We Ll Be Round in About an Hour, So Be Ready, Allright? Said Jonesy Over the Phone

The original idea was simple enough. Drive to Tauranga to see a friend. Jonesy and I would buy the gas for Jonesy’s clapped-out Toyota while Warwick would supply some light refreshments – in other words, eight dozen beer.

‘We’ll be round in about an hour, so be ready, allright?’ said Jonesy over the phone.

‘Yeah, yeah, okay,’ I replied, even though there was a small part of me wondering just how much all this excitement and adventure was going to cost me.

‘Are you sure that thing will make it?’ inquired Dad, looking over Jonesy’s pride and joy. But, before I could reply, he started in with his usual fatherly advice. ‘Don’t get too pissed, take it easy and don’t kill yourselves.’

‘Yeah, righto Dad,’ I said as I squeezed myself into the back seat. Jonesy fired his Toyota into life and we were gone.

First stop was the bottle store.

‘Why don’t you buy a bigger car?’ suggested Warwick as he tried to jam himself and eight dozen cans of Steinlager into the front seat of the Toyota.

‘Why don’t you buy one for me?’ said Jonesy.

‘Why don’t you put some of those lagers in the back here with me?’ I said.

‘Why don’t you just shut up?’ shouted Warwick, who by this time was getting pretty slacked off at not being able to position himself and the beers comfortably.

We hit the road with five dozen on the back seat with me and the other three in the front with Warwick.

‘Give me a beer!’ said Jonesy.

‘Get stuffed, mate. You’re driving,’ said Warwick.

‘Yeah man, you’re our lifesaver,’ I said as Warwick and I crashed our cans together.

A few minutes later we were approaching the other side of Bell Block, when we spotted a hitch-hiker.’

‘We’ll pick him up, eh?’ said Jonesy.

‘Na, stuff him,’ I said.

‘Yeah man, pick him up!’ enthused Warwick.

We slowed down from seventy k’s to zero in about three seconds and pulled up on the side of the highway, nearly running the poor bugger over. Jonesy’s driving was never really dangerous; it was just unsafe.

‘Where ya going?’ asked Warwick, leaning out the window, a can in each hand.

‘Umm …. Te Kuiti,’ said the hitch-hiker.’

’Yeah, we’re going to Tauranga mate. Jump in!’

‘Okay. Thanks,’ he said. Although he tried to appear grateful, I could tell he was nervous as hell.

I made room for him on the back seat and he’d barely got his foot in the door when Jonesy dropped the clutch. With a roar of flying gravel we were back on the road.

‘Ya wanna beer?’ said Warwick.

‘Na, no thanks,’ the kid said.

‘What are ya? Bloody pregnant?’ said Warwick.

‘Eh?’ said the kid, his eyes bulging like the hubcaps of a ’61 Volkswagen.

‘Well you’re not driving, so you must be pregnant,’ said Warwick.

The kid was now so totally confused, he was looking at me for the answer.

‘He means what’s your excuse for not wanting a beer, mate,’ I said, trying to throw some light on the subject.

‘Oh, I see, um, well, I don’t drink,’ he said.

‘What!’ we all gasped.

‘Um, I don’t drink. I’m not allowed to.’

‘Not allowed to?’ we all said together again.

‘No, I’m a Mormon,’ said the kid.

An uncomfortable hush settled on the four occupants of the car.

‘Nothing to be proud of, mate,’ I said. ‘I mean Jonesy’s a faggot, but he doesn’t let it stop him having a good time.’

‘Hey I bloody am not!’

This statement was intended to lighten the situation, but it didn’t quite work.

‘I think its okay for a man to be gay,’ said the hitch-hiker.

‘Aw, Jesus. Don’t tell me you’re a faggot as well as a Christian,’ said Warwick.

‘No, not me personally, but I know a couple of gays and they’re all right.’

‘All right!? All right!!!?’ shouted Warwick. ‘Shit mate, you must be in a bad way if you think that poofters have a right to live. When’s the last time you did anything with a woman?’

‘Like what?’

‘Aw … forget it!’

We were now approaching Waitara. Jonesy turned up the volume on the stereo and let Iron Maiden attack our ear drums. Any chance of conversation was instantly eliminated. Probably safer that way.

‘Excuse me. Um … Excuse me!!!’

By some miracle, Jonesy hears the kid’s pleas for attention over the chorus to ‘Run to the Hills’.

‘Yeah, what?’

‘Um .. I was wondering if you could perhaps drop me off?’

‘But we only just picked you up’.

‘Yeah, what’s your problem, man,’ said Warwick. ‘You nervous or something?’

‘No, it’s just that I need to go back home and get something.’

‘Like what? What’d ya forget?’

‘My Bible.’

‘Probably needs to go check his underpants too,’ I said, once we were back on the road again.

‘Yeah,’ said Jonesy, ‘probably the most terrifying experience he’s had in his life and it didn’t even last half an hour.’

‘No wonder the world’s in a bad way with idiots like him running around,’ said Warwick, who by this time was on his fourth can of beer.

‘Throw me a beer, you ugly bastard!’ I yelled at him.

Warwick grabs a can, shakes it and throws it at me. When I open it, the beer froths wildly out of the can, going all over me, the seat, the lot.’

‘You prick.’

We were now being followed by a red Laser containing two girls.

‘Oh, no, look at these guys.’

‘Great. Just get past them as soon as you can’.

‘Aw, look at that one in the back, trying to prove he’s a man by drinking beer.’

‘Yeah, what a drongo.’

‘Those are the kind of pricks that cause accidents’.

‘I reckon.’

‘The driver looks all right. The other one’s a bit of a dog though,’ I said, informing Jonesy and Warwick of the ‘Babe Factor’ rating of the two females behind us.

‘Great. Looks like we’re stuck behind them till we get over Mount Messenger.’

‘What are they doing?’ said Jonesy.

‘They’re pretending to ignore us,’ I said.

‘You should be used to that,’ said Warwick.

‘Get stuffed,’ I said.

‘Choice. Road works,’ said Warwick.

‘Man, as if this road isn’t enough of a prick as it is. Now they have to go and dig the bastard up,’ said Jonesy as we joined a long queue of cars waiting for the STOP/GO man to do his thing.

‘That would be a cruisy job,’ said Warwick as he looked with envy at the guy holding the STOP/GO sign, ‘especially on a sunny day.’

‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘just stand there with your walkie-talkie stop, go, stop, go. I could handle that.’

‘Wonder what the pay’s like?’ said Jonesy.

‘How are those women?’ said Warwick.

‘Still there,’ I said, ‘still ignoring us.’

‘Go let down their tyres,’ said Jonesy,’ see if they ignore you then.’

‘Way you go then,’ I said.

‘Doubt it man, I’m driving.’

‘Na, that’s a stupid idea anyway,’ I said. ‘We’ll think of something to get their attention.’ Then, ‘does Dean know we’re coming?’ I asked Jonesy.

‘Na,’ said Jonesy.

‘So we’re just going to turn up?’

‘Yep.’

‘Where’re we going to sleep?’

‘Yeah?’ said Warwick, sharing my concern.

‘No worried. Dean’s aunty will put us up’.

‘Shit, I hope so. It’s all your fault if she doesn’t, Jones. This was your idea, remember. If we freeze to death overnight from having to sleep on some beech, I’ll bloody kill you. Yeah.’

Finally, the STOP/GO man turned his sign to ‘GO’ and the traffic started moving.

‘Give the STOP/GO guy a beer,’ said Warwick, handing a can to Jonesy.

The STOP/GO guy was a big Samoan dude and his face lit up instantly.

‘Hey choice, bro,’ he said as Jonesy handed him the can.

‘Are those females still behind us?’ asked Warwick once we were back up to are reasonable speed.

‘Well where the hell else would they be?’ I answered him.

We’re now in a long line of vehicles snaking its way up Mount Messenger. As soon as we get over it and start going down the other side, the race will be on to get in front of every other car.

‘Come on, shithead.’

We’re sitting behind a Commodore station wagon with a young family in it. There’s a couple of kids in the back, one boy, one girl, both aged about seven. Warwick’s giving them the fingers and they’re giving it straight back to him.

‘Now, ‘ said Warwick, ‘do it.’

We lurch out from behind the Commodore and then have to squeeze in between it and a Telstar. There’s no room to spare, so the Commodore has to brake heavily to avoid us, while we’re so close to the car in front I can almost read the ‘Made in Japan’ stamp on its tail-lights.

‘God, Lorraine, did you see that?’

‘Yeah, what a pack of morons man.’

After repeating this sequence about three or four times, we’re pretty much in front. The Laser with the girls in is gone.

‘Well, those females are history,’ I say, looking back.

‘They’ll catch up,’ said Jonesy.

‘Not the way you drive they won’t,’ I say as we take a 45 k corner at 90 k’s.

After about another twenty minutes of driving, Warwick wants to go for a leak. We pull up in a rest area and Warwick and I both leap out.

‘Make it snappy too, assholes,’ says Jonesy.

When I’ve finished utilising a nearby tree, I look back towards the road.

‘Hey there’s that Laser!’ I yell out.

‘What Laser?’ says Jonesy, getting out of the car for a better look down the road.

‘That one with the women in it,’ I say, zipping myself up.

‘All right we’re out of here,’ says Jonesy, clambering back into the Toyota. Warwick’s still pissing on sign that reads ‘PLEASE RESPECT OUR NATURAL RESOURCES,’ totally oblivious to everything.

‘Come on, dickhead,’ shouts Jonesy, ‘get in the car.’

‘What?’

‘Get in!! Those females just went past.’

By this time, the Telstar and the Commodore have also gone past.

‘Aw man, I’ve still got gallons to go yet,’ says Warwick, realising that it is near impossible to stop in mid-leak.

‘Forget it. Save it till later,’ says Jonesy.

By some miracle, Warwick manages to hold back the flood and runs over to the car, looking very uncomfortable.

‘These chicks better be worth it,’ he says, struggling with his seatbelt.

It doesn’t take us long to catch up with the lines of cars. The Commodore with the kids in it is at the rear and Warwick continues giving the kids in the back the fingers. The kids are laughing and having a great time, until their father notices what’s going on and pulls over to let us past. Warwick rolls down the window and gives him a big smile and wave. The father is not impressed and gives Warwick a real filthy look. Warwick just keeps waving and smiling.

We get around the next corner and we’re at the top of a steep hill. Jonesy pulls out from behind the Telstar.

‘Oh, yes, the dickheads are back.’

‘Cherie, what are you doing?’

‘Hey you slut,’ says Jonesy as the Laser begins to pull away from him.

‘Did she put her foot down?’ I say, leaning into the front of the car.

‘Yeah man, what a Nazi.’

‘Get her, man. She’s only got a 1300,’ says Warwick.

By this time the front of the Toyota is about level with the front door on the Laser. We’re doing 130 k’s down a very steep hill and there’s a narrow bridge at the bottom.

‘Stop it, Cherie. You’ll cause an accident.’

‘Oooh, it’s going to be close, mate, and that bridge ain’t gonna move for ya,’ I yell, giving Jonesy a vote of confidence.

‘We’ll be right,’ he says.

‘Better hope we don’t meet a truck on that bridge,’ says Warwick.

Then, as if on cue, a huge Volvo appears from round the corner.

‘Shit!!’

No matter what we do, we’re going to meet this truck on the bridge.

Jonesy slams his foot down on the gas pedal. It coughs and splutters for a few too many nerve-wracking seconds, but Jonesy’s ’72 Toyota with an ’82 engine finds an extra burst of power and we make it past the Laser.

The shock of the near-miss with the truck was like the shock you get when someone sneaks up from behind and grabs you. But when I hear the crunch of glass and steel, I know there won’t be smiling faces when I turn round. When I do, the Laser is still behind us. The Commodore’s behind the Laser. The Telstar is nowhere in sight and the truck is weaving and skidding all over the road, with black smoke pouring off the tyres.

‘Shit, what happened?’ asks Jonesy, looking back as he brings the car to a stop.

‘Dunno, but I think that Telstar’s history,’ I say. Warwick’s still trying to focus on the situation. The Laser has pulled over in front of us. The two girls get out and the driver sprints off towards the truck.

‘That was all your fault, you bastards,’ she screams at us as she runs past.

It’s only when I go to get out of the car that I realise how drunk I am. Maybe the shock of what has just happened has something to do with it, but whatever it is, I fall over.

‘Man, that was close,’ says Warwick, stumbling out of the passengers’ seat, still holding his faithful can of Steinlager.

‘That Telstar must’ve tried to follow us,’ says Jonesy.

‘Shall we go take a look?’ I suggest. ‘I think we have to by law, don’t we?’

We start walking over towards the truck. The family in the Commodore have also pulled over and the wife is running over with some blankets and yelling back to her kids to stay in the car. They look at Warwick and he gives them the fingers.

An Alfa Romeo with ski-racks that was going the other way has also pulled up. Two yuppies jump out of it and start running towards the truck. It suddenly occurs to me that we’re the only ones walking.

When we get to the front of the truck it’s a real mess. Ford Telstars were never designed to take on twelve-tonne Volvos at 100 k’s. The whole front of the car right up to the wind-screen is squashed up against the truck. My guess is that the driver’s dead. People are running round everywhere. More cars are pulling up. Two women are screaming and one guy just keeps yelling, ‘Can you hear me? Can you hear me?’ Through all of this I hear a baby start crying. I look towards the back of the car and see the girl who driving the Laser trying to undo the child safety seat in the back. I look at Warwick and he’s just standing there, can in hand, gently swaying with his drunkenness. He’s got a blank expression on his face like the one you get after watching TV for too long. I look for Jonesy and he’s throwing up over a bank.