A motorbike with indigenous airconditioning and no shade? Not likely!

Darwin is aircraft, airconditioning and winter. Best flyover instead.

Been there enough and I reckon that the Lord Mayor has her hands full as a result of the indigenous policies of Rudd and that big redhead PM. Y'know, Julia Whatshername who used to wage the gender and class wars, but went off to live the life of Riley in a $2million bungalow on golden parliamentary super and benefits courtesy of the weary Aussie taxpayer.

Hasbeen, I am surprised you aren't into motorbikes!
Foxy, if you ever get to Darwin, be sure sure to swim at Edith Falls...

Onthebeach dislikes Darwin obviously, but what about the subject of this great thread?

Are you typically going to whinge about labor and women, or comment on some form of 'a ball' you have had in your past?
Or...did you never have any balls :)

Talking about Darwin ...

My sister-in-law's recollections, age 14,
arriving in Australia, from Sweden:

"We emerged into a tropical rain storm at Darwin airport.
It was hot, steamy, and more oppressive than the inside
of an ice-hockey player's jockstrap after a national
final! The sky was deep grey and navy blue shattered every
few seconds by flashes of forked lightning and giant
thunderclaps, rain pissing down, running in great cascades off
banana leaves and drooping green palms and splashing like
mini-waterfalls onto the ground! Exotic, colourful, tropical
flowers were everywhere you looked! All colours of hibiscus
and yellow Alamanda, purple Bougainvillea and scarlet
Poinciana, getting battered to shreds by the downpour."

"And the beautiful smells, like bananas and guavas and
other tropical fruits in the air. When you come from a cold
climate or anywhere for that matter ... when you get out of a
plane at some Tropical place... the smell is probably the
first thing to get to you ... and of course the heat!"

"When we flew out of Stockholm the temperature outside was -
15C. In Darwin it was +39C! It was like walking around or
sitting in a Turkish bath or a sauna! And we were all
dressed like bloody Eskimos, with me in my thermal
woollen dress and knee high fur-lined snow boots! I looked
like I was on my way to join the next Mt Everest expedition!"

"We were in and out of the so-called "cold" showers for
twelve hours waiting for the storm to pass. It was so humid
you couldn't dry yourself, so you're just as wet in or out
of the shower! Is this why they call migrants wetbacks?"

"Eventually the storm broke and we were loaded back into
the plane for our final hop 3000 miles south to Melbourne,
then immediately carted in rattly old buses on a six hour
journey north of there to the NSW border and Bonegilla
Migrants Camp... an ex-Army barracks out in the bush
somewhere in the dry dusty gum-tree country near the
Murray River. It consisted mainly of huge corrugated-iron
hangars ..."

I lived in Darwin and Alice Springs , before cyclone Tracy.
Enjoyed my time in both places.
SD

cont'd ...

"the hangars were partitioned into little units, like
pigeonholes in fact, which is exactly what they were.
Only we were the pigeons!"

"Like the rest of my family, I spoke only a few words of
very stiff, formal 'BRITTISH' which I had learned at
school. So life was challenging for all of us in the
camp, which was like a box of liquorice allsorts. There
were so many people of different races and languages,
cultures, customs and religions that we often had to use
interpreters for our constant communication problems."

"I remember one night when they bussed us all to an old
woolshed about half an hour's drive from the camp to the
local Barn Dance...the big night out for miles around,
which was held on a regular Saturday night basis. The
steam-powered bush band was set up on a stage made of wool
bales and the dance caller was an ancient semi-toothless
sunburnt caricature of a man with crinkly brown leathery
skin and a snaggly yellow smile, proudly bearing
nearly a century of nicotine staining!"

"It was like a scene from a funky old technicolour western!
People stomping around to the local super-band "The Woolly
Bullies" playing their famous rendition of "The Tennessee
Waltz." There was a gaggle of women fussing around the little
food stall in the corner...cheeky brat kids pulling faces
at me and trying to steal cakes...the caller droning out the
next dance steps dressed in his fringed western shirt and
shoestring tie, cowboy hat, boots, and a big shiny cow-horns
belt buckle. I was looking for his spurs but he wasn't
wearing any!"

"I can still recall every detail all these years later.
Such vivid impressions never disappear!"

No Suse, they scare the whatnot out of me.

When I was racing cars a mate used to let me & a couple of other drivers use his machine shop, to make up parts. He did the same for a few bike racers.

One used to tell me how dangerous a car was, as it could roll over on you. This would be while working one handed, with a broken collarbone, a smashed up hand in plaster, or hobbling around on a banged up knee.

I don't ride Ferris wheels, or climb mountains either. I like nice safe sports. I also don't swim naked with crocodiles, although I have showered naked with a couple of pretty dangerous ladies in my time.