Close but no cigar

The GT6 won't be home for Christmas. It's close - the doors and hatch are back on - but Joe's struggling with panel gaps around the bonnet. The entire front section of a GT6 is a single clamshell-style assembly, and mine needed a lot of dents to be hammered out.

To start with we need to sort out the bonnet hinges. The whole front end pivots on two bolts as part of an adjustable hinge setup. It's a long time since I took the car apart, so I'll need to dig out some parts manuals and diagrams and work out where the bushes and washers go. At the moment it has a couple of centimetres' play! The rear end of the bonnet is located on the bulkhead with rubber cones and latches and again, it's no use trying to get the alignment right until they're fitted.

The doors and hatch fit very well, with no tweaking required. That was one of the positives about this car - it was worn out, dented and roasted by years parked up in the sun, but none of the outer panels had any significant rust. Only portions of the floor needed replacing. The wings, doors and sills are the same ones on the car when it rolled out of the Triumph factory.

At the moment the Mallard Missile's got its bum in the air. It should settle once the glass, interior and fuel tank are fitted, but US-spec GT6s seem to have sat higher than their UK counterparts. It's already got a 1" lowering block under the spring, and if it doesn't settle down enough with some weight in the back, the spring will need to be reset.

The left front wing's gaps are good, but it needs its cones and latches to push the bottom out a bit.

The bulkhead gap's fairly regular, but the right hand door gap needs to be reduced. Hopefully it'll close up when the bonnet's better located.

My visit to the GT6 was on the way home from two weeks in the Queensland summer sun. Summer up there is also the wet season, so think 36C and thunderstorms. The photo's not been tweaked - green thunder clouds mean hail!

High altitude ice clouds mean it's going to be a clear, hot day. This photo was taken about 9am, when it was already about 30C!

Meanwhile, the Herald's snoozing in the garage. When I started my new job in Brisbane I used it to commute, a daily twenty-mile round trip (the Herald doesn't think in kilometres). Stop-start driving's different to steady cruising on country roads, and after a couple of weeks the diff pinion seal let go. Of course I didn't notice until the diff started whining, on the last banked bend leading onto the Gateway Bridge. Sigh. Fresh oil quietened it a bit but it's obviously not healthy any more. So a new-old-stock crown wheel and pinion, bearings, gaskets and seals are on their way from the UK, along with an alloy case which increases the oil capacity. I'll get it rebuilt by a specialist, to make sure the new gears mesh smoothly. I want the new diff to be as quiet as the old one was.

Green Energy

After 14 months at the body shop, my GT6 is almost ready to collect. It was delivered in September last year, stripped of paint and showing nearly forty years of accumulated dents and battle scars. Joe's welded up a hole inflicted by a forklift, fitted a new section of bulkhead, a dashboard frame and floor pan, and hammered and shrunk dents from every panel (including the roof!). 

Painting the body, though, was delayed by insurance work and a shortage of labour. I haven't been in Mackay in a couple of months, but asked my brother to stop in on his way to the mines. And sitting in the tropical sun, waiting for its doors, was the Mallard Missile.

Word is, it'll be home for Christmas...

  

All At Sea

When you think of the beach, you probably think of blue skies, blue seas and waves lapping on long stretches of golden sand. Well, all that's alright I s'pose...

The Kaikoura coast looking northwards. Straight from a tourist brochure...

Moeraki Boulders, on the way back north to Christchurch. Freaky geology anyone?

Manuherikia Arm, Marlborough Sounds.

The Sounds are flooded valleys, with hundreds of hidden bays and inlets, framed by dark, bush-covered hills. One of my favourite places, rain or shine.

 

Ngakuta Bay, Marlborough Sounds.

Cook Strait. Sometimes one of the most violent stretches of water in the world, but thankfully not today.

Recovery

I'm originally from Christchurch. A lot of visitors to New Zealand fly in or out through Christchurch, and many have lingered for a day or so to admire buildings and gardens influenced by its nineteenth century English founders. In February this year, Christchurch was made momentarily famous by an earthquake which killed 181 people and levelled large tracts of the central city and eastern suburbs. I flew back for a few days in April, but with most of the inner city cordoned off, I found it hard to get a sense of the scale of destruction. What I could see was incredible. Roads buckled, bridges destroyed, houses falling into the streets. People were keeping calm and carrying on, but remained deeply shocked, and upset anew every time an aftershock rumbled beneath their feet.

Six months on, a cold and hard winter has given way to spring. The ground has quietened if not stilled, and most of the worst damaged buildings have been demolished. I don't want to give the impression that everything's back to normal. Thousands of people have permanently left, and thousands more are in limbo as the government and insurance companies argue over whether and how to repair houses. Entire suburbs built on unstable ground may be bulldozed and turned into parkland. Businesses have migrated to the western suburbs and the traffic is far worse than I remember it. But it felt as though the city was turning a corner.

The last weekend in October was notable because the first small section of the inner city was reopened. A new City Mall had been built from shipping containers, and locals flooded in to see. I was in town after finishing the Rail Trail, so went along as well.

The new City Mall. Most of the buildings lining this section collapsed during the February quake, killing and injuring scores of lunchtime shoppers and workers. It was fitting, then, that this was the first area of the "Red Zone" to be reopened. The containers may be temporary and symbolic, but it felt good to be there.

Lichfield St. Once upon a time, this vacant site housed Fazzaz - part classic car salesroom, part auto museum, part motoring model and magazine shop. And one of my favourite parts of Christchurch.

Clarendon Towers, one of the tallest remaining buildings, was badly damaged and may yet be demolished (or 'deconstructed', a word much in vogue these days).

The Canterbury Provincial Council Buildings, like many late nineteenth century buildings, were built in the Gothic Revival style. And although appearing to have been hewn from the earth itself and strong as the roots of mountains, they crumbled.

The Dux De Lux, a famous bar and restaurant, is part of the Arts Centre. It was famous for brewing its own beer, and brilliant live music. Generations of students have misbehaved here into the small hours (me too!) Hopefully it'll get rebuilt, but the structural damage is apparently far worse than it appears from the outside.

Untouched my a@$e!

The botanic gardens. As in the City Mall, spring has produced a riot of colour.

On yer bike!

Last month's exciting episode had me finishing a job and driving the Herald back to Brisbane. I negotiated a few weeks break before starting my next job, as some friends had invited me on a re-re-re-cycle of the Otago Rail Trail, back in New Zealand. It was my fourth time on the Trail in about ten years - yes, it really is that good!

 I won't dissect the Trail - there are plenty of websites that explain its history and what cyclists face on each section. Instead, I'll tell you why I like it - stunning, ever-changing scenery rolling by, a nice easy trail to ride on, spectacular views from places away from any road access. Silence, apart from the crunch of gravel under your tyres. The smell of wild thyme on sunny hillsides, humming with bees. Great places to stop for an emergency ice cream or beer. Soft beds and big dinners. And best of all, the banter of friends comparing their favourite parts of that day's ride.

The drive south from Christchurch was split into two days so that we could stop at Lake Tekapo. A southerly storm the day before had dumped snow right down to the lake shore. 

My new mountain bike. My old bike is now in Brisbane, so I bought another. Chances are, it'll be back to Otago before too long.

Wild thyme, smelling divine.

The Manuherikia Viaduct, ageing gracefully.

Emergency snack attack!

The Poolburn Viaduct.

This good shed was the subject of a famous painting by local artist Grahame Sydney. When the rail line closed it was relocated, but it was eventually returned to Wedderburn. No Rail Trail is complete without a photo of the green shed.

Generations of travellers on the rail line threw apple cores out the carriage window, and now the track is lined with numerous apple trees. 

Schist, a rock once baked and twisted kilometres beneath the earth's surface, meets ice clouds twisting kilometres up in a cold Spring sky. 

The shape of the landscape causes this lenticular cloud, known as the Taieri Pet. 

Homecoming

Sunday morning in Cania Gorge started with a dawn chorus - magpies, kookaburras and rain birds. I lay in my tent for a while listening to the birdsong. No traffic, voices, just birds.

Eventually I got up, gobbled some porridge and packed up. Somehow the tent, bedroll, folding chair, tool kit, cooker and food all fitted back in the boot. I'd like to take the GT6 camping when its finished, but have no idea how I'll fit all the gear in! We hit the road about 8.30. It's always hard to leave Cania Gorge and I was in no hurry.

The highway on the second day links towns about 80km apart, so there are no gaping voids like the Beef Road. I've lived in mining towns over the last few years, and farming towns are much nicer. Not designed by a 70's urban planner, they have over a hundred years of history and character. Old churches and shop facades, modern businesses, old houses with beautiful gardens, and every second vehicle isn't a Herald-crushing mine-spec 4WD.

About half an hour into the journey, the highway jinked left in a great arcing loop. There is a shorter, straighter route through the tiny town of Abercorn, but it's not obvious. It's narrow and winding and has only been sealed for a few years, but is a great scenic detour, 30-odd km of back-country farm scenes. I don't think we saw another car the whole way.


Once back at the main road, it was onwards and southwards. Well south east, sometimes east, sometimes even north-ish again. The inland highway weaves through hilly country, over passes, through valleys, patches of forest and increasingly green farms. Despite having lived in rural Queensland for five years, the countryside still looks foreign to my eyes. Some patches reminded me of New Zealand, especially where settlers have planted oak, poplar and willow around their houses, but nowhere is the familiar dark green of South Island rainforest, or glimpses of the Southern Alps through a gap in the hills. All things I've seen through Gerald's windscreen on countless road trips.

Some inland areas are used for citrus orchards. I'd taken a photo of Gerald beside Munduberra's giant mandarin on the way north, so took a similar photo beside Gayndah's giant orange.



Australians love making giant models to promote their towns - at least 150 according to Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Australia's_big_things.
Travelling around the country 'bagging' shots of the giant mango, gumboot, crayfish and so on is a respected form of tourism.

The next town south, Goomeri, is special. About a year ago I stopped for a coffee and met a cat sitting outside a shop. I gave her a stroke, and a giant red-bearded head poked out of the shop. "Do you like the cat?" he inquired. "Take the cat. Please". He and his wife had bought a cafe, and it came with a cat. They weren't cat people and so were looking for a home for her. I didn't take Moo that day but exchanged numbers and that evening arranged to travel back up from Brisbane the following weekend with a cat cage. And so we became a two-cat house.


No cats today, thankfully.

Gerald was making such good time that I decided to try a back roads way into Brisbane, over Mt Glorious and Mt Nebo. This road cuts between the enormous Somerset and Wivenhoe reservoirs, and then climbs up switch-backs to over 700m. The temperature was up to 34C by this time, and as we climbed up and up, mostly in second gear, I watched the water rise to 90-odd. Apart from a little mis-firing due to vapourisation, the red beastie behaved well. Only 50 kilometres from Brisbane, this was the hardest it had worked on the whole trip. We paused for breath at a lookout and again at a quirky cafe at Mt Glorious.


After this, it was a quick drive through the Brisbane Forest, which smelt tantalisingly of hops, before descending into what probably passes for light traffic in Brisbane. It was Sunday afternoon, about 4pm as we drove over the Storey Bridge - allegedly built with bits left over from the Sydney Harbour Bridge. And finally Gerald arrived at its new home. I'd bought a house since 2008, when the Herald landed in Brisbane, and this was the first time we'd driven 'home'.

The next morning I gave the car a well-deserved wash and worked out the maths: 721 miles, about 39mpg, and minimal oil and coolant used. I reckon it's up for another adventure.

A wee drive in the country

After five and a half years working on the Eagle Downs project, I decided it was time for a change of scene. The whole point of being a geologist is to travel and see new rocks, and I'd been staring at the same coal seams since 2006. So I found a new job starting in November, and finished at Eagle Downs on Friday 14th October.

Gerald the Herald came to Moranbah in 2008. The company had provided a house with a huge garage, so the wee red terror was hauled out of storage in New Zealand, shipped to Brisbane and driven north to the Coalfields. I took three days for that journey because the car hadn't been used in several years and I wanted to take it slow in case anything wasn't working properly. As it turned out, Gerald was in rude health and never missed a beat.

Three years on, we were heading south again.


We sneaked out of Moranbah at 0525 on Saturday morning, as I wanted to get as much of the first day's journey out of the way before the heat built up. The sky was already light, and an orange sun rose above the clouds as we passed Eagle Downs. The first part of the drive was slow because of mist, and passing traffic threw up sprays of dirty water. We stopped at Dysart, the first town on the road south so I could clean the windscreen, and then headed out down the Golden Mile Rd.

The most worrying leg of the journey is officially called the "Suttor Developmental Road". but everyone calls it the Beef Road. It's about 250km in total, with no towns, settlements or rest stops. And no phone coverage. Break down on the Beef Road, and you'd better hope someone stops and helps you. As it turned out, the Beef Road section was uneventful. Just boring. The stretch from the Golden Mile Rd intersection to the Capricorn Highway is about 140km, or about an hour and a half at Gerald speeds. No towns, just signs and driveways every few kilometres, leading to farmhouses somewhere over the horizon. We were squeezed off the road by wide loads of mining equipment on its way north, and passed frequent patches of charred bush, burned either by farmers to control scrub, or by lightning. It was with a sense of relief that we reached Dingo. From then, we wouldn't be so isolated.

The Capricorn Highway runs east-west and is just about on the Tropic of Capricorn. We headed east, so the tropics were to our left. They don't look any different to the rest of inland Queensland, just flat or gently rolling brown grasslands, scrubby trees and stands of grey-green eucalypts. It's a landscape that the eye can struggle to focus on simply because there is so little to see. A landscape that only emphasises how big the sky is. After an hour or so, we turned south again onto the "Country Way", the Queensland section of New South Wales' New England Highway, which reaches all the way to the Blue Mountains west of Sydney, about 1500km south.

I was impressed at Gerald's fuel consumption. Half a tank to Dingo was great! Over the next hour though, I saw that the second half was disappearing a lot faster. Maybe the new fuel gauge wasn't as accurate as I'd hoped... so I decided to refuel at the first town, a tiny community called Dululu. Well, that was the plan, but when I got there I found that the service station had closed and the pumps were gone. Fxxk! Down to 1/4 tank now, but we had no choice but to keep going. We eventually found fuel at Jimna. They only had 91, so I put in $10, enough to get to Biloela and fill right up with 96. If we hadn't filled up at Jimna, Gerald would have been down to the last 2 litres!

From Biloela it was an easy drive to Cania Gorge, where I planned to camp for the night. We arrived in plenty of time to set up the tent and then drive down to the dam before doing one of the walks up the side gorges.





Finally it was time to sit back and enjoy a couple of Matilda Bay beers. The late afternoon sun dropped behind the cliffs, leaving clear skies slowly dimming and turning silver-yellow. The smells of damp earth and eucalyptus trees mixed with smoke from a camp fire. After a day of wind and engine noise, the sounds were the quiet conversations of other campers, evening birdsong and the buzz and chirp of insects. It felt as though the world was letting its breath out.

Later, I stood outside the tent in the dark. No wind, the only sounds were music and laughter. The sky was the stage tonight. Clear and bright, Scorpio above us, a satellite cruising past. The horizon flashed constantly with the echoes of lightning far away. No sound, just light, someone else's battle, somewhere outside the Gorge.



Cars don't sleep. They either move or they are silent. That night I dreamt for both of us.