Musta been over ten years ago. I was "on the wallaby", and just finished workin' on the rice harvest in Colliamblie, NSW. Rang me mate in the Kimberley,  coz we hadn't seen each other for yonks. He said he could use a hand on his property. No worries. My "home" then, was a 1974 cab over Dodge, with a gas petrol V8 donk. Bolted on the back was a seven foot wide caravan. I had stripped the axle etc off it, and it served the purpose of home quite well.

I checked the map book out, and decided on the best roads to take. Headed north west across Qld; and ended up on the Landsborough highway. I was about 30 k's shy of the Flinders highway when I propped for the night. First thing to do was knock up a small fire to boil the "billy". I always reckoned there's no beatin' a cuppa made in a billy. After a good feed, I reckoned it was time for a camp, so got meself into the fartsack. 

Next mornin' and I'm at at "Sparras". Got a small fire goin' for a brew and a bit o' toast. While I'm standin' there, scratchin' the old "FJs" a Tojo ute rolls into the parkin' area. Bloke climbs out, and we exchange, G'days. I ask him if he wants a cuppa, and he reckoned that was the best idea he'd heard all mornin', and pulls an old pannickin from behind the utes front seat. Shortly, with full pannickins, we parked out respective freckles on a couple of convenient boulders near the front of me truck. Asked him if he wanted a piece of toast, and Vegemite. He said, no way, and reckoned he only used Vegemite to repack his wheel bearings!!?? Instead, he built, then climbed in behind a "rollie".  As I started packin' me gear up, he tells me that there's a couple of "scalies" at the intersection of the two highways up ahead. Reckoned that they come out from "The Curry", (Cloncurry) each day, and are pullin' up every bastard for a vehicle inspection. Glancin' under me truck, which was doin' it's best to eradicaite as many weeds as possible by drippin' oil from the motor, gear box and diff, he reckoned I just might have a small problem. Thankin' me for the cuppa, he drove off. Hmmmmm. From experience, I knew that them blokes were about as popular as a turd in a punch bowl. I sat there for about twenty minutes workin' on a possible plan. Bloke had said that the two scalies were very young, and their uniforms appeared to be new. That, maybe, meant that they were both new at the job, and full of their own importance. This called for the old saying, "Age and cunning can overcome youth and intelligence" That time of the year the wind blew quite strongly from the south east. This was good. Next all I needed was some "equipment. Under the seat in the 'van I dug out an oversize string bag. It was made of fine rope, and almost the size of a potato sack. Next a packet of dust masks. (The type one wears in a saw mill.) Now, where did I put the jar of "Vicks Vaporub". Along the road there were dozens of dead 'roos, so I drove along slowly, being careful to have enough room to pull off when needed. Soon I found what I was lookin' for. It was a bloody pearler, and stink. So help me, it would have brought tears to the eyes of a lion. With the dust mask smeared with Vicks, I put it on, then with a great deal of effort and gaggin', managed to get about three quarter of the dead animal into the bag. Now, the difficult part. With a bit of wire, I hung it up on the loading rack behind the cab. I tell ya, it was "fairly on the bugle". As I approached the intersection, complete with a roarin' busted exhaust, I see this hairy arsed, uniformed kid, walk out onto the road and hold his hand up. By his expression, he reckoned he had a bloody winner with me. I pulled up. The south east wind was right up me arse. He got within about ten foot of me "home". "What the !!!??? Christ almighty!!!?? He pulled out a hankie, shoved it over his mouth and nose. "Bloody hell, mate, how can you possibly put up with that disgusting smell!!" I sat there trying to look uninterested, and as I looked down at him, I'd swear he turned the colour of bad ****. "Yea, well I gotta clean the truck when I get to the Isa!" Just then the other young bloke, who musta been the boss, got out of their vehicle, and "it" hit him. "Sufferin' ****,........ will ya get that heap 'o crap outa here!" Lookin' in the mirror as I drove off, they were lookin' at me and slowly shakin' their heads. I stopped about twenty minutes up the road, climbed out, and threw the bag into the scrub. Trouble was that everywhere I stopped for fuel, people made some nasty remarks about my "home". When I lobbed up at the mates place, north west of Derby, he took one sniff, and promptly named me truck, "Odour-de-Roo".

Regards.

Pipes