by Robbo Bennetts

Tired. Burnt out, really. Old school. High school. A chalker and talker. Not an interactive whiteboarder. I was like a 1985 VK Holden Commodore, no longer stylish, no longer able to compete with some cute, fun and versatile late-model Toyota Yaris or new, small, sexy Audi. Which is why I hauled my sorry chassis up to the Top End last year. One last ride before being towed to the paddock.

By Robbo Bennetts

Flying to work the other day, looking down on the shagpile woodland and vast sleeping waterways of Kakadu, I thought ... the cockpit of a Cessna 404 is a really tiny space. There were so many buttons, I didn't know which to press first. Luckily, I was only the co-pilot. The pilot, Brendon, pointed down and said, "That's the Mary River. In the Mary, there are 300 crocodiles every kilometre - more than anywhere else."

crocodiles, corrugations & trumped-up corellas

by Robbo Bennetts

The local freight man belly-laughed when I told him why I needed to transport four mountain bikes from Broome to Fitzroy Crossing. In the event I considered his fee a joke and we were unable to do business.

"Good luck!" he chortled discomfortingly.