Navigating like an oxygen thief – heavy is the hand that controls the GPS. If you don’t have a firm grasp on the technology or can’t read a map, then get back on the pleb bench with the rest of the road trip losers.
Riding shotgun should be reserved for your best & brightest, because ultimately if you’re the reason the group has to sleep at some Wolf Creek shithole, you will never be respected as a competent adult again. Permanently cast away to the kiddies table of dumbarsery.
Driving like a tool – on the open road, overtaking lanes are sacred. They are a bitumen temple and if you disrespect their sanctity then every motorist you’ve blocked will be wishing you an eternity in the 9th layer of driver hell.
This is primarily the domain of Grey Nomads who only remember their 200 series has an accelerator pedal once they see an overtaking lane coming up.
If your goal is to cruise leisurely for 90% of the way, just let the grizzled bumpkin behind you fang it past. You never know he may have a half a bottle of beam and a second cousin waiting for him back at the barn.
Thinking your above the wave – much like the animals that block overtaking lanes, people who fail to give the two finger or lifted hand wave to fellow motorists demonstrate they were raised by Godlesss heathens and deserve no place in holiday Valhalla.
Once you leave the metro area it is essential that you give the “wave” to every motorist that passes you in the opposite direction. This society might be spiralling into a depraved hell hole of rudeness but this tradition prevails. It’s what separates us from the animals. More on the wave HERE.
Making a mess of the tunes – you know what’s worse than enduring one average song? Having to listen to the first 10 seconds of 12 sub par songs. As life must have taught you by now, not every choice you make is going to be a winner, so relax and avoid acting like a cooked kent at kick-ons.
Similarly, if you have the musical taste of 40-year-old Uber driver, then perhaps hand the controls to someone else. Music is the sweet lubrication that allows the spirit of the trip to enter you.
Rolling the dice on road food – this ain’t the Fat Duck, it’s rural Australia and sometimes you will be forced to survive off the fat of the road-house There are no excuses to be picky, even for the vegos, given that whatever animal matter that was once in the bain-marie fodder has been there long enough to be officially classed as coal.
Nevertheless, taking unacceptable risks and subsequently turning the car into a mobile shart factory will be looked upon unfavourably. That 4pm, barely refrigerated sushi isn’t good then, it won’t be much better at 6pm. Bin it. More on dodgy roadhouse food HERE.
Offending country people – one obvious consequence of driving into the outback is the inevitability you will deal with the citizens of the outback – especially at caravan parks.
Most are lovely but some are a bit more of an acquired taste and you can bet your bottom dollar they won’t like you very much. Nevertheless, don’t poke the bear, you city slicking cleanshirt.
Be polite, accept their abrasive hazing (even if you can tell the hate is seething through) and perhaps your friends wont have to sleep with a shank under their pillow and pray that dude who wanted to skin you for ordering a gin ‘n tonic at the pub doesn’t decide to turn you into his next car seat cover. More on pissing regional folk off HERE.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?
