My little bliss Trish is a doer. Always has been. After all you don’t get a degree in Recreation by sitting on your patoosie. A degree in Recreation. Now if ever a qualification matched an individual this was Trishy to a T. She just loves to recreate. If my to do list was anything like Trishy’s I’d need a Bex, a cup of tea and a good lie down. Not Trish, she belts through her to do list so she can get out there and recreate. Not my sort of recreation i.e. a good movie on Netflix or a ramble in the bush. No Trishy is climbing poles and walking above canopies. I prefer to have my kinda large feet firmly planted on the ground. I do enough damage to myself just navigating my way through daily living. Exploding tyres, falling through plate glass windows, stepping off ladders. You get the picture. But maybe, just maybe I am starting to rub off on my little bliss whose recent attempt at alighting from a taxi in the face first position led to her being cast in a similar role to myself!
Trish and I worked summers together in hospitality. A six day working week left one day clear for recreation. Being in my early twenties that day often started with the sun trying to pierce through the heavy fog of the night before. Trish being a late teen bounced out of bed like a prom queen, firing off suggestions for the day’s activity.
One such beautiful day we decided to go on a driving adventure. My trusty little corolla our steed of choice. First up a drive up Busty Road via the Wild Dog. I opinioned that a hair of the dog would be a far more delightful way to ease into the day.
Ha! Off for the drive we went, curve following curve following curve. Yep, I was dizzy! Ahh but the views stupendous and the laughs uproarious. We find each other equally amusing.
Now when you get to the end of Busty road the wise choice would be to turn around. Even wiser if your vehicle is not a four wheel drive but rather a 15 year old, two door corolla that had seen a lot of living. Trishy and I were never ones for the wiser choice. Let’s go down Tiger Lane we chorused.
Now Tiger Lane consisted of two deep parallel wheel ruts, numerous cavernous pots holes and thanks to a heavy summer downpour a clay slurry topcoat. As far as vertiginous descents went, Tiger Lane was legendary. Focusing on the road was difficult at a seventy degree angle.
But hey ho and off we go. Straight down! Shrieks, shrieks and more shrieks. Uncontrollable giggles take control of the wheel as we hurl down the hill. Trishy this is serious we could die. Pisser! More laughs. Navigating consisted of holding onto the steering wheel with all your might while trying to avoid slipping off the edge, therefore crashing through farmers fence and a rapid descent through said farmers paddock to the waters of Skenes Creek below. It was also advisable to not get trapped in the ruts or disappear into the black holes of pot.
Down we sailed. A little red ship of sibling hilarity. Slip sliding away. We bounced we, we joggled, we wrestled with the wheel. Trishy’s fingers dug into the dashboard. Why was eminent death so highly amusing? We were young, invincible and a tad irresponsible, but oh what fun.
Arriving onto the freshly graded gravel road known as the driveable section of Tigers Lane was a trifle anticlimactic. Solid level surfaces are so overrated. Can we do it again? You bet we can, but not today.
Come my next day off, there is Trishy breezing into Casablanca. Sleeping in was not to be tolerated. There were adventures to be had. Drink your coffee we are off to explore the laneways of Apollo Bay
Much like climbing the towns Telecom tower, the driving of the lanes in Apollo Bay was not attempted by the general populace. After all they didn’t really lead anywhere. Maybe that was the appeal.
Off we trotted. Go down here, go down there. Quick back up that bloke looks a little frightening.
And then the holy grail of lanes. One with real potential. Where it ends nobody knows. Well Trishy and I discovered it ended in the three very large speed humps. Almost as if the powers to be were attempting to halt our progression. Now when I say speed humps these were large lines of clay laneway wide and about three foot high. Serious speed humps!
“Go on” said my little bliss
“Why”
“Because we have to give it a go”
“OK”
Foot planted we went on. We went up but we didn’t come down. My little red car was perched on a pile of clay with its wheels spinning with futile abandon.
We were well and truly stuck. The car was rocking, tears of laughter. This was the best. Actually no. Maybe we were stuck! I tried reverse. The wheels span in reverse. They span in reverse in mid-air. Doh I was never very mechanically minded.
We sat. We conversed. We laughed some more.
“I’ll fix it! declared Trishy
Out she leapt. Me perched on a large clay pile in a rocking little red car is apparently quite an amusing sight. My devoted little sister doubled over with laughter.
Straightening up she eyeballed the little red beauty, stepped gamely forward wrapped her hands around the front bumper and heaved. Did I ever mention just how impressive Trish is? The car tilted. I slammed it into reverse and revved. Houston, we have traction. With a hump a thump and a jump I guided the red rocket back to level ground.
“Woohoo” Trish cried as she climbed back in.
Now the dilemma. Reverse our way out was the only sensible solution. But maybe, just maybe if we took a bigger faster runup we could make it over all three piles. To Trishy, caution is something that should be thrown windward with gusto. Tally ho and again we go. But alas, reversing with dignity and car intact we made the dull but sensible choice. My little red car survived to be the vehicle of many more of Trishy and Pete’s adventures.
