These are the Voyages

Lake's Entrance, Southeast Victoria

Captain's Log, Stardate, 0522.11;

I find myself again in a strange new world... boldly going... where no one... has gone before... and other split infinitives.

I began the next phase of my journey by renting a less than impressive yellow hatchback coup, which I have come to name the Yellow-Hornet. (I realize the name is redundant, but I found that I was rather tired and out of ideas.) I set out from Melbourne after attending a friend's going away party the previous night. My first destination was the Yarra Wine Valley.

However, before I could reach my first point of interest I found that I had to make a daring escape from Melbourne. Like a prisoner escaping a Nazi camp I had to smuggle myself outside the city limits without drawing too much attention. The reason for this is that the tolls on the major Melbournian highways are all automated. Apparently, there is no booth where one can pay cash. I find it ironic, that in a country where Internet is restricted by gigabytes, and I lose cell phone reception when I get more than 10 miles outside of any major metropolitan area, that there are no cash toll boothes on the major highways. (I mean you can cash on the Garden State Parkway for Shatner's sake.) So with the incessant voice of my dash mounted GPS, I wound my way through suburbs and back roads, avoiding any major highways, byways, motorways, freeways, or subspace-corridors. However by 12:30 hours I had made my way out of Melbourne and was well on my way, destination Sydney.

Thus, on a rainy and wet day I reached the Yarra Wine Valley, and though the day was less than impressive the vineyards and farmlands I drove through were not. After buying provisions of bread, peanut-butter, Tim-Tams, and cereal, I was set for my 5-Day Mission. I had lunch in a park near the Shire of Healesville (yes it is actually called a shire). The town itself seemed more like it belonged in upstate New York or Vermont, than in Australia. The leaves were turning hues of orange and brown and for a moment I again felt myself lost and surprised in the great continent of Australia. I was surrounded by an upscale suburban sprawl in parking lots of BMW's and horses (yes there actually were horses tied up outside of the mall.)

I did not linger too long after taking in the beautiful sights as my final destination for my first day of travel was the Gippsland Lakes region of Victoria. So after lunch and and sight-seeing, Yellow-Hornet and I set out for the long drive ahead. The day was raining and the roads were slick, but my real problem seemed to be holding onto radio stations. After a fruitless quest for a half-decent channel I settled myself on a station that was content to play the same 20 songs in repeat (So like any NYC station). Over the next days I would hear that new Snoop Dogg song 37 times, the Rhianna Song 22 times, and Lady Gaga 217 times, (and that was only after the first day).

The Gippsland Lakes themselves are a collection of lakes culminating in a place called Lakes Entrance where you can find Ninety-Mile Beach, (Australians are very creative when it comes to naming.) As I arrived after dark, I set out on a small quest to find the lake that glowed in the dark. It happens because of a certain microbe that lives in the lake and produces a soft bio-luminescent glow when churned up by rain. Unfortunately, I failed. Whether it was due to my tiredness or the lack of microbes in the water an hour later I was left facing the reality that this was one natural wonder I would not find. However, I do think I convinced a few natives that I was a crazy American in search of a glowing mystical lake.

So swallowing my failure I ended my first night at a small backpackers lodge in Lakes Entrance. This small motel-like place was cheap and a little creepy. Its facilities were basic and some of the patrons seemed to be missing teeth. As you can understand I decided not to hang around any longer than was necessary, and after a hastily eaten dinner I retired to my bunk-bed for the night. However, two of the patrons I met are worth mentioning. They are Hans and Brunhilde (names are fictional to protect the identity of the scary). While eating dinner I noticed this unmistakable German couple. Hans has a handle-bar mustache that would put any 1910's baseball player to shame, and Brunhilde could probably snap any 1910's baseball player in half. Basically, I don't know if they have biker gangs in Germany, but if they do, Hans and Brunhilde would be charter members. At the time I marked them down as a mild curiosity, smiled, and nodded politely and put them out of my mind. Little did I know I would be seeing them again, and again, and again...

That's not fog, that's cloud cover... and I actually think it was
probably better that I couldn't see what was over the edge.

Regardless, the next morning as I watched the sun come up over the lakes on Ninety-Mile Beach, while eating a cup of cornflakes. It was simple yet beautiful, but I did not linger too long (even after locking myself out of the bunk room for an hour), as I had my longest day of driving ahead of me.

My goal for the day was the Australian capital of Canberra, but first I knew I had to cross through the Australian High Country, and the Australian Alps. These are the highest mountain ranges in mainland Australia. the are part of the area known as the Great Dividing Range, which is the third longest mountain range in the world. Some peaks reach over 6,000 feet high. They are called the Australian Alps, because it is believed that they are actually an extension of The Alps from a time before the continents had drifted apart from one another. It took European settlers more than twenty years to discover a path through the range, and I can understand why.

I traveled the historic Alpine Road, which does not even begin to describe the dizzying heights I was brought when driving this road. My trip was fought with sharp turns, treacherous precipice, and pea-soup-like fog. At one point I encountered a road aptly named Thank-Christ Corner. (See how creative they can be in naming things) I even caught sight of my first Australian snow on Mt. Buller (which acts as one of Australia's premiere and high-flying ski resorts). However, I am not exaggerating when I say that I reached the peak of the mountain, and found myself not so much in fog as I did in clouds. The wind was blasting, the conditions were wet and icy, and one wrong turn and I knew I was going down the mountain the hard way. As scary as my drive was it was exhilarating in a way, and I did not let the beauty of the snow covered mountain, (even shrouded in fog,) escape my notice. However, I was more than grateful when I returned to level ground on the far side of the mountain range.

Oh... Look... It's on a tuckerbox??

This was a long day of driving (more than 10 hours), but I did have one detour to make. I was informed that I needed to stop to see The Dog on the Tuckerbox. Now for anyone who is confused why this might be a sight worth seeing... I'm completely with you. (It is part of a poem by Boynage Yorke.) So on the suggestion of another I went in search of this fabled dog on a tuckerbox, (and I still have no idea what a tuckerbox is.) I found the dog at a rest stop area along side the main highway. It was... exactly what I expected. It was a small bronzed dog sitting on a square box that said "Tuckerbox." Around the statue was a fountain and a lot of excited Australians. Apparently, there is even a Dog on the Tuckerbox Festival held every year. (...find new life and new civilizations...)

So after I took a few pictures I headed on my way, assuming it probably would have been more exciting if I was in fact Australian. However, I found it worthwhile as a peek in the Aussie psyche. Either way, with that unusual detour behind me, I found myself back on the highway and within 2 more hours I was driving I was in the city of Canberra, but that is another story.

End Log.