(Im)mobilisation

When travelling this wide brown land things can happen that are beyond ones control. In such situations one just has to sit back and suck it up. But sometimes when I leave home it seems the whole world is conspiring in a bid to prevent me from getting to where I need to go. My most recent journey was no different. But just how bad was it going to be this time? Well, buckle up and come with me on an epic journey that went nowhere fast.

As an aside, this trip was a classic case of life imitating art. Whilst flying from Perth to Alice Springs, I was actually penning a document outlining all of the mishaps, mis-information and misfits we very regularly have to deal with as consultants with Animal Plant Mineral when we are just trying to do our damnedest to mobilise for a job.

Perth to Alice Springs wasn’t bad, but for reasons that are beyond me alcohol was not free during this flight? It was an interstate Qantas flight, not at all dissimilar to the one I am on right now, where the Cab Sav I am enjoying cost me no more than the air I expelled to ask for it. Alice to Cairns was a bit of a blur. I may have slept. I know I did not drink as I had no cash and was too scared to ask for one just in case the Cabin Crew pointed and made fun of me.

My most favourite client (Mr Ed) picked me up from Cairns airport in a Nissan Micra and I think that very moment set the tone for the whole trip. This car, as the name implies, was so small that, after loading my luggage into it, I couldn’t help but wonder if I should grab a cab and just follow Mr Ed back to the hotel.

On Day 2 we had to drive about 63 km from Cairns to Mareeba, which should have taken about 56 minutes according to Mr GoogleMap. We wound the lacky band right up tight and attempted the ascent from the coastal plains to the tablelands. At the steepest gradient of the Kennedy Highway, through Macalister Range, I could have sworn the road work crews were laying bitumen faster than we were driving along it.

On Day 3 we were scheduled to fly from Cairns to Mount Isa and I was unaware, due to an innate inability to read a flight itinerary, that we had to go via Townsville and right into the path of Cyclone Marcia. Keen to dodge a battering from the cyclone, Qantas decided we would leave a half an hour early. They called to inform us, which was nice, but they obviously failed to inform every single staff member at Cairns airport who, upon our arrival at check-in greeted us with pleasant smiles followed by blank expressions. In the end we left half an hour late so, at least at this point, we were on time.

Much to our surprise and dismay, Qantas had taken it upon themselves to fiddle a little more with our flight and they gave us a nice stopover in Cloncurry which, I am not joking, is only 100 km shy of Mt Isa which is well over a 1000 km from our departure point. You can imagine how impressed we were when we got to see the outside of Cloncurry Airport from the inside of a Airbus A330 as we sat on the tarmac for not a minute less than three quarters of an hour. 

To make matters so very much worse, while we were sessile on the melting black top on a 40 degree ‘end of the wet season’ day, the good Captain politely informed us that one of our auxiliary engines had gone to lunch. Not only could the remaining engines not power the air conditioning, which was gasping like an asthmatic senior with mesothelioma getting mouth to mouth from pack a day smoker with emphysema, but the Captain could only open one cargo door at a time effectively quadrupling the time taken to unload the Cloncurrians baggage. I’m not sure about you but I am far more fond of airplanes where all the engines work, no matter what device they power. As far as I am concerned, one motor not working just means one step closer to a mid-air disaster.

Our holding pattern on the tarmac got all too much for one Mount Isa Matriarch, who looked surly enough to castrate cattle with her bare hands. So desperate was she to suck down some nicotine that she made a beeline for the front exit only to be turned on her heels and sent back to her seat by an equally assertive Cabin Manager. The Mount Isa Matriarchs retaliatory move was to blaze up in the toilet ON THE PLANE! Who does that?? So, like a classroom full of naughty little school children paying penance for the most rotten apple in the bunch, we were all chastised by our good Captain. Busting, I went for a #1 about 5 minutes later and emerged from the thunderbox clutching my eyes and smelling like an wet ash tray.

After all of that it was no real surprise that almost every single passenger broke rank and dis-engaged their seat-belts long before the seatbelt sign went off. Weighing discretion against valour, the Cabin Manager chose to let that little Federal offence slide. Thank god, as I was certain we were either going to get a detention or scab duty around the grounds of Mount Isa airport for our bad behaviour.

That was just Part 1 of the journey.