The Imperial Hotel, Rapid City, South Dakota

The last night of our little holiday in South Dakota’s Black Hills we rolled into Rapid City late in the enening. Rapid City is one of the biggest cities in South Dakota, with a population of 70,000. Being a Saturday, it was tricky finding a motel with vacancies. After doing a couple of laps downtown we came across the Imperial Hotel.

When we pulled into the car park there was a domestic argument in full swing; a large Mexican woman in her 50s was yelling in Spanish from her second-story window at a little Mexican guy in the carpark.

Ron and Martin went into the office to enquire about some rooms - they had a couple available. The guys got our keys and directions to the rooms. We followed them through a bar. There weren’t many in there, just a couple of guys at the bar shoving each other and another little Mexican guy singing Ground Patrol To Major Tom on the karaoke machine. We went through one locked door, up a flight of stairs and through another locked door that led into a communal kitchen area at one end of our floor. We walked past a bunch of 20-somethings sitting around a table drinking and smoking cigars. Above them on the wall was a sign “No Smoking in Hallways”.

We found our rooms opposite each other, half way down the corridor. Given my first impressions, I was pleasantly surprised by the room with the exception of the duress alarm in the toilet; it was quite spacious, pretty clean, plus tonight it was just me and Ron in the room (the previous two nights in Deadwood we slept four in a double - I ended up sleeping with a 6-6 Swedish man).

After a false start, the Imperial Hotel had just about proved my initial assumptions wrong until I was woken in the early hours of the morning by a middle-aged couple checking into our room. Turns out the guy at reception had mistakenly given them a set of our keys. I think they were more surprised than I was when a very groggy James greeted them at the door in boxer shorts with a “what the hell’s going on”.

Back to the Big Smoke

A few pieces of sad news from home has had me a bit down the last couple of weeks. I haven’t felt homesick, but it’s frustrating being so far from those that are doing it tough. One quickly realises the limitations of text and email.

In the midst of this I had an identity crisis when I visited Denver Colorado. We were given a few days off after we finished harvesting in Julesberg Colorado. On our last day we went to Denver to do some shopping. It was the first large city that I’ve been to since arriving.

In one respect I really appreciate the diversity that you find in the city. But diversity will often entail good and bad. I managed to find a good espresso, I bought some funky boxer shorts from Gap, and wireless internet was available in a Starbucks on every street corner, but I also a saw a pedestrian hit by a car, a guy handcuffed face down on the ground in the mall and had to deal with a snobby shop attendant who couldn’t stop staring at my now heavily scuffed work boots.

As I walked around, I’d pick out the people that I thought looked like me – those that appeared to be living a similar life to the one that I was living back home. However, looking at them made me realise just how different my life, my work and company has been over the last couple of months. It also made me realise that my surrounds have changed me a bit. How I’ve changed, I’m still trying to work out. My afternoon was spent wandering around in a reflective daze.

On the other side of the coin, there’s a part of me that enjoys the simplicity of the country. There’s something safe about it. There are parameters, perhaps defined by values and tradition, that cause people to think alike. It’s easy to be accepted if you reside within these parameters, but life is a bit trickier if you’re different.

Meeting up with the boys to travel home jolted me back into country-land – there wasn’t much choice. The boys spent most of the three hour trip home playing a game called ‘Hey Cow’. This involves winding down the window and screaming at grazing cows as you pass by trying to make them look up. As funny as this was, my excursion back into the big smoke left me feeling a bit rattled. I was quite happy keeping to myself in the back of the van.

My goal on this trip is to be myself whether it fits or not. I think I’m doing OK so far. There’s no denying that I am very different to a lot of the guys on the crew. But I think there exists a mutual respect. One thing’s for sure, I could handle myself in Denver’s peak hour traffic.

Combines Working in Scott City Kansas

I realise that I haven't really described the harvesting process. I took this video from the top of my trailer while I was being loaded in the field. It's rare to have all five combines lined up as they are in this instance. Usually they'll be split over a couple of fields or they'll be a little more spaced out.

Each combine has a 36ft header and will run at about four miles per hour in a decent crop. So, in metric terms, five combines will shave about 50 metres off each side of the field each time they go around.

If you look closely at the front combine, you'll see the grain piled up in a bin above the cab. These bins hold about 9 tonnes when full and, if the crop is good, can fill up after one lap of the field. Usually, the combines will unload while they are cutting onto a trailer pulled by a tractor called the grain cart. The grain cart then dumps onto the trucks (as in the vid) which transport the grain to the local elevator to be stored and eventually sold.

My truck will hold about 30 tonnes of grain. When all five combines are running in the same field, four trucks can be constantly moving. On a busy day we can haul over 1500 tonnes of grain to market, which is pretty cool.

The most important part of the operation is keeping the combines moving, simply because when they're moving we're making money (hence unloading on the move). On a normal day, they'll start running at 8am and will cut through until 12 or 1 in the morning. When the drivers are eating lunch, someone else will jump in and keep them running. It's amazing how durable the machines are.

rainbow over Haswell elevator

One of my favorite pics to date. Ron snapped this late one afternoon in Haswell Colorado. I've photoshopped it a bit.

Guns and Rattlesnakes

I had to put this pic up. I'm trying to look as menacing as possible.

When I last spoke about guns on the blog, about ten people signed off their emails with something along the lines of "stay away from guns". A sound piece of advice given all of the crazy stories that come out of the US. But they're an everyday accessory in the country. In many ways they're not a whole lot more dangerous than the machinery we're using. As with the combines, the level of risk depends on who is using the gun and how they're using it. I've been shown how to handle it safely.

In this case, we had it out in the field in case we saw rattlesnakes. We're in rattlesnake country apparently. No sightings...

trains in Kiowa

Andrew took this video from the back of the service truck while stopped at a level crossing in home-town Kiowa. He actually caught two trains meeting at the crossing which is pretty rare.

Our camper was parked a little bit down the tracks on the edge of the gravel road you can see in the foreground to the left. The video gives you an idea of how loud they are. Amazingly, I wasn't really bothered by them at night. Because we've been working hard, I'm generally out when my head hits the pillow. It was hell for some of the guys though.

Blake - Haswell Colorado

On Wednesday 2 July, four of us left the main crew in Scott City Kansas to pick up an extra contract in Haswell Colorado, in the state’s south-east. We’ve got about two thousand acres to cut which would usually take about a week, but the area we’re in has been in a drought for the last couple of years, making the wheat really thin and short. The combines can run at twice the speed so essentially we’re making some easy money on the side before we reunite with the rest of the crew in northern Colorado.

The trip up was about 120 miles. When we arrived in Haswell I discovered that one of my tires was flat. Haswell is similar to Isabel Kansas; pretty much the only businesses left are the post office, the farmers’ co-op and a tiny fuel station.

The workshop at the fuel station was unmanned when we arrived, but the mechanic’s wife, who was looking after the store, arranged for her husband to meet us. He told us to get a head start on the tire before he arrived. We opened up the garage and started getting some tools out when the mechanic’s seven-year-old son and five-year-old daughter, turned up in a little golf buggy.

Blake was wearing a Orange County Choppers bandana, an aviator jacket over a checked shirt, ripped blue jeans and cowboy boots. You could tell straight away that he was a confident little kid. He parked the cart, ripped off his jacket, threw it on the ground and got straight to work on my tire.

We couldn’t find the right sized socket for the nuts on my wheel, but Blake was desperate to get the air gun running no matter what size the socket. When he couldn’t find the socket, he got under my truck with a jack and before we knew it he had my tire off the ground.

The older guy in the video is Ron from New Zealand and the younger guy with the cap is Steve from south-west NSW. After we changed the tire, he took me for a ride around the lot on the golf buggy which I also videoed - I'll put it up shortly.

he is indeed...loving it

Elevator Shenanigans Pt II

Me and Janelle at Kirk Grain, an elevator in Scott City Kansas

Isabel Kansas

Isabel is a tiny town in south-central Kansas about 40 miles north of home-town Kiowa. We’ve moved here now that we’ve finished cutting around home. Isabel is my favourite stop to date.

The population would be less than 100. The town is littered with derelict buildings. The only places still occupied on Main Street are the post office, the general store, an auto-parts store and a little 10sqm shed with the words ‘CITY HALL’ stuck on the front door with plastic letters.

The thing I like about the place is that, contrary to it’s neglected exterior, it has a warm spirit, unjaded by a tough recent history.

Many of the locals are Mennonites, which may have something to do with the vibe. They’re a Protestant denomination, similar to the Baptists, but they’re pacifists, most notably rejecting church organisation. They look Amish in that the men have long bushy beards, wide brim hats, and wear slacks hung off suspenders, but clearly they’ve embraced some elements of modernity because a few of them cart grain in some pretty modern looking dump truck.

A guy called ‘Buddy’ refuelled my truck at the Farmer’s Co-op. He’s lived in Isabel all of his 60 years. Apparently the town nearly died when the local school was shut down in the early 70s. The only thing keeping it alive today is the grain elevator. It’s a huge week for them; yesterday they took about 3000 tonnes of wheat.

We’ve set up camp on a vacant lot near the elevator for the next few days while we cut around the area. This pic is of a house across the road. The building in the background is the elevator.

Elevator Shenanigans

A harvester’s biggest foe is monotony. Everyone in a crew drives around in circles; for the combine drivers it’s clockwise around a field, for the truck drivers it’s the same route from the field to the grain elevator and back 15-20 times a day. Every crew member has his own way of breaking up the day. We’ve all listened to the entire contents of our iPods a few times. I’ve recently resorted to listening to the ridiculously bigoted Fox News talk-back, pretty popular here in the mid-west.

When we were cutting around Isabel Kansas, Tim (another truck driver) and I came up with a new pastime. We both admitted to having a bit of a crush on one of the girls working at the elevator, so we set up a competition to see who could get to know her the quickest.

You only get about 15 seconds contact each time; ducking into the office with your field name on the way in and then picking up your docket on the way out. Added to the challenge was the fact that our girl was very shy.

I was the first to get her name. There was nothing smooth about it. She came out of the office with my docket and, in a cloud of dust and shouting over the roar of the engine, I met Lisa. There must have been a tone of urgency in my voice because she looked pretty startled, like I was getting her in trouble.

Tim made a breakthrough when she gave him a complimentary Kansas Wheat calculator. I thought he may have had the upper hand, but following him over the weighbridge, I was given one too.

It got to late in the day and I got a rush of blood to the head. I decided that Timmy and I needed a portrait with Lisa. It was a semi-inappropriate proposition but I put it down to a you’ll-only-be-here-once moment. I went over the weighbridge before Tim and caught her before she went back into the office and stuttered some stupid story about capturing elevator memories. She was up for it, so I parked and when Tim came over the weighbridge we held up the scales while we ‘captured the memory’.

The next day things were pretty quiet in the office. We found out later that her dad worked in the office. I think he gave her a talk about not associating with harvesters. Any more photos and I think Timmy and I may have been leaving town with shotgun-peppered trailers.

The competition continues; who can get the most candid shots with elevator staff.

pimped-up pic of my truck

Obviously the same storm as the wide shot below. This storm came through late in the afternoon and hung over us but never dropped any rain which we were bummed about because it would have meant some time off - we can't cut when the wheat is wet.

I realise I've got a lot of pics of my truck up, but it's the centre of my world at the moment, and I kind of like that. I spend up to 15 hours a day in it. We meet at about 7 in the morning and I give it a once over. Once we start cutting, I'll park in or beside the field and load up with grain whenever the combines get full. I then take it to the designated elevator which can be around the block or, in the case of Haswell, 20 miles away. When the five combines are running in the same place, our four trucks will quite easily be constantly moving, especially if the elevator is a bit of a drive away.

There are times, however, when the grain does not accumulate as quickly. At these times I'll park-up and hang out. I've got a sleeper at the back of the cab (bigger than the bed in our camper!) which I'll have a snooze in, lot's of food and plenty of reading material. I have to pinch myself sometimes when I ponder about my surrounds.

Truck Under Storm Scott City Kansas

Three of our combines working at sunset around Isabel Kansas

Bones

‘Bones’ is one of Greg’s full time employees. He doesn’t come on harvest with us but looks after parts of Greg’s business back in home-town Kiowa, mainly hauling fuel to local agricultural outfits.

He’s a great character. He smokes a lot (including in the fuel tanker) and will have a beer in hand and his esky nearby after five o’clock. He’d be in his early 40s, quite skinny, dark complexion, wears a moustache and has a mouth full of crooked yellow teeth. He has a contagious laugh with a smoker’s rattle. There’s a tattoo on his left shoulder that is meant to read ‘Bones’ but it looks more like ‘Barry’. Unfortunately for Bones, Barry is his best friend’s name.

When he’s not in the tanker, Bones drives an old brown pick-up. It’s a 1984 Chevy, has no rego, cracks throughout the windscreen, and a ripped up interior littered with his cigarette butts.

He drove me out to a field on my first day of work. When I got in the pick-up, naturally I reached for my seat belt. It took me a while to find it. I had to fish around right behind my seat. When I finally got hold of it, I started yanking at it but it wouldn’t extend. Bones piped up, “I don’t think that works”. He had a confused look on his face - not many people wear seat belts in the country. There was an awkward silence as I fumbled to tuck it back under the seat. “Yup, she’s as old as dirt”.

travelling south

After two weeks preparation, we left for Texas on Wednesday 28 May to start cutting wheat. We cut about 7000 acres down there over 15 days. I took this video by the side of the road on the way down. It's pretty funny, you'll just here the boss Greg yelling at me at the end of the video to get going. We'd been sitting roadside for an hour and he came back just as I was goofing-off.

Eight vehicles set off in convoy; 4 semi-trailers towing the combines and grain-trailers, two trailer homes (one for the boss and the other for seven crew members!), our service truck with tools, fuel etc, and a mini-van that the crew use for excursions around town.

The journey down was about 400 kilometres and took us a little over seven hours.

I was thrown one of the semi-trailers to drive. Driving a semi is a bit of a coup for me. It was one of my goals coming over here. I knew it was on the cards but I didn’t think that I’d attempt it so soon and on such a big truck.

In Australia I simply would not qualify for the license because I haven’t got enough hours on a truck. Also the whole process can cost thousands of dollars.

Over here, I drove myself to the motor registry in the truck, paid $35 for both the theory and practical test, failed one component of the practical, drove myself home in the truck, showed up again the next day, paid an extra $1.50 to redo the practical component, passed and came out with a license that allows me to drive anything up to a triple trailer combination.

Many would say that it’s foolhardy giving someone like me a license. But it exemplifies part of the American ethos that I love; if you want to do something, you’re given the opportunity. Greg lives this out through his business. If you’re willing to listen and work hard, he has the patience to teach. It doesn’t matter if you’re a city boy.

Kenny's Tire Shop

Kenny runs the local tire shop which is just across the yard from our camper. I took this at dusk one evening.

Kenny is in his late 50s I'd say. He'd only be about 5-6 tall and has a very slim build, but he handles a truck tire like it's a hula-hoop.

Texas Tornado

We had a mini-tornado come through Vernon when we were harvesting in Texas. I caught this video from the combine as it was brewing. As soon as it started to look nasty Greg shut us down.

It was amazing how quickly the weather changed. It had been windy all day but the sky was completely clear. Mid afternoon, a huge bank of heavy clouds rolled in and the sky turned an eerie green colour. We were on the edge of the storm. We only realised how powerful it was when we driving back in to town. Several trees were uprooted and a few buildings flattened.

The upside was that the rain gave us our first day off. Up until this point, conditions had been perfect for cutting. We had been running about 15 hours a day for 10 days straight.

riding the tailgate it Texas

One morning in Texas we had to bring a bunch of trucks back from a town about 30 miles north of where we were staying. All the drivers had to fit in the one pick up. A few of us had to ride in the back. Greg claims that it's legal in Texas - you see it a lot - but I'm not so sure. I started rolling this video as we pulled onto an Interstate. The guy next to me is Andrew, another Australian, and the other bloke is Anders from Denmark.

It seemed like I’d just drifted off to sleep when I heard a car skidding to a stop on the gravel outside the camper. The doors were slammed shut and more than one person approached the camper. Whoever it was slammed their fist on the door.

“Po-lice! Open up.” At this point I’m wide-awake lying stiff as a board staring at the roof of the camper wondering if I was in some jet-lag induced nightmare. Either that or I’d inadvertently come to work for some crime syndicate.

I wasn’t sure what to do. Obviously they weren’t here for me. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I could hear Ron (the New Zealander I traveled with) stirring, but he wasn’t getting up and nor was British Steve.

The banging continued for another minute or so after which there was a series of loud cracks, like fireworks. At this point I was a bit suspicious. Unless we were being shot at, or flushed out with tear gas, it couldn’t be the police. What’s more, the cops wouldn’t be giggling and rocking the camper.

After a while, I recognised the voices. It was a couple of rednecks – not a derogatory label in this part of the world - that we’d met earlier that evening as we’d been leaving for dinner. As we were driving out of the yard, a small Suzuki jeep pulled off the road and made a beeline for our van, coming to a sideways stop in front of us.

British Steve didn’t look too impressed. He muttered something under his breath as he rolled down the window. The passenger in the jeep was a chubby, baby-faced bloke, probably about 18, with spectacles shaped like small aviator sunglasses. “Whatcha guys doin’?”, he shouted over the engine, a big grin on his face. Steve told him it was his birthday and that we were going to the pub to celebrate. “Ride on!”

Realising that we were new to town, I think the pair were keen to make an impression. Before fish-tailing out of the yard, they drew two huge circles in the gravel with the jeep.

And so, several beers later, they had returned to help Steve celebrate his birthday, complete with fireworks. They didn’t stay for long. I drifted off to sleep as I heard the jeep revving-up and leaving in much the same manner as it had earlier that afternoon.

Kansas storms

Tornado season has just started here. One week in particular we'd get a thunderstorm most evenings with really impressive lightening shows. British Steve pointed his camera out the door of the camper one evening and caught a big strike, lighting up the tractor parked out the front. There's a few seconds of black at the top of the video.

My Truck!

Taken after an afternoon picking rye in Greg's wheat crop. Rye contaminates the wheat and the only way to get rid of it is to pull it out by hand.

Twelve of us spaced ourselves out in a line and walked from one fence to another ripping it out and putting it in a sack. The block was 1 square mile so it involved a lot of walking. Greg would drive his pick-up around the boundary fence to meet us at each end to give us a water or a beer and then we'd turn around and walk back.

Sweating profusely, covered in red dust, hands bleeding, this was one of many tasks that I should have resented, but loved every minute - I was waste deep in a wheat field in the heart of the mid-west at sunset.

First night in town I think I was a bit stunned. The camper was a lot more basic than I thought it would be.

After settling in a bit, Greg (my boss) took us out for dinner. British Steve, another guy on the crew, was having a birthday and Greg was shouting us all dinner. We were taken down to the only bar in town, the Plum Thicket Inn.

Walking into the place, several of the stereotypes that had been embarrassingly debunked on my arrival in Wichita, suddenly seemed plausible again.

The bar is quite dark - there are no windows. There is a duke box in the corner playing country music. Two TVs above the bar screen different sporting fixtures. In between them, above the spirit shelf is a neon Budweiser sign and a placard that says "Free Beer.....tomorrow". Most people are congregated in booths that run around the outside of the room but there are a few dusty looking men drinking alone atop a 30 foot long, solid timber bar.

As we enter, everyone looks up from their beer. It’s a Wednesday night and everyone in the place is quite clearly local. At first glace, the faces do not appear friendly. The first person I make eye contact with is a heavy-set man behind the bar, about 6-2, wearing a white cowboy hat. All I could manage was “hi” and a nod. I got nothing back. Greg enters about 30 seconds after us. When he walks in, faces light up; those that stone-walled us eagerly vie for his attention. He is quite clearly well respected. Greg sits down at our table. Everything is OK.

We order beers – two bucks a pop for a pint – and a steak.

Throughout dinner there is a lot of talk about agriculture and machinery. I’ve got nothing to offer. I go back to the camper wondering if I’ve bitten off a bit too much.

first impressions

The first shock to the system came when I walked into the place I'll be living for the next six months. It's a trailer home, about 15 metres long comprising two sleeping quarters at either end separated by a small living area in the middle through which you enter. Each dorm has two sets of bunks, a toilet and a shower which one walks through in order to get to the bedroom. I'm on the top bunk. At full stretch, the soles of my feet just brush the wall at the foot of my bed and the ceiling is about 40cm from my head.

We're parked in an industrial yard near the workshop of the harvesting outfit that I'm working for. We sleep about 50 metres from the major east-west rail-freight route in the states. Trains pass through every half hour or so. There are several level crossings near-by and the trains are required to blast their horns on approach - 24/7 - Ha! To be honest, being a deep sleeper, it hasn't been too much of a problem but it cracks me up when you hear these trains roaring by horns blaring.

The place has been decorated by the Aussies who flew in before us but left to harvest in California before we arrived...decorations include a bear with a VB logo drawn on its belly strung from the roof, an Australian flag half the size of the camper, and a sticker on the fridge which says "where the fuck's the pub?". There are two types of beverages in the fridge - one shelf for beer - Coors Light is the popular choice - and one shelf for water.

Standing at the sink the other day I looked to my left and saw a gun barrel pointing at me. One of the guys who's in California - a American bloke - brought his .22 rifle with him and had tucked it in to his bed in his absence. Thankfully I'm down the other end of the trailer! Quite a sight for a city-boy.

All of this sounds extreme, but it adds to the adventure. It was a shock at first but it's amazing how I've become quite fond of our camper. There's something homely about the lino floor and the fake wood finish on all the fittings. It's boy's-own; a fantastic bachelor pad.

The 20-seater, twin-prop American Eagle flight is a long way from the comfort of seat 34C on the Qantas 747. I'm on the final leg of the journey, Dallas/Fort Worth Texas (via LA) to Wichita Kansas - dead centre of the North American continent. It's 20hrs since I left my house in Sydney.

We land and de-board on a deserted tarmac in Wichita and have to walk about 100 metres from the plane to the terminal building, a small fibro building with fly-screen doors and a corrugated iron roof. As we approach the building a baggage handler comes out of no-where on his cart. He's belting along. A few other passengers and I have to pull ourselves up to avoid him. He zips by and pushes a couple of bags off his trolley without stopping, one of them is mine. At this point, I'm too tired to care.

Entering the terminal is simply a formality. There's nothing to see or do in there, let alone any space for those waiting to greet passengers: just a couple of counters and a set of scales. It's much like flying into Melbourne via Avalon Airport.

Exiting the building, it's clear who's waiting for me. A big man, about 6-3, with a mustache that covers half his chin, and a 9mm pistol strapped to his waist, pushes himself off the bonnet of a huge red tray-back pickup. There are three Mexicans sitting on the tray with their backs against the cab. They don't look up.

The man takes a couple of big strides toward me and puts out a hand comprising a thumb, two fingers and a couple of stubs.

“Howdy!”, “I’m Stubby. I’m your boss, your mummy, your daddy and your lover for the next eight months”. “This is for you”, he says handing me the pistol from his holster. I was startled enough to see the thing in the safety of it's pouch. “What’s this for?”, I ask. “Everyone can find a use for one of these in this part of the world". He belly laughs and re-holsters the firearm. "Just messin' with ya! Welcome to Kansas!”

All of the above is bullshit. It's one of the scenarios that I constructed in my head at about hour 18 of the journey. Reality was quite a lot different! Big planes all the way. I tracked down the other bloke that I'm working with over here at Dallas Airport. After an hour long flight we landed at quite a sizable Wichita Airport. We were picked up by the bosses wife, a petite blond woman in her 30s.

Despite my porky-pies, there were a few things that correlated to the stereotypes floating around in my head. The woman was driving the biggest, plushest, 4WD I've ever seen, and there were instructions at the baggage carousel explaining where to pick up firearms.

setting forth

I love airports. A relatively small building represents thousands of stories along with all of the accompanying emotions. I love that the arrivals hall is generally a happy place, full of love, hugs and kisses, whereas departures is full of the same love, hugs and kisses but it's often a lot more sombre.

Each person who walks through the "point of no return" has his or her own story. For some it's comforting to take the first step of a journey back home, it may represent the start of a boring business trip, or for many it brings the relief that comes with starting a long-planned holiday.

For me, it was a daunting experience. It's the first time that I've ever made that walk alone and the first time that I've embarked on an extended trip. I felt relieved, proud of myself, shit-scared, ALONE!

Once you get air-side, it's all a bit of an anti-climax. This is only heightened by the 13 hr trip to LA. I did, however, score the ultimate economy seat; first row of economy, on the aisle, with a spare seat between me and the person next to me. I sat next to a young Canadian girl who was heading back home after a few weeks in Aus.

There's nothing like US immigration to get the adrenaline going again. Here's a tip...when you're flying into Hollywood claiming to be making your debut on the agricultural circuit, don't tell the immigration bloke that you've got a background in film production. I was interrogated for about 15mins while they did background checks. Those guys wield a lot of power and they're not afraid to splash it around a bit. I swear so much has to do with the officer you get and the mood that that person is in. I think my guy was a bit pissed that he was on the early shift.

tracks from the cab

Tom Petty - I Won't Back Down

Marcs to Mascot

Totally Workwear in Mascot is a long way from the familiar shop fronts of Pitt Street Mall. I realised the other day as I was purchasing some King G workwear that my apparel for the next little while is going to be all about practicality, less about aesthetics.

Anyway, I thought I'd go all-in and follow suit with my personal grooming, so I got myself a freakin buzz-cut! Just Cuts Leichhardt is a long way from Toni & Guy Balmain. Unlike my $80 Toni & Guy masterpiece, my $18 job at Just Cuts has a 24hr satisfaction guarantee. I pointed out to my stylist that rectifying the cut would be a bit tricky.

The last buzz-cut I got was back in year 4. I never did it again because I got teased. But I'm bigger and stronger now and I can carry a gun in the US if I choose...bring it on!

It's easy to have a fair-weather relationship with reality. The truth can be a close ally but it can also be a harsh critic.

Only acknowledging the truth when in its favor, one runs the risk of walking a path of self righteousness. Learning to sit in it when it is showing up and exploring deep short-fallings is a confronting, frightening and often lonely experience, but this is a path to healing and growth.

The past 12 months have been challenging for many reasons. But loss and hardship can force reflection and action. If it weren't for all of the crap, I wouldn't be making plans for myself. I certainly wouldn't be going to the US!

Wichita

Trip details are firming up. I've got my US consulate interview on Friday 9 May, departing the following Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday. I'll be traveling and working with a 48 y/o guy from New Zealand.

The bloke we're working for is based in Burlington Oklahoma which is a town on the Oklahoma/Kansas boarder. It sounds like we'll be flying in via Wichita in Kansas.

There's a great scene in the film Trains, Planes and Automobiles (starring Steve Martin & John Candy) that mentions Wichita. Neil and Del, two men of opposing personalities, are stranded in the middle of nowhere, trying to get to Chicago. Del arranges a ride.

I'm the world's worst correspondent. I think it's been caused by a couple of weeks of navel gazing on the couch; marathon sessions of self-reflection punctuated by walks to the DVD-store. Starting a blog will probably not help matters. My apologies to those who have been neglected and thanks to those who have persevered!

the Melbourne vibe

Melbourne is like the friend that you enjoy spending the night with because they are interesting and charismatic, yet concerned about you and whether you're having a good time. Sydney is interesting and charismatic but it knows that it's good, it flaunts it, and it couldn't give a shit if you have a good night or not - come the end of the evening, it starts to piss you off.

Lars and the Real Girl

Great film. The story is ambitious but refreshingly original. Lars is a gentle, introverted guy in his late 20s living in the garage of his childhood home, now occupied by his brother Gus and sister-in-law Karen. Many in his small-town community, including his family, have a great affection for Lars but find it hard to get close to him. Sensing an underlying loneliness, those that love Lars just want to him to be happy.

When Lars tells Gus and Karen that he's met someone on the internet, they're overjoyed, until they are introduced to Bianca, a life-size sex-doll that Lars relates to as a living, breathing girlfriend.

When a friend told me about the film, I was expecting that the absurdity of the sex-doll would be flogged to death. There are some good visual gags in there - because it is a pretty bizarre scenario - but rather than repeating the same joke over and over, the doll becomes a vehicle to explore Lars's character; why is he having this delusion; how will those who love him respond.

Two-thirds of the way through the film, despite the fact that she has not uttered a word, let alone altered her facial expression, Bianca, to me, was a character in her own right, which is a real achievement on behalf of the filmmakers. It speaks a lot for subtle plot development and good acting.

the core

The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.

Christopher McCandless, the guy who inspired the book and the film Into the Wild, said this in a letter to a friend that he met during his travels.

It's a great story and McCandless is an incredibly intriguing and complex character. His journey and philosophy are particularly inspiring for someone about to set off on an extended trip, but there are many who think that he was a idiot; an idealist who underestimated mother nature while overestimating his ability to survive in the wilderness.

I think he was onto something though. I think it's a stretch to say that adventure is at the core of every human spirit. But I think if it is there, it's important not to ignore it. It's interesting to note that relationships really took a back seat for McCandless. He was an idealist and I think he was looking to nature to fill the gaps left by significant broken or disappointing relationships, namely with his parents.

Although it is unlikely, if I were to tattoo this quote onto my chest, I think I'd add something about good relationships. It's a facet of my life in which I have a lot to learn but I'm hoping there's a cuddly combine driver in the States waiting to impart his knowledge to me in this respect.

What-the-hell-am-I-doing moments

I got a call today from my contact in Australia to say that he's found me a spot on a harvest crew. I've still got to pass my interview at the US consulate but, assuming that this goes off OK, I'll be looking at a mid-May departure.

I've constructed this adventure in my head for months and I've taken steps to make it happen, but, because it is so far removed from anything that I've experienced before, there's been a part of me that has doubted that it could actually eventuate.

But it's exactly this - the off-the-wall nature of this trip, full to the brim with unknowns - that makes me know that it is exactly what I need at this time. For a long time I think I've been addicted to the familiarity and safety of routine, ignoring a yearning to discover things and people that are different.

Clearly, at this stage of the trip, I'm running on a lot of romantic notions. I'm sure these will quickly dissipate when I touch down. But I can't wait for the challenge. Such challenges make for good stories. Hence the blog. Make sure you keep posted!