There is a tree in my neighbourhood that deserves celebration.


It is both tall and broad with a trunk as wide as a car. It’s powerful roots coil and burst across the ground with almost liquid vigour. It’s a tangly green fortress with leaves that fill a park.


The best thing about this tree though is the relationship it is in with a local aquaduct. A sewer aquaduct. It’s intimate.


The aquaduct leaps from between houses and streets to cross a small valley and creek. It lands on the other side and slides back into the neighbourhood. On it’s flight over the creek and park though it can be seen and appreciated as a grand bit of modern Sydney work (from 1896 to be precise).


The brilliance of these two large scale characters, tree and duct, is their connection. My mind vacillates between fantasy with every viewing. One evening I see a pair of mismatched dancers, one stiff and formal the other luxuriously flamboyant cavorting across the stage. As the mist rises on a Saturday morning I see one of Nelson’s 3 masted ships of the line assaulted from the deep by a sea-monster of cold black ferocity, limbs flailing and salt water frothing.


The aquaduct was there before the tree, the tree now towers above, one of them will outlive the other. I hope they’ve got many years yet to embrace and converse.

Worlds is over. Time to get ready for Worlds.


For frisbee players a (North American) ‘Summer of Worlds’ just happened. The World Games was held in July and team Australia came second, then the World Club Championships happened a few weeks later and Australian clubs placed from 3 on down in Mixed, Women and Open play.


We’ve never won one of these senior World events. The next chance is in 2024 and we’ve got to get started soon.


20 years after my first exposure to international play I’m still thinking about it, this time I’m thinking about standards. One avenue that an Australian team could take to win a gold medal is to lean into standards and accountability, I think.


In the first phase of preparation after the team is selected (January next year) the playing and coaching group could follow a process that established their training and performance standards. This would be guided by study of exemplar players in our community and how they prepare.


The second phase would last up to 18 months, through the Asia Oceanic Championships and most of the way to the World Championships (July or September 2024). This phase would be all about vigorously pursuing the team standards and holding each other accountable through direct and supportive feedback. I don’t believe we’ve (Australian Mens teams) done this well in the past.


The final phase would be at the championship and would be all about playing with confidence and joy made possible by months and months of reflection, feedback and growth.


I think it sounds good on paper. I also think it might be pretty challenging to do well. The magic would be to create a cultural space within the team that allowed everyone to hear growth based feedback and not have their feelings hurt. It’s hard to be told that something you did doesn’t meet a team standard, however with the right balance of honesty and support all focussed on the team standards of skills, behaviours and attitudes that are strong enough to win the championships it might work.


Training starts soon. The Australian teams with have to do something to make a leap for the gold medal. Maybe clearly defined and passionately pursued standards could help.

I wrote the following years ago as part of a very long first draft of a 10 year memoir. It was cut early as it's pretty tangential to the main themes of the final edit (almost complete). It is however a fun story and so here we go. 

Chapter 9

     When embarking on a road trip there are a few key elements to be aware of. It is important to have a plan, somewhere to go, a route that you might follow, and a willingness to change that plan if something interesting enough presents itself. Another crucial element is the crew. While a solo road trip definitely has some positive aspects, a long-haul multiple-day trip is enhanced by a bunch of characters along for the ride. Finally, and potentially vitally, you have to have a rig; a vehicle that will do the job required and interject itself into the story to varying degrees, depending on how adventurous the road trip at hand intends to be.

At the beginning of autumn in 2001, six loosely amalgamated friends set off at the end of a summer at Camp Echo. First for eastern Canada, then eventually Colorado, in a big, grey and rust coloured, 1987 Dodge Ram van: plan, crew, rig - we were ready. For the record the ‘rust colour’ in the grey and rust colour scheme was actually just rust.


There was, however, another element to our trip that set out with us on that first day of driving. It was a gnawing sense of uncertainty that harboured quietly in my mind. This uncertainty was located in the rear right-hand side of my awareness, which significantly corresponded with the rear passenger-side wheel of the van. This wheel happened to be missing two of its five lug nuts.


The reason why this was only a back right gnawing sense of uncertainty, and not a genuine front-of-brain area of need, was that the remaining three lug nuts were done up really tight.


The rear wheel had come to my attention in the last week of camp as a part of the startling realisation that the van was in fact a highly complex mechanical machine that probably required occasional maintenance-themed attention. This breakthrough in awareness had come as a result of a flat tyre.


Resources were scrambled, options considered, and one brand new, and relatively expensive, tyre was purchased. With the Dodge now rolling smoothly on its suite of one fresh and three fatigued tyres, I tightened the lug nuts extra tight and went back to enjoying the final days of camp.


Conversation laboured mildly as we rolled away from Camp Echo at the end of a significant summer. The six young people located inside rattled between slightly sombre and reflective, through to excited about the change of scenery and the prospect of adventure to come.   


We had all enjoyed our summer at camp and it was a shock to have our social circle rapidly shrunk from hundreds down to five in the course of a single day. A new community would have to evolve within the walls of our shaggy van.


As equal shareholder in the van from the previous year’s adventure, Dawn went right back into her role as van mom. Sitting in one of two second-row swivel chairs, she assessed the group and checked again that we had enough skittles for the next hour. Dawn was excited, and she was sad. Neither of which was reflected by the oversized sweatshirt with a picture of tweety bird on the front that hung from her small body.


Luke had felt like he missed out on the road trip the year before and was a keen member of the van crew. He sat in the front passenger-seat, and was taking his three jobs very seriously. 1: Read the map; which was a newspaper-sized document that lived wedged between the front seat and the engine housing, and could be used as a heat-shield to protect the lower leg against radiant engine heat. 2: Deal with the music; easier said than done as the only source was a battery-operated CD boom-box that rested on the dashboard. 3: Reposition the side mirror; it was a little too loose in its housing and tended to drift in towards the car until the only thing visible to the driver were the side doors of the middle section.


“How’s that, Mike?” chirped a pleased Luke.
“Good one, Luke.”
“I’ve got it now. I know exactly where the mirror needs to be. I’ve figured it out,” expounded a proud friend.
“Good on you, mate,” I returned, smiling to myself.


Sitting at the opposite end of the Dodge was Andy; an outdoors Englishman with a strong stable of accent impressions and a cheeky grin. Andy and I had become good mates during many wistful afternoons spent sitting on our bunk’s front porch. It seemed like we would have just as much fun sitting in a giant, old, carpet-lined van, and so Andy signed up for the ride. I remembered asking him about it at some point during the summer.


“Andy, what are you doing after camp?” I asked, repeating a question that bounced from top to bottom and start to finish of the two-months at camp.
“Not sure, Micka. Maybe wander here… wander there… find out was life has in store for me,” posed a pseudo philosophical Andy.
“Sounds good,” I added, expecting more.
“Maybe I’ll meet a girl… perhaps settle down… maybe not. I might go into deep-sea diving, shark hunting and adventure living… hard to tell really,” offered Andy in near-perfect deadpan.
“Alright… would you like to come on a road trip with me to Colorado instead,” I smiled.
“Oh yeah, too right, Micka,” said Andy with his very accurate Aussie imitation.
“Great, you clown,” I responded, enjoying the enthusiasm.
“I was wondering if you were going to ask. I was hoping so. Didn’t know if you would. Yeehoo. Let’s do it. Spring break!” continued an excited Andy.
“It’s autumn, mate,” I said dryly.
“You bloody betcha it is, me old cobber,” returned Andy before heading off down the porch.


Emma and Margarita had built friendships with Dawn up on girl’s side during the summer and liked the sound of a ride. Margarita was American and just heading home to the North East corner of the country. We were planning on dropping her home in Pennsylvania in a few days. For her this would be a pretty fun multi-day limo ride, and she sat comfortably next to Dawn in the second swivel chair.


Sitting significantly closer to Andy on the rear bench-seat was Emma. She was from New Zealand, seemed very polite, and had a running love affair with a pair of velcro-action sandals. Strangely, both she and Andy wore navy-blue shorts and grey, ribbed, singlet tops. They sat at the back of the van in matching outfits, and regularly caused a slight headshake from the driver when I caught another glimpse of them in the rear vision mirror. Matching outfits, OK?


This was our band and we all began to settle as the rhythm of the road steadily imposed a new pattern onto our world. The day was no longer broken up into hour-long activities; there were no more campers requiring attention and direction; the road trip didn’t stop exactly at 12:30 to go and eat lunch. The raucous energy and up-tempo cadence of our last 8 weeks was deposed by the drift of the interstate.


Novels were extracted from the bottom of packs, and for the first time in months people looked out of a car window quietly and watched as the rolling green of Pennsylvania scrubbed away at the energetic posture we had occupied all summer.


It was warm and it was bright. Road signs, trees and sunlight flashed by and the atmosphere in the van shifted; it was quiet, however not the quiet born of shock and displacement, which had tinged the early moments of our transition away from camp. This was a warm and soft quiet enveloping the crew; peace and relaxation were in order. Our time belonged to ourselves again; the schedule of camp and the needs of the campers had released their hold.


Into that freedom we flowed comfortably. There was ample space for six passengers, and bodies stretched and lounged to complement the minds inside. We relaxed into the comfort of knowing that all we needed to do was follow the road, eat occasionally, and everything else would take care of itself. Faces smiled, and eyes blinked slowly, or even drifted shut for moments at a time: we were calm.


A brief rattling sound from the rear right of the van forced an instinctual transfer of my foot from accelerator to brake. The larger vibration from the same area that followed prompted me to pull onto the shoulder of the highway. The rear right wheel breaking off and rolling past the passenger side window into the ditch encouraged me to stomp on the brakes like I had never done before.


The calm of post-camp life splintered and revealed a new reality. With a loud crash and a hard jolt, our wheel had fallen off, on the highway, in some woods, on a Sunday afternoon. We were face-to-face with the true reality of a road trip in the Dodge Ram van. Not for the first time, the plan had gone wrong. Now the real work began - something was going to have to be done.




     “Bloody hell!” exclaimed Luke staring out the window.
“Mike?” piped Dawn in an up-tempo version of her Northern English accent.


The van came to a halt, which was in direct contrast to the heart rates spiking all around.


“OK… We’re OK… I think,” I said in an attempt to reassure us all.
“What just happened?” questioned Margarita. Her position in the middle of the van had prevented her seeing the wheel head off into the ditch.
“Mainly the problem is that a wheel has fallen off,” replied Luke dryly.
“Off the car?” exclaimed Dawn, who was having understandable trouble adjusting to the idea.
“Yes, off the car. One of our wheels has fallen off the car and rolled down there. You can kind of see it,” continued Luke matter-of-factly.
“Strewth, Micka. Is this how things normally go on one of your Aussie road trips?” chirped Andy, with a generous level of delight and a cheeky smile.
“You are a clown, Andy Camis,” I offered shortly, not quite ready to see the funny side of the situation yet.


I opened the door without another word and walked around to see what there was to see. Cars occasionally whipped by at sixty miles per hour and the late summer sun continued to shine willingly.


The van looked fine, when considered without the issue of the wheel’s dramatic absence. Nothing else seemed damaged and the drum brake resting on the black tarmac bore the weight of the back end. There was a generous slant to the vehicle, however otherwise things seemed good.


Everyone piled out of the side doors and we stood around looking at the drum brake and exposed axle, while Andy made off down the small hill to collect the delinquent wheel.


“I’ve never seen anything like this,” said Margarita.
“Me either,” contributed Emma.
“Yeah, this is bad,” I agreed.


I noticed that in fact there was something different with the remaining machinery of the brake. The five wheel lugs that normally project out from the drum were completely missing. This was no surprise for two of the five; they had been gone for at least a week. The fact that the other three were now also missing struck me with the harsh news that I had been both very irresponsible, and very lucky.


“The lugs nuts are gone,” I said to the group.
“What?” asked Dawn.
“There are supposed to be five lugs and nuts holding the wheel on. They have broken off, and are gone. That is why the wheel fell off,” I explained.
“Good thing we were only going slowly when it happened,” said Emma truthfully.
“Yeah, we are actually pretty lucky. I heard and felt it doing something weird and kind of just slowed down and pulled over,” I explained.
“Nice work, buddy,.” said Luke.
“Yeah,” I replied, through some slowly gathering shock.


“I don’t think we are far enough off the road,” I said. “I’m going to try and move it. You guys watch that drum and let me know if there is a problem.”
“You’re going to drive on that bit?” asked Dawn. “That doesn’t seem like a good idea.”


Dawn was right; it was not a good idea. As soon as I allowed the vas to idle forward slightly there was a horrible grinding sound followed by a ringing clunk as another jolt shot through the van’s frame.


“STOP!” came the cry from a handful of voices. I stopped.


The outer cone of the drum was now separated from the internal mechanics, and the futility of attempting to drive without a wheel slowly began to penetrate my thinking.


“OK. Well, what now?” I asked looking around.
“I rescued the wheel,” offered Andy with pride, mounting the crest of the grassed hill.
“How does it look?” asked Luke.
“It seems fine,” spoke Margarita, voicing my thoughts closely.
“It is fine… except for this massive bulge on the top,” said Andy, who was maintaining his cheery attitude admirably.


I looked around the horizon thinking about the next move. There was a hint of civilisation further down the road to the right, despite no actual buildings being visible.


“I reckon the wheel has broken off, the vas has dropped down, and the wheel arch has landed here making this bulge. Then we bounced up a little bit and the wheel has rolled away and down there,” theorised Luke forensically.


Someone would need to go into town and find a tow truck that could bring us in for a repair, I thought, as the analysis continued behind me.


“It just seems amazing that a wheel can fall off a moving car… don’t you think?” expressed Margarita.
“I didn’t think that was a thing,” agreed Emma.


Some others should stay with the van, I continued to scheme. Hopefully there would be a mechanic open on a Sunday afternoon that could help. It was beginning to feel like a daunting situation.


“You know what the real bugger is?” asked Luke, not expecting an answer. “This is the brand new tyre.”
“Fuck,” I expelled loudly, letting loose the apprehension and stress that was building inside me.
“What a drop-dead kick in the guts, hey, mates,” replied Andy in his comic Aussie accent. “This is worse that a bloomin' wallaby loose on the front porch.”


A moment of silence followed, as the drastic contrast between the tones of the last two comments hung before us.


Then the tension broke and we all laughed, and sent kicks towards the bulging tyre in front of us. It had been a shocking transition from blissfully flying through the world with freedom and possibility as our companions, to now standing stranded on the side of a highway with a series of challenges to overcome.


It was a relief to take a moment and realise that no one was hurt, and that none of us was going to have to deal with this problem alone.
 
“So, what now?” asked Dawn in a semi-relaxed tone.
“It’s hitchhike time,” stated Andy.
“Whoa,” commented Margarita.


We hatched a plan after a brief congress and then got down to action. Andy, Dawn and Emma were going to hitch into town, rustle up a tow truck and come back to save us. Luke, Margarita and I were going to wait with the van.


In a pre-international-mobile-phone era, this was the way things got done.


The afternoon played out in near-perfect fashion from this point on. The tow truck team arrived with surprising promptness. The Dodge was hauled up onto the back of the flat-bed truck. We rolled down the highway in the back of the van, on top of the tow truck, in surreal circumstances, peering down at the other cars and landscape from our carpeted flying capsule. We were dropped off at an isolated wrecker’s yard-slash-mechanic, which was the only option open on a Sunday evening.


The mechanic team put down their newspapers to drill out and replace our sheared off wheel lugs. They mounted a new tyre and threw our ‘old’ brand new tyre into a heap of old and worn counterparts. As the only job on their hands it was all completed quickly and efficiently.


We stood outside in the dirt yard of the compound, surrounded by a field heaped high with rusting car chassis. The sun began to set, with its red and gold fire reflected in pools of oil-stained water that rested in furrows between the cars. The dark forest of wrecked and scavenged cars grew tall and beautiful around us; the sun shot amazing beams of orange evening light down to the dirt floor.


The total bill for the tow truck, mechanical labour and replacement second-hand tyre, all provided on a Sunday evening in rural Pennsylvania, was $180; a modest $30 each.


As I slowly rolled the van out through the bumpy dirt yard, Dawn and Margarita waved at the mechanics from the side window.


“That was kind of amazing,” I offered indirectly, with a broad sense of peace.
“It kind of was,” said Emma.
“I’m a little stunned it all worked out so well,” added Margarita in a pleased tone.
“You know what?” I pressed out firmly. “I had fun. No… I did. That was a very nice afternoon.”
“Not your typical afternoon of choice,” replied Luke. “Pretty successful though, all-in-all.”
“$30 per person. That is the kind of adventure I would pay for,” I said feeling soothed and relieved.
“Yeah, what a crazy adventure,” said Emma.
“Same thing tomorrow?” I teased.
“NO!” rocked the reply.
“Let’s go eat,” said Andy clearly.


Which was something we could all happily agree on. The road trip was back. After an eventful day we were back on our trip and ready for a slightly less exciting adventure.