This marks the beginning of our long trek southward to Perth where our Australian adventure ends. By August 1st Nicole and I will be winging our way back the States, having tucked the Landy safely away on a container ship headed for South Africa where it normally lives.

We just left the untamed Northern Territory. This expansive state, which represents 17 per cent of the Australian landmass, is roughly equal to the state of Florida in size but has just one percent of Australia's population. Darwin (pop. 86,000) is the Territory's largest city. Most of the Territory is dotted with nondescript little roadhouses and fuel stops which are situated every 200km or so along a few endless roads that seem to go nowhere.

Lurking behind the scenes in the outback are 200 or so huge cattle stations that consume most of the available land. More on these cattle stations later.
The Northern Territory is a place that you don't want to have car trouble since traffic is sparse. We saw more wallabies hopping along side of the road than cars during most of our trek through the Territory. Travelers wave to each other as they pass in a kind of quiet desperation since you never know when you are going to see another human being again along these roads. It also breaks up the monotony to see who waves first.

The science of Waving

I have been conducting a 'scientific' study of the art of waving because it is such an important part of the driving scene in the Territory. Certain rules apply which you would do well to memorize before venturing out. Knowing these things just might come in handy some day, trust me.

The lean and mean drivers of those 53.5 meter-long Road Trains, for example, never ever wave. With pedal to the metal, 24-hours a day, they barrel down the road at 120km/hr oblivious of anything that might possibly be alive or moving in front of them. Their hands grip the wheel so tightly that they probably couldn't wave to somebody even if they wanted to.

The locals also don't wave. You can tell a local by the age and make of the vehicle they are driving and also by the number of passengers with them. They need all the help they can get if they break down along the way since they burn all their bridges by not waving.

The geriatric crowd waves minimally because they just don't get it, this waving business. Waving takes some skill because you have to be able to do several things at once while driving. These retirees, usually towing a huge trailer, look at you blankly as you wave. Mostly they drive with their eyes riveted on the white strip in the middle of the road, hoping for the best.

Drivers of 4WD vehicles, however, always wave to other 4WD drivers as this is ckearly a part of the 4W-driving experience in the Outback. I think there is even a chapter on waving in most 4WD manuals.

Some 4W-drivers just point a finger at you as they pass, which takes the least amount of energy. To them, this is a wave. These guys are tipping you off that they've just spent 14 hours driving on 'Roads from Hell' for the sheer fun of it and they are totally and happily spent. They want to wave, but they can barely lift a finger at this point. (By the way, if you lift one finger, make sure it is the index finger!)

Others wave to you with the whole palm of their hand out-stretched, in a rigid kind of flat wave effect, and you know immediately that these are folks who want to wave but have consumed one too many VB's.( Victoria Bitter, the favorite Aussie beer.) This is crucial information and it allows you to cut a wide berth around them.

Other 4W-drivers have a really enthusiastic wave, almost an obnoxious wave, with both hands flailing all over their windscreen. You know immediately that these folks will come up to you and eagerly tell you their life story at the next fuel stop. This is important information in case you are in a hurry and want to sneak past them.

When I am driving I usually wave first, extrovert that I am, and I find that if I wave as soon as I think that the other driver can see me, then I get a much higher rate of response. When they don't wave back I hate it and it makes me feel really inadequate. If someone waves to me when I am in deep philosophical thought, then I also feel badly because I missed my chance to wave back.

My own personal wave is a pretty friendly one, but it is not an "in-your-face" one. Nicole says that my wave looks like I'm saying, "Hi, my name is Ellen, and I'm Thix (six).' I want to interact with others without blurring any boundaries with them. When I drive I wave with my left hand in a semi-circular kind of wave that extends from the wheel to about the middle of the windscreen. This tells folks that they can feel perfectly free to come up and talk to me at any time, which most do eventually. It also invites them to come look at our trip map that is posted on the rear window of the Landy - a map similar to the one you can see on our web site which shows where we have been and where we are going.

The Making of New Friends

It's true, I will talk to any body. And in the Northern Territory we have met up with some truly interesting folks --like Stephen Timmons and Paul Manee, for example, who we spent a day with at their bush camp island on the upper Adelaide River. We went up the river on Stephen's boat hoping for some photo ops. The camp was OK and the fishing in the river was good but not great when we were there, and we really didn't know anything about these blokes except that a friend of theirs recommended them highly.

We ended up getting far more than a few pix and I will never forget our time with them. Stephen gave up an ordinary life in urban Melbourne in order to live on his island and run fishing tours. He has a real passion for fishing and for photography, and for the wild and untamed Adelaide River with its crocs and hungry Barras. He has found a way to make all of this work for him which makes him a happy and interesting man to talk to. Two of Stephen's very revealing poems can be found in the 'Adelaide River' collection of images under the region of Northern Territory images.

Stephen's camp caretaker, Paul, is a tall imposing giant of a man with great, bushy hair and bare feet who has spent years living simply off the resources of the bush. Paul's looks are deceiving - he appears rough and uneducated but underneath is a well-read man with a clear vision about how humans can and should live simply. He is a gentle soul with great humor and a genuine sparkle in his eyes. His father, he says, wanted him to go to college and get a real job afterwards, which he rejected in favor of life in the bush. His father, in turn, rejected him and hasn't spoken to him since. Alas, parents know not what they do sometimes, eh?

We wined and dined together, our unlikely foursome. And we talked well into the night about love and life and music and good books and other such wonderful things, an experience that we could never have anticipated. We departed with big hugs and promises to send photos and to keep in touch.

The adventure is nearly over but I know that I will forever be changed by the endless miles and by the friendships that I have made here, friends like Stephen and Paul and Denise Goodfellow and others.

Western Australia here we come!