxESEJY-IF_Qs_zlotNKXkL1MPnJpJpqnGVjeo9QG9q2srq6lQegZTs25wlAO2KL0WZKKPkBZLVCczlAVuSqXK1t/s1600/Aus+Prep+Days+003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLmyVGwh-cmKhhHOrXAAZS6zkoXuJUVt6fH-HcNju3lq1W2BQ1wA_HxESEJY-IF_Qs_zlotNKXkL1MPnJpJpqnGVjeo9QG9q2srq6lQegZTs25wlAO2KL0WZKKPkBZLVCczlAVuSqXK1t/s640/Aus+Prep+Days+003.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now based in Worongary, a small town in and around Surfers
Paradise, we now have the crew together. Mark, the team leader and Craig, the
team mechanic, have already been in town for a couple days and had even already
procured transportation, a rugged Nissan Patrol 4WD that ran off LPG, that’s
propane for you North American folks. The other pilot, Glen, still hadn’t come
in from the rains, stuck in Toowoomba. However, the floods had subsided and he
would be in the next day, soaking wet, gear wet right through. With the crew
together, we did a tourist drive through Surfers Paradise, a real paradise,
which is actually full of surfers. In fact, the entire city seems to be void of
any real commercial or retail services other than beachside restaurants, coffee
shops and surf shops. The whole city seems to be residential high rises full of
surfers. We were staying at Marks wife’s nephews house, which he, Nam and his
wife Devo, graciously lent us in our bid to get ready for the trip</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPWDKXIT6MHRrcvsIxMxr-y-zlc2nYBBol3U11uT9eLkt8s-npHs3gvzxBhDjN7yvUuDz4nIwNN1bDOQ8D7oJIcrA3gzPl0U80RisMX-um_E23Uf3qCIrJw-lLTKIn86-pjMfm_mVrlU_P/s1600/Aus+Prep+and+Travel+047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPWDKXIT6MHRrcvsIxMxr-y-zlc2nYBBol3U11uT9eLkt8s-npHs3gvzxBhDjN7yvUuDz4nIwNN1bDOQ8D7oJIcrA3gzPl0U80RisMX-um_E23Uf3qCIrJw-lLTKIn86-pjMfm_mVrlU_P/s320/Aus+Prep+and+Travel+047.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Soon the epic rains subsided and the procurement of
materials began. A camper trailer was purchased out in Ipswich to keep us all
out of the baking Outback sun when on the road. The paramotors, camera’s and
flight data recorders were all late getting shipped and didn’t arrive until
after the start date of February 1<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">st</span></sup>. Rather annoying, however, we
needed the extra time anyways to sort out all the logistics. Running all over
Nerang, Surfers Paradise, Brisbane and pretty much the whole Gold Coast we
slowly got decaling, roof rack, Bull bar and some little mechanical issues
sorted with the Nissan. The local paramotor club help us out greatly, with Gary
giving me and Glen additional bedrooms at his house, Ben offering up some
helpful mechanical advice tuning in the motors. Fabien, who runs a pet
accessories distribution gave us floor space at his warehouse to store and work
on all the equipment and everyone gave us some great advice in traversing and
flying over the terrain that would soon follow. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjouHVmRF-4AKiw146dwdgFKaknVRXXrjotC3lMYXMd4yloqI2SF2UyDykcMEhFonVKL9QqIKIWiCiQWeevl-OoFGUBQsf7Ob958lgdlDfRwaeDbJ2E-xBYrvLOFFh0ZyRCmvIImQZ55kue/s1600/Aus+Prep+and+Travel+049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjouHVmRF-4AKiw146dwdgFKaknVRXXrjotC3lMYXMd4yloqI2SF2UyDykcMEhFonVKL9QqIKIWiCiQWeevl-OoFGUBQsf7Ob958lgdlDfRwaeDbJ2E-xBYrvLOFFh0ZyRCmvIImQZ55kue/s320/Aus+Prep+and+Travel+049.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It all finally came together on the February 4<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>,
with the motors in and tuned up, and all the equipment washed and packed away
into the Nissan and Camper, we left Worongary for Townsville, and the start of
our record attempting adventure. Leaving late in the evening, the first leg of
our 1,500 km trip only took us to a couple hundred kilometres past Brisbane, to
a nice little rest area along a now empty Pacific Coast Highway. An interesting
stop for dinner at a prior rest stop just before a local theme park, “Aussie
Land,” where an equally interesting bar stood tall along the roadside, like
five-stories tall. Walking into the ground floor, hard rock music blared over
the speakers for the three guys that were playing pool in the corner. A walk up
a spiral wood staircase took us to a second level, where there was just
additional seating room. Up several more flights of stairs, we finally came to
the top floor, where we could finally order some food. The overpriced dinner
wasn’t the best; however, eating high up on the balcony, the cooler air was
nice refreshment to the heated confines of the Nissan under the hot Aussie sun.
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The day was so hot that night I didn’t bother unpacking my
sleeping bag, wishing for a cool breeze. Craig and I took the two pullout beds
in the camper, while Glen set up a tent and Mark strung a camping hammock up
into some nearby trees. As with my experience here in mid Australia, the
humidity really rises at night, so while the temperature may go down, it
actually feels hotter than the daytime, making sleep a hard and nasty affair. Crawling
into bed, I was already a bit wet with sweat, and getting to sleep was a bit of
a challenge with the heat trapped in the camper. At some time during the night
I woke up, shivering and near hypothermia as the temperature had dropped during
the night, but the humidity stayed up, layering everything in thick dew,
including me. My sleeping back packed away deep in the truck, I toughed it out,
throwing some socks on and covering myself with a towel to stay warm, hopefully
daylight comes soon.</span></div>
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</div>Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com0Worongary QLD 4213, Australia-28.0229543 153.3477387-28.079022799999997 153.2687747 -27.9668858 153.42670270000002tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-6063525086322838612012-02-02T17:47:00.000-08:002012-02-02T17:47:05.500-08:00Australian Adventure: Log 3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFle35d51ThrFxPBtREV4RamUVkJUAR078Fb5F6rkie4IjrPowMWxEw_a523_3DR_BeZ-NMMR8k9oas6-9g1_MD2SOEorn8Anmp-L4M9-tIzrosH-6ap9c8utR9U8VjmonGQo3GxCTGJY_/s1600/Lead+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFle35d51ThrFxPBtREV4RamUVkJUAR078Fb5F6rkie4IjrPowMWxEw_a523_3DR_BeZ-NMMR8k9oas6-9g1_MD2SOEorn8Anmp-L4M9-tIzrosH-6ap9c8utR9U8VjmonGQo3GxCTGJY_/s640/Lead+2.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Camping on the beach in my converted Toyota Landcruiser, I
was up at 3 AM to hopefully find that the emergency services crews had cleared
the three separate flooded sections of the highway. To my excitement, I breezed
through with no issues; however, one of the crews told me that the highway was
still flooded several hundred kilometers up, and that I may want to try an
inland route if I had any hope of making Brisbane. However, they said it with a
chuckle, making me think my chances were slim at best. Stopping off at another
Information outlet, I picked up a local map and planed my route. From Kyogle I
would make my way north to the Lindesay Mountain pass in hopes that it was high
enough ground to stay uncovered on my way to Beaudesert. However, as I left the
town, the rain was falling harder than I’ve ever seen rain fall and more of the
landscape was under water than not.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It didn’t take long to find a familiar sight; traffic signes,
caution signs and a roadway that sank into the murky depths of the flooded low
lands. However, this time there were no Emergency Services Crew standing guard,
and measuring the roadside indicators, I knew that this body of water was only
about a foot deep, even if it was travelling across the road with some
velocity. With the speed of the water, I nosed in much more cautiously this
time, not worried about depth, but of the possibility that the road surface was
washed away underneath. After a good 15-minutes and several hundred meters of
water crossed, I was on the far shore and shooting north once again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWytiwKWrEKfUV639P_un0yF6a08taL-jsTD0BF5N-r5ALh3_97U0c4rB0i5LTD-p2TyVmTqNjUBJO4n9v9Ka1LcljEKCsaXKPuWvxhuRB5Ed96SAIEw6AS4vwvHmFjGeIzV-hGfNNMA7/s1600/Aus+027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWytiwKWrEKfUV639P_un0yF6a08taL-jsTD0BF5N-r5ALh3_97U0c4rB0i5LTD-p2TyVmTqNjUBJO4n9v9Ka1LcljEKCsaXKPuWvxhuRB5Ed96SAIEw6AS4vwvHmFjGeIzV-hGfNNMA7/s400/Aus+027.JPG" width="400" /></a><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This was a situation that would show itself two more times
as I crossed the water logged low-lands, however, my wary disposition turned
positive as I left the farmlands and began to lift up into the lushest green
tropical rain forest I’d ever seen. Massive tall standing eucalyptus and Gum
trees where surrounded by shorter fern trees with a forest floor packed full of
yet even more ferns. The gentile winding country road was already quite
pleasant working its way through the hills before the forest, however, once in
the forest, the nature of the road changed quite radically. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">With the rain pouring down, the Lindesay road began to jerk
and kick its way through the thick undergrowth. Long open bends quickly turned
to sharp narrow bursts that wound up into the mountains, the forest spilling
out over the road with the weight of the water pouring down. However, that
cruel bitch, Mother Nature, wasn’t done with me yet. About 20-kilometres up the
road, a large pile of red mud had obscured the roadway in front of me. This
time, 4-Low was locked in and the increased ride height saw me not only safely
over the 100-meters of dirt in front of me, but another nasty washout shortly
down the road.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4ElxNYyo3oXMuqFSlwTpkP00S7N7mXcIi6S3l7tiBR9twDIgwRuw-1RYuSMuq0gaPcng2bSOTk-nlq1Xr0XgjWBlAxIoCVANgc4YCr2MdZ8ddEldVviw521Akl5_9FkwvidUNYcdXOQi/s1600/DSC_3860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4ElxNYyo3oXMuqFSlwTpkP00S7N7mXcIi6S3l7tiBR9twDIgwRuw-1RYuSMuq0gaPcng2bSOTk-nlq1Xr0XgjWBlAxIoCVANgc4YCr2MdZ8ddEldVviw521Akl5_9FkwvidUNYcdXOQi/s320/DSC_3860.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I began to descend down the East side, the rain began to
become more and more violent, and having been through this situation for the
last few days, I knew that I was now in a race with the water to get down to
the lowest point. Before I knew it, the tropical rain forest was being replaced
with open meadows as the road continued to wind just a viciously down through
the undulating and hilly topography, however, still lined with several layers
of trees to keep the corners blind. What wasn’t blind anymore were the rather
serious drop-offs that now lined the left side of the road. With no barriers to
save me if I locked up a wheel, my slow speeds in the 4x4 allowed me to momentarily
look away from the road, and straight down a 200-metre drop. All of a sudden,
this road, race with Mother Nature and situation just got a lot more serious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Finally I broke out of the trees and into the meadows,
although I was still racing the water down the mountain. Great rivers of water
were now flowing across the roadway and undermining the side edges. I soon came
to a bridge signed “Tamrookum Creek bridge #7.” Having crossed over several
bridges before, I was hoping that these numbers would be going up, however I
was not very surprised to find “Tamrookum Creek bridge #6” only a short
distance down the road. The race was on for “Tamrookum Creek bridge #1” as that
will likely be the lowest in the rapidly flattening out terrain, and the most
likely to be covered by flood waters. The suspense built as my fears were
coming true, each bridge was getting a little lower to the ground, the water
getting a little higher as the countdown continued. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Finally I rounded a sharp corner, spraying water to both
sides of the road, to find that “Tamrookum Creek bridge #1” was still over the
water, at least just as I rocketed over top, crossing the finishing line. I had
felt like I had just won a long distance marathon with mother nature, and I
really couldn’t ask for a better battle ground for the fight to take place.
Despite not having a machine that would give me the greatest driving pleasure
on such a road, I never would have found it if it wasn’t for the fording and
off-road abilities of my Britz 4WD camper. Thank goodness I did have it, as
this was one of the most epic roads I’ve driven yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The pressure was off, and I could now meander my way to
Brisbane, only a short, and finally dry, 150-kilometres. I arrived at my
destination, the home of Marks nephew… kinda… inlaw, who has graciously put up
the team. Both Mark and mechanic Craig, my fellow ground crew member are
waiting, and they even have the vehicle that we will be traveling in around
Australia, a beat up old Nissan Patrol. After three days on the road, I finally
get a well-earned shower, and can finally relax as we wait for Glen, the fourth
team member who wasn’t so lucky getting through the washed out mess I had just
endured.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com0Mt Lindesay Hwy, Dairy Flat NSW 2474, Australia-28.336417056123253 152.69142150878906-28.392338056123254 152.61245750878905 -28.280496056123251 152.77038550878908tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-67657619631631519092012-01-31T23:47:00.000-08:002012-02-01T14:57:05.801-08:00Australian Adventure: Log 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">My relaxed sleep at the truck pullout was
sound, but short. Before the sun had even had a chance to send some rays over
the hilltops, I could start to hear a slight hiss, and began rummaging around
the camper looking for a gas or air leak. Now I was becoming frustrated, now
fully awake, trying to find the noise that was get louder and louder. It wasn’t
until I broke out through the rear doors that I realized it was emanating from
the jungle wall that I was parked up against. As the sun rushed up into the
sky, the buzzing sound coming from the forest had grew to the point that it was
nearly deafening. Sleep was no longer an option, time to make my way north.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2jLNCl8DcRO669X0JA3KKVlQWqMbggwcH6OPJNksHuFduyqwWJjEOd6qnJcHnf0Gch_aEsFVOfLfz1y5ewvxiUXQFJs9F_oeGMgr7P13Mr3HuKDOQgm0cBQHM-sHWRfcui0t2XNsVZPPW/s1600/DSC_3872.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2jLNCl8DcRO669X0JA3KKVlQWqMbggwcH6OPJNksHuFduyqwWJjEOd6qnJcHnf0Gch_aEsFVOfLfz1y5ewvxiUXQFJs9F_oeGMgr7P13Mr3HuKDOQgm0cBQHM-sHWRfcui0t2XNsVZPPW/s320/DSC_3872.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">I’m to be in Brisbane by the 28<sup>th</sup>
to drop off the rental 4WD Camper at the airport, however, I’m told by the team
leader, Mark, who is already there, that my chances are slim in arriving on
time, as torrential summer rains have cut off the North from the South
completely. I spark up the Landcruiser, and decide to take my chances anyways. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmvCnP1LzBex1_tdVw0-WmlShyh5XGTTV-ahRzp7m7xNY9bNV5PJPX71cu2nYkC2yNgn8QDaDs6ToK6DzUfOEQVCc3RvyUBMNhW7Ak4KHzWNXEOU5kyQgMk4_MkmXklWj_05M5lCn0YOt/s1600/Aus+Day+1+038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmvCnP1LzBex1_tdVw0-WmlShyh5XGTTV-ahRzp7m7xNY9bNV5PJPX71cu2nYkC2yNgn8QDaDs6ToK6DzUfOEQVCc3RvyUBMNhW7Ak4KHzWNXEOU5kyQgMk4_MkmXklWj_05M5lCn0YOt/s320/Aus+Day+1+038.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">Slipping off the main highway, I make my way
up the coastal road, and it’s not long before the clouds begin to darken, and
the rain to begin. Winding my way through the coastal hills, I’m greeted with some
spectacular ocean views, storm driven waves crashing on the rocky shores. The
rains turn from steady, too hard, to driving, to “holly crap the roads going to
wash away.” Windshield wipers at maximum, I only get split second glimpses of
the road before another wave of water crashes against the windshield. My pace
is slow, and good thing, as my first glimpse of a Kangaroo is short before it disappears
out of vision under my hood. Not to worry, I only got his tail, and he didn’t
look worse for wear as he bounded off into the forest, however, if my senses
weren’t heightened enough before, they were maxed out now. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">However, it didn’t seem to matter. With the
rain letting up for a few short minutes, I was driving along an easy straight,
when SMACK, something small and feathery bounced off my windshield right in front
of my face. If the poor bird that darted into my path didn’t die on impact, it
certainly did on the windshield of the poor sucker riding my ass behind,
witnessing the kill shot in the rear view mirror. “Bloody hell where did that
come from?” SMACK…. AGAIN! This time it was one shot one kill as yet another
bird shot from the forest directly into the metal bumper. Ok, this is getting ridiculous
now, just as I pass a “Caution, Koala’s crossing next 22km.” I’m thinking to
myself, “my animal loving, soon to be sister in-law is going to kill me, as I
slowly kill every cute little animal I come across. My first glimpse of a Koala
better not be by pealing one off my front differential.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">Simply following road side signs north along
the old Pacific highway, I’d stop in at information booths to for a quick map
of the area, and word of the roads ahead. After yet one more bird killing, I stopped
in Urunga, for some coffee and word of the road ahead. Other travelers coming
from the north said that the road was flooded over in three different spots;
however, the State Emergency Services were still going to allow single lane
traffic for the next hour. If I wanted to get through I needed to be north of
Coffs Harbour in the next hour. I jumped in the truck and shot north yet again,
cursing the torrents of rain falling from the sky. I wanted to make sure I made
it to Brisbane in time to drop of the camper, so not to incur any overdrawn
fees or expenses.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">Blasting through Coffs Harbour, my stomach aching
from 12-hours without food, the rain was relentless. Pushing up the highway to the town
of Woolgoolga, my fears came true. Traffic came to a stop, and no one was
moving. One kind motorist was telling the rest of the line the issue. “The
roads flooded over, they may have it open around 6pm.” For some reason, this
wasn’t good enough for me. I swung around, pulled over and studied some maps
for alternate routes. A couple side roads pushed through to Orah Way, another
smaller highway that could detour me through to Grafton. Slipping up one of the
connecting roads, I’m not alone in my quest for Grafton, however, to all our misery,
the came to a quick end, with a mountain or water rolling over it. Quick
detour, and a shot up the next road, this one is covered as well, but not as
violent. There is already someone out in the middle wading up to his waist in
the murky flood water. So another adventurous soul with a 4WD and I try our
luck.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">With the Nissan Patrol ahead of me making it
through, I follow a short minute later. With the transfer case set in 4WD, I
ease into the water and get a good wave going off the front bumper. As the
depth increases, I hold a good steady speed behind my bow wave, following it up
to the opposite shore. A short bit of uncovered roadway leads to another
flooded out section, and in I go again. However, this time the current is much
stronger, the depths much deeper, and the truck is starting to drift off to the
right around three quarters of the way through. A little counter steering and a
slight increase of throttle had me straighten out and climb out onto another
shore. Back in 2WD, and I’m feeling pretty good about myself, that is until I
see the Nissan Patrol that was in front of me, coming head on. Damn, yet another
valley blocked.</span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkKIu6mlYFWrf4LDWJLb6k5zW5vFAZTNaX_wbufKi9xx0k_OKFKBWqxfjluVqkMcc3lEmwt0hCboo8HGYiB8PxofyCMIlPru8Jk505aloxE-dUNElP88aZ3SCcEvo5YhVzWGhPVwo6tseb/s1600/Aus+Day+1+052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkKIu6mlYFWrf4LDWJLb6k5zW5vFAZTNaX_wbufKi9xx0k_OKFKBWqxfjluVqkMcc3lEmwt0hCboo8HGYiB8PxofyCMIlPru8Jk505aloxE-dUNElP88aZ3SCcEvo5YhVzWGhPVwo6tseb/s320/Aus+Day+1+052.JPG" width="212" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria;">Back across the two crossing I had just forded,
I pushed back to Woolgoolga for some much needed food. After some map studying,
and listening to the weather reports, it seems as though all attempts would be
fruitless tonight, there is just no getting north. So I head back to the traffic
stop, were the services crew told me maybe around 2AM they might allow 4WD’s to
ford up the highway. So, I head back, found a lovely beech to pull over at, and
fell sound to sleep, finally getting the hypnotic sound of crashing waves that
I had wanted the night before. My alarm was set for 2 AM, to attempt another
strike northward.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com117 Fuller St, Arrawarra Headland NSW 2456, Australia-30.067014109576839 153.20125579833984-30.080755609576837 153.18151479833983 -30.05327260957684 153.22099679833985tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-17042899711888646272012-01-28T20:44:00.000-08:002012-01-28T20:47:02.105-08:00Australia Adventure: Log 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8k76tKxYdr4WE29RQLEBfVlWBtuSxMOa9aDrQfyaUWiL6vkZYsh9h3BrozbCyMQ9AjJb3HLWuXhvTp3NcOYbCl8cPVQqsX3wCe9ZdX7nZ006iDs_khjzBIWdyPsoFbcPKYA-eA2oOd-7Y/s1600/Aus+003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8k76tKxYdr4WE29RQLEBfVlWBtuSxMOa9aDrQfyaUWiL6vkZYsh9h3BrozbCyMQ9AjJb3HLWuXhvTp3NcOYbCl8cPVQqsX3wCe9ZdX7nZ006iDs_khjzBIWdyPsoFbcPKYA-eA2oOd-7Y/s640/Aus+003.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYv9Qm6QDYKO2rb5KX0q9ePJwF_rilUO5HjqeOWnAdAyAszLsSP4Zpe8StjhHH5N9FjXKcPwJn7LJhYMCMQ32SO1jSFgvS3hPlY0xm1KQz7yI7rUGeBgMjU8QxtWv65tIkj_MFDUeUgKOn/s1600/Aus+Day+1+004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">“This is your Captain
speaking…. Uhhh… We have a little issue with one of the rear doors not sealing…
Uhhh… Unfortunately we’re going to have to move over to the service area for
the engineers to look at it…. Uhhh… shouldn’t be but a couple of hours.”</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Being late for my
seating call onto Qantas’ and for that matter, the world’s largest commercial
passenger liner, the Airbus A380-800, I was last to arrive in my area of the
plane, meaning my backpack would have to be shoved under the rather cool carbon
fibre seats, leaving no room for my feet. By the time we finally lifted up into
the air, my legs were already numb with the lack of circulation. Fifteen hours
later, and very little in the way of sleep, I worked my way through customs,
bought a SIM card for a borrowed cell phone and caught a cab to the Britz
Campervan rental company. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">I was renting a 4WD
camperized truck, a very capable Toyota Landcruiser Troop carrier with diesel
engine and an air snorkel for the engine, something that would come in handy
down the road. But the brilliance of this 4WD was the camperized rear section.
The long bench down the one side of the truck held storage underneath, and then
slid over to become a rather comfortable bed. The other side held a cabinet
full of pots, pans, cutlery, gas stove, sink and fridge. The truck even came
equipped with bedding linens and pillows. The roof could be unlatched and
raised to give standing room in the back, while a series of boards slid
rearward creating a bunk up in the raised tented section. It would be perfect
for what I wanted to do, get out and meander my way up Australia’s East coast,
stopping off on beaches or scenic parks to bed down for the night. </span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">The only problem was,
“Sir, your credit card has been declined.” While I had a good chat with my
lovely fiancé that going away for two and a half months, five months before our
wedding was fine, she decided to deactivate my credit card while I was in the
air. After some calls to the credit card company and to my lovely fiancé, a
deal was worked out and the Landcruiser was turned over to me only a bit late. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYv9Qm6QDYKO2rb5KX0q9ePJwF_rilUO5HjqeOWnAdAyAszLsSP4Zpe8StjhHH5N9FjXKcPwJn7LJhYMCMQ32SO1jSFgvS3hPlY0xm1KQz7yI7rUGeBgMjU8QxtWv65tIkj_MFDUeUgKOn/s1600/Aus+Day+1+004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYv9Qm6QDYKO2rb5KX0q9ePJwF_rilUO5HjqeOWnAdAyAszLsSP4Zpe8StjhHH5N9FjXKcPwJn7LJhYMCMQ32SO1jSFgvS3hPlY0xm1KQz7yI7rUGeBgMjU8QxtWv65tIkj_MFDUeUgKOn/s320/Aus+Day+1+004.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">With nothing more than
a small map of the city taken from a travel brochure, I wanted to see the
Harbour Bridge, then make my way north out of the city to find a suitable place
to bed down for the night. I was on day two without sleep, in a foreign country
driving on the other side of the road, and I just wanted to stop traveling.
After crossing the impressive Harbour Bridge, catching sight of the Sydney
Opera House, I made my way north on Highway #2. However, by this time, I was
beyond the reaches of my little tourist map, and was driving blindly north – I
think. Highways began to split, traffic began to fill the streets for the rush
hour and rain poured from the sky like I’ve never seen before. Some aimless
wondering down traffic arteries, I noticed a sign that told me I was only 10 km
from Olympic Park. Knowing that Olympic Park is more in town than out, my fears
were realized when I crested a hill to gaze upon the Olympic Stadium and Sydney
Harbour. I had done a complete horse shoe from the Harbour Bridge – Doh. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">With directions from
an IKEA clerk taking a smoke break, I turned 180, and was back on track,
following the signs to Newcastle. Finally I hit the Pacific Coast Freeway and
was out of the city, heading north. Only, the Pacific Coast Highway doesn’t
follow along the Pacific coast, but several km inland. Being a typical freeway,
there was nowhere to turn off, and my exhaustion was getting the better of me,
so the romantic stop by the beach would be replaced with a truckers stop on the
side of the highway. The hypnotic crash of rolling waves faded into the roar of
truckers flying by in the middle of the night. Maybe tomorrow night I'll be in a nicer environment.</span></span></div>
</div>Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com2183 O'Riordan St, Mascot NSW 2020, Australia-33.926126767554564 151.18663787841797-33.939301767554561 151.16689687841796 -33.912951767554567 151.20637887841798tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-79705212088153810782012-01-22T11:16:00.000-08:002013-01-11T11:42:58.284-08:00Australian Adventure: Let the Adventure Begin<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzYhb4aWYJu7H7ybSxXCs-NaaKdwV9yNYLhqfxxUDTNTqQiyvz5aAs7-vHH24s2YfgYCx3_aphJGcV6NpPHEKsB3mMaKSmefb5h3bpIZbnXiRDwOjUj6taE4HAuxcefYeVcLCi-KvNARSh/s1600/DSC_3769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzYhb4aWYJu7H7ybSxXCs-NaaKdwV9yNYLhqfxxUDTNTqQiyvz5aAs7-vHH24s2YfgYCx3_aphJGcV6NpPHEKsB3mMaKSmefb5h3bpIZbnXiRDwOjUj6taE4HAuxcefYeVcLCi-KvNARSh/s640/DSC_3769.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
My next great travel adventure has begun, and I haven't even left the country yet.
Winter finally came to Kelowna just as it was time to leave for Vancouver and
my flight down under, where the 40-degree heat of mid-summer await. However,
the drive to Vancouver was quite the opposite, with compact snow covered roads
the entire way to Hope, blinding fog, drifting snow, high winds and
temperatures that had warmed to -20 over the connector.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Our trip was detoured before had even begun as the Coquihalla highway was
riddled with compact snow, ice and ice rain warnings along with the inevitable hoard
of accidents that follow when BC drivers take to the highways in such
conditions. However, the excitement would begin shortly after leaving the
house, when the passenger side wiper went limp as a salty, sandy mess was
dropped on the windshield from traffic in front. To make things worse, the driver’s
side wiper began to lift halfway through its arch, only completing 50% of its
task. With several stops at gas stations to make use of their squeegees, we
made our way to the visual safety of the snow packed Connector, only to run
head long into the fog pack that usually socks in the Pennask Summit this time
of year.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
However, as the Coquihalla was congested with the remnants of stupidity, we
opted to take the 5a south to Princeton, connecting to the #3 to Hope. This
would add an additional hour and a half to our day, but it would be well worth it
as the 5a was a winter wonderland with nearly no traffic, much nicer than following
the sheep over to the Coq. Snow began to fall and the wind would soon pick up,
however, the wounded wipers would not be needed as the flakes were frozen
enough to bounce off the windshield. However, this would change as well began
to descend into the warmer Fraser Valley, with salt trucks in full attack, the
road was covered in a 10 cm thick layer of slush, and travelling behind a salt
truck made visibility a struggle. The wipers would have to come on, and it didn’t
take long for the passenger side arm to come out of alignment, in danger of
pinning the driver’s side mid-arch, with some loving coercion, Steph leaned out
of the window into the salty spray and freed the limp wiper, giving us temporarily
limited vision once again.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
After a battle of vision, some slipping and sliding and a hand brake turn
thrown in for good measure, we made it to Maple Ridge, my short stop over
before the my, where the real adventure will begin. Climate shock recovery will
most likely be my fist challenge with the expected 60-degree change in weather.<br />
<br />
For more information about the expedition and the cause, please visit theflight4life.com. <br />
<br /></div>
Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com121634-21826 River Rd, Maple Ridge, BC V2X 2B8, Canada49.2143453104244 -122.6214122772216849.2091593104244 -122.63128277722168 49.2195313104244 -122.61154177722167tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-13604787533618111222011-10-22T12:19:00.000-07:002011-10-22T12:19:21.222-07:00Budd's Top Ten: Future Classics<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigmyw-aVs7yF0DhG6rc7rD4GWTAijg9t0-700gzXsjuolxVn6o3U_aPBtALqNnEHieygrjV-rGXtoBqLQRu0Y3Je-k-gTPsPhKm-hlGfzFEnx1HroihXpJX7yF5OWHcrpPgxfZUUuQcv5W/s1600/Shelby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigmyw-aVs7yF0DhG6rc7rD4GWTAijg9t0-700gzXsjuolxVn6o3U_aPBtALqNnEHieygrjV-rGXtoBqLQRu0Y3Je-k-gTPsPhKm-hlGfzFEnx1HroihXpJX7yF5OWHcrpPgxfZUUuQcv5W/s640/Shelby.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The Shelby GT350, the Dodge
Challenger Road Runner, the E-type V-12, the BMW Issetta, and the Porsche 959
are all fantastically rare and highly sought after classics that only a select
few will ever be able to own. Unique styling’s, production numbers and
equipment have made them a step above the regular old cars that are sought
after by those who enjoy quality craftsmanship which has long since been
extinct in the automotive market, a victim of corporate finances and efficiencies.
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">However, with car makers
building car designed to be intriguing for only a single model generation and
built as cheaply in high numbers as possible, will there be cars from the last
decade that will be considered highly sought after classics in the next 20 to
50 years. Eventually, anything powered by an internal combustion engine and is
operated by human control will eventually become a relic, however, this is my
list of vehicles that will someday become something special to the collector.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFMsv0Z208cb8sKCHb9JTjhzOEOvRkqyvWf1jpFpzAn4NKGK_2HtVPsmzDC0r7e11s4vxUTyng0u6Soiy1OCj0edX3T1KhurFV6KmcuHaA8lxYZJU9OsKuBPMYrCQZ2UbvLmrdTK_GQzgH/s1600/Saturn+Sky.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFMsv0Z208cb8sKCHb9JTjhzOEOvRkqyvWf1jpFpzAn4NKGK_2HtVPsmzDC0r7e11s4vxUTyng0u6Soiy1OCj0edX3T1KhurFV6KmcuHaA8lxYZJU9OsKuBPMYrCQZ2UbvLmrdTK_GQzgH/s400/Saturn+Sky.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Pontiac Solstice/Saturn Sky</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">My list begins with an oxy
moron – an American sports car. Yes the Yanks will argue emphatically that the
Corvette, Viper and several pony cars are sports cars, however, they haven’t
produce a proper sports car since the Pontiac Fiero was killed off in the early
90’s. However, just before GM went tits up in 2010, they were producing some of
the best low cost sports cars available on the market. The uniquely designed
Solstice with its wildly extravagant brother, the Sky, were roadsters that
brought the fight directly to the MX-5, Z4 and SLK. Not only did they give a
RWD hungry public what they wanted, they were also great fun to drive and even
quite tail happy. With the turbo versions coming online, the possibilities of
the cars performance future was limitless, however, like the Fiero, we will
never know what could have been. In 2010 GM fell into bankruptcy and as such
closed up shop at Pontiac, effectively killing off the dynamic duo well before
their prime. With low numbers, such great designs and performance and the way
in which we lost them, the Solstice/Sky will no doubt be future classics. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTi0m-dyNK4I8XMgpNbQ8PZS2zF-ZKPF_5S0YWmP_oEYhOM0J-12CPovw86RoRj1iojXxYAt9aIj0oHGH4UsqVq8xo6zhjXuid7qdgtGHjnpo1w3bO5RXc9sLRUQ31-kT_M0-WFur-8T-q/s1600/Alfa+8C.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTi0m-dyNK4I8XMgpNbQ8PZS2zF-ZKPF_5S0YWmP_oEYhOM0J-12CPovw86RoRj1iojXxYAt9aIj0oHGH4UsqVq8xo6zhjXuid7qdgtGHjnpo1w3bO5RXc9sLRUQ31-kT_M0-WFur-8T-q/s400/Alfa+8C.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Alpha Romeo 8c</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Eventually every Alpha Romeo
will become a classic, however, the 8C is something a little special. I don’t
think its possible for Alpha to make an ugly car, but the 8C is just drop-dead
gorgeous. An old-school super small and low body powered by a Ferrari V-8
should make it one of the great supercars of our time, except for one blatantly
painful downfall - the car handles like a pig. Unfortunately, all those great
historical roots, stunning looks and equally hypnotic sounds are all for not,
and as such, sales are not living up to expectation. For a car with such world
renown winning traits matched by equally momentous failures, the 8C will
enviably become a classic in time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFDJnN86_bNBsYw2tZHkp978vuSdymi4n42-ops-BpYNZ7wGFmPTiiOc63gJdRiumGYNRSugImXkEIKJgCtgc43Ol0RSuFDpk6efY9_zhsPvkG4wQSmv1d37Y3QOgsm-DH0-8iOWasbLm2/s1600/Honda+S2000.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFDJnN86_bNBsYw2tZHkp978vuSdymi4n42-ops-BpYNZ7wGFmPTiiOc63gJdRiumGYNRSugImXkEIKJgCtgc43Ol0RSuFDpk6efY9_zhsPvkG4wQSmv1d37Y3QOgsm-DH0-8iOWasbLm2/s400/Honda+S2000.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Honda S2000</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Honda doesn’t make rear
wheel drive cars, they just don’t, until the mid 90’s, after filling the globe
with high strung front wheel drive Civics, CRX’s and Preludes, ripe for
aftermarket modification, they built a car that didn’t need any. The S2000 was
the only proper front engine, rear wheel drive Honda to make it to North
American shores and they did the job right. An often-overlooked offering in the
roadster field, the S2000 matched huge performance and reliability from a
ridiculous 2.0L engine with huge grin factor. While the front wheel drives
would play around in autocrosses and track-days, the S2000 was by far the
daddy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5i_7yDxwduZDW1YGwkKig95MPSu8HruRFVAsszctkb_3_mvHzHdhmtnSRC4jL3JV-Q3xQvsonhd8_-3rhBVJ-inZW4vJEOgXImiazS8uf6NtbIW8vu3gnM4i4jA_GxiG_Ew9pS_0V1Inl/s1600/Lexus+LFA.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5i_7yDxwduZDW1YGwkKig95MPSu8HruRFVAsszctkb_3_mvHzHdhmtnSRC4jL3JV-Q3xQvsonhd8_-3rhBVJ-inZW4vJEOgXImiazS8uf6NtbIW8vu3gnM4i4jA_GxiG_Ew9pS_0V1Inl/s400/Lexus+LFA.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Lexus LFA</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Since the killing off of the
Celica, Toyota had lost their way with auto enthusiasts, opting to build
mundane machinery to attract a higher number of customers. You know you’ve lost
a piece of male anatomy when you start calling a Camry Solara a sports car.
Lexus was equally as painful building some of the most forgettable luxury
sedans and SUV’s on the market. But then they turn around and do something so
rash, so opposite from what they’ve been doing for so long, it was like an atom
bomb went off in Toyota City. One of the most boring carmakers on earth built
one of the most exciting supercars of all time. The LFA was originally designed
with an F1-inspired V-10, full carbon-fibre body and hordes of electronic
gismos and doo dads. But then when it came time for production, they didn’t
think it was wild enough, and started all over again from scratch. The result
is a car that bombards the senses in every way – visually, ecoustically and
thought provokingly. It’s said that Toyota spent $2-billion developing the LFA,
which means they will loose over $3.5 million for each of the 500 cars they
sell. For being such an instantaneous Jekyll and Hyde moment of lunacy, the LFA
is already a classic.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBMgWnlthLfbaJVgDln9kVwCakqCowpBQ5cDym_SWBcyL6hf8jIEWc4s4ya0yXpbvmC8uWKougKSv2Ks__xIVjlvZiR17wpe4BGeNVTcL-oLO8CkoS8sqCv4WkvsiWlhXn3SRW35zqJhWu/s1600/Ariel+Atom.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBMgWnlthLfbaJVgDln9kVwCakqCowpBQ5cDym_SWBcyL6hf8jIEWc4s4ya0yXpbvmC8uWKougKSv2Ks__xIVjlvZiR17wpe4BGeNVTcL-oLO8CkoS8sqCv4WkvsiWlhXn3SRW35zqJhWu/s400/Ariel+Atom.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Ariel Atom</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Not even Colin Chapman
thought of building a car without body panels. Well the resurrected Ariel
company did just that, building a road legal track-day special that takes
minimalism to the extreme. Nothing more than a steering wheel, pedals,
suspension, seats, fuel tank and an engine lumped into the back, held together
with a bit of scaffolding, the Atom makes what should be an unfinished
homebuilt mash, a wonderfully artistic yet fantastically brutal bit of
machinery. A car better than the sum of its parts with thinking so far out of
the box matching performance that is greater than all but a few hyper exotics,
the Atom is a sure classic to be.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">International MXT</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtAnHnxPu-aEylWIU7JshMUH05jye2s7s0d7MeSL_tUSToV7dbkrOQr0aRXsNc3jk4gv64Jfl6reJRychIs-KniQDoRhS1usZwlPuHYKz4ppX55OHZ-ZnBgGPtuZ80_26YBonEG3JisKe/s1600/INTERNATIONAL+MXT.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtAnHnxPu-aEylWIU7JshMUH05jye2s7s0d7MeSL_tUSToV7dbkrOQr0aRXsNc3jk4gv64Jfl6reJRychIs-KniQDoRhS1usZwlPuHYKz4ppX55OHZ-ZnBgGPtuZ80_26YBonEG3JisKe/s400/INTERNATIONAL+MXT.jpg" width="303" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">Is there anything more
obnoxious than a Hummer? Yes, yes there is. When a Hummer just </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">isn’t enough
truck, you could go beyond and buy a vehicle that is nothing more than a
statement. During the hay days of the early 2000’s, the International MXT
filled that spot for the guy that just couldn’t stand not to be the center of
attention all the time, a feat accomplished well by the MXT but was all but
useless in daily life. It was horrifically expensive, required an onboard fuel
rig, didn’t fit down any urban streets or parking lots and was generally just
an eye sore that portrayed the owner’s obvious insecurities. Its only savior
was that it could tow great loads. However, despite the hasty execution of the
MXT as soon as fuel went up over $1.25/L, the big brute certainly did leave its
mark as the biggest, baddest truck of them all. Along with low production numbers
and huge character, the MXT may not become a true classic, however it will no
doubt become a cult classic.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiPWUSwqouQuItfnsAFwu9kWzyE8dOJsMpe3FblFvmkvhBe7P8U1rOy-4fLVmP2WF-_6nKzsMrth5WB5-GhT8LIUjNjxvysfsK3GY3oYfa-MPJJcsNogKiRwqcYeyG1IjIGiGzPgTwWyc_/s1600/Hummer+H1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiPWUSwqouQuItfnsAFwu9kWzyE8dOJsMpe3FblFvmkvhBe7P8U1rOy-4fLVmP2WF-_6nKzsMrth5WB5-GhT8LIUjNjxvysfsK3GY3oYfa-MPJJcsNogKiRwqcYeyG1IjIGiGzPgTwWyc_/s400/Hummer+H1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Hummer H1</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Speaking of Hummers, the H1
makes up my next future classic. Ironically, GM built an entire brand around
the “Desert Storm Hero,” yet it was their worst seller. The much more brittle,
and pretty much useless H2 built on a Tahoe platform would become the darling
of the brand, changing a customer base from rugged outdoorsman to metro-sexual
urban gangster wannabe’s with similar insecurities as MXT owners. Eventually, a
300% price hike and new emissions regulations killed off the most testosterone
pumped 4x4 on the market, well ahead of its time. With a story like that, how
could the big brute not become a classic, as long as future owners own their
own refineries.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDUe7JOc-nYDZr5KJCaQ4nx41hcOy4_fAcsa1wbe1K8Kd9nwXGJ0QGhasFm4-Kv-iq9Nyaj4IGKqOVZeXSMSVA-L-Q9PFZ3ztUrJKsHsKSw88TyQQ2pSSgVnq9jwWj6PrMNboAi1KvNxtI/s1600/BMW+M-Coupe.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDUe7JOc-nYDZr5KJCaQ4nx41hcOy4_fAcsa1wbe1K8Kd9nwXGJ0QGhasFm4-Kv-iq9Nyaj4IGKqOVZeXSMSVA-L-Q9PFZ3ztUrJKsHsKSw88TyQQ2pSSgVnq9jwWj6PrMNboAi1KvNxtI/s400/BMW+M-Coupe.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">BMW Z4 M-Coupe</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">All M-cars will all become
classics over a short amount of time, however there is something uniquely special
about the odd-shaped Z4 M-coupe. An “out of the box” design matched to the last
of BMW’s properly true drivers cars with a 3.2L inline-6, with huge character
and proper driving dynamics; this car is already a classic.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ogVQFaSd-bZB8m_iMBkMviVWMcukGxkrg0JKmdCNd4QA3J-2mkaiYr6sIzHN8APhE3sYCGiZuFm5QyM9K8JBOFx5G0pdVUQgJPXLgMrtne7QfYEmg3hIAmi5Hx8sFcqQMHH-_OhYuP33/s1600/Solstice+Coupe.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ogVQFaSd-bZB8m_iMBkMviVWMcukGxkrg0JKmdCNd4QA3J-2mkaiYr6sIzHN8APhE3sYCGiZuFm5QyM9K8JBOFx5G0pdVUQgJPXLgMrtne7QfYEmg3hIAmi5Hx8sFcqQMHH-_OhYuP33/s400/Solstice+Coupe.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Pontiac Solstice Coupe</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">As I’ve mentioned before,
The Solstice was the first proper sports car the Americans have built in
decades, ideally suited to take on the BMW Z4, Mazda MX-5, and Mercedes SLK in
the compact fun department. However, before GM killed off Pontiac during the
2010 bankruptcy, they managed to produce an extremely small amount of Coupe
versions before the money all dried up. The added body stiffness and
aerodynamics made this already proven contender an absolute weapon, but only a
scant 1,266 ever made it to show rooms. With so much potential to be one of
GM’s greatest accomplishments, only to be thrown in the bin with production
only just beginning, the Solstice Coupe rates as one of my most likely future
classic.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2x1XM9milVdq8sdLbtuJNKUlfpP8aA0_Kt_Iu6mAoGsOAT4W2kiqWpH_HEdEwiCUfTztIk38XKdZLETL2eLKiVK2Eh6VPlPiWBYSDoABqwAWHufuBt41LBpqZSyC7nzQPG75lsoSWs5jQ/s1600/Acura+NSX.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2x1XM9milVdq8sdLbtuJNKUlfpP8aA0_Kt_Iu6mAoGsOAT4W2kiqWpH_HEdEwiCUfTztIk38XKdZLETL2eLKiVK2Eh6VPlPiWBYSDoABqwAWHufuBt41LBpqZSyC7nzQPG75lsoSWs5jQ/s400/Acura+NSX.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Acura NSX</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The NSX is a phenomena
within itself, as fantastically capable and exotic departure from Acura’s
mostly mundane line-up, Honda allowed a great thing to go to waste, not making
any improvements to the car until the last nail was already in the coffin, and
even then, their efforts were almost insulting to the vehicles huge following.
For lasting as long as it did as a neglected show of force to the exotic
community, the NSX will only grow in legend.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">That’s my ten, if you think
I’ve missed something blatantly obvious, reply below and let me have it.</span></div>
</div>Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-44795899976804292012011-09-20T10:07:00.000-07:002011-09-20T10:07:55.150-07:00Review: 2011 Toyota 4Runner<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Ou4Mv3JubbsDF4asB-7P_Sxu4aNKAGuT128Mgswemj-2r-uyZ7aRZnQTnOjzVDW94L_uYjOIFK69qsf4MAEycjyA5UUFsCs1fk54BURjocP3V_9F_ZsgxRlKny2PTTNuEnIIZSSiUbkI/s1600/Lead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Ou4Mv3JubbsDF4asB-7P_Sxu4aNKAGuT128Mgswemj-2r-uyZ7aRZnQTnOjzVDW94L_uYjOIFK69qsf4MAEycjyA5UUFsCs1fk54BURjocP3V_9F_ZsgxRlKny2PTTNuEnIIZSSiUbkI/s640/Lead.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">There
is a distinct trend happening today when it comes to full-size SUV’s. They’re
all turning into CUV’s. The once proud Jeep Grand Cherokee, Ford Explorer and
Dodge Durango have all joined the Honda Pilot and Chevy Traverse in deleting
their frame on body construction in an effort to increase fuel economy and
on-road handling. However, there is still one player sticking to its guns,
choosing to keep its girder underpinnings – the Toyota 4Runner.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Lnz7tDdTqnr40FclmD7K560HB9RezApDgeQGs4521ohO-37qlAv9feqwOJvVDAqGC3vBExjAxxRgI1-BMiX5kiXteiXtrx2UsIxyJUNcV3Zg_IsMAsj5VHoWIgA3CRlmuPKFIoF_9l5u/s1600/3+Dash.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Lnz7tDdTqnr40FclmD7K560HB9RezApDgeQGs4521ohO-37qlAv9feqwOJvVDAqGC3vBExjAxxRgI1-BMiX5kiXteiXtrx2UsIxyJUNcV3Zg_IsMAsj5VHoWIgA3CRlmuPKFIoF_9l5u/s320/3+Dash.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">While
all the 4Runners competitors, minus the Nissan Pathfinder, have reaped the
rewards </span><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">of an all-new platform underneath them, the 4Runner has failed to
compete in terms of on road handling and performance. However, in the fuel
efficiency department, the 4Runner is only at a disadvantage on the highway,
matching its rivals in town. The bold new look that was ushered in last year
along with a lower ride height, has made improvements however the old 4Runner
still feels like a truck and not a sedan when running errands around town.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">However,
one of the very real benefits of keeping with a body on frame construction is its
off-road durability and capabilities. The 4Runner has long been regarded as a
stout overlander, so the question is, how capable is the current generation in
getting itself dirty?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWMcrrh6E3Sxh3LPRB0mYAk3CABQmRhdlzLipC9yg3k9LL_CAVoNRxGyKY8C9K7x7fES9cUQT515czSbMqKch2fwOtM6TczieKKmo8m0rzUVtqH8YY4b22VDICuBwMaFfhf_Q_N07CX826/s1600/2+Terrain+Controls.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWMcrrh6E3Sxh3LPRB0mYAk3CABQmRhdlzLipC9yg3k9LL_CAVoNRxGyKY8C9K7x7fES9cUQT515czSbMqKch2fwOtM6TczieKKmo8m0rzUVtqH8YY4b22VDICuBwMaFfhf_Q_N07CX826/s200/2+Terrain+Controls.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">I
took the 4Runner Trail Edition to the Whipsaw Trail to find out just how good
the 4Runner </span><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">could handle the great outdoors. It didn’t take long to find just
about every condition one could hope to find off-road. Dusty gravel, rutted
dirt, rock crawling, deep mud and even snow covered the first 20 km of the
trail. For the majority of the trail, 2WD would suffice; however, once the road
began to climb into the back country, 4WD-high would need to be called upon. Thankfully
the Trail Edition came with a manual transfercase shifter instead of the rather
irritating dash mounted electric dial.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">When
the terrain got steep and muddy, the Trail Edition offered me several different
options to tackle the situation. I could just throw it in 4WD-low and control
my accent with the throttle and brake. Then there is the Multi-Terrain Select
System that allows me to control wheel slip in four different surfaces with settings
for “Mud and Sand”, “Loose Rock”, “Mogul”, and “Rock”. On top of that, if
things get a little beyond the your skill level, the Trail Edition is even
equipped with Crawl Control. This system is like a cruise control for off-road
conditions, you just select either low, medium or high, and the traction
control will keep the vehicle moving between 1.5 and 5 kmh over the terrain.
Both dials are found on the ceiling with sunroof controls, and actually work
quite well in their selective operations, although it kind of took all the fun
out of controlling the vehicle myself. Off-roading after, is all about testing
your driving skill, getting a computer to do all the work just seems like
cheating. However, for the beginner, its ideal for perfecting how you approach
each obstacle.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzm8LFHkb_8g0Gu_MZzNBtqUr6zqKQsYxwH2xzvhP_Z93cy10zKTVRsNJA16OfwWcI6hfeHwO_YllZmTffmSvIGe94zjRPpJbTNOiook62Y0C5a1u4KNgOiLDf8x2wWcmgr8glWpLAWZr/s1600/1+Climb.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzm8LFHkb_8g0Gu_MZzNBtqUr6zqKQsYxwH2xzvhP_Z93cy10zKTVRsNJA16OfwWcI6hfeHwO_YllZmTffmSvIGe94zjRPpJbTNOiook62Y0C5a1u4KNgOiLDf8x2wWcmgr8glWpLAWZr/s320/1+Climb.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">Despite
all the cool features that make you look like a star negotiating slippery
situations, a </span><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">couple weaknesses showed themselves when the going got rough. To
help give the 4Runner competitive fuel efficiency numbers, the ride height is a
little low for an off-roader, a situation made even worse by the standard
running boards which are nothing more than food to decent sized rock, as I
found out. Then when we reached some rutted out mud, the tires showed their
worth, and I’m guessing they don’t cost Toyota much. On dry surfaces, the 4WD
makes up for the tires weak grip levels, however, in the mud, the treads
clogged easily and lateral traction meant I had several close calls when the
truck slipped off the high ground into the ruts.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">When
we made it to camp the 4Runner had a few more surprises in store. For one, the
two 110v outlets meant that I could keep cell phones and laptops up and running
even deep in the wilds. The rear cargo area had a handy sliding floor that made
loading and unloading much easier. If the six best years of your life were
spent in grade seven, then you’ll be happy to know that the 4Runners interior
is as simplistic and organized as any manufacturer could make. A sharp design
that is the envy of most Toyota interiors also has buttons and dials large
enough that even an arthritic would love. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Mechanically,
the 4Runner proved itself extremely competent off-road. While all the new
terrain management gizmos helped make it easier to drive off-road, the drivetrain
was more than capable of handling everything I threw at it. It’s only
weaknesses turned out to be its ride height and tires, two of the first things
that off-roaders will modify after their purchase. However, as a trail edition,
you really shouldn’t have to invest large sums of money to bring the 4Runner up
to its true potential. Like the Wrangler Rubicon, it would be nice to see
Toyota offer the Trail Edition with a little extra clearance and a proper set
of All-Terrain tires. </span></div>
</div>
Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-807595178184165762011-09-08T20:46:00.000-07:002011-09-08T20:46:42.325-07:00Review: Honda Accord Crosstour<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhp0i6RNSrc4DVqSkZcH1jgqeuh43QAZAL8zR5WpuRctcuQsaXGByMl3UJUuCckufw8UVrYs9zX9cj0w7_KYEyqoTRKnDU8-emMiVtubt2xOuUPlu2jYIuXhYVX2wtBaUZHCT2Bogy6ybO/s1600/Front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhp0i6RNSrc4DVqSkZcH1jgqeuh43QAZAL8zR5WpuRctcuQsaXGByMl3UJUuCckufw8UVrYs9zX9cj0w7_KYEyqoTRKnDU8-emMiVtubt2xOuUPlu2jYIuXhYVX2wtBaUZHCT2Bogy6ybO/s640/Front.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's a peculiar thing, the Honda Accord Crosstour. I've seen
many a press release, photo and spec sheet on this uniquely odd vehicle, yet
really didn't know what I was getting myself into until I actually sat inside
the vehicle for first time myself. The highly competitive Crossover market was
created not all that long ago, designed to blur the lines between Station Wagon
and SUV, giving buyers maximum versatility in a package that drives like a car.
Well with the Crosstour we now have a new segment that blurs the lines between
station wagon and Crossover, seemingly intent on killing off the once beloved
family transport once and for all, as the station wagon seems to be dying a
slow death. With a week behind the wheel of the awkward brother to the Accord,
I set about trying to decipher just who this odd vehicle is designed for.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfZx_m_NGQDtBoNZWg-F5e8agQeoc5YRbWgoi8XE6IYq1EJdtTBzc4TSlcflKuUEN5NrlAUOCgLUnTfEqbKtOWqM5egNA5cIGNgf-pqtqATB35cIq4Cdxf3VsLCp8Wbn-eDxEzHZoxqVrr/s1600/rear.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfZx_m_NGQDtBoNZWg-F5e8agQeoc5YRbWgoi8XE6IYq1EJdtTBzc4TSlcflKuUEN5NrlAUOCgLUnTfEqbKtOWqM5egNA5cIGNgf-pqtqATB35cIq4Cdxf3VsLCp8Wbn-eDxEzHZoxqVrr/s320/rear.jpg" width="320" /></a>Lets start with the most outstanding feature of the
Crosstour, its shape. Now I can't lie, I think this thing took a very large
tumble out of the ugly tree, however that hasn't seemed to stop people from
buying them, as I see quite a few on the road and many were likely bought just
because of the way it looks. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3mnOphtiahGgIlReg9dgnIaJJDXb1EVmU6If8s18EPvMjICBmLti1waBKqitaFmTznVaErFKyu8VL0Bns38rJ-IqTyASt9NxvE3lzH-jANF23wUCgqXzEBGx3ru1Sm-F6wtGEf8lxlEQs/s1600/Lead.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3mnOphtiahGgIlReg9dgnIaJJDXb1EVmU6If8s18EPvMjICBmLti1waBKqitaFmTznVaErFKyu8VL0Bns38rJ-IqTyASt9NxvE3lzH-jANF23wUCgqXzEBGx3ru1Sm-F6wtGEf8lxlEQs/s320/Lead.jpg" width="320" /></a>However, with a “4WD” badge on the rear and the look of a
vehicle ready to tackle the rigors of the great out doors, with a distinct
Accord family resemblance, my thoughts of a Lada inspired Accord would be
dashed. There is no selectable transfer case, only the AWD system lifted from
the CRV, which while decently capable, allows the Crosstour to get much better
fuel efficiency than a proper 4WD, with a 9.8L/100km combined rating in my time
in the car. And while there is increased ground clearance, the added 59 mm of
play does little in the way of making this a competent soft-roader, I took the
Crosstour out into the wilds to try out it’s all-terrain capability. Most CUV’s
are great on gravel roads or a bit of snow, anything else, don't bother. I did
bother however, and first took the Crosstour up a rough gravel road, no
problem. It got a little muddy, but the AWD kicked in and all was well. Then I
took it off into a bumpy field, and while the ride-height began to be
challenged, all was still fine. However, once I got to a gravel pit, short ruts
only a foot deep began to challenge the Crosstour’s clearance issues, and for
the sake of bumper damage and my relationship with Honda, I decided to end the
all-terrain test there and then. However, in short, the Crosstour will happily
take an urban family into the great outdoors, and get them into a decent
camping spot just off the gravel road just fine, or get you through a winters
dump of snow, but don’t expect to go mud bogging in it. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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So, if not a hardcore off-road version of the Accord, maybe
the Crosstour is meant to be a BMW X6 type vehicle, a much misunderstood mix of
sports car and SUV. The problem is that the X6 makes no claims that it is
strictly a performance car with a view. The Crosstour is built on the Accords
underpinnings, which are, shall we say, not exactly what you would call high
performance. The tried and true 3.5L V6 offers 271 hp on tap with 254 lb-ft
directed through the 5-speed automatic gearbox then on to all four wheels if
the front wheels detect danger. Well proven and as reliable as the millennium
is long, but the V-6 is no high-strung racer. Likewise, the Crosstour’s on road
manners don't live up to the high performance theory as the added height, tall
tires and 230 extra kg makes it a bit wallowy on the highway. So, no X6
fighter.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUngSiYhls6Fmvfs1uwN_aIN_-AeIIONwvfNbDaSkCMKWBnyPu7kB66ZhgkzReZiOBYYmfZBxF6fx8Ar7e55yI8v3k9AxFfbbEwpwYWKddkyqmb1yoBdR44j0kbYTLTdmoRVN_3WCkl-MK/s1600/Interior.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUngSiYhls6Fmvfs1uwN_aIN_-AeIIONwvfNbDaSkCMKWBnyPu7kB66ZhgkzReZiOBYYmfZBxF6fx8Ar7e55yI8v3k9AxFfbbEwpwYWKddkyqmb1yoBdR44j0kbYTLTdmoRVN_3WCkl-MK/s320/Interior.jpg" width="320" /></a>However, the Crosstour starts to make sense when you start
to look around inside. Inside, the Crosstour has very familiar surroundings, mirroring
that of the standard Accord, but with a little more headroom for us tall-bodied
folks. As such you get a fairly sharp looking dash with all the standard Satnav
wizardry and multi-media devices. In the rear, passengers get even more
spacious surroundings while the sloping rear end of the Crosstour helps add a
massive 330L to the cargo area with the addition of giving owners a lift hatch
for entry. So, really, its not going after any other high profile competitors,
but blazing a useful path for the greater populous in being a more useful and
practical vehicle.</div>
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<br /></div>
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. It’s perfectly simple! It’s a car for people that want the
versatility of a Crossover Utility Vehicle, without actually have to buy one.
With the unique shape and design, Honda has created a niche vehicle for someone
who just doesn’t want to follow the rest of the crowd into a predictable CUV
solution. It’s a car for people who want to be different and decide to go
against the grain rather than with it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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SPECFICATIONS:</div>
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MSRP: $29,995</div>
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Price as tested: $39,995 </div>
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Type: 5-door, mid-sized sedan/coupe</div>
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Engine: 3.5L V-6</div>
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Horsepower: 271</div>
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Torque: 254</div>
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Transmission: 5-speed automatic</div>
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Layout: Front engine, AWD</div>
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Brakes: Four-wheel discs </div>
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Fuel Economy (L/100km): 10.9L city, 7.6L highway</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Competitors: Yeah right!</div>
</div>
Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3944836751124496489.post-22242191596933557102011-09-01T16:44:00.000-07:002011-09-01T16:44:48.127-07:00Great Drives: Kootenay Loop<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqwiT_m0uR9NGB4jtNzyqEC0y1Wft3onzI9CywNDIwUsXIpvIOdxX2CWruPVa4yp5ltJ-ObJRk6KhtWdyYBiyM28bmwt-kaEUD35lU2XJ50D9PZpofpCfxOEBCuc8HvsTUInJdVKbmt7LK/s1600/Lead.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqwiT_m0uR9NGB4jtNzyqEC0y1Wft3onzI9CywNDIwUsXIpvIOdxX2CWruPVa4yp5ltJ-ObJRk6KhtWdyYBiyM28bmwt-kaEUD35lU2XJ50D9PZpofpCfxOEBCuc8HvsTUInJdVKbmt7LK/s640/Lead.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
About The Route</div>
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Best time to Go: Weekdays from April to October</div>
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Total Distance:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>110 km</div>
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Route: Starting point is the village of Lumby along Highway
6, 50°15'2.48"N 118°58'4.29"W, where highway 6 winds drivers east
through over the rocky Monashee Mountain range that separates the Okanagan
valley and the Arrow Lakes, to finishing at the ferry crossing, 49°52'27.36"N
118° 5'50.71"W.</div>
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Places To Stop: Two magnificent glaciers at either end of
the route, other than this, just enjoy the epic journey between the two.</div>
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Road Type: Rough tarmac road.</div>
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Warnings: Rough road that doesn’t really have its own
character, corners can easily be misjudged with nasty consequences. Can snow
any time of year.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Review:</div>
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During this series of great driving roads, I’ve seen my fair
share of exotic sights, strange events and odd detours, however, only in Canada
would you be turned around because of a fresh dumping of snow… in May! The road
that was supposed to be featured in this issue was to be the Crowsnest Highway
#3 between Rock Creek and Creston B.C., as part of the Kootenay Loop. However,
a thick blanket of wet snow on highway 33, just south of Kelowna, stopped me in
my tracks on the transit to Rock Creek. The winding route through the west
Kootenay Rockies would require a nimble and quick little car to negotiate, and
there is non more fun than the MINI Cooper S. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Problem was, MINI had already swapped over the cars snow
tires, for the much more fun, ultra high performance summers that come on the
from new. Being May, a prudent and responsible act. But mother nature didn’t
see things as such, and try as I might, the little Cooper S just couldn’t get
over the summit of Highway 33, with a shimmering wet track of compact snow
making any traction with summer rubber nigh on impossible.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And so, I turned the little Cooper S around and headed back
to Kelwona. Along the way, I could see that the sun was doing it’s upmost to
peek through the clouds, and that if I took a reverse route through Vernon,
then on to Nakusp via Highway 6, the snow maybe melted at the higher elevations
by the time I got there.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKaaHOXDwsCtiHjM4KgOW0H8RCAN15hGHMe8U95hiuFahbw4pn6Mn72uw8o1kmhCs6Q6AUef5N7zy8fTxqDvaJjkL2s8ZvuSDav5ot6l2UcF6xSEJs_uE7bCgZtnMANV0b0PjP-cRP6n5_/s1600/Ferry.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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A spirited jog up highway 6 to Lumby B.C. and the skies were
ominous; the scenic rolling farm <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBcialiVl2EkmmDzZivrl0hvgiB1HVXUtfPKSiNZ-Lcg2nLYj2gP7K1HVbiTMj8INzT28ufv76iXYFig45Hz_NmszUW-ymAhl5t87WbjGj_m6twNH0SreKtXRBrv4xbuDDLznBzPERMt9d/s1600/Corners+3.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBcialiVl2EkmmDzZivrl0hvgiB1HVXUtfPKSiNZ-Lcg2nLYj2gP7K1HVbiTMj8INzT28ufv76iXYFig45Hz_NmszUW-ymAhl5t87WbjGj_m6twNH0SreKtXRBrv4xbuDDLznBzPERMt9d/s320/Corners+3.JPG" width="212" /></a>lands had a healthy dusting of white, while
the clouds were low with bit of solid fog falling from the sky. Despite the
continuing threat, the layer of salt on the road was holding strong, and I made
a push for the ferry that crosses Lower Arrow Lake on the other side of the
range.</div>
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<br /></div>
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While the biker fraternity has spoken highly of the roads in
the Kootenay region of the loop, little did I know that the northern section
was equally impressive. It wasn’t long after Lumby that the MINI was thrust up
into a winding mountain pass. The rolling farmland was swallowed up by the
rocky, rugged and pine covered mountains of the Monashee Mountain range. At
first the road meanders gently up into the range, with fast easy curves and
great scenic sights of several peaks above and a small river below. However as
the altitude rises, the road becomes much more aggressive with corners becoming
much more abrupt and the road surface begins to degrade due to the sheer
amounts of rock falls and avalanches. Not to mention each corner was blinded by
deep snow, trees or a rocky ledge; extreme concentration is needed as the
character of the road changes abruptly.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsQ03uxGw0Hg5dLCVu2JD6FDp6Yt8hCDfrB1M8SEs_9WpMIuT4ym3CPPqHATunHXfa62FmL7h07NT-BYRHbTeRyMGzZPZpAnYDIFVGOSBFoW7gPDktVydemkpZYelWd_sL0-i9OkzRZqug/s1600/Corners+1.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsQ03uxGw0Hg5dLCVu2JD6FDp6Yt8hCDfrB1M8SEs_9WpMIuT4ym3CPPqHATunHXfa62FmL7h07NT-BYRHbTeRyMGzZPZpAnYDIFVGOSBFoW7gPDktVydemkpZYelWd_sL0-i9OkzRZqug/s320/Corners+1.JPG" width="320" /></a>Near the summit the road cuts through a 5-metre deep trench
of snow, and the little MINI is skipping from one tight chicane to another, in
a seemingly never-ending series of slaloms. Slaloms with consequences, as walls
of snow would sporadically open up with a deep rocky ditch on one side, and an
open riverbed on the other. The short wheelbase and nimbleness of the MINI was
ideal for the character of the road, however, like last issue, extremely rough
tarmac meant the thin profile tires and firm suspension proved a little more
bruising than I would have liked. Something with a little more suspension
travel, such as a Subaru WRX or Mitsubishi Evo would prove to be the ideal
weapons for this particular battle.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBcialiVl2EkmmDzZivrl0hvgiB1HVXUtfPKSiNZ-Lcg2nLYj2gP7K1HVbiTMj8INzT28ufv76iXYFig45Hz_NmszUW-ymAhl5t87WbjGj_m6twNH0SreKtXRBrv4xbuDDLznBzPERMt9d/s1600/Corners+3.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Luckily, the salt had done its job as I cresting the summit;
the road was void of the white death, and the trip down the east side of the
range was proving even more delectable. The blind corners obscured by snow and
trees on the west side climb was replaced with open curves through a rocky
landscape. With good vision, the corners could be taken at speed, putting huge
lateral and forward g-forces on the body as I left my braking as late as
possible and pitched the Cooper S into a fantastic series of downhill bends.
Likewise, the view over the surrounding mountains was nearly as spectacular as
the drive itself, but not so good as to make me want to stop for a rest, I was
having way too much fun, and the road was all but vacant of other motorists.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKaaHOXDwsCtiHjM4KgOW0H8RCAN15hGHMe8U95hiuFahbw4pn6Mn72uw8o1kmhCs6Q6AUef5N7zy8fTxqDvaJjkL2s8ZvuSDav5ot6l2UcF6xSEJs_uE7bCgZtnMANV0b0PjP-cRP6n5_/s1600/Ferry.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKaaHOXDwsCtiHjM4KgOW0H8RCAN15hGHMe8U95hiuFahbw4pn6Mn72uw8o1kmhCs6Q6AUef5N7zy8fTxqDvaJjkL2s8ZvuSDav5ot6l2UcF6xSEJs_uE7bCgZtnMANV0b0PjP-cRP6n5_/s320/Ferry.JPG" width="212" /></a>However, like the way up, the way down began to calm down as
the altitude began to subside, along with the adrenaline pumping through my
veins. Soon the road calmed back into rolling farm lands, before coming to its
ultimate conclusion at the banks of Lower Arrow Lake, and the cable ferry used
to cross to the east side. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Crossing over the Monashee Mountain range proved to be a
pleasant surprise in a day that had started off on the wrong foot, however, to
my dismay, what layed ahead would prove to be even more enticing.</div>
</div>
Budd Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792467134549459276noreply@blogger.com0