Targa Tasmania 2008 Day 10 - Quailing in Queenstown

5am reveille call. Skip leaped into the shower, The Nav shivering from 3rd degree hypothermia after a night of wide windows and open curtains, street light blinding through the window, where the outside air temperature was close to zero. With bathroom window wide open, and Nav loudly grumbling about the logic of spending A$150 to spend the night in an ice box, Skipper put him in his place, insisting the recuperative aspects of the current room environment are worth every penny


Then we were off, screaming down the dark, cold, wind swept road back to Strahan, with Nav reminding "Ice......[gap]......Ice......[gap].......Ice......[gap]......" and Skipper discussing the whereabouts of a petrol station in that delightful west Taswegia sea side fishing port and tourist hot spot. Real trepidation in Strahan, when the local parking ticket attendant handed out nine $150 tickets to various Tour participants for tavelling at excessive speed through a 60 kmph zone the day before. Irony didn't escape The Nav that, if a ticket had been meted out to the HKTT, it would have been The Nav - in the driver's seat at the time - to take it on the chin ! Crisis averted we kicked on

To the start of the first closed stage of the day back to Queenstown, a moon-scape of destruction from centuries of open cast mining. On arrival back in that town, no time to enjoy the incredible vistas, as next moment the pocket rocket was screaming up the 7 km hill climb, vertical cliffs on our left, vertical drops on our right, Skipper yelling "Those bloody blown rear shocks! I'm losing grip and we're too slow!" The Nav, hunched in his seat thanking Buddha - not for the first time - for the shot shock-absorbers !

At end of the Queenstown hill climb stage and at stop, all the Packet 2 Nav's enjoyed a group hug to de-stress, railing amongst ourselves about a mass 'walk-out'. All the Skippers', shocked re such a heartless threat, asked "But where do we go from here?" The Navs in unison and with venom answered "See that Big Green Road sign. See the words H_O_B_A_R_T !"

While preparing for the knuckle whitening 'Mount Arrowsmith' 40 kilometre closed stage, The Nav made the key error of putting his morning apple between his thighs at the start. By the end of the stage, the apple had become M3 "Bavarian strudel", due to the inter-planetary forces imparted on the little pip fruit against its will


So through the town of Tungatinah, comfort stop enjoyed, with men across the road en-masse to allow the ladies to utilise the limited supplies of WCs available, in the short time before the dreaded air horn blew to announce the next charge. While taking relief, the men constantly being reminded by The Nav to avoid that most dreaded of Taswegian road-side hazards - the Electric Fence !



Arrived in Hobart, and a new name accredited to the HKTT, that of the "Honkers Hoons". The quick final closed stage past the War Memorial Cenotaph, our M3 egged on by the calls of those past and deceased heroes with "On to Lone Pine!", "Up the Kokoda Trail Boys!" and "Give 'em hell ANZACs", and then it was on to the casino, medals received, crowd roaring, champagne corks firing, our fan waving. Then into the car park, purchasing massive amounts of merchandise, we threw back some 'coldies', and the whole glorious experience was over

What fun, what happiness, what speeds! And the absolutely glorious state of Taswegia and its amazing people, many calling out "You made it!??", "What's next?", "Are ya' back next year?" This is the Nav signing off here for the night before heading out with the now legendary Packet 2 – ‘The Devils from Devonport’ - for a big one

Two more reports to finish the Targa Saga. Stay tuned for the ‘horrors towards home’

Maybe that chap at the UK Telegraph Newspaper was right

This is The Nav. Fin