The Return Trip to Sydney

Please note that in the following account, names have not been changed, as I felt no need to protect the innocent, the foolish, or the stupid.

Bright and early, Sharon drove me to the train station and came on the train with me. Not being sure if there were assigned seats or not, we waited for the conductor to notice us. He eventually came over and I asked him if I needed an assigned seat. He looked at the page I had printed off and said it should be on my confirmation. I didn't remember seeing one, but I admit I hadn't looked closely at the entire email, so I can't be sure, but I didn't think there was a seat number included in the email. I told the conductor so, but he just grumbled that I should have printed the whole document because the seat number was in there, and then he went off to the other car on the train. He was kind of a grumpy guy. Meanwhile another passenger came over and offered his help. His name was Ben (I learned this later when he introduced himself properly.) and he helpfully looked at my printout and said that the seat number should be in there and that it must have been on another page, basically reiterating what the grumpy conductor had said. Then he told me that the conductor would be back shortly and would tell me what seat I was in and that it would all be okay. Despite being fairly certain anyway that everything would indeed work out, I was nonetheless heartened by Ben's protective manner towards a fellow passenger. Then Ben, my erstwhile protector, stood and waited with me and Sharon until the grumpy conductor returned. The grumpy conductor consulted a passenger list that he had gone to get and determined that I was going to be in seat 38 and indicated it to me. Whereupon we discovered another passenger already occupying the seat. This guy quickly vacated and went to take another random seat, not knowing what his seat number was as he had not even printed off any part of his confirmation email. He had simply done what the email instructed, which was to note down the confirmation number so that the conductor could check and seat him properly. Now Alex, who took the seat across the aisle from me, had (in hindsight) wisely not approached the grumpy conductor about his own seat number and was just hopping from seat to seat as people came in and found him occupying their seats. Alex is a German. This is in no way relevant to this story, but I am going to refer to him from this point on as Alex, the German across the aisle. And as it happened, no more passengers came to sit in this final seat that Alex, the German across the aisle, had claimed. So all was well with him. Meanwhile Ben, my erstwhile protector, had apparently decided that I was good people and, instead of going to and remaining in his own assigned seat, pulled up stakes and came to sit beside me.

Seating arrangements decided, at least for the three of us, Sharon took her leave, and we said goodbye. It was great to see her again. I do enjoy reconnecting with old friends.

Shortly after Sharon left there was a rowdy commotion in the foyer outside the main passenger cabin on the train car. There was all kinds of swearing and it seemed to be directed at someone in particular. Ben, my erstwhile protector, jumped out of his newly claimed seat and had a gander at what was going on out there. He sat down almost immediately and, with a muttered oath, said there was a woman with a dog out there. I tried to see, but Ben, my erstwhile protector, was a fairly solid young man (well large at any rate), and I was unable to get a good enough position to see what was going on, let alone any possible dog. What did seem to be going on was that the woman, who was still going a bit crazy, was tossing things willy-nilly from her bag all over the floor in search of something. I heard something that sounded like “ticket,” and suspected that she might be unable to locate her ticket or proof of purchase. I also suspected that, whether it was because of the supposed dog or because of a missing ticket, she was directing her invective (which was quite inventive, I must say) at the grumpy conductor. This was confirmed when I heard the voice of the grumpy conductor tell the woman she should get off the train and come back the next day when she might be more organized. This sent the crazy woman with the possible dog off into another profanity-laced tirade. Ben, my erstwhile protector, solemnly pronounced that she was pushing her luck and would get herself thrown off the train in a moment or two. Sadly, or perhaps adding to the entertainment value of the trip (depending on your point of view), this turned out not to be the case and, despite the amount of verbal abuse she piled on the grumpy conductor, she was allowed to stay. So the crazy woman with the possible dog came into the passenger cabin and sat down in a seat that in all probability was not hers, given that she still had not located any sign of her ticket. For some reason, the grumpy conductor didn't make any issue with her choice of seat. I wonder why.

While the grumpy conductor was dealing with the crazy woman with the possible dog (which was still possible in every way, as there was no sign of said dog when she came in to take her seat), Ben, my erstwhile protector, pulled out his watch and had a look. He got an annoyed look on his face as he announced to Alex, the German across the aisle, and I that the train was now a few minutes late in leaving the station, and it was all because of the crazy woman with the possible dog. However, irrepressible as always (as he was to demonstrate over and over through the train trip), he quickly allowed his annoyance to pass and struck up a new conversation with Alex, the German across the aisle, and I. It was something to do with where we were all from, I think.

Finally, about five minutes late or so, the train started moving and we were off. Ben, my erstwhile protector, chatted away happily. We got to know each other's names and where we were from. Alex, the German across the aisle, was on a working holiday in Australia. He liked the heat of the summer when he arrived, but was finding it quite chilly now. I'm not sure why this would be so myself because winter in Germany is much colder than anywhere in Australia during winter and we were by no means anywhere near the really “cold” parts of Australia, but I will take him at his word that he was finding the cold difficult. Alex, the German across the aisle, was currently working on a cotton farm picking cotton. However, the past few days had brought a lot of rain into the area and the harvest had to be suspended. So Alex, the German across the aisle, had a couple of days off.

Ben, my erstwhile protector, had been working in Moree. He was working in some sort of recycling factory. He worked the crushing machine that crushes cardboard into bales that can be banded and stacked for transport. He was going to Sydney to visit his brother for the weekend.

After about ten minutes, the train suddenly slowed down and stopped. Ben, my erstwhile protector, sagely noted to all within earshot (and he talked quite loudly, so that probably meant everyone), that this was routine and the train driver had to wait for permission from his dispatcher to continue on the track. While he was making this pronouncement Alex, the German across the aisle, glanced idly out the window towards the back of the train car and then asked if it was normal for all that smoke to be coming out from under the train car. Ben, my erstwhile protector, whipped his head around to have a look and then got this stricken look on his face. He then said something like, “Oh, you've got to be kidding me. You know what's happened? The coolant tank just blew. That's coolant coming out of there. We're done. We're not going anywhere. We'll be heading back to Moree in a minute.” Then he lamented that he wouldn't get to Sydney, and said something like he would lose it if we didn't get to Sydney. Having seen the crazy woman with the possible dog already lose it that morning, I didn't need to see any more of that type of thing, but I didn't say that to Ben, my erstwhile protector. I didn't want to cause trouble. (Don't laugh. That's not nice. I really didn't want to cause trouble. Really.)

Next Ben, my erstwhile protector, noticed a smell that seemed to be associated with the smoke. He proclaimed that the smell was gasoline. It smelled more like the smell from my car when the brakes are leaking fluid and it gets burned, but Ben, my erstwhile protector, said it was gasoline. Now, as I already mentioned, his voice was quite loud and when he was talking about the smell of gasoline, some of the other passengers began to look a bit alarmed.

I just kept watching out the window since I found it interesting that Ben, my erstwhile protector, knew so much about the problems we were encountering with the train since he, like everyone else, had been in the train car the whole time and had seen nothing of what was happening under the train. I figured we should just wait and see what would happen. Maybe it would be all right.

Meanwhile the grumpy conductor had gotten out of the train and was having a look-see under the train car. Because of this little hiccup in our trip, he still hadn't had a chance to check on the ticket of the crazy woman with the possible dog. He looked for a moment at the situation under the train car and then sauntered up to the engine room to get the train driver. The train driver came down and walked back with the grumpy conductor to survey the situation as well. Now the train driver was a man with a large-ish belly, long graying hair drawn back into a pony-tail and a dangly earring. He gave the impression of being an ageing hippie. After a moment, the ageing hippie train driver went back to the engine room and retrieved a long bar with a funky end and went back to the source of the trouble. He got under the train car and we heard some noise, presumably as the ageing hippie driver started using the funky looking bar tool. Then there was some banging and other noises that gave the impression that the ageing hippie driver subscribed to the if-you-can't-finesse-it-into-working-then-force-it-with-a-hammer method of fixing things. Then the banging stopped, the ageing hippie driver reappeared and went back to the engine room, the grumpy conductor got back on the train, and the train started off once again. All seemed to be well once more.

The grumpy conductor went to the front of the train car and started asking people for their tickets. Then a voice came from the car's foyer, and I thought it said something like it was happening again. This disembodied voice seemed to be talking to the grumpy conductor, and he stopped what he was doing and went back to the foyer and then the train was stopping again. Meanwhile Ben, my erstwhile protector, swivelled his head to have a look at what was going on. Then he had a bit of a cow as he realized that there was smoke again coming from under the train and the same problem had happened again. Of course Ben, my erstwhile protector, had already come up with two different reasons for why we had stopped, so what that problem was remained a mystery, albeit a mystery with two confident solutions proposed by Ben, my erstwhile protector. I was still firmly convinced that it had something to do with the brakes, but I kept it to myself. The grumpy conductor got off the train, had another look under the car from whence the smoke was emanating, and went to get the ageing hippie driver again. The ageing hippie driver got his funky bar tool out again and had at the spot once more. Meanwhile, we had begun to smell that smell once again, but only a little bit. Ben, my erstwhile protector, upon detecting the smell, reacted as though he was under a gas attack. He began hacking and wheezing and holding his nose. He loudly announced that this stuff was deadly and that we might all die from the fumes. After a few minutes of writhing around as though he was in his death throes, he seemed to come to the realization that he was the only one doing so. Then he calmed down. About this time the grumpy conductor came back inside and Ben, my erstwhile protector, asked him what the problem was. The grumpy conductor told him that it was the brakes. Then Ben, my erstwhile protector, turned to the rest of us and gave us the news. It was the brakes. Of course, we had all heard the grumpy conductor, but I don't think anyone had the heart to tell Ben, my erstwhile conductor. Certainly none of us said anything. Then Ben, my erstwhile protector, launched into an explanation of exactly what had happened. He used to be a mechanic and so he knew all about this sort of thing. I found this to be rather amazing for Ben, my erstwhile protector, was only seventeen and it seemed somewhat implausible that he would have so much knowledge and experience about the mechanics of train brakes. To be fair, though, brakes are brakes, and they all run on the same basic principles. I think. So if Ben, my erstwhile protector, had in fact had experience as a mechanic, then he might understand the mechanics of train brakes. But it was stretching belief a bit to think that Ben, my erstwhile protector, had had all this experience of being a car mechanic and had been in Moree as well for a while crushing boxes (and let's face it, crushing boxes in a recycling plant seems to have a lot less technical expertise required of it than car mechanics, so would seemingly be a rather large step backward in career path), he was showing himself to be quite experienced in life at the tender age of seventeen. However, I was beginning to understand that Ben, my erstwhile protector, had rather a lot of opinions about many things and was ready to tell anyone in earshot, but precious little actual knowledge. He also seemed to have a very strong need for attention and validation. The two things together made for a rather potent combination in a recipe for the empty verbal diarrhea that seemed to be characteristic of this young man.

Before too long the ageing hippie driver had the problem solved once more and he climbed back into his engine room and we were off again. This time, as it turned out, it was fixed for good and we were well on our way. Finally the grumpy conductor was able to get on with the business of checking tickets. He worked his way through the carriage and approached the crazy woman with the possible dog. As he came near her, Ben, my erstwhile protector, nudged me with his elbow and told me that she was going to go ape again. Then she would push her luck too far and would be put off the train at the next stop. With his record of getting things right, I felt perfectly confident in predicting (to myself, for I really didn't want to hurt Ben, my erstwhile protector's feelings) that the crazy woman with the possible dog would in fact remain calm and remain on the train. The grumpy conductor came to the crazy woman with the possible dog and asked about her ticket. She still didn't have it, but gave the grumpy conductor some information to be able to look her up on his passenger list. He duly went to the next car and checked his list. He returned a few minutes later, looking a bit worried, and informed her that he couldn't find her on the manifest. Once again, she remained calm, and said that it was probably under a different name than the one she gave him before and asked him to check again. So he went off to have another look. This time he came back and gave the crazy woman with the possible dog the welcome news that he had found her records and all was well. He looked visibly relieved at being able to tell her this. And then he proceeded to check the tickets of the rest of the passengers.