Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Crossing Bass Strait Again!!

Doing it tough again crossing Bass Strait

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Well I promised this blog about a week ago, but I got a little excited over the perfect waves I've been riding down at Bruny Island.

Anyway, some say that crossing on the Spirit of Tasmania is really a cheat's way of doing the strait, but I have to say that this way it was much more comfortable and restful. We were loaded on at about 6pm: you drive through a boom gate where they give you your room key. Then you drive into the hull of the ferry and park, unload what you need for the night and go to your cabin. Too easy.

We left the dock at Melbourne at about 7.30pm. It took 2.5 hours before we got to the entrance of Port Phillip Bay. Travelling at 20knts that's a bloody big bay. After a couple of beers and an announcement from the captain that a gale warning had been issued for the strait that night, we went to bed. The next thing I remember was Jen waking me at 6.00am to say that we were docking in Devonport. So there Ken, it was almost like the crossing in Crazy Lady!!

Now back to my reference about the hoons.
What is your definition of a hoon?
A young guy with a baseball cap on backwards in a hot car?
After what I've witnessed it's a middle aged (50 or 60 something) bloke driving a rally car.(Blokes my age that should know better)
It all started in Melbourne while we were lining up to board the ferry. All these old blokes in hotted-up cars revving the guts out of them. I thought to myself perhaps these rally cars were all badly tuned, and that the constant revving was to keep them running while loading.
(I was trying to give these silly old buggers the benefit of my doubt)
Later when on board The Spirit of Tasmania I overheard that Targra Tasmania was on in the coming weeks: hence all the rally cars.
The next morning at Devonport it was the same bbrrrmmmm, brrmmmm, brrmmmmmm, as we were unloading. after having a lovely nights sleep this was starting to give me the sh*ts.
So I thought it's my turn to return the favour. As we were driving out of the terminal, I noticed to my delight that there were at least 4 rally cars behind me. I was proudly driving the Hi-Lux Ute, which believe it or not is no speed machine, and like the law abiding citizen I am, I decided that being under the speed limit was my best course of action. Four loudly revving rally cars with impatient aging hoons trying to get around me in a built up area= Great fun!!
Unfortunately the highway appeared, and they all overtook us in quick succession.In the next 25kms, we were to have many more old hoons in hotted-up rally cars overtake us.

We were feeling coffee & breakfast deprived and to our luck came across a bakery road house. Unfortunately the carpark was full of: you guessed it, hotted up rally cars. After finding a carpark space between 2 of the above cars, we rushed into the cafe to get our caffeine fixes. It was full of blokes my age and older wearing tight black leather pants and matching jackets.
An unexplained hush fell over the cafe as Jen and I entered. We were feeling a bit under-dressed in our board- shorts and T-shirts at 6.45am. I did have my beanie on and those in the know can attest to how good I look in it. We quickly ordered our breakfast as the tempo of conversation gradually returned to normal. We devoured the coffee & brekkie.

We left the cafe eager to resume our journey to Hobart. The carpark was full of even more middle aged hoons , standing around discussing the up coming rally and admiring the sounds of revving cars whilst happily inhaling the noxious fumes. As I walked past the group I mumbled "bloody old enough to know better". We hopped into the Ute, and I wound the window down to overhear the snide remarks from the assembled "hoonage". I quote "spose he thinks he can enter The Rally in that heap of shit". I quickly reversed out pointing the exhaust in their direction, then put my foot on the clutch and started to loudly rev the thumping 2.8ltr diesel. The "hoonage" erupted in a loud cheering mob, and I quickly and bravely made my rocketing exit.

Jen slunk further below the dashboard in utter shame.

Still in Kettering, Hobart Friday.

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