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Fruit Picker
Melbourne
Great Ocean Road

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Leaving Sydney in our rear view mirror, we head South on the inland highway - passing Canberra rapidly (rude, but it really isn't worth visiting).

Tom Plum, Iso and I are heading for a small town near Sheperton, in the heart of Victorias fruit growing district - our mission, to visit, and surprise our good mate Phil Brown. Phil believes his friend from back home, Tom, has headed to Brisbane.

Our journey takes two days instead of one long one as we find ourselves behind a queue of parked lorries on the highway. Now, as they've kindly left the right lane empty, we decide to continue on past them - cautiously at first - for another five kilometres or so.  At this point, we pull up behind a few cars who've done the same thing and discover that the hold-up is due to a bush fire up ahead caused by a hay truck with a load that is ablaze.

We further discover that hay blazes are the worst kind - the dry hay does not absorb water and burns from within so the fire trucks (around eight of them) are still fighting the flames after three hours.

Fortunately we only wait an hour or so - during which time it gets dark - before we're waved through - passing a ten kilometre scene from Armageddon.  The hay truck is a mangled wreck (still on fire) and in its wake has left both sides of the road torched and tree trunks glowing orange in the darkness. An eerie sight.

We stop for dinner. Tom orders the lard-arse steak and chips which weighs in at around two kilos - and eats the lot.  We're impressed, he's in pain.

We check in to a pub hotel, tired and relieved to be within a couple of hundred kilometres of our destination.  A few after hours beers and quick gamble on the pokies sees us ready for bed and we ascend to our rooms in what must rate as the Worlds' most nerve wracking lift - an all wood and brass number with twanging cables that scrapes up its shaft.

Tom, having laughed at our being locked out of our room in Sydney the night before, sheepishly tells us that he has suffered a similar fate:

Rising around 3am to visit the shared toilets, he wraps a towel around himself and wanders into the hallway. He leaves the door ajar but, to his dismay, he hears the click as it shuts behind him. Of course there are no staff around, and no laundry rooms to bed down in in sight... He sleeps on a half sofa, in his towel - scaring the bejeez out of the cleaners in the morning no doubt.

Still chuckling, we head for Sheperton.

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