A Painful Beginning (Chapter 1 - UK)

On a cold, rainy morning in July my wife and I set out from England for the Australian Outback, with the sum total of our equipment stowed behind us in two pannier-bags and one valise. Beneath us, a little 150 c.c. engine pop-popped erratically. Other travellers, waiting to board the Dover cross-Channel ferry, waved our excessive exhaust fumes testily away from their noses.

'I say, old boy, switch that wretched thing off, will you? My wife's damned-near asphyxiated.' The driver of the open MG, complete with 'gorblimy' cap and large moustache, tapped me on the shoulder.

'Sorry,' I sympathized. 'But I must run-in the engine with plenty of oil. We've a big mileage ahead of us.'

Suddenly, the annoyance on his face splintered into a beaming smile. 'Good Lord! I saw you two on TV last night. Riding that midget all the way to Australia, aren't you?'

'We're attempting to,' replied Nita cautiously, dismounting and stretching painfully.

'By Jove,' said the holiday-maker. 'I'd love to be coming with you, only I'm afraid the wife wouldn't wear it.' And he dashed back to his car as the line started moving up the ramp. As our rear view was again obliterated in clouds of smoke, Nita gave her behind a quick massage and mounted for the last time on English soil. She remarked, by way of a parting shot, 'I'm too soft. . . .' It sounded a bit double-edged.

So our second big adventure began. The first, a Saharan cross­ing in an old ex-London taxi three years previously, had left us with nostalgic memories and an increasing urge to traverse more of the world's remoter areas. Unless one has spent periods living a nomadic existence, simply and close to the elements, it is difficult to understand the tremendous lure of distant horizons. Our wanderlust, instead of abating, grew more severe with the passing of months, until we found ourselves irretrievably committed to reaching northern Australia, twelve thousand miles distant, in order to film Arnhem Land aborigines for television and to write about these primitive and fascinating people.

We could, I suppose, have reached the Antipodes quickly and efficiently by plane or ship, but this would have been a tedious mode of travel compared with passing through countries like Persia and Afghanistan. Overland travel won hands down.

Our choice of independent transport was not difficult. It had to be absurdly economical, yet robust enough to carry two people and luggage half across the world. Possessing a modicum of pro­tection from the elements, the NSU Prima scooter was encoura­gingly sturdy and on inspection seemed to have been assembled with typical German thoroughness. We both felt that it was a shrewd choice and we were confident without being complacent. Our machine had not the power or performance of its cousin the motor-cycle. But then, on this trip we wanted to keep our speed average down to a minimum. The faster one travels the less one sees.