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Grampians next week? 11-Dec-2015 At 11:51:45 AM f_abe

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>So, your excellent trip reports of climbing in the Blueys were also part
>of the false glory number chasing?
>;-)
To the best of my knowledge I've never actually written a Blueys trip report...? Maybe confused with someone else? But regardless, I decided to quickly write one anyway...

We’d planned a week in the Gramps, but arriving at Tailem Bend with the sun going down and still 40 degrees we swung the old Val left, drove all night, and arrived in the Blueys late the next morning. The only downside to our change in plans was my haircut – expecting a week in the wilderness with my only human contact being in a Horsham supermarket I’d given myself a pretty nasty Mohawk – but we had enough recreationals on board to help me cope if need be.
Remarkably, given the distractions on hand, we managed to climb quite few chunks of awesome rock throughout the mountains, but it was the drive home that proved most memorable.
It was somewhere on the edge of the hay plains when the drugs started to take hold.
Actually, it happened well before then. But it was on the outskirts of Hay itself where things started to turn potentially pear shaped. After endless hours driving through the Neverland where sky and earth were one and the same, an abundance of bright flashing lights in the distance soon materialized into a rather large police road block, with seemingly every cop in the state in attendance. A few issues immediately warranted immediate attention.
First was the seat belt, but try as I might, the buckle remained elusive, hidden under a weeks’ worth of crap and beer bottles, so I simply shoved the end between the seats and hoped for the best, thankful for the small mercy of non-retractable belts.
Second was the volume of the stereo – I figured officer plod wouldn’t appreciate the subtleties of Slayer at max volume. I reached out to turn it down, but in a strange twist of fate, the stereo knob chose that exact moment to part company from the stereo itself.
Third, and unexpected, was the swerving resulting from my knee holding the wheel whilst I tried to deal with the stereo. Giving up on the knob, I soon had the old girl back under control, and looked to Guy for help. But he was dealing with his own set of circumstances, trying to shove as many beer bottles under the seat and simultaneously rifle through the glove box in order to eat the remains of our stash.
I pulled to a halt by the glowing baton waving cop, turned the engine off to quieten the situation, and tried to smile my best smile.
“Where you boys heading?”
“Adelaide.”
“What’s happening in Adelaide?”
“Starting Uni tomorrow.”
“What are you studying?”
“Teaching…”
Barefoot, shirtless, unshowered and mohawked, I’m sure he saw the future generation in good hands. But after nothing more than a brief rego check, we were waved off with a curt “get those two bald tyres fixed”.
But in a turn of good fate, Guy found our undiscovered, but more importantly uneaten, stash, and we decided the best course of action was to remove all evidence as soon as possible…