Gone Bush IV - Through the desert on a horse with no name January 20th, 2008

Okay, after forever and a day wrapping this tale up, due namely to the rapid explosion of my life from a single-celled state to some form of galactic chaos.

Here's where we left off:

And here's where we ended up...

How did we get to this point? It's a fairly amazing story, but as you know it starts with a $600 road tyrant named Mustafa, and ends hundreds of kilometers from civilization in a town a called Williams Creek, population 4, deep out on the Oodanatta Track. "Track", in the most colloquial Aussie terms, means "A faintly ountlined strip of dirt amongst a wider background of dirt upon which you must never, ever drive a 1984 station wagon.

And for the doubters out there, you were right, it turns out our temperature guage wasn't perfect, just stuck on perfect. Hmmmm.

So we almost died, as you can guess, when Mustafa blew up in the very heart of the Aussie outback. We got lucky in the sense I didn't have to eat Jess, but not so much in the sense we no longer were in possesion of a working automobile. In fact, Mustafa did a spectacular job of ensuring he would never be taken alive by the authorities, nor really moved from his final resting place. I will say this however, anyone who would like one hell of a car, just swing by William's Creek with a spare head gasket and your set.

So basically we skipped back to Coober Pedy with a very nice Danish family, hung out some more in that wicked town, then bused back to Melbourne via Adelaide over the course of a few days.

The days since have been super super busy, some crazy beautiful people have arrived from Canada to fill out the ranks of work and I've been busy tying up loose ends.

Oh, why loose ends?

Hmmmm, better to save that for tomorrow.

Adios!

P.S. This here, documented naively, is the final ride of Mustafa, the last great caress of the road beneath our death-grip tires, a video of a moment that we only later knew would mean so much.

RIP Mustafa.