At Eighty Mile Beach, JL got up to go to the loo in the night and slipped on the wet bathroom floor. I heard a big crash and knew this was bad news. It took a while to get him up and longer to get him back to bed, as he could not bear any weight on his right leg. He was in pain and couldn’t find a good position to lie down. All I had to give him was a couple of Panadol.
Next morning, we had some breakfast and I packed up quickly. I asked two of the guys from the nearby caravans to help getting JL into the car. They wanted to call an ambulance, but I knew that the best option was for me to drive him in 2.75 hours to Port Hedland hospital. Fortunately he found sitting up in the car was not too bad. We had to do a tour of South Hedland looking for the hospital. Then I saw an ambulance and decided to follow it. Not the best idea as it took us to the cemetery where an aboriginal burial was about to take place. We are not ready for the cemetery yet, said JL!
To cut a long story short, the hospital said he had a fractured hip and that the Royal Flying Doctor Service would fly him to Perth later that day. I could go with him on the plane if I wanted and leave my car in their secure lock up. I decided not to, as I would need my car and he was in good hands.
We had planned to drive back on the inland route over six days. I stayed overnight in the South Hedland Lodge, a motel with nothing to recommend it. Vehicles came and went all night on the crunchy gravel outside and I was worried about the situation. A man in the room next door was sitting outside early next morning having a smoke and advised me to go back by the coast road. He said there were just too many road trains on the inland route and I would be constantly having to overtake them. Even though it was shorter in distance, it would take longer because of all the trucks going to and from the mines in the Pilbara.
At least I was familiar with the coast road and knew where to stop, so that’s what I did. I pulled in for a rest at Whim Creek, a long established road house where we had camped in the past with the Nats. I remembered we had seen press cuttings displayed in the bar, showing scenes from a cyclone where the people had to shelter in a shipping container. Sad to say, it is now closed up and fenced off:
Back on the road, my phone pinged with a message from the hospital. He had been taken from the State Trauma Unit to a private wing, where the Consultant would operate on him. His son G was there with him.
Still feeling tired, I had another rest overlooking the creek at Roebourne:
There was nobody around: the town was absolutely deserted except for some other tourists in a 4WD. Just down the road it was a different story. A massive police operation was in force for a Random Breath Test. These had been banned for weeks because of Covid. There was even a booze bus which would confirm positive blood alcohol tests if necessary. It was 11.30 am.
I finally got to Karratha at lunchtime, checked into the Central Apartments and went to bed for a 2 hour siesta. This is a good place to stay, quiet and newly renovated inside. JL phoned me at 7.00 pm with all the news. His operation had been done with a new technique which put the lower half of his body under anaesthetic, whilst the top half was aware of what was going on. He sounded in amazingly good form considering everything that had happened. I told him to stay put till I got back.
