I hate driving my husband’s car at the best of times, but at dusk with buckets of horse feed in the back, I hate it even more. It’s so low down to the ground that seeing kangaroos in time for me to brake is difficult. Even from the height of my four-wheel drive, I hit one last week. This is now why I am forced to drive this black bogan mobile – the black beast he calls it. Really, all I need is a Bintang t-shirt, be drinking bourbon and listening to Jimmy Barnes to complete the picture. Maybe I could do a burnout or two on the way home?
The gears of the black beast crunch as I let out the heavy clutch too quickly moving it into sixth gear. Even at eighty kilometres an hour, the power of the V8 engine causes it to lurch forward with a slight mishandling. It feels like a horse, fresh after the first spring grass, not wanting to focus on the job at hand but prance through the arena sideways, head in the air. I remind myself, it’s only a fifteen-minute drive, trying to keep watch. As the bush becomes denser, the last bits of light are squeezed out by the stringy bark gums and the scrub that curves alongside the road. I slow down so I am not exceeding sixty kilometres an hour where it is signposted to be one hundred. I wonder if the sound of the thumping engine will be enough to scare away anything stupid enough to bounce out in front of me.
I approach a steep, blind hill where the bush becomes denser, running alongside the last property for a number of kilometres. All of a sudden, I see a brown flash dive out in front of me. I hit the brakes. I am thrown forward and hear the buckets fall over in the back – he’s going to kill me if there’s grain everywhere. At least the black beast pulls up quickly, almost to a standstill. I can’t see anything, and with some luck, I’ve not hit anything. My heart rate is through the roof, so I pull over on the slim verge to let it drop a little. I wind down the window for the fresh air and rest my arm out the door slightly, closing my eyes. As soon as my eyes close I hear a panting, followed by a wet tongue on my arm. I open my eyes and am greeted by a drooling, happy rottweiler.
“Oh my goodness, what the hell are you doing here?” I ask her as I jump out of the car. She instantly looks into my eyes, delighted that she’s made a new friend, and I return the look, admiring her big beautiful brown eyes and kind expression. I grab her collar and drag her behind the car so we’re not hit by other drivers making an after-work dash home.
“Tilba,” I say reading her collar. “No number though. Where are you from Tilba? You’re too big to fit in my car.” I pat her on the head while she sits and looks at me lovingly, her tongue hanging out on an angle, huffing and puffing from her adventures.
“Hey, Veronica, do you need a hand?” I hear someone call out and look up to see another car pulling over on the side of the road. A large four-wheel drive, like the one I normally would drive. I feel a wave of relief when I realise it is my friend Ash.
“Hey Ash, yes, I do. This lovely lady just ran out in front of me, and I don’t know where she is from,” I reply.
“Oh my god, is she hurt?” Ash asks, parking her car on the opposite verge.
“No, thankfully,” I say as Tilba starts pulling on my arm, wanting to go and greet this new friend who has stopped. “But I can’t fit her in my car, and I need to feed my horses still.”
“I am heading back into town, how about I take her and drop her at the local vet, they can check her microchip and call the owner,” Ash offers.
“Oh my goodness, that would be amazing,” I reply. I struggle across the road with Tilba, who is keen on continuing her adventure along the roadside. She is too unfit to jump into the back of Ash’s four-wheel drive so together we haul her in.
“Give me a call tonight,” Ash says. “We need to talk about the dressage competition coming up, I really think you and Thor should do it.”
“Ha, yeah, maybe, he’s been a peacock the last two weeks and I’ve just not got the time to ride at night at the moment with work.” I roll my eyes.
“It’s about time we either won lotto or found rich husbands,” she laughs. “Drive safe.” I wave at her as she drives off and look across to the black beast, still sitting there, idling, waiting to get underway again. I am so late now that my two off-the-track thoroughbreds probably think I got lost. They will make sure I know about it! While my heart rate feels like it has returned to normal, I continue to drive cautiously down the road, which is getting darker, easing the black beast into fifth gear. Her low hum I actually begin to find soothing, and I settle into my seat, turning the radio up slightly. Just as I begin to sing to Portishead’s Glory Box, I look in the mirrors and see an old, rusty ute tailgating me. The lights almost blind me in my rear vision mirror. Normally when I come across a turkey who wants to do one hundred, I pull over, but I have passed the last driveway before the main road in a few kilometres. The car is so dangerously close that I gently press the accelerator to ask the black beast forward, which she obliges. Now sitting near the speed limit, I’m hoping this turkey will get off my arse and give me some distance, but they are still almost bumper to bumper. I take a deep breath, not far to the main road where I can pull over and let them past, but it still feels so far as they start flashing their lights at me. I can’t do more than speed up, and even as I do, exceeding the speed limit, they start tooting, flashing their lights, riding my tail. I keep speeding, I am alone, a woman on a remote country road, there is no way I can pull over, in the last light of the day, and hope whoever this is leaves me alone. My heart rate continues to rise as I grip the steering wheel, willing the black beast to hug the last few corners of the country road, exceeding the speed limit considerably. She holds true as I see the give way sign approach us, the bush clearing. I begin to slow down, my companion still riding my tail, flashing their lights, as I indicate left.
As soon as the road is clear, I pull out onto the highway and proceed to pull over on the wide verge. Hopefully, the turkey will speed past me and get onto whatever high-speed collision they seem hellbent on racing to, but no, turkey doesn’t overtake me. I watch my rearview mirror in horror as he pulls in behind me, parked as close to my bumper as he was following me down the road. I try to stay calm, knowing this road is busy if anything happens there will be witnesses. I go to grab my mobile phone, which has slipped off the seat and onto the floor of the passenger side, just an inch out of reach. I look in the rearview mirror again and see a figure getting out of the car. I make sure my car doors are locked as I see this tall man walking towards the car. Tattoos up his arm, wearing a high visibility shirt, brown shorts and work boots with bright yellow socks that match his shirt. I start to feel dizzy, my heart rate getting higher and higher. So many tradies along this road speed, and I wonder if I am just going to be another woman who is the victim of road rage. I don’t take my eye off him as I let my window down the slightest amount so I can at least hear him speak as he approaches my window. He stoops down to look in my window. I am hoping with every breath another car passes soon. I look at his face, red, sunburnt, upset, angry, I can’t read it. I pray for someone else to drive past and see me parked on the side of the road, stop and just be here so I am not alone.
“Can I help you?” I ask him, trying to hide the shaking in my voice.
“She’s not in your car?” he says quizzically, looking through the tinted windows of my car, the back seats.
“Who?” I ask.
“But I saw you stop. She got loose. Oh my god.” As he steps back, I notice tears in his eyes.
“Tilba?”
“Yes, yes, Tilba.” He says as I wind down my window. “How do you know my dog’s name? Where is she, is she OK?”
“Oh my god,” I reply, taking my first deep breath in what seems like a lifetime. “She is fine, she’s been taken to the vet. I saw her name on her tag, no number though.”
“The vet, oh shit,” he says as he starts to sob. “My little girl.” Oh fuck. I’ve said the wrong thing.
“She’s ok, she’s OK. My friend, Ash stopped. She has a bigger car and popped her in the back. We thought we could get her microchip scanned and back with her owner.”
“Who, who is this, Ash?”
“She’s my friend from the agistment property, just down Vaughan Drive. She’s taken Tilba to the vet in Amaroo.”
“Do you have her number, where is Tilba? All I know is she gets loose and this sinister V8 stops outside my property, and now my dog is missing,’ he says getting more upset.
“Hey, you’re lucky she isn’t hurt and that we were able to catch her and get her to safety. You really should have a solid dog run for her,” I snap back, going too far. He begins to cry.
“I know, I am so sorry. She is my baby,” he says through the tears. I lean down and grab my phone from the floor of the passenger seat and bring up Ash’s number.
“Here’s Ash’s number, why don’t you give her a call and she’ll let you know Tilba is OK. Just tell her you’re with me,” I hold my phone up to him and he doesn’t grab it. I notice his hands shaking.
“Just give me a minute,” he says.
“I am so sorry for the fright, she is OK,” I say to him. He looks dazed.
“She means the world to my daughter and I,” he says between sobs. “Are you sure she is OK?”
“She is OK, I promise.”
“Thank you,” he says, tears now dripping off his chin.
“Do you need a hug?” I look him in the eyes, and he begins to cry harder and nods at me. I open my car door and stand out on the side of the road, legs still shaking. I hold my arms out to him and immediately he begins to hug me back, gasping for air like a toddler who has lost their favourite toy.
“Thank you,” he sobs. “I am Steve by the way.”
“Well, it is nice to meet you, Steve,” I say as I hold him in my arms to the sound of the cars zipping past.