VCR Delivery

As I said before, we rose at five in the morning.  I did, at least.  My compatriot was not far behind, though.  The breakdown of my compatriot’s troubled Mitsubishi van had forced our hand, and we had ordered a rental car.  It was a Kia Rio, and it would be our chariot in our trek back down the coast.  Unwilling to test the will of the old vehicle, the Rio was our only option.
 
The trip to the airport, where our Kia was stored, took longer than expected due in large part to our early morning lethargy.  We had struggled to find a suitable coffee vendor, causing us to miss a tram.  The misstep was remedied with the arrival of the next tram, although minutes were lost.  
 
Gear loaded, an hour drive, and we were back at Bells Beach to spectate the last day of the surfing competition.  I must mention, we were lugging around a VCR, which I had travelled with from the United States.  The motive for lugging the old tape player wasn’t entirely clear.  It was said to be a gift for a friend with a lot of VHS tapes.  I am uncertain why the Australian could not secure his own VCR, being that Australia, as well as the USA, possess internet capabilities.   My theory: drugs.  The VCR was filled with drugs and I, its happy mule. 
 
That being said, the man in need of the VCR was at the contest – or so I was told.  After an extended run at sluggishly moving throughout the contest area yelling, “V…C…R here!  VCR!” we retired the idea and thought it wiser to let the man with the many tapes come to us. 
 
The surf was large and the competitors were talented, which was expected entirely.  They were professionals.  We stayed on the beach with the VCR spectating for two-ish hours and then left.  There is only so much surfing one can watch from the beach. 
 
Deciding upon Torquay Beach as the destination, we paddled into the ocean.  It was a never-ending onslaught of white water, and I took my fair beating.  The thrashing tested me, and I was close to breaking open the VCR upon my return to land.  I needed those mysterious drugs, I believed. 
 
Showing restraint, the VCR, to this day, remains intact – and in my possession.  The battle is not over, however.  Once clothed, we found a trailer park to rest our weary heads, but not before popping over to the local hotel for beers and a game of pool.  We also sampled the Bush Dukkah, which is essentially bread, malt butter, oil, and assorted grains and oats and spices.  One must slather the bread with malt butter, dip it into the oil, and then toss it around in the assorted grains and spices.
 
Desperately trying to manifest a good time at the hotel (pub), which, we’d been warned, was “rather soulless”, the energy needed was never summoned.  By eight at night it was time to call it quits, and so we did. 
 
Like rocks, sore and exhausted and salty and fleshy rocks, we slept.  Although, I can only speak for myself. 
 
I woke up at 2am, 4am, and then 8am.   The birds were nice with their songs in the early morning. 
 
We’ll go somewhere else today.
 
More later, as always.
 
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