By David Mayberry
Greetings Dear Reader, and let me spin you a tale. Today’s
story is about Biloela, a land of cattle and other stuff, but mostly cattle. Before
coming to Biloela, I have to admit that I was not looking forward to it much. I
mean, sure, it’d probably be amazing like the rest of this trip, but when you
see a location between Carnarvon Gorge and Heron Island where the day’s
activities are “Learn about life on a working cattle station,” and “Outback
recreation,” you’re not gonna be too thrilled. Oh boy guys, I get to write
about a cattle station! Woopee! Yeah, so you might be able to tell that there
was nothing in the way of expectations for these two days. Did they live up to
it Dear Reader? Well, I’m going to spoil the next blog entry and say that Heron
Island lived up to expectations. As for Biloela, you’ll have to read on. Yeah,
I’m a jerk like that.
Our story begins probably where the last blog post left off.
I say probably because I haven’t read the previous blog posts. You should
though, because I’m sure they’re much more informative than mine. Anyway, the
heroes of our story were last seen at Carnarvon Gorge, land of the Creeping
Kookaburra. We woke up in our tents, as usual and set about tearing the
campsite down. This time seemed to go much better than the last time, in part
because we didn’t have to worry as much about the community and food tents, but
also because we had a much better idea of how to work our Tetris Magic and fit
the tents in the teeny bags that they go in. It was all sunny and stuff and
some of the guys went shirtless as they are want to do. But then, we were done
putting stuff away, and it was time to board the bus for our 479th
and ½ several-hour long bus trip. We really have done a bunch of those. It
makes me glad I flew up to Brisbane initially for independent week just to
break the bus monotony. Onwards we went.
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| We will miss you, creeping kookaburra. |
The bus ride proved to be a rather dull one. That is, until
we stopped for a rest/lunch. At first glance, we were out in the boonies next
to a gas station. But low and behold, within this gas station they were selling
chocolate bars at 2 for $2.50. Now, that might seem pretty terrible at first, but
in Australia, for chocolate bars of that size it’s a steal. They were also
selling ice cream bars 2 for $6, which while not as good was still a decent
value. A few blocks away from the gas station, there was even a lovely park
with a playground featuring a hollow rocket ship which was tragically closed, a
small zipline, one of those rope jungle gyms that are really awesome, and
swings. It was a wonderful time for all involved as we played a bit on that
playground. I was sad to see it go, but after more monotonous bussing we
arrived in Biloela. It was a small town that we didn’t get much time to look
at, because we drove right though it on our way to our actual stop 30km outside
of Biloela, Kroombit. With a name like that, you have to remember that it’s pronounced,
Krom-Bit, not Kroom-Bit. Or so I hear. But yes, our bus pulled up to what was
the dudeiest of dude ranches to ever dude dudeiness and dudes dude. People wore
hats and bandanas and it looked like the old west except we were in a bit of a
forest and there was a bit less dust, and because we were on the east coast of
Australia.
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| Yup, that screams "Wild West" to me. |
As we got off the bus we were directed to our rooms by a
friendly lady in hat and bandana to our rooms, located in log cabin-type
housing. The beds were comfy and the group split into small gender groups to
decide who slept with whom. Standard procedure at this point for our group. Deciding
to go for a wander, I looked around our new home for the next few days and
observed what was there. The main dining area was an open-walled shack, called
“The Shack”. The floor was made of dust. Past The Shack there was a gift shop,
then a volleyball court next to a pool. It was an odd transition. Some people
went to check out the pool, including myself, and it seemed cold to me. Other
people ended up swimming in it later, and it was probably refreshing. There was
also an outdoor bar area next to the gift shop, which a number of our group
quickly found themselves entering. To get in, you had to push through two
saloon-style doors like one would expect, except they were hanging from 2 trees
and you could just walk around them and ignore any sense of playing the part
and submerging yourself in the atmosphere. I went through the doors once, and
then walked around them subsequently. It turns out that the doors were kind of
heavy or just rather difficult to get open without some force applied. I’m
surprised more saloon doors in Westerns don’t slam back into the guy who just
barged through them. Maybe the guys in Westerns rush through the doors fast
enough to dodge the back swing. All in all, first glance was a resounding,
“Alrightish” on the thrill-O-meter, with a definite yearning to go back to the
playground from earlier.
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| Pictured: The black dog named "Puppy." Not pictured: The brown dog named "Dog." |
Upon entering the bar, one often noticed that the prices set
up were listed for both “Ringers” and “City slickers” with Ringers having a
discount. To be a Ringer, one needed to wear a cowboy hat and bandana. So began
attempts from our group to locate hats and bandanas among our possessions,
because that’s how it goes. (Fun fact: a “Ringer” is the Australian equivalent
to a cowboy. You don’t call them Cowboys at all.) We, being the group that we
are, started up a poker game, because really, what else were we gonna do?
Things were different this time around. Some of the players, having discerned
my primary goal of obtaining all of the different colors of chip rather than
winning the whole game, decided to do use a strategy I like to call, “Being
rude”. Basically, instead of playing nice and normally, some players
deliberately folded early on before they had to put chips in the pot
specifically to ruin my day. I’m not making this up; they actually said that
they were doing this to mess with me. And while they mocked my differing poker
mindset I plotted my vengeance upon their evil ways. And I knew that poker
would never be fun again, not while they were still playing.
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| Pictured: Some of the faces of pure evil, not including the ringer in the background. He was cool. |
Also in the bar area was a large metal can that acted like a
recycling bin for cans. There was a sort of fun challenge to throw your empty
soda/beer can into the big can for glory. We’ll come back to that. There was
also a gong above the bar that you could try to launch champagne corks at in
order to succeed at something. I believe that you got the bottle free if you
hit the gong with the cork, but I didn’t see it successfully done. Also, you
could throw your wine bottles into a chamber to try and break them. No prize,
but very cathartic. Also, there was an inflatable mechanical bull pen in the
bar area. We’ll get to that later. After a long afternoon of poker with pricks,
dinner began. Soup and such was served first, but many of us were still hanging
out in the bar area and were thus a bit late for that. The server was very
gruff, and did not improve my mood at all. Then we had the main course, some
meat and veggies. As we went down the line of servers with food I obtained meat
and potatoes as I like to do. When I got to the end of the line of servers,
there were two things left, pumpkin and green beans. The man serving asked me
if I wanted pumpkin, to which I said no, as I don’t like pumpkin. He talked
about how it was grown here, but I insisted that he not give me any. When I
moved over to the green beans station and repeated my not wanting any, the
server put some on my plate anyway. I walked back to my seat at one of the long
tables in The Shack, cursing that man and the gruff server from before. I know
what you’re thinking at this point, Dear Reader. “But David, it’s just green
beans! Veggies don’t hurt, right? You eat some vegetables.” Well, yes, I do eat
some vegetables. But let me tell you, among those veggies that I have found to
be the most repulsive and disgusting things I have consumed, green beans are
pretty high up the list. Specifically, canned green beans that have the texture
of Styrofoam and squeak like it when you chew them. The repulsive liquid that
they spend their canned life in doesn’t help, sucking out any flavor the beans
might have had in favor of nothing but sadness. I tried to eat some of the
beans. They squeaked like Styrofoam and had the taste of sadness. Their
presence in my mouth made me want to vomit. In the end, I couldn’t eat them
all, and the ones that I could stomach hurt me on some deep level. But hey,
they’re just vegetables, right? They’re harmless. They weren’t.
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| The faces of those who have not just suffered. |
So after a day of travel, arriving at what seemed to be a
rather dull place, an afternoon of poker with players who deliberately screwed
with me for the funzies, and a gruff server and a guy who forced what tasted
like canned green beans upon me, what happened next was only natural. My mind
wandered, it found a dark place, and life was a nightmare. I saw visions of
home in front of me. I looked around, and my brain knew that there was only
happiness back home, not in this horrid land. I looked around and saw strange
people that I was forced to stay with and talk to because everyone that I held
close was across an ocean, playing and talking and interacting with each other,
having a good time without me. My mind took all this in and presented me with a
thought, the only one I could think at the time: My friends are getting by,
thriving even, without me. Do they even notice me being gone anymore? Surely
they’ve filled in the void left by my presence by other things, like my other
friends. I mean, didn’t I remember that improv show video I watched a few weeks
back? My friends were putting on a hilarious show, one that made me laugh much
more than I ever have during a show I was in. Did anyone still need me (Outside
of my family of course, although they did get a new dog while I was gone…)? Bad
thoughts turned to worse, feelings of inadequacy and loneliness set in, and I
started to drown in my despair. All around me was the sound of people talking,
enjoying themselves, enjoying life. How were they able to do that? How was it
possible? I was stuck, feeling homesick and crushing darkness weighing me down,
until something happened.
Newton’s first law states that an object in motion stays in
motion until acted upon by another force. My mind was sinking down farther and
farther, and it wasn’t likely that I was going to be able to pull myself out of
it until I was able to sleep or something. But then an outside force by the
name of Julie, our alumni assistant to our faculty trip leader, arrived to ask
me what was wrong. Most people, when asked what’s wrong at any given moment,
will reply with a firmly stated “Nothing”. Others try to avoid the question in
other ways and still others actually describe their problems, often in too much
detail. I don’t remember the exact transcript of the conversation, but I’m
reasonably certain it had an “Oh, you know…” somewhere in the beginning. I told
about my homesickness, I described my rather confusing mental state, I talked
about my feelings of isolation, I elaborated on the lack of hugs on this
freaking trip. I was either crying a bit beforehand, or I started somewhere in
the middle of my talking to Julie, but there were definitely tears. And after
all was said and done, there were some inspiring words and a hug or two and a
reminder that people in our group don’t hate me, even when they were pricks in
poker, but actually thought I was a funny and friendly person. Eventually, the
homesickness went away, at least for the moment, and it was time to continue
the evening, because this was still only the first night of two at Kroombit,
and stuff was about to go down.
Following dinner was a sort of party in the bar area, during
which our group and some of the many other people staying at Kroombit
interacted and engaged in ringer activities. Before that, the head of the
cattle ranch came up and gave a talk to the other group of guests that we would
later hear the second night. I didn’t listen too much, but there was definitely
a short lesson on what Echidnas were and why they were special. I did try to
hear the rest, I swear, but he was talking to other group and not us and
outdoor acoustics suck. After he talked, he demonstrated his skill in cracking
a whip, which he described as being pretty simple (Fun fact: the crack of a
whip has nothing to do with the whip, but is actually the sonic boom created
when the whip-tip moves really quickly around). Then, the other group was led
away to engage in some whip-cracking while our group had nothing to do. Being
us, some of the fellows started to engage in arm wrestling. It was a sight
watching liberal arts majors heave their arm muscles for glory, but it’s never
been my thing. Therefore, I soon joined the shenanigans, and it turned out that
I wasn’t a complete pushover. In fact, when it comes to arm-wrestling, not
being a pushover is about the only thing I can do sort of well. Having an arm
comprised mostly of bone and skin probably helps with the sturdiness, but I was
able to hold my own in preventing either side from gaining an advantage while
arm-wrestling. The one problem was winning matches, something that I’ve never
really learned, so there was a lot of standoffs that didn’t go anywhere fast.
All in all, ‘twas a fun diversion.
Soon enough, other people outside our group joined in and
things got to be about the same as they were. Following the whip cracking was
some bush dancing, aka line dancing, because it was about the same as the line
dancing I learned in middle school. The guy leading the group would demonstrate
steps, and the other dancers would attempt to follow. With half of the
backpackers being drunk, it was a mixed bag. I joined in for the last of the
dances, and it proved to be pretty freaking easy after a couple repetitions.
Good times all around. After that was bull riding, which I didn’t pay much
attention to as it was only done by people in the other tourist groups. I was
too busy occupied with throwing cans in the can. You see, I had been spending
the entire evening throwing cans at the can only to miss each time. Anytime one
of our group members finished a can of a drink, I’d obtain the can, go behind
the marked line, line up a throw, toss the can, and it went in one of two
directions: in line with the can, but not quite far enough, or far enough to
get in the can, but just a bit to the left of it. It proved to be a task I
could latch onto and keep trying over and over. The problem was that I was
limited in the number of cans I could throw, since you weren’t allowed to pick
up missed cans from around the big can and throw them again. I kept thinking to
myself “It’s just a physics problem, there has to be a solution.” That solution
did not present itself to me that night, and I eventually retired to the room
and slept. The beds were actually quite comfy, much better than the too short
and back pain-causing cots that we slept on at Carnarvon.
I was tragically woken up in the morning by the sounds
children talking to each other. It was some small British sounding kids hanging
out. I’m sure they must have been adorable, but I kind of hated them a little
at the time. Attempts to return to sleep were thwarted by the girls next door
waking up and beginning to talk, their voices projecting through the thin log
wall and invading my ears. By that point, the other guys in my room had woken
up, and being the mature and sensible people that they were, decided to protest
the loud voices by farting really loudly at them, because farts are funny or
something. How I did not descend into madness at that point is something I will
never know.
After… that, it was time to begin the day with a nice
breakfast, now that the other groups of tourists had left to go tour other
places or something. The food was good, and we were keen to begin the day’s
adventures. We started off the morning by hopping into the back of a truck and
a ute (aka pickup) so that the leader of the ranch and one of the other workers
could give us a tour of the countryside and tell us about things. Our first
stop on the tour was at the recently constructed sanitation facility for
recycling water and such. That was all well and go-PUPPIES!!!
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| And here you thought there weren't going to be any more photos in this blog post. |
Indeed, next to the sanitary facility was a pen with PUPPIES!!!
in it. These puppies were eventually going to grow up and become big white
guard dogs to protect the ranch’s goats. At this stage though, they were cute
and fluffy and wonderful. Having received a good dose of aaawwwwwwww, we carried on
with the tour. We were taught about invasive grasses, about some lovely ferns,
about cattle theft, where brands needed to be placed on cattle for effective
money-making, bottle trees, fossils, and other things about ranch life. It was
all very informative.
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| A bottle tree. Not pictured: Other stuff. |
We arrived back at the ranch, ready for lunch. After lunch,
we were presented with a choice. Yueping, our illustrious faculty leader had
paid for the group to go out horseback riding and goat mustering. It promised
to be a fun and exciting trip on horseback. Julie and I were the only ones to
say no thanks. I don’t know why Julie said no, but I’ve ridden horses before
and it really didn’t sound too thrilling. Plus, after an incident in my
childhood I have a deep-ridden hatred of goats. So I didn’t go horseback
riding. Apparently it was nice, slow walking, with some nice views. I have no
idea about the goat-mustering, nor did I really care all that much. While they
were gone, I had played a bit of cards with Julie, and learned once again that
trying to teach the game Village Idiot to someone one on one just never worked
out. Golf was received much more favorably, and we played a fair bit of that.
Julie then went swimming. I forgot what I did at the time, but it was probably
monotonous. When the group got back, there was an additional opportunity to do
an activity, in this case, shooting at targets. I decided not to do it because
it was kind of expensive, but a handful of people went. Apparently they were
shooting actual shotguns at targets. Coby got the best score, hitting four out
of five targets, so good job him. Yet again after that, it was time for dinner
once more. It was much quieter this time since the other tourists had left. The
gruff server seemed a bit less gruff, and nobody placed unwanted vegetables on
my plate, so all in all, it was much better than the first night. Towards the
end of dinner, Yueping announced that she would pay for all of us to get a
chance to ride the mechanical bull, because it’s something fun to do.
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| That's our Yueping! |
Everyone in the group agreed to give it a try, including
myself, because sure, why not? I mean, what could go wrong?
At this point I should give you an update of how my quest to
throw a can into the can was going. It was going poorly. No matter how I threw
the can, it always continued to end up in the same spots next to the can. I was
getting rather frustrated at this point, since it should be an easy physics
problem and other people had managed it with ease. Throughout the night, I
tried, again and again and again. It got to the point where me and some of the
others in the group decided to screw the rules and just picked up the missed
cans by the target can and just keep throwing them at the can. I threw
something akin to 50 cans over those two days. I kept trying and trying,
getting angrier with each failed toss. Finally, one that I threw went in. I
breathed a sigh of relief and felt a tiny sense of accomplishment when I
realized that I had spent close to 2 days throwing cans at a can and had only
succeeded once. There was no taste of victory after that.
But anyway, we were then told the same talk by the ranch
head that he had told to the other group the day before. It was full of fun
facts about the area, some that we had learned that morning, along with other
things like some basic echidna facts that I had known for years (Fun fact:
Echidnas are monotremes, the group of mammals that lays eggs. They share that
group with only the platypus). After the talk, it was time for whip cracking,
and we were lead over to an area where we could try our hand at whip cracking.
Groups of four or five of us would stand on stumps away from each other and
each participant would be handed a whip to try cracking (After putting on eye
protection of course. That’s the only part of the body that the whips can
actually injure). The first few groups proved to be quite competent at whipping
after trying a few times, and soon the night was filled with mini sonic booms
all around. After successfully cracking the whip with their dominant hand, a
participant would be asked to try it in their other hand, and if that proved to
be a simple task, they would be given another whip to try cracking two at once.
I received my whip thinking, “Man, this is gonna suck.” The first few tries
supported my initial thought, as I ended up whipping myself several times in
the foot, leg, and on the hand holding the whip, a feat that confuses me still.
Eventually though, something clicked, or rather, cracked. To my good fortune,
it was the whip that cracked and not some vital part of me, and after a few
more tries the motions began to come together. I had discovered a rhythm of
sorts to whip cracking, a beat that fit the up and down motions involved. Soon after
I was instructed to switch over to my right hand (Lefty power!). This proved to
be difficult at first, as I wasn’t used to using my right arm, but soon enough
the pattern became similar and the beat returned. I was then given two long
whips. This proved to be even more difficult than the last change, as success
required both whips to crack together. The angle of your whipping was also
important, and I managed to whip myself on the back with both whips at one
point. Soon enough, the rhythm returned, and cracks were sounding. It actually
became rather simple after a bit of practice, and though the cracks did not
seem loud to me, others in the group reported that I was making some serious
noise. So good times all around for whip-cracking. Even Yueping eventually got
the crack to happen, though it took a fair bit of time.
It was then time for dancing, except this time with only our
group. We did a number of different line dances and they were all really easy
to do. It really did remind me of middle school PE, what with the dancing and
some moves being shared. I think our dance instructor at the ranch was a bit
drunk himself, at least when he taught only our group.
Then, finally, after all the waiting and other activities it
was time. It was time for the mechanical bull riding to happen. The pen was
inflated, lights were turned on, and the final activity presented itself.
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| Let's get ready to ruuuuuuuuuuummmmmmbuuuuuulllll! (Sorry, couldn't resist.) |
One at a time, everybody in the group removed their socks
and shoes, along with anything in our pockets and any corrective lenses, and
awkwardly flopped across the bouncy pen over to the bull. It was probably made
of plastic, had no horns, and had glowing red LED lights for eyes. It looked pretty
silly. The rules for bull riding are pretty simple: you must wear a hat and
bandana along with some dorky ringer chaps while on the bull, you sit on the
bull and hold onto a tiny rope on the back with one hand, and keep your other
hand off the bull and your hat at all times. Each round lasts 8 seconds, and if
you make it through the first two rounds you get to wait till everybody else
has done their tries at the first two before you and anybody else who made it
can try round three and maybe higher. Yueping offered a small reward to whoever
rode it the longest.
As the riding began, some proved to be up to the challenge.
Among them was Justin G., the apparent Glowdeo bull-riding champ back at
campus, or at least I heard. He made it past the first two rounds with ease, so
I don’t doubt the statement. Others proved to not be up to the challenge, but
their runs were probably funnier than the victorious runs. I was one of the
last to go, and soon enough, it was my turn. I slowly removed my personal
belongings, donned the chaps, hat, and bandana, and prepared to do battle with
the physics-filled mechanical representation of a particularly stubborn animal.
As I approached it, nervousness filled my gut. Everybody in the group was
cheering, waiting to see me show my stuff. Could I do it? In my head, I saw
visions of me holding on for dear life, fighting to the last. I could do this.
I had seen other people in round 1. Round 1 was the easy one. I could do it.
Others may have failed, but I could do it.
I clambered on top of the bull with ease, unlike some of the
more height-challenged people in the group. I could do this. The bull had some
leather sidings to give it some texture. If I reached my legs forward I could
probably wrap them around the front, which would likely be against the rules. I
took hold of the tiny rope. At first glance you’d think to hold on with your
dominant hand. However, your dominant hand also probably works better as a
balancing hand, so I decided to use my right hand to hold on, hoping for the best.
And then, it was time. I took a breath, adjusted my cowboy hat and signaled my
readiness. It was time to go. And then, the bull began moving. This was not a
feeling I was familiar with, and immediately I was working to try and stay on.
It’s turning too fast, grip is slipping, don’t overcompensate, need to loosen
up, right hand was not good ide-
*thump*
I fell off at the tail end of round 1, lying on my back with
my legs propped up on the bull. It kind of sucked. I felt a fair bit of pain,
but it wasn’t that bad. I shook off the chaps and made my way out of the pen
and retrieved my shoes. I had failed. Not just riding the bull, that wasn’t so
bad, but I felt as if I had failed to live up to my own expectations. I had
disappointed myself. Others said “Good job,” and such, but I didn’t feel all
that good. I sat down and thought for a bit. What went wrong? For one thing,
left hand>right hand for holding on. There had to be some other way to
improve. I could at least have fallen off in a spectacular fashion like some
people had.
Regardless, my one chance to turn out to be somehow good at
bull-riding and I wasted it. Alas. With the initial rounds over, it was time
for the people who actually could do this sort of thing to keep going. In the
end, Coby ended up lasting the longest, so good on him. With the actual
competitive part over, the people running the bull-riding presented us with a
question: “Who wants another go?”
I was very surprised to find myself firmly raising my hand.
Cheering started soon after, and my legs carried me back to the pen. This time,
we didn’t have to waste time with the chaps, but I donned the hat and bandana
anyway, and strode over to the bull, hopping on with no hesitation. I could do
this. This time, success would be mine. And I’d make sure to hold on to the
tiny rope with my left hand. You have to slide up on the bull to keep the rope
in what is essentially your crotch area to keep it near your center of gravity,
and I did so. A hat adjustment and I was ready. The man running the bull asked
what round I had fallen off in, and I said round 1. He told me that he was
going to set the bull for round 2. Alright, I could still do this, I knew what
to expect. The bull started, I held on tight, grip was steel, hand was
slipping, falling sideways, gotta hang o-
*thump*
Well, that didn’t go well. Once again, still no amusing
dismount, but it had to work to get me off. There was a lot more pain this time
around, in both hand and inner leg areas. I struggled to my feet and made my
way out again, once more feeling the disappointment. I sat down at a table and
expressed my frustration by sighing. Others mentioned that it was good enough
that I tried again, but after a few more people had gone, something reignited
inside me, and I made my way to the pen once more. This time, we would make it
past a round. This time, we were going to succeed, and this bull wouldn’t stop
us. Hat and bandana on, shoes off, on the bull, left hand gripping the rope, hat
adjustment, round 2 again. Go. Holding on, falling to side, holding on,
readjust, falling more, gotta keep goin-
*thump*
Le sigh. Curses, this just isn’t worki- oh, we made the 8
seconds before falling off? Yay. Round 3, let’s go! We got this. Just hold on
for dear life again. Hat adjust, start it up. Hold on, hold on, falling, DON’T
LET GO, aaaararrarararaarrggghhhhh-
*thump*
Hmm. In addition to even more pain in legs and hand, there
appears to be back pain as well. I made my way back to the picnic table and
sighed. Encouraging words are said. At this point, I’m reasonably certain I was
getting kind of crazy. I kept on mumbling, “I can do it, I can keep going” over
and over, leaving my companions wondering what I was trying to prove. I had no
answer for them, just the assurance that I could do it. I had passed round 2, I
could keep going, I was ready again, and I entered the pen once more. I can do
this, I can do this, I will do this and this bull won’t stop me, I’m tougher
than it, it’s made of metal and plastic and leather, I have the stubbornness to
do it. I hop on, adjust my hat and go. The ride goes well, until it spins in an
unexpected way, tossing me around the front of it.
*thump*
I hop back on immediately, I can keep going, and this pain
is nothing. Hop on, hat adjust, go, going well, unexpected spin again, how do I
deal with thi-
*thump*
I lie there for a bit, pondering. I get back up and Yueping
tells me that I should stop. I begrudgingly accept and exit the pen. My hand is
burning, my legs are in great pain (and bruised as I soon found out), and my
back is sore, but I know that I could have hopped back on and kept going as
long as it took to beat it. It’s only because of the others being concerned
that I stopped. As I put on my shoes once more, I wondered to myself just what
I had been doing. Why the heck was I trying to ride the bull that much? There
was no longer a reward to be earned, I had improved my standing and done better
than a lot of others, yet I still felt compelled to try. What the heck was
wrong with me? I had accomplished my goal of throwing a can into the can, I was
too good for bush dancing, and whips came naturally. Maybe I wanted to be good
at all of the things? But why would that be?
Eh, maybe I am way too stubborn for my own good. But I at
least proved to be much more stubborn than that mechanical bull, so that
counted. People started heading to bed, while others in the group went back to
cracking whips. As for myself, I bought another can of Coke™ and, after
drinking it, went over to the big can and lined up a shot to summarize this
chapter of the trip. One last try to get an actual legitimate shot at throwing
a can into the can. I prepared my shot, wound up, and let fly.
It missed.
 |
| BABY WALLABY DAAAAAAWWWW |
After sleeping and grabbing bags in the morning, it was off
to bus to Heron Island. Yay!
