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We were rearing to go, but North Queensland wasn’t ready for us. 

Starting out was easy, and we effortlessly hitched a couple of hundred miles, but the country started to get drier and hotter and so did the people's reactions. Arriving in small country towns it was like a scene from an early Western.

There would be sharp intakes of breath as we walked the streets and crowds would part as the town folk saw this threat to their town and their children. Eyes would swivel and follow us, mothers would scoop up their children less they came into our orbit.

Within minutes the local constabulary would whip us into their station in a hopeful search for drugs.

Admittedly, I had grown a nice big natural beard to match my nice natural long hair and bushy bushy black eyebrows and nothing like us had been seen in some of these towns.

We would stand by the road as local lads would pull up beside us, laugh like hyenas throw bottles or whatever came to hand, then chuck a 'wheelie', spinning their wheels and screech off leaving us with a light coating of dust.

We decided to get the train. Arriving at the railway station, we found that the trains were on strike. I made a bed on the station bench and we settled down for the next day.

The stationmaster woke us to say there was a freight train coming and he could arrange a ‘lift’ for us, and we looked forward to being back on track..

Except the rail strike caught up with the freight train, all came to a halt, and as the towns were getting more hostile we decided to get a tourist bus, before we were tarred and feathered. As the giant bus pulled up, at each window a tourist with their jaw dropped open looked down at these wild people, maybe they thought I was  Ned Kelly, the infamous bushranger going to rob them.

Soon the more temperate country transformed into a beautiful lush country - trees doubled in size and vitality, it was brilliant, it was tactile, it was edible.

Pure tropical heaven.

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