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As the team heads to meet at the Alice, Roothy ponders, did I leave the gas on? Did I shut the door? Did I tell the handbrake...? Join us on Part 1 of our Simpson Desert Adventure!

Words by Jonh Rooth
Photography by Robb Cox

"Simpsons?" I said, yelling down the phone as Chooka Morris clipped the eight ball off the table, scattering Dingo's seafood platter as the whole pub went crazy. "Why do you wanna do the Simpsons?" Good grief, how's a bloke supposed to concentrate on work when his mates are going off? I cupped the phone with both hands and tried to hear what Editor Pat had to say. "Pub? What pub? Nah, course not; I'm in the office. Must be interference on the line." Do mobiles have lines to interfere with? Don't know, haven't learnt much about the bloody things since Pat got me this one so 'we could keep in touch'. So far all it's done is dump me in it. I ducked out the door for some quiet. "S'pose you want me to dress up as Homer? I can't see the Handbrake getting her hair done Winfield Blue, but it would be alright if she did I guess, like being with another woman. one who doesn't swing a fish as hard."

A few minutes later and all was made clear - well all except the stain where Ozzie McLean parked his pie last week at any rate. Pat was planning a Simpson Desert crossing from west to east for our next DVD! You beauty, the Simmo is one of my favourite places in all of Oz, and not just because it's a long way from home! My old man took us across there in a Land Rover when we were kids living in the Flinders. Actually, 'in' is not the right word. 'On' is probably more appropriate seeing as, in those pre-'slip slop slap' days my brothers and I spent most of the trip on the tray-back nestled up with the swags and the drums. That was 1968 and while us kids didn't realise it at the time - and there's no way Mum knew about it, I'd reckon - it was only six or seven years after the very first motorised crossing made by Reg Sprigg, a geologist contracted to survey the Simpson area. Reg had driven along the Territory-South Australian border using aircraft to drop fuel and supplies. Up until then, only a few white people had nibbled at the edge of this great mass of sandhills where the Territory, South Australian and Queensland borders meet. Even the local Aborigines always stuck to the southern part where they knew of a few scattered waterholes and soaks.

The first white person to cross the Simpson - Ted Colsen - didn't get around to it until 1936, and that's only 70 years ago. After Ted's incredible effort - in Birdsville he and his Aboriginal mate Danny turned their camels around and rode back to Mount Dare! - there were a few scientific-type expeditions over the next 30 or so years, but that was it. And they all involved plenty of camels, too. Geez, those scientists' wives must swing a mean fish to make a couple of months with a camel in a sandpit look good. So the Simpson Desert was pretty much one of the last uncharted and truly isolated areas in Australia and probably the world. Not much has changed since then, apart from a scattering of the usual signpost technology that various government departments somehow figure justifies the money they charge for permits.

That's why the Simmo will always be a favourite among serious four-wheel drivers. This is a place where you can really get away from it all! What opened up the Simpson and changed it forever was an exploration by a French prospecting company a couple of years after Sprigg proved you could drive it. To get their drilling machines in, the French had to bulldoze a track and use clay base to hard surface the soft sand crests where anything heavier than a Landy with soft tyres would sink. The 'French Line', running a bit to the south of the Territory border, gave everybody something definite to follow. When we went over with Dad, it was in such good condition he reckons he can't remember using four-wheel drive. That's funny, because I remember digging the Landy out a few times when we left the track to camp. Maybe that was just the old man's sense of humour

. Meanwhile, 40 years of erosion and a whole lot of four-wheel-drive traffic have belted the French Line around to the point where these days every crossing is a driving adventure. And like the best bits of Australia, this one's strictly four-wheel-drive access only. It's a good place to blast a trail bike or a quad, but at the end of the day, you'll need back-up from a four-wheel drive to haul spare fuel and water, and to get you out if things go wrong. No matter how popular it's become, the Simpson is still one place where you never take anything for granted. I know about this; I nearly lost 14 Japanese tourists there once. There are a few lessons in that one, but they'll keep for next month, because you've got to get to the Simpson before you cross it! For most people, this is the hard bit - finding the spare time and money required to get out to the Centre. It took me the best part of three days to drive Milo across to the Alice from Brisbane - across the Plenty Highway, you'll read about that trip later - and the lads from down south put in a couple of 1000km days to get there, too. Eventually we all met at the All Seasons Oasis Hotel, and after a dip in the world's coldest pool - I heard Coxy's still looking for his - a big Territory steak and a bunch of cold beers, we needed a good night's sleep to make an early start.

We? Making this trip were some familiar faces from past encounters of a frothy kind and some new ones, too. Editor Pat you all know, which means you know there's no chance of him missing an adventure! He'd left Otis in the shed and was driving a new F250, kitted up with some ARB product under development. Sharing about two acres of Ford cabin with Pat was Rob 'Hoppy' Hopkins, a cameraman with Channel Nine News who'd taken a holiday to come and 'do' the sound for our DVD. His mate, the super-cool Peter Hardin, who you first met on our Coffs trip, was handling the DVD camera duties and travelling with his copious clobber in an ARB-kitted Rodeo Dual Cab driven by Ian Schultz. Schultzy? You want to know about Schultzy? Got a lifetime and a pallet of beer? This might have been Ian's first DVD trip, but he's a travel-hardened veteran and proved it more than once on this trip. There's more to this bloke than just the 'fixing four-wheel drives' thing that's established ARB Bendigo as one of the most reputable names in the industry. It's one thing to make a living out of four-wheel drives, but it's another to have the passion. Ian's got it, big-time. He also had a carton of Jim Beam hidden under the Rodeo's seat. Ha! Caught out, day one!

Talking off-road passion, Mark 'Lowmount' Lowry, who first disgraced, er, made himself known to us down in Tasmania, was on this trip, too. Mark loves his driving, loves the country and loves a drink at the end of the day. Apparently he's made such a pain in the arse of himself around ARB HQ in Kilsyth they've got him short-listed for any trip out of Victoria. On a serious note, Mark's field is product development, something ARB takes very seriously, and that's one of the things we do on these trips - test product and test it good! Mark had conned a drive in a 60 Series that ARB totally 'restored' as a show car. Apparently it was on pain of death, so while he said he was 'taping the doors to keep the dust out', we knew it was to keep us out! Or maybe he had a carton tucked away, too? But more about the vehicles next month, because there's plenty to tell. Meanwhile, I've still got one more bloke to introduce, our photographer Robb Cox, seventh man in the crew. Coxy doesn't need an intro, you've met him before, but on this trip as on the others, he elected to jump in Milo's passenger seat from day one. Yep, Coxy's the sort of off-road-loving nut who'd rather flip a floor vent, bounce off the roof and wallow in dust than travel in comfort and style. Yes, I'm worried about his mental state too, and he likes Land Rovers.

I can never get enough of Alice Springs, but this time it was all over too quick. We left early after fuelling up and drove west on the Larapinta Drive towards Hermannsburg. Once a Lutheran mission settlement, Hermannsburg's now an Aboriginal community with the last decent store you'll encounter before a trip down the Finke. Actually, it's the only store, so even though we're only 135km from the Alice, unless you've got a decent fuel range, it's well worth topping up before heading down the Finke. It's not the distance that chews fuel down there; it's the track conditions. The turn to the Finke Gorge National Park is on the left before Hermannsburg, and this is where the sealed road ends. It's worth dropping tyre pressures about now, because for a large part of the 80km or so trip through the Gorge you're travelling in the soft sand and pebbles of the old river bed. The scenery is magnificent, though. Huge, crumbling, ancient red rock walls line each side of the river valley, and there's every chance of seeing wild horses and camels among the tall palms that are unique to this area. By lunchtime we'd reached Boggy Hole, site of the old police station and one of the best camping spots in the Red Centre. There's usually plenty of water here because it's one of half-a-dozen places the Finke River rights itself and flows water on top! These waterholes also contain the fish that get concentrated here in between floods, so it's vital not to muck them up. The Finke's always been a hot spot for Aboriginal life because of the abundance of wildlife and game, but like many of the Centre's rivers, it flows upside-down. There's nearly always water along the river's course, but usually it's under the ground.

The Aboriginals followed the Finke as part of their trading route from north to south, because in otherwise totally barren country, they could usually find water by digging a soak. Back in 1889, Mounted Constable William Willshire was stationed here to control cattle stealing. It's strange to look at the remains of his police station - just flagstone floors, it was probably a bag hut or tent - and think that in his day, any confrontation between black and white around here outside the mission involved guns and spears. These days there are some fabulous bushwalks around Boggy Hole. In fact, I would have sent the Handbrake on one if she'd been here. But we were too busy having fun to think about home. The drive down the Gorge is always interesting, with plenty of tight turns in the soft, coarse sand, and our trucks were making slow progress for the most of it. Er, except for the bits where we got all excited and shot up plumes of sand for Coxy's photos anyway. After some fascinating change in country, the track eventually led across a couple of salty mud pans before meeting up with the track to Tempe Downs.

We turned left towards the Stuart Highway and before long were back on the double-width graded dirt that's typical of most of the Territory's roads. You can make good time on these wide flat tracks, but there's always a patch of loose stuff or some potholes filled with bulldust to remind a bloke he's not Jack Brabham. Pretty soon some low hills appeared to the north; we were passing the Henbury meteorite craters and almost back on the tar. The campsite at Chambers Pillar was our choice for the night, and it would have been an easy one if the sun hadn't dropped as fast as a cold beer at the end of the day. The usual route's simple enough - head north on the Stuart and then due west via Hugh River, across the railway line, south to Maryvale and up the twisty dirt track to the Pillar. But we decided to take a shortcut - thirst'll do that to a man - and before long had gone well past a sign that said 'Private Property - No Access'. But the track carried on and the GPS suggested we were right, so we stuck with it until finally the land changed, and yes, somehow we'd lobbed in on the last hill before Chambers. 'Techynolledgy', ain't it wonderful? So it was double rations all around and another for the cook - hey, I'm over here! - and pretty soon Ian had a roaring fire going to take the chill out of the night with timber he'd thought to pick up along the way.

The Territory's funny, isn't it? A bloke spends all day hot and bothered - okay, so hot at least - and then when the sun goes down it's colder than, er, my welcome will be when I finally get home. Maybe I should have mentioned this trip to the Handbrake before I left. The next morning we caught our first sight of Chambers Pillar in the early light. The Pillar is a giant sandstone finger pointing straight up as if to flip a bird at the otherwise flat terrain. It's been used as a landmark ever since the first white men travelled north, and there's plenty of explorers' graffiti to prove the point. These days our precious 'gumbynut' is trying to preserve the pillar's beauty, so in a priceless act of vandalism it has gone and bolted a bloody walking track and rail to the base. Chambers Pillar will always be a thing of beauty, but that stupid railing sticks out like a sore thumb! I often wonder about the sanity of men who seek to preserve rock that's survived the first 350 million years quite well on its own. The track to Chambers had been a thrill the night before, and in daylight we could see why!

There are a couple of pretty sharp hills covered with loose rocks and plenty of soft bulldust too, so it's one to be wary of at least. But the views are magnificent; it only takes a small rise and you can see forever up here. We popped out on the old Ghan Route and drove south towards Finke. The track runs where the sleepers used to be and then ducks off to follow an easier trail alongside or miss a big wash-out or something. The further south you go, the rougher it gets, and there's usually a choice of badly corrugated track bed or badly potholed side track. There are plenty of car wrecks dotting the land - proof that the locals don't always choose the best track either - mixing it with remnants of old sleepers and the steel spikes that once held the rails in place. It's not the sort of place you should speed, yet amazingly, this is the course for the Finke Desert Rally held every July. Those blokes are amazing! As were the tough men who built and maintained this railroad last century. If the heat and dust weren't enough to drive a man barmy, there was always the chance of a windstorm or flood! At Bundooma, one of the many old watering stations for the steam trains scattered on the old line, the remains of the water tower can still be climbed, so off went Coxy looking for adventure.

He was almost at the top when I mentioned that the ladder looked like it was about to drop off and there was a whirly-whirly coming, but he kept going anyway, far enough to see there wasn't anything inside that tub other than a few empty tinnies. Which reminds me. That's better, and I'm not breaking office rules, Pat, because it's almost home time! Almost. It reminds me how thirsty I was from that corrugated, dusty trek down the old Ghan track by the time we drove through Finke. But it wasn't until Mount Dare Homestead that we finally pulled in for a beer. Just the one, though. There are good camping facilities behind that lime green Mount Dare 'hotel', and the day was getting long in the tooth, but we had something else in mind altogether - a 70km dash to Dalhousie Springs for a dip in the mineral waters before the sun went down. But we'll save that for next issue, eh? It's too late anyway, 'cause here's Chooka, and I promised I'd show him some of Coxy's photos from the trip. Bloody pearlers they are, just like the ones you're looking at now. I s'pose we'll get better light for photos down at the pub, eh Chooka? See you all next month when we take on the Simpson proper, same dusty time, same dusty channel!

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