AS A ROADKILL culinary expert I have a fair idea of how to prepare a wombat stew. Mind you, I’ve never tried it (but only because I haven’t found a volunteer wombat dying to crawl into my pot). I assume, theoretically, that a wombat belongs to a category of edible native animals.
When I first came to Australia I’ve learned that many Aussie blokes like to eat pussies and I believed that every cat in an Australian household was intended for the same fate as pork. Every time I saw a cat my heart was bleeding. Since then I’ve learned the true meaning and I figured that eating a wombat probably belonged to the same category, except a wombat is a larger, furrier animal. As you can imagine, I was looking forward to the Wombat Rally.
I’ve been to a few great rallies organised by Bikers Australia so I was expecting a good turn-out. I was also hoping they’d organise a wombat for me.
I rode from Sydney to Bateman’s Bay and then continued to Yass where I got hopelessly lost. At one stage I found myself on the Hume Highway riding back to Sydney! After half-an-hour of swearing and riding back, I was lucky to meet up with the Odyssians and I attached myself to them.
We arrived at the Wombat Rally soon after midday and the first thing I saw was a big sign—Wombat Bride—on the building next to the gate and I knew that my prayers were answered.
There were plenty of activities all afternoon. One game, a sausage biting, was designed for the ladies and was pretty damn funny to watch.
Then it was a time to erect my tent. A couple of hours later I was still struggling with it in the dark—I don’t know what all these extra bits are for—but at least it looked like it might stay up for the night.
The band now struck up a tune and the party was getting into full swing. I decided to say hello to my bottle of rum.
As I still hadn’t seen a wombat, I wandered over to the canteen to check it out.
“Sorry, no wombats to eat,” they said, “but we have plenty of other good tucker.”
There was plenty of fun during the night—drinking, dancing, bullshitting with my new friends—to the sounds of the band.
In the early hours I eventually found my tent (which had fallen over) and I collapsed in a heap until morning.
I woke up with a headache and tried to re-pack my tent. No way all these extra bits were going to fit inside the bag—maybe they belonged to someone else’s tent—so I tossed them into the bushes.
A quick bacon and egg sandwich later and I’d attached myself again to the Odyssians heading back to Sydney.
I had lots of fun at the rally but I still didn’t get to eat a wombat. Maybe I’m just too ugly even for a large furry animal.
words & photos by Huck Finn