Life is the Name of the Adventure for Jim Bells

I LOOK OUT THE window from my seat in the aeroplane and, even though all I can see are patches of blue sky and clouds, the nature tracker I'm holding tells me that directly below us is a tundra biome, cold and icy. I should know, since I was just in the Salluit airport. When we land about an hour later, I pick up my pre-paid rental off road land cruiser camper, and set off for the rest of my journey to Mexico City, taking "the long way around" as I like to say. Who would pass up a plane ticket and drive across the whole of North America but for an outdoorsman and raw nature lover like myself?

We are coming out of the boreal forest and into the temperate forest biome. This biome has warmer climates in the summer, I write in my notebook. And lots of rainfall makes this a fertile land with many diverse plant and animal species.

The next biome I enter is grassland, wide, dry and open. It is late afternoon when the name on my tracker changes, bringing up a bunch of information about the environment. A lot of the time there is no data, but investigation and testing with my own senses are what I am here for. A light wind is blowing through the grass to make it look like some kind of stormy ocean. Dark clouds are on the horizon, but I am too intrigued with this place to worry too much about a summer storm. I can imagine the snakes and mice that must be hiding in the grass, just to name a couple of the fascinating creatures that live in this environment.

We (my cruiser and I—I’m travelling alone this time) cross more temperate forest and grasslands before entering a portion of the Mexican desert. It is humid here and the ground is sandy; there always seem to be trees in the distance. After a long day on the road and even some off road explorations, the name on the nature tracker changes to Savanna. And as if on cue, the temperature is dropping; or is that just because it's dusk and the day is ending?

After stopping at a roadhouse for fuel and a taco dinner, I make camp further on near where some massive tourist campers have the same idea, and summarize some key experiences and discoveries in my notebook with the conclusion that I should reach Mexico City by this time tomorrow and sleep in a real bed in some hotel for a change. Not that this woodsman is complaining...

The plants and flowers here are so bright and beautiful that you couldn't ask for them to be anywhere else. You see cactuses by the side of the highway, and I can just see Montez or Pablo from that old western show, jumping out from behind a plant or creeping up behind me in the shadows like the bandits they are. If that were the case, then Isabella, the queen of romance couldn't be far away, dancing her way across the horizon with her colourful native dress flying and that juicy red rose gripped by her teeth. I try to remember who she actually married in the end, Montez, Pablo, or someone else; but my memory fails me. This makes me want to see those classics again...

Moving on. My task isn't quite over yet. During the remainder of my trip to the city, I must document the animals and plants I see. The tracker has died again and this time it is the batteries and not lack of data. So I stop off by a lake and draw a picture of it, marking its position on the map I also drew on the plane. Then I photograph and draw some other plants up close, like Desert zinnia and Dimorphocarpa wislizeni, writing their names in cursive and referring to the book of American plants my ex bought for me after I told her I "liked the outdoors" (and no, that wasn't the cause of the breakup FYI).

“Jim,” she had said when she handed it to me. “This may be useful in your new found passion.” Well, I will say that it is serving a very useful purpose now that my tracker has died so thanks, Aimee. I think about all the exciting animals like Cacomistle and Mexican wolves that are supposed to live here, and wish I could see one. Maybe on the drive back up..? Later on in the city, I book a room at the first good looking hotel I come to (which happens to be opposite the city park), a small room with plain furniture and a wash bowl that has a chip in the side. As if things can't be any worse! The elevator is out of order and I have to climb three flights of stairs; thank goodness they have an aid ready to carry my luggage. I hope it is understood that I am not a racist man and I never have been, but the receptionist sounded so "English is my second language" that she really may as well have been speaking Japanese, or perhaps Spanish after all.

I set the cruiser keys down on the bedside, slapping the purple folder of all my travel findings--which for some reason had not been put in my bag earlier--down beside it and set my suitcase and backpack (which the aid left at the door) on the bed before going out again for a shower. After making sure the water is actually hot because you can never trust the sign (I learnt that the hard way) I shower for at least a twenty minute loan of paradise.

Back in my room, number 17, I heave a great sigh of relief mingled with regret that the hotel is not as great as I thought it would be, and sprawl myself out, eyes closed. At least I know one thing will be fantastic about this room, and that is the view. However that can wait until morning because I am completely bushed and want to do nothing but sleep like a baby for as long as I can.

Shower? Check; undress? I'll do that as soon as I have some strength back. Brush my teeth? I groan at the idea that I'll have to comb through my packing for those items. I raise my head and look towards the bags, sitting on the bed at my feet; then I plonk my head back down. I'll do that in a minute... But I must have dropped off because the next thing I know, Mexican summer sunlight is seemingly streaming into the room, even though the curtains are closed. I get to my feet, groggy and rubbing my eyes; the inside of my mouth feels disgusting. I pull back the silky silver material with black polka dots and raise the blinds, squinting at the sun in my eyes. I may be squinting, but I can see the cloudy patch on the glass where the scene of fast moving traffic and the Mexico City Park beyond is blurry. I cautiously stretch my index finger towards it and bring it back to scrutinize the dull, oily substance on the tip. This isn't just condensation. I grimace and wipe my finger on the curtain, certain it has to be dirty somewhere already.

I get my phone and look up prices for the Mexico City Hotel, the king of all hotels in Mexico City. Then I dive for my wallet and see how much cash I have left and wishing that I could teleport to the nearest ATM. I pour some ice cold water in the wash bowl and splash my face, then grab my coat and keys to see what I can find in this city. Perhaps I would have been better off sleeping in my cruiser...

Some years have past since that first trip in America; my interest in travelling and studying in different countries has grown a lot over that time. You could say I have my work cut out for me every single day, collecting stories for my articles and writing my personal stories at the same time. But that's how it is; writing is my life and I would be seriously lost without it. My stories have accumulated immensely, this one perhaps being a favourite of mine. It was an unusually warm day for mid-autumn. My one week tour of the Tasmanian mainland from top to bottom had just begun...and now I was stuck behind the slowest truck you’ve ever seen on a winding piece of highway. If my wife hadn’t been complaining for most of the previous week that she needed a little getaway time from our young son, I would be alone right now as originally planned. But I understood what a week of ‘freedom’ would mean to her, so I relented and she hurried off to pack the boy’s clothes. That was that, and now the five-year-old was sitting in his car seat, staring out the window as we cruised along at seventy km. My heart melted as I watched him for a second in the rear view mirror.

Now, someone might be asking, Hold on a minute, why not just bring the missus and make a family trip out of it? Well, to give a fair answer, since I’ve got Tim on my hands now, having another pair of eyes along to look out for him would be just great. You see, this isn’t just a fun tour of our home state—Tasmania is going to be my ‘project’ for the next seven or so days. I’m Jim Bells, a freelance journalist, and I have an assignment from a country magazine that wants an article on unique attractions of Tasmania in a fortnight. But it’s not like it’s been unheard of for me to write in company with my little man. I’ve been in my ‘office’ at home while Emmy tries to put him to bed despite his screaming; maybe surprisingly, I’ve been able to keep my concentration.

Finally, the double lines ended along with the curves, yet the truck driver didn’t seem to be making much effort to speed up now that the road had straightened out. I leaned over to make sure the opposite lane was clear, and then took off, our jeep and camper zipping past the beast of a vehicle. I flicked on the radio as we neared the little township of Branxholm and thought about what the days ahead would look like. My plan was to go from Scottsdale—where we lived—to the coast and then down, stopping off at the campsites and forest reserves on the way. Then I intended to go inland to Campbell Town and then south to Hobart, collecting photographs and my own illustrations which the magazine wanted also. I realized it would be a tight fit to get everything done in just two weeks, but this trip had already been delayed due to some work problems Emmy was having.

After stopping in St Helens for coffee for me and snacks for Tim, he ran off to the playground at the waterfront while I took my notepad and camera and found a picnic seat. The sky had partially clouded over and the water looked a dreary grey, but it wasn’t too cold. All I had to do really was write descriptive reviews on delightful towns like this for tourists. I usually take work where I don’t have to travel, but it was hard to avoid this time. A scream rose up from the playground behind me and I scanned the area, looking for Tim. Thank goodness! It was someone else’s boy. Tim was laughing in his cute way, running around with some new playmates.

There were a few other places we stopped at before pulling into Liffey Falls Park to call it a day. Setting up camp was a little difficult with a howling child to consider at the same time. I had bought Tim an apple juice back in St Marys from which he had only one sip before it was accidently dropped. I know Emmy had packed some juice or soda in the back, but Tim would not be comforted by this fact; so now I just had to stop and rummage through the packing to get him another drink. I warmed up some bolognaise sauce and boiled some pasta on the little camp stove while Tim played with sticks nearby. I don’t know why he couldn’t have played with his favourite teddy bear instead. I scooped some food onto his little plate and motioned for him to come and sit beside me in his own mini camp chair. Emmy really hadn’t forgotten anything.

“It’ll be hot,” I warned as he picked up his fork. “We’ll do a bit of bush walking in the morning perhaps, then we’ll go have a look at the Great Lake before going back to the road.” He only nodded and set his plate down as if waiting for the food to cool, resting his head gently on my arm. I wasn’t surprised at how tired he was; it had been a long day for both of us, and I was looking forward to crawling into a sleeping bag just as much as he was. After rolling out our bedding and taking care of the dishes while the sun settled down behind the hills, I pulled out the notes I’d taken that day to review them. I added a few lines of what I had seen so far of this area, then opened my sketch pad and examined the rough forms I had penned of an Eastern rosella and a Scarlet robin. I had copied these from photographs I managed to catch of them in St Helens. I would watercolour these at home and submit them with the article and original photos.

Emmy has called me a genius to be able to write and draw as well as I do. Perhaps she wanted to see if I could also work and solo parent my tag-along Tim at the same time. I switched off the light and snuggled down beside Tim, missing Emmy and deciding that soon we would do a tour of the island with all three of us—just for family’s sake.