newcastle

The view from room 414 at the back of the Newcastle Travelodge takes in brickwork, fences and grilles, rusted car bodies, lurid graffiti, and over to the right between buildings, a gantry, masts and a silver sliver of mirrored harbour. The smell coming in the window is tinged with sulphur and coal gas.

I arrive the previous evening after Jetstar deposit me half an hour late at Williamtown airport. I step out onto the concourse to find a taxi. The rank is blank. A voice utters my name in surprise. I look at the woman standing beside me at the rank but nothing registers.

“Wendy,” she says. And indeed it is Wendy.

We spent four days riding together in the week before Christmas. She rows down the Yarra with Rock. We marvel at the coincidence of standing forlorn at a taxi rank at an air force runway 28 kilometres from Newcastle. She’s here to demonstrate some radiological equipment to a local hospital. I’m here to watch Tracy present MM Level 1.

“What hotel?” “The Travelodge.” “Me too.”

A taxi arrives and we hop in. The driver tells us only one or two taxis will come out here at this time of night. Outside the Travelodge we debate who will pay the driver. The private sector wins and her company foots the $65 bill. I stash my Cabcharge voucher for another time.

She’s in room 411 and I’m in 414. We bid each other good night and agree that we must have a pedal together soon.

Tracy arrives in the breakfast room as I finish my Weeties. She hands me a thick wad of material, all the level 1 and level 2 MM stuff. Without a cuppa we’re off to the venue, the Customs House. From 9 till 4 I watch and assist her in presenting the MM program to 23 teachers from seven schools from the Newcastle region.

As the day passes I know that I can do this. After the gig we sit barefoot on the colonnaded verandah looking over a manicured park and the entrance to the harbour and debrief. I feel very much at ease with the person who is pretty much the guru of MM.

I’m in the right place at the right time.

Rock on.