A Man Without Love

Sample story:

Chapter: Three.

Dinner at the Sandfire Pub

Peter and Ron liked to set a fast pace on the road as they both enjoyed driving fast. Then again so did Bill. His love of driving was only second to his love of eating and drinking.

Bill's stay at the Hedland pub was a little longer than planned. The small crowd of people admiring his new Leyland P76, parked outside the pub, further delayed his departure. One large well suntanned bloke, with a self-rolled fag dripping from the corner of his mouth wanted to know all about this new flash car...

'What make o car is this mate, and ow fast does it go?'

Bill puffed out his chest and proudly answered the outback fine-car enthusiast, who was staring at the large Leyland boot badge.

'This is the top-of-the-range Leyland Targa Florio; I've fitted the carbie with bigger jets and had her up to 180 so far, just out of Carnarvon. On the next long straight I hope to top 200.'

The large Aussie admirer was still staring at the Leyland badge while he rumbled out his advice.

'That'll be the Sandfire flats, a bit over arf a carton from here mate.'

Bill still had language problems in his new country, having only been in Australia eighteen months. He thought he was doing all right using “carbie” Australian for “carburettor” and “mate” every now and again, but some people and some words were just too hard to understand.

The further north he travelled the harder it was for him to understand the locals... What language would they speak when he got all the way up to Kununurra...? Bill tried to engage this big Aussie in his native Australian lingo…

'It will need to be a good long and stretch of road to really try her out...mate. And what's with the “half a carton” stuff... err mate?'

The big Aussie admirer looked down at Bill in a frown of disbelief. Then flashed a gummy smile of missing teeth, no doubt lost in some distant bar-room brawl; threw his head back, drinking his beer-can dry. He then crushed the can to a neat disc between the palms of his massive hands and gently popped the can-disc into Bill's top shirt pocket.

'Twelve of them cept full is arf a beer carton mate. By the time you finish arf a carton you'll be at the Sandfire flats. Then you got eighty bloody miles of flat road in front of yer... That'll be a good place to try her out mate.'

As the big Aussie strolled away, however Bill clearly heard him say, “I don't think you' gonna get 200 miles-per-hour out of that bloody car. Christ even a Holden don't go that fast mate.”

Bill jumped into his P76 thinking what was that guy on about; Australia was in kilometres not miles per hour... Maybe it's only in the cities, and the bush is still in miles per hour?

A quick glance at the clock startled Bill. He would have to get going now to arrive at Fitzroy Crossing at around the same time as Peter. To catch them up; he would need to drive like a bat-out-of-hell.

Bill didn't have half a carton beer so he would just have to judge the distance to Sandfire flats with half a bottle of rum... Finally he was on the road again.

Peter and Ron were having great fun driving flat-out on the gravel road reminding them of country rallies around Perth.

After a few close shaves with death on the unfenced road avoiding Kangaroos, Emus, and cattle the fun was rapidly loosing its nerve-wrecking thrill. Ron being older and wiser suggested that they should slow down a bit and let Bill do a bit of high-speed catch-up along an area known as “Sandfire Flats.”