Friday came and went…blah blah…a tedious morning followed by a pretty boring afternoon…although I did manage to get slightly sunburnt on my face so every cloud and all that.
But Saturday…well…Saturday was just spectacular. Having never fired a gun, rode a dirt bike through crop fields and over a motorcross track, having never driven a harvester across a farm and having never almost flipped a quadbike, I can safely say that on Saturday I accomplished all four of these things. And it was just marvellous.
Trine and I were collected from our lodgings at 10am Saturday morning by local booze hound and regular farm-bitch, Steve. Steve is a nice guy – chatty, friendly, knows a bit about shearing sheep and dealing with wheat and crop shizz, drinks Carlton Mid Strength, enjoys country music, used to have a long ginger mullet back in the day, you know, all the stuff you’d expect from a frequent country pub reveller. We trundled the 12 or so kilometres to the farm he works on, Black Betty blaring from the car stereo, and set about our day of thrill-chasing.
First off, we collected the guns from his house, .22 rifles or something (don’t ask me to talk ‘gun-speak’ as I have zero idea about the specifics, I was just there to hopefully shoot a load of stuff), and then we made our way to the makeshift shooting range. Before our gun-toting began though, Steve took us on a little detour to see the massive tractors. And when I say massive, I mean massive. They’re those green John Deere type ones that you see on farm shows, the ones that power through acres and acres of land, reaping crops and sewing seeds; pretty impressive beasts of machines and I was keen to drive one. No such luck at this point though, old farmer Giles had taken the battery out of it to use in another tractor – money saving you see, why buy two batteries when you can utilise one? That’s farmers for ya – tight.
Anyway, after a quick jump in the cab it was on to the gun show. I’ve only ever held a rifle one or twice before and I’ve only ever seen a shot gun up close a few times, never before have I actually fired one. And never at a moving target. So when Steve said we’d be shooting kangaroos I got quite excited. Haha, just kidding, we didn’t go shooting skippys. Much to my disappointment. We just shot at a tin can. And believe it or not, I actually hit it first time. Smack bang in the centre. Pretty good for a novice.
The shooting experience was great, and with my gun-firing virginity lost we made our way back to the farm. Steve’s boss was hard at work (ahem, not doing much) when we arrived and seemed pleased to see us, so much so that he suggested I have a go on the harvester – a ruddy great big red piece of farming machinery that probably required some sort of licence to drive: “nah just get in it, go on; crank it up to third and take it for a spin down there, easy”. So I did. At about 8 miles an hour. Turns out, third gear is pretty slow, but I did feel quite powerful sat up so high, knowing I had full control over such a large vehicle. If only I could’ve ploughed through the fields, that would’ve been decent. Don’t think farmer Giles would’ve approved though – ruining crops is probably better left to the professionals.
With two activities checked off the ‘first time’ list it was on to activity three: dirtbiking! This was an unexpected treat, as I’d only assumed we’d be quadbiking, alas, old farmer Giles had his own dirt bike (he used to be quite the motorcross King in his time) and a smaller one his daughter used. Being vertically challenged, his 8 year old daughter’s bike was just the right size for me, and after a couple of practice circles of the farm I was good to go.
Farmer Giles (let’s call him Jarrod for arguments sake) led the way, speeding off ahead of us out into the fields; we eagerly followed, apprehension and nerves well and truly left at the door. We sped along the dirt paths that lined the outside of Jarrod’s farm and made our way through the crops until we reached a specially built motorcross circuit (mini competitions are held there throughout the year apparently), equipped with hills and jumps and steep tracks and the like. With my helmet firmly secured I took the plunge – riding up and down the hills and flying through the air while taking on the jumps like a pro. Well, not quite like a pro, I did slow down and proceed with caution in order to prevent inevitable injury but you get my drift. It was pretty exhilarating to say the least.
Continuing our expedition, Jarrod thought it would be a great idea to flatten and destroy a few of his wheat crops and so we meandered through the fields at high speed, the wheat almost reaching my handlebars, the dust from Jarrod’s bike blinding me and creating a lovely crunching sensation in my mouth. Eating dirt had never been so appropriate. Trying to replicate and follow the path Jarrod had created was actually quite difficult and there were a couple of squeaky bum moments as I nearly toppled the bike – falling face first into a load of wheat and having a bike fall on my head shortly after was not in my plan for the afternoon so I was glad when he finally led us back to the path and up to the farm.
Parking the bike up, adrenalin still pumping, I quickly jumped onto the quadbike to complete my day of extreme sport firsts. I circled the farm a couple of times and then went for it! Quadbikes are pretty powerful things you know, and as I rocketed at full pelt down the track towards the silos I could feel the intensity of the speed. And for a second, just for a second I thought I was about to lose control and roll the thing. Now that would’ve been a disaster of catastrophic proportions – think broken bones and possible decapitation. Luckily though I didn’t, as I’m still here to tell the story. Just.
The day was rounded off with a couple of coldies (that’s beers to you) and Steve returned us safe and sound to our temporary home. It’s not often you get to cross off shooting and extreme motor sports from your non-existent list of things to do before you die but I’m happy to say that today, I did. And who knows, I may even take up motorcross as a hobby…but then again…I probably won’t.
Chasing Amy-Lou 