Chasing Amy-Lou

Following our departure from Marvel Loch, with a triste and heavy-hearted goodbye, Trine and I arrived in Perth and went to collect our rental car – a white Toyota (yes, white…for driving on the red roads of Western Australia…hmmm…) and set off on a sunny Tuesday morning, full of vim and vigour to make our way north to Exmouth.

In super-organised Amy fashion, I’d pre-booked our hostels for the week to ensure our daily pit-stops weren’t fraught with homeless disappointment and a stoic realisation that the backseat of our Toyota would have to make for a temporary bed.

Now the road to Exmouth is long. Extremely long. Treacherously long some might say, with hundreds of km to drive, thousands of kangaroos to dodge and timely fuel top ups to negotiate in order to avoid running dry in the middle of bloody nowhere. These fuel stops were essential, so careful consideration had been given to the size of the tank, how far we could get on a full tank and where the roadhouses were located, not only to prevent embarrassing callouts to the RACV or such like, but for my weak bladder and the fact I like to drink copious amounts of coffee. Holding a pee in, or trying to hold a pee in for 200km isn’t fun, trust me…

Our first stop was The Pinnacles, a little natural wonder just outside of Perth (two hours actually but hey, it’s Australia, two hours is nothing). Driving out of the city and along Indian Ocean Drive, we could just make out the ocean, blue and inviting, peeking over the hills to our left, before we had to turn off down a dirt track to reach our destination. From an outsiders perspective, the Pinnacles look like huge phallic shaped mounds growing from the earth. And in essence, they are; in my mind all I could see were hundreds and hundreds of penis-shaped growths standing to attention, solid and erect. Excellent. Trine and I took the tourist walk around the preserved penis farm which took us about 45 minutes and to say I had a lot of fun creating silly photo opportunities, trying to find which Pinnacle looked most like a willy and giggling like a school girl would be a slight understatement. Oh the hilarity.

Next on our agenda was Kalbarri, famous for its national park and beautiful wild flowers; and with good intentions to do some arduous gorge walking, get snapped sitting in the typically popular tourist photo opportunity hotspot of Natures Window, and attempt an 8km trek, we were stealthily and readily prepared. Turns out though, we weren’t that prepared. Having underestimated how long it would actually take to drive between our chosen destinations we hadn’t left ourselves too much time to explore each area we were due to stop in. The west coast is deceivingly vast, and Western Australia being the largest state, it’s sometimes easy to forget just how much ground there is to cover. Turns out, quite a lot. We spent the night in a friendly YHA and the next morning decided to patch the 8km walk and opted for the must-do tourist selfie at Natures Window and a short cliff top amble.

We left Kalbarri kind of wishing we’d had more of a chance to explore but with no time for regrets we found ourselves bound for Shark Bay and Monkey Mia, where the wild dolphins were waiting for us! I’d heard lots about the west coast – just how beautiful it is, how much gorgeous coast line there is, how ‘west is best’, and this is true, there is an abundance of picturesque shoreline, plenty of bays and beaches to relax on, plenty of opportunity to soak up the magnificence of the Indian Ocean, and many a lookout to stop at to capture that perfect sunset photo – it’s just a shame there’s no actual coastal roads to drive on, for what we encountered as we headed further north was miles and miles of dirt, hills and dust; arid landscape with no clear views of the ocean to marvel at. Reminiscing about a trip from Cairns to Port Douglas a year or so earlier, I recalled how the view from the car had been utterly spectacular as I witnessed the Coral Sea stretch out before me, the landscape tropical and inviting, the journey pleasant and enjoyable; from Kalbarri to Monkey Mia however, we drove. And drove. And drove. And only spied the actual ocean a handful of times, witnessing it first hand with a stop off at the aptly named Shell Beach (it was a beach, with a lot of shells). So when we reached Shark Bay, full of anticipation, me especially, we were expecting something quite special.

Shark Bay is pretty, and very small. And that’s probably the most I can say about Shark Bay. Fair enough, we spent all of about an hour there (again due to our time constraints) and probably didn’t get to see everything the place had to offer, but when there doesn’t look like there’s any more than two pubs and a couple of caravan sites, we weren’t too worried that we’d missed out on anything big. In all honesty though, Shark Bay is the actual area, and the place we stopped in was Denham, a small town on the coat, and these places were probably best for laying your head to rest before heading out onto the reef, for diving or snorkelling trips, or before heading off to explore the nearest national park and surrounding areas of the Bay; so considering our budget didn’t stretch far enough to encompass any exciting sight-seeing adventure tours we were left a little disappointed. But as I said, Shark Bay is pretty…

Continuing the last leg of our journey before a well deserved two-day break, we jumped back in the car and travelled the short distance to Moneky Mia, a resort sitting at the edge of the Francois Peron National Park, and home to the famous Wild Dolphin Experience. I’d wanted to visit Monkey Mia for a while, ever since I heard you could witness rangers feeding wild dolphins as they swam close to the shore early in the morning. Rising in time to make it to the beach for feeding, the Dolphin experience was great, and it was a treat to see these creatures so close up and not in captivity; and Monkey Mia is stunningly beautiful. The beach is long and comfortable and the sea a delight to swim in, and the sunsets…oh, the sunsets! So relaxing was our stay there that I didn’t even mind getting horrifically sunburnt after five hours on the beach; I didn’t even mind when a bird decided to swoop on my porridge as I sat trying to eat my breakfast on the second morning; so beautiful and relaxing it was that I didn’t even mind falling up a wooden step in front of twenty on lookers, bashing my toe, almost ripping my toenail out and grazing my leg, blood pouring from my knee, red arse on full parade for all to see. Nope, I didn’t mind one single bit.

The final part of our roadtrip took us to Exmouth, via the extremely picturesque Coral Bay. We were to spend two nights in Exmouth and had saved some of our measly budget to spend on a slap up meal and some wine, and possibly a whale watching tour at sunset. Unfortunately for us though, the whale watching was not to be on this trip as the horrendous weather conditions (very strong winds) prevented any boats from leaving the coast. We settled therefore on steak and wine, a trip to the beach and some epic gorge walking round at Cape Range National Park.

Now, we’ve all heard the Wolf Creek story, or at least seen the film, and I for one am a very reluctant samaritan when it comes to picking up waifs and strays along deserted roads. However, upon making our way back to the hostel following one of our gorge walks, Trine and I spotted a solo biker at the edge of the national park road, waving frantically for someone to stop and help him. After initially driving by in self-centred, playing-it-safe manner, I felt a twinge of apathy and sorrow for the poor guy. So I turned around. Nervously. And drove back to where he was parked up: “Do you have any fuel on you, my bike has broken down?” said the stranger. “No, ” I replied, “but we can drive you to the nearest petrol station and bring you back here if you like?” The words just seemed to spill from my mouth without any concern for who this middle-aged gentleman might be (his name was Bruce…Bruce…I shit you not). What was I thinking? Who even was this person? What if he had a gun? What if he strangled me while I was driving and disposed of my battered and bruised body in the outback, never to be found again, to be gnawed upon by wild kangaroos…?

Turns out, Bruce was alright. He genuinely just needed some petrol for his bike. So we ferried him out of our way and after refusing his offer to buy us dinner in the town that night, we accepted a can of diet coke each as an insistent thank you and went on our way, hoping that Bruce would one day return the favour to some other poor, stranded soul…pay it forward and all that jazz. With our good deed done for the day we relaxed in leisure back at the hostel in preparation for our drive back to Perth the following morning.

 

Deciding to break the drive up a little by stopping in Kalbarri again, we embarked on our journey home at around 8am, hoping to arrive in Kalbarri around 6pm, just in time to catch the sunset. As with all roadtrips, they wouldn’t be quite so successful or complete without some little bodily indescretion, some kind of sickness, or some sort of unfortunate event that inhibited the driver from behaving in a normal and rational manner. And it was around 50 miles outside of Exmouth (50 miles away from Coral Bay) that this distressing (although looking back on it now – hilarious) setback occurred. I don’t know if it was the amount of coffee I’d consumed, or the eggs I’d eaten the previous day, but if you’ve ever heard of the phrase, ‘touching cloth’, or ‘there’s a turtle head popping out’, now would’ve been the time to apply it.

It was about an hour in either direction to the nearest toilet, and I had already begun to sweat. My arse was twitching like the curtains of a peeping Tom, my stomach making the most grotesque noises, my sphincter muscles failing in every way possible, my insides in sheer turmoil. With absolutely no way of being able to hold it in, and with an hour to go until we reached our next pit-stop, I ordered Trine to pull-over. “Do you have any tissue?” I asked in sheer melt-down capacity. “No,” was the answer I received. This was not looking good. I frantically searched my bag for a packet of tissues or wet wipes. All I could find was a used snotty rag and a map of Kalbarri National Park. They would have to do. There was no other option. I couldn’t wait. It was either get out now and take a dump at the side of the road, or shit all over the front seat of the rental car and have to deal with the consequences. I chose the first option.

Quickly pulling over at the next lay-by, I jumped from the car like a bullet from a gun, ran like a maniac to the nearest bush and let everything hang out, praying that the one tissue I had would be enough to at least clean myself to a semi-acceptable state of sanitisation.

It was in that moment, somewhere along the Minilya-Exmouth Road, squatting like a drunk at a music festival, eyes frantic, looks of both relief and horror bouncing across my face, that I lost every ounce of dignity I’d ever had.

I had just taken a shit, with no toilet roll, at the side of the road.

With my most embarrasing life-defining moment out of the way, not sure whether what had just happened was a dream or a nightmare, I jumped back in the car, laughed it off, turned up the radio and sheepishly tried to avoid all conversation while we continued on to Coral Bay. It was safe to say, I didn’t buy a coffee at this pit-stop and spent the best part of half an hour in the public toilets, trying to regain some much needed composure.

 

If shitting at the side of the road wasn’t enough, Trine and I almost ran out of fuel just outside of Kalbarri. With less than a quarter of a tank to see us a fair few kms, I had to hastily phone ahead to the hostel to inform them of our predicament; the exchange went a little like this: “Erm, hi, hello, my name’s Amy and I have a room booked with you this evening and we’re about 80kms away, just coming onto the national park road; however, we’re running out of fuel pretty quickly, so if we’re not with you within the next 2 hours, is there any chance you could send someone out with some fuel to come and rescue us? We should be ok, but, you know, just in case…?” The woman on the other end of the phone was ever so polite and reassured us we’d be ok and they would absolutely send someone to help should we run dry. In the end, we didn’t need the help. And with the air con off, the radio off, the windows up, and crawling at a speed of less than 70km/hour, we cruised into Kalbarri just as the fuel light came on. Eventful day? Just about.

 

The journey back to Perth from Kalbarri was less fraught and devoid of any bodily dysfunctions or vehicular malfunctions and we reached our destination tired, a little weary eyed, but with a sense of achievement and accomplishment. We’d covered over 1500 miles, had drank copious amounts of coffee, had seen and experienced some amazing parts of the west coast and had still managed to stay alive. If ever there was a road trip to attempt, I’d definitely recommend this one…just make sure you take some toilet paper…