A Lumpy Truck

This week I had the opportunity to cover 1000km in a lumpy truck.

It was an Isuzu MU-X (where do they get these model names?) and I finished up with it because the hire company had run out of Outlanders. It was, apparently, an “upgrade”.

This is the second time this has happened. The last time I was upgraded to a Toyota Prado, so comparisons were possible.

The Prado comes across as slightly up-market, especially comparing the interiors, but there’s not much in it. The MU-X is, for mine, a more useable vehicle. It is comfortable, very easy to drive, and feels every bit as strong as the Prado is reputed to be.

And best of all, it doesn’t smell like a Toyota. It must be the glues they use, but you could blindfold me and I would be able to pick a Toyota immediately by its distinctive pong.

The best feature of the MU-X is its motor. It feels unburstable, but at the same time, discrete and in the background. There is a slight diesel clatter, but noticeable only when cold. It’s the kind of diesel that you can start up at 5am in the motel forecourt without stirring the somnambulists. 

Like the motor, the transmission (in this case a 6-speed auto) is also discrete, but it kicks down with alacrity when booted. It overtakes well. 

It handles as you would expect – the separate chassis and off-road engineering creates a lolloping gait, but the steering is communicative and stability is fine. At no time, did I feel insecure at speed, something that was occasionally an issue in the Prado.

Whilst the interior is a sea of hard dark plastic, it is laid out logically, has plenty of storage, and looks easy to clean. The AC and sound systems were simple to use and the Bluetooth straightforward. The only negative aspect I encountered was the AC. It took a long time (minutes) to get the interior comfortable after parking in full sun. Maybe I wasn’t setting it up properly.

Probably the most sales worthy feature of these Isuzus is their value for money. They come in at over $7000 less than the comparable Prado, and are available with 4X2, for about ten grand less and Isuzu always seem to be prepared to offer deals. The 4X2 is rapidly becoming the weapon of choice for grey nomads towing tandem axle vans. 

They also have a strong reputation for reliability, if you read the forums. They seem to be matching Toyota in this respect.

The fuel consumption readout had me confused for a while until I realised it was set up for kms/litre.

Who uses that? 

After a little bit of maths, it became apparent that the thing was turning 8lit/100kms on a mixture of commuting and cruising. A fill-to-fill calculation across a 350km open road trip turned 7lit/100kms - not shabby.

In summary, these things are user friendly, non-nonsense, and good value for money. The one I drove was a genuine seven seater, with a DVD player folding down from the ceiling to keep the sprogs entertained. 

If you were contemplating a trip across the Nullarbor, or from Brisbane to Mt Isa, with a family of small children, this would be the weapon of choice.

Vietnam Veterans' Panel Discussion

I found this a fascinating discussion, gentle reader.

Most of the issues touched upon by these people are familiar to Australian Vietnam veterans.

I hope you find it as interesting as I did. The references made to the suffering of the parents of draftees resonated with me. The inclusion of the partners was valuable.

The emotional intensity evident is shared by many Australians, even though the events were almost half a century ago.

Walkin in Memphis

This is pure self-indulgent nostalgia.

Here are the lyrics, gentle reader, should you want to sing along -

Put on my blue suede shoes and

I boarded the plane
Touched down in the land of the Delta Blues
In the middle of the pouring rain

W.C. Handy
Won't you look down over me
Yeah, I got a first class ticket
But I'm as blue as a boy can be

Then I'm walking in Memphis
I was walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale
Walking in Memphis
But do I really feel the way I feel?

I saw the ghost of Elvis on Union Avenue
Followed him up to the gates of Graceland
Then I watched him walk right through

Now, security did not see him
They just hovered round his tomb
But there's a pretty little thing
Waiting for the King
And she's down in the jungle room

When I was walking in Memphis
I was walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale
Walking in Memphis
But do I really feel the way I feel?

Now, they've got catfish on the table
They've got gospel in the air
And Reverend Green, be glad to see you
When you haven't got a prayer
But boy you got a prayer in Memphis

Now, Muriel plays piano
Every Friday at the Hollywood
And they brought me down to see her
And they asked me if I would
Do a little number
And I sang with all my might
She said, "Tell me are you a Christian, child?"
And I said, "Ma'am, I am tonight!"

Walking in Memphis
I was walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale
Walking in Memphis
But do I really feel the way I feel?

Walking in Memphis
I was walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale
Walking in Memphis
But do I really feel the way I feel?

Put on my blue suede shoes and I
Boarded the plane
Touched down in the land of the Delta Blues
In the middle of the pouring rain

Touched down in the land of the Delta Blues
In the middle of the pouring rain

(Copyright -  Marc Cohn and Ben Wisch.)

Maslow and Marketism

Marketism is defined by Wikipedia as – “a loose aggregation of beliefs that generally oppose government and favour private enterprise in the form of free-as-in-unregulated market principles”.

Sounds about right….

Let’s have a look at the effect of Marketism on two national sectors, both of which have been newsworthy of late. I’m referring to housing and energy.

Housing has become very expensive, reaching the point where for many young people, the dream of owning a home in one of the state capitals is a fantasy. This article from the domain website illustrates it pretty well.

The housing market over the decades has morphed from a service to people starting a family and looking for somewhere to live, to a safe investment option. In the process, prices have skyrocketed. The functional relationship between shelter and investment has always been uneasy. Now it is completely out of kilter.

We have heard a great deal recently about both the rising costs of energy (especially electricity and gas) and the threat to future supplies. Blame is attributed to either a move towards renewable energy supply, or “gold plating” of infrastructure, depending on the politics of those making the case for one over the other.

I can vividly remember paying less than $200 per quarter for electricity when we had a family of six consumers, and comparing that with the $600 plus per quarter we’re paying now with three people in the house.

The source of our power (coal fired generators) hasn’t changed, which rules out blaming renewables. What was different back in the day of the $200 power bills was that electricity generation was publicly owned and was described as a service (a utility) and not a market.

Again, back in the day when we bought our first home in a state capital (which cost, from memory, $24000) the word “market” wasn’t used to describe housing, or if used, was in the lexicon of Real Estate agents, not your average punter.

So the language, the perception, and the understanding of the reality of establishing the foundations of a stable and comfortable life in this land of Oz has fundamentally changed. We are to see housing and energy now as functions of a market, aspects of life to be bought and sold, and if possible, from which to derive profit.

That’s crazy. It doesn’t work, and people suffer. Didn’t that bloke called Maslow describe a hierarchy in which the most basic (bottom) rungs comprised food, shelter and security? Electricity and housing are vital components of these.

He didn’t describe them as a market - he saw them as basic human needs. He knew what he was talking about. Neither did he discuss greed, simple uncomplicated soul that he was.

He would be spinning in his grave…..

Western Reflections

Roma Sunrise

Last week was my once per school term Charleville loop.

It takes in much more than Charleville – Cunnamulla, Quilpie, Augathella and Tambo, to be precise, covering a distance of about 2500 km, and I continue to enjoy it immensely. This is a problem, as I will have to give it away soon. On the cusp, as I am, of three score years and ten, the unfortunate reality is that this kind of activity is the province of younger people. I’m not getting any younger.

So, I’ll reflect on why working west of Roma has been such an enjoyable way to spend the bulk of my sixties.

First of all, the kids and the schools are brilliant. Bush schools are something else. Somehow, they have retained the essence of what enthused me as a young teacher when first I began to teach. That’s a long time ago – nearly half a century to be precise, since I first fronted a class (of 45) at Goondiwindi State School in 1968.

Goondiwindi 1968

The kids really haven’t changed. Embedded as they are in a world generally free of the frustrations and fripperies of urban existence, they present an enthusiasm for life and general and learning in particular often absent in city kids.

Sure, there are frustrations in their lives, but these are typically factors entirely beyond their control such as drought and the seasons, so they tend to take them in their stride, rather than whinge and moan to anybody who will give them a hearing.
 

The communities are strong and resilient, and they hang together in a way unknown in the city. This sense of solidarity becomes obvious when you attend an inter school sports day in the bush. The loyalty to school and community is intense. 

These tight communities can, of course, become a barrier to newly arrived teachers if they can’t develop trust with the locals, but generally if you’re fair dinkum, you’re accepted. Bush people are accustomed to staff turnover rates unknown in the city.

The rural kids have another characteristic – that of independence. Given that independence is so important to kids with disabilities and their future quality of life, they are well placed in bush schools. In addition, because of the lack of specialist infrastructure, support for these kids is everybody’s daily business – not left to the designated “special educator”. There isn’t one, most of the time.

I’ll use that word “enthusiasm” again, and apply it to the teachers. Part of it comes from their youth, and the fact that they have generally come west because they really want to teach. They will take the posting to get permanency. Young teachers, if properly supported, are a breath of fresh air in any school community. Sure, they make mistakes – but if they’re metaphorically dusted off and returned to the fray by supportive colleagues, they will learn valuable lessons from these mistakes.

Then there’s the country.

There’s lots of references in the Old Testament to the cleansing of the soul to be found in the wilderness (or the desert). Those Old Testament bods knew a thing or two. There’s nothing like the big sky, the blazing sun, and the silence of the west to contribute to a sense of clarity. You can’t be bothered by insignificance when confronted with these landscapes.

And last, but not least, I guess my own experience contributes. During the time I was in Vietnam, we lived the routine of patrolling. This meant we set out with a mission to complete and returned when it was done. My mission wasn’t necessarily the same as the army’s (I was intent on staying alive) but there was a clear sense of purpose, and a feeling of pride and relief when it was over. Weirdly perhaps, some of that sense of mission for me persists.

Five years in the North West (based Mt Isa) also taught me a great deal about what the people in remote communities value, and I’ve probably been able to hone these understandings during the last ten years on the road.

I will miss it when I retire. Having failed retirement once, I will need to try harder next time.