On the 6th of April 2005, cousins Jamie Mackenzie and Ben Wylson set off on their bikes on a journey which will take them to over 50 countries and to every one of the worlds great continents, all without the use of an aeroplane.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006: Help!
We are over half way there, 17 months in, 9000ks under our wheels, but we do not have the financial backing needed to go on. We have two months left to raise 8,000 pounds (19,000 Australian Dollars.) and we need a ship to South America.
If you would like to help us continue on this epic journey, please send an email to info@freewheelseast.co.uk. If you can't help personally, perhaps you know of someone who can? Your suggestions would be greatly appreciated. Keep checking for our latest news below. Thank you.
Sunday, August 27, 2006: Warehouse X
At a secret location, a warehouse in Fitzroy, Melbourne we are going about making our plight for funds known to the entire city. We figured that it would be stupid to waste the valuable contacts base we have in this colder part of the country, so, after the family left us we got down here as fast as we could. Already we have begun pestering the general public at that top Melbourne haunt, our Bench on Brunswick Street. We ask them to trade 5 bucks for the same little book we sold there only a few months ago. Amazingly we rarely stop the same person twice. Jack, A.K.A 'old clanky' is doing a wonderful job busking; we have a soundtrack to our selling. Jack's playing brings a jolly atmosphere to proceedings, he makes a bit of change for himself and he adds to the family theme too - we look like triplets. I'm not sure if everyone quite believes we're actually doing, or have done, any of FWE. It looks like a scam without our trusty bikes which we must find the time to pick up - They are over at Kyal's place (Boyd, Neighbours). In amongst the graffiti we have become as much a part of the fabric as our friend Jim the tramp and a few of the other resident homeless fellows who were, incidentally, pleased to see us back in town, especially after we bought them a bottle of VB to celebrate. They will be friends for life.
Selling our book is a side-line which -it has been proven- does not reap massive cash rewards, yet it will bring in enough money to get away from instant noodles, and it will, more importantly, continue to flood the FWE hotmail account with emails offering support, suggestions, advice and media opportunities. Street brochure work is well worth doing and will take up so little of our time this time round that it will -we hope- be impossible to get sick of.
There is more to our self-promotion: soon, when a member of the public buys a book they will be advised to come to a string of events we are planning to host around the city. This is the beginning of the festival of FWE. Friends are helping us by putting us in contact with some of the best bands in Melbourne and the best D.Js who will play on our nights for our continuation. Barry and Beck -the boys down at Print Mode- are going to knock us up a batch of 500 A3 flyers which will be plastered using a home made gloop around the city. Expect to be inundated with brash and obtrusive 'help them continue east..' posters.
I should say some more about the warehouse and how we came by it. Jac Donchi kindly offered it to us as a place to set up camp and make into some sort of H.Q from where we might conduct our operations. She said "Just as long as you do the washing-up and the weeding, you are welcome". The warehouse is vast. It will be the perfect location for one of our FWE events. We can host seminars there too. From the outside it looks fairly small but when you pass through the door you pass through a porthole to another world. One massive chamber leads on to another. We are still discovering new nooks and crannies. In the middle of the main hall -as we like to call it- is a bed and a fan and some roller skates. We only worked out what they were there for for when a voluptuous, semi-naked girl came bounding through the warehouse with Jac Donchi in hot pursuit taking photographs. When this first happened Jac asked, "You don't mind me coming in here for photo-shoots do you?" We replied gravely, "Not a bit."
What of the facilities within the warehouse? Well, we have our own microwave, a carpet which a few dry leaves have blown in on to, a sink where there lives a resident creepy crawly.. a big ugly one with hundreds of long legs, that survives, we have deduced, by eating toothpaste. There are three loos -that's one each- and two double beds. I'm sleeping with my brother. Jamie has his own bed, the lucky sod. Also we have that luxury of luxuries, a stereo. We can listen to the finest music there is so loud it hurts; something the wandering man seldom gets to do. These facilities are found in rooms which were once offices within the warehouse. Once we have given them the lick of paint they need and polly-filled all the drafty holes and have a heater and a kettle, it will almost be 5-star squatting.
Adjacent to the warehouse is a house where Jac lives with her flatmates Mikey and Hailey. Mikey is a D.J for the radio station Triple R. He swears he will plug FWE every Saturday. I think his show starts at about 6pm. Hailey is a stylist. She is going to try and help us too.
Tomorrow we're sending Old Clanky up a spindly ladder to paint our logo, web address and the words 'FWE headquarters' onto the front of the building in large bold letters visible from the road.
It is all positive now. We have some impetus and direction for the first time in a long time.
Thursday, August 24, 2006: The story of our family visit
The Toyota Commuter whistled northward, its jolly occupants observing the flashing brown scenery as it zoomed past the window, a framed picture of gum trees, open plains, dead gut-trailing kangaroos and wandering wilderness. With Brisbane now fading far behind the plump, luggage-laden rump of our van, the traffic dwindled and soon we were running free on open highways with only ourselves as company.
With map in hand, Drill Sergent Kate barked orders with blood-curdling volume at Private Michael who, in his tinted Ray Bans, clutched the wheel. 'Nope, that’s the wrong way...again...turn around...and next time I say RIGHT, I don't mean LEFT...got it?'
Cold efficiency got the job done and each night as the waxing sliver in the sky descended, we would be delivered to a new and quaint camp-site. There were beds for the over 50's and for the rest of us it was restless, therm-a-rest tenting. We cousins could put up the cheap 'outdoor joy' six-man tent we'd bought on the first day in 4 minutes and 59 seconds. Invariably our erection would end up next door to a four-wheel-drive attached to a white caravan, with an adjoining porch equipped with collapsible coffee table and two fisherman’s chairs, into which you would more often then not find squidged an over-weight, ginger-permed, one-toothed woman clad in leggings and floral blouse, wearing a pudgy smile across a finely-bearded face. Next to Madame would be Monsieur, her equally charming husband 'Keith' who from dawn to dusk likes to 'tong' a gas-powered 'Thunder Belcher 3000' BBQ. Campsiters were a friendly bunch despite appearances and alien as that world was, we rather liked it.
However, when the caravan metropolises became claustrophobic they were easily escaped. We would take evening walks along golden beaches gingerly paddling in the sea after reading signs on the way down to the water's edge which tell you all about the wonderful marine life, predominantly jelly fish, the worst of which are completely invisible, the size of your thumb nail and will probably kill you if you 'get hit'-as the locals say- without getting to hospital within two minutes. Safer pastimes included drinking beers a-plenty, strumming guitars and gorging on sumptuous fodder.
The further north we travelled the warmer the climate became. Soon clothes were being shed and flip-flops and shorts donned. We visited Maroochydore, Mooloolaba, Yeppoon and Eungella and in the evening we checked into road side motels, caravan parks and camp sites.
Come the crisp morning and colourful dawn chorus, the van would be loaded and the day would start again. We found that travelling with the elder generation has its draw backs... incontinence dictating frequent pit stops for drainage, and progress at times is slow. Sometimes we could drive for an entire day and no more than 100 miles would fall beneath our wheels.
On our fourth day out we ventured off the Bruce Highway and took to the hills. 'There is a distinct and exciting possibility we'll see Platypus at the terminus of today’s drive,' said Jack from the rear; 'it is, after all, regarded as the numero uno location in the entire world where one may do so.' How wonderful it was to see those surprisingly small mammals at play in the creek. We watched from the bushes as they swam and dived to feed on the bottom, regarding them with quiet awe as they went about their business. The platypus, along with the echidna, is unique in the animal kingdom in being the only mammal to lay eggs. 'Listen up troops,' Jack said, clearing his throat; 'did you know that when the first explorers returned to Mother England with a sample creature, the authorities poo-poohed it, claiming it wasn't real...yar, yar, that’s right, they suspected foul play and assumed it to be a hoax...remarkable little chaps aren't they!'
After a Geetas & ham salad sandwich lunch on the sixth day of adventure, we passed a sign that read 'Welcome to Airlee'. Much vaunted as the ideal launch pad to the Whitsundays, it had for a long time been our target, the place we expected to be the highlight of the trip. That evening we found some glossy brochures in reception at our latest caravan-crammed campsite. Caravans on caravans - you see it is peak season because all the old buggers down south want to keep themselves toasty... I digress. The brochures advertised trips into the Whitsunday archipelago. Old ones put glasses on ends of noses, younger ones played hacky sac and drank beer. Old ones decided what the heck?! and booked us a three day voyage. Excitement levels climaxed.
We put to sea and bobbed up and down aboard 'Jade', a 50ft catamaran of 20 years with crewmen Frank, Darren and Gemma. Used to a more rowdy crowd the crew welcomed their latest more sedate passengers. Seeing our parents joyfully arm in arm, eyes to the stars like teenagers gearing up for the first snog, caused our hearts to swell with compassion for Annie and Michael, and Jonnie & Midge who have been happily married for over three decades.
Seas were calm for the length of the voyage, although on the third day we did have a bit of a squall which got a few of the less seaworthy members of the family up on deck, staring at the horizon praying for calm. Jade turfed us at the Marina and for the next day we swayed like drunkards as we tried to re-find our land legs. Then, it was back to the bus...
Soon we were off again with the white mini bus pointing southward. We became re-accustomed to the bus life and with lots of little stops on the way; tasting Rum at the Bundaberg distillery and watching the humpbacked Whales show off to us in all their glory at Hervey Bay, we returned to Brisbane. The last few days were difficult. Towards the end of our perfect journey together, affectionate shoulder rubbing, back patting and leg squeezing increased. We were clinging on to what we knew would be gone soon. Lumps built in throats and then, somehow -how could it be a month since we were last there?- we were back at Brisbane domestic airport and forced to say goodbye. Fathers gave last minute advice. Hugging mothers choked us with loving last words. Kate and Lizzie walked away waving. Looking back over shoulders we wondered sadly when we would see them again.. perhaps another 16 months?
With Jack there to take away the full force of this separation from the family, we banished the hurt of that ordeal and began planning the immediate future. On the 'Airtrain' back to Brisbane we asked ourselves very seriously: "What the blazes do we do now?"
Thursday, August 17, 2006: Hold your Horses
In this time of family there is little opportunity to use the internet. Campsite computers are often coin operated, slow, extortionatly priced and there is usually only one of them, which isn't terribly practical for all nine of us pencil-necked geeks to use at the same time.. So, hold your horses for our stories for they will come.
In the past few weeks we have driven in our mini bus as far north as Blowin' Bowen and today are on the outskirts of Bundaberg on our way south again. Everyone but old Clanky (brother Jack) will leave us on the 22nd of August. At that frightening point we will fall from the lip of a waterfall we have long been approaching and into a plungepool of mountainous, mind-blowingly hard work.
Thursday, August 03, 2006: Family Butterscotch
'Not this time, but good luck in the future' was the gist received in a mail from Random House. There will be no book deal just yet and to be honest we're more than slightly relieved. Backs to the wall, bank accounts in dire straits, we can now look forward to 'going down the mines' to earn the desperately-required bucks for our continuation.
We departed the Gubb residence mid-morning on the 27th July and, with welcome banner in tow, crossed the city by rail to 'Domestic Arrivals' at Brisbane airport. We arrived with five minutes to spare and the display monitor for flight J77043 already brandished, in gold letters, the word 'landed'. Realisation dawned, smacking us in the face like a bandit with a blunt instrument. Excitement and anxious palpitations of nervous intrigue and jitter raced with adrenalin-fuelled speed about our bodies - the family were here!
'Sorry mite, no can do with all that luggo you're carrying,' said Bruce Bouncer the ten ton airport security man as we attempted to broach the defense line that fed the arrival gate. 'It's all those airos, knifeos and bladeos...sorry buddo,' said Bruce. Thwarted at the last hurdle, denied access, denied entry, raped of a chance to flash our banner; we had been relegated to the luggage collection parade. I distinctly heard Bruce utter as we padded away, 'Hey, Shane, that was a close one, would have taken all day...let's get a Veggie Mite sarno.' That's just not cricket Bruce...not cricket at all.
As the camera rolled to capture our abject disappointment and sorrowful unfurling of a moribund banner, there was a sudden flurry of activity, a whooshing of air, a pounding of carpet and from the midst of a trundling crowd flew Midgie and Jack at full tilt like bowling balls knocking down skittles. Hot on their heels came Kate, Lizzie, Annie and bringing up the rear at a moderately speedy walk, bustled John and Michael.
Smiles, happiness and jubilation. After sixteen months families Mackenzie & Wylson were once again complete.
We ride aboard a 12-seater 'Toyota Commuter' and should you happen to pass our jolly wagon you'll do so to the tune of merry tooting that erupts almost endlessly from the windows. We're edging our way North up the east coast and for the time being at least are feasting daily on a diet of comfortable ease, laughs and merriment.
While Michael drives, swinging the jolly white van from side-to-side along the dusty roads, Kate attempts navigation, Midgie eagerly peels her eyes in search of the elusive koala, John sleepily nods his head back & forth, Jack spies birds, Annie dreams of villas with ensuite facilities, Lizzie doodles in her pad and we, well we just sit and grin, occasionally pinching ourselves.
These are balmy days of butterscotch sweetness, folks and long, long, long may they continue...all hail the magic of 'family'!
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