Jared’s Toyota wagon rolled to a stop at the foot of a bumpy dirt road in the heart of Deep Creek Conservation Park.
“I just lost power,” Jared gritted through his teeth. “I just got this car back from servicing a couple of weeks ago so this wouldn’t happen.”
This was us stranded in the middle of a remote Australian national park with no transportation and no mobile service. We’d spent the morning exploring the Heysen Trail and had been looking forward to another scenic walk.
Jared turned the key a few more times, got out and tightened the battery contacts, checked the starter motor, and then looked at the engine ruefully.
A young guy in a white T-shirt walked towards us on the dusty road. He asked if we needed any help. “Are you a mechanic?” I asked hopefully.
“Nope,” he laughed, “I’m a paramedic. I can fix broken bodies but not broken cars.” He told us he was staying with a group in the nearby Tapanappa campground. He offered to ask his friends if anyone could help.
Help and beer
After he left, several vehicles drove by also asking if we needed help. One of them was a huge four-wheel-drive, all-terrain recreational vehicle. By that time Jared and I had absorbed the fact that we were stranded.
Colin and Mia turned the 4WD truck around and invited us to jump in the back. “We can take you to the park boundary, no problem,” said Colin. “You should get mobile service there.”
At the park gate Jared used his mobile phone to call the RAA (Royal Automotive Association) and then his partner Ruth (who was busy getting a family dinner together). Inside the truck I shared stories with Colin and Mia about my solo travels by bicycle.
“With a bicycle, a breakdown isn’t a big deal,” I joked. “You just flag down a pick-up truck and throw the bike in the back. Often there’s a case of beer nearby and it all works out!”
Jared climbed back into the truck. “RAA will be here in a couple of hours,” he exhaled. “They’re coming in from Yankalilla.”
Colin and Mia drove us back to Jared’s car. We climbed out and Mia motioned to the backseat. “You want a beer?” she asked, “We’ve got a few extra here and you’ve got some time to kill…”
Jared and I looked at each other. “Sure!” we said almost in unison. Mia handed down a couple of Asahis and wished us well.
Assess the situation
Alone at the car we assessed our situation: we were stalled in front of a campground with toilets and fresh water. It was overcast and not hot with plenty of hours of daylight remaining. We had beer, snacks, maps, and the world-class Heysen Trail nearby.
It could be worse.
“Well,” said Jared, “What do reckon we go for that walk after we finish our beer?” I laid out a towel, leaned back on a tree, took a swig of my beer and nodded enthusiastically.
The walk was beautiful, with peeks of the St. Vincent Gulf oceanside and kangaroo families inland.
The tow truck was a massive flat-bed truck. Its driver, James, was a mechanic. He guessed that the problem was the timing belt—a problem he could not fix on the spot.
After some discussion Jared agreed to James loading the surfboard-laden Toyota on the back of the truck, hauling it to the Yankalilla Towing yard, and then dropping us and the surfboards off at the Yankalilla pub. Jared’s dad Darryl would drive in from Willunga to pick us up from there.
I climbed up the steep steps of the truck cab and settled in on the bench seat between James and Jared. James steered the truck along the corrugated dirt road and out of the park.
As he and Jared compared surf beaches, I took in the gorgeous, rolling agricultural views from the heights of the cab. We passed hundreds of kangaroos relaxing in hay fields. A double rainbow hung over Sellicks Hill.
It was beautiful and I felt like I was flying.
Later, Jared and I thanked each other for remaining calm as we worked through the day. He was optimistic that his mechanic wouldn’t charge him for the timing issue because it was part of the work he gone done.
I told him I remember hearing a quote Mother Teresa might have said. It was something like,
“When I encounter a problem, I consider it a blessing.”