What happened in MOTOR 16 years ago? We raced from Adelaide to Darwin in under 24 hours

The Longest Day

Braving road kill and road trains in a 24 hour, 3000km blast across the country

Paul? Jesse. Just wanna bounce an idea off you. Simon Johnson from Chrysler is keen we try a Crossfire SRT6 but we can’t do a comparo because, well…With what?

This feature was first published in MOTOR magazine's October 2005 issue

“But he says it goes like a cut cat so I’m thinking maybe we could do a drive thing with it. No, not ’Round Australia again. That’d be silly. How about across it? Adelaide to Darwin? About 3000 kays… In under 24 hours… Paul?”

That, folks, was the presentation: and, as it turns out, the extent of planning until a wee bit more research revealed that a Crossfire SRT6 has neither a spare tyre nor anywhere to pop Photographer Brunelli. So Mr Johnson offers up a Grand Voyager supply-ship, which immediately begs the question of who’d be crazy enough to chase us flat-out across a continent in a Mum-Mobile?

‘Flat-out’? Taylor M, of course. Hell, on a Lambretta if need be. And with that and no more in place, we’re standing, after dark, in the car-park at Adelaide airport looking at a stone-stock Crossfire.

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It is devoid of beauty. It is also innocent of driving lights, bullbar, spares et cetera and, as the plan (hah?!) says we’re driving through South Australia overnight in order to reach the unlimited roads of the Northern Territory at dawn, there will be no wine with dinner. I’ve been happier. Nonetheless, we dine with a vestigal sense of optimism but, tragically, no-one steals the bastard so we’re doomed to the darkness north of Adelaide.

There’s no rhythm yet. That’ll come. The first priority is to get a feel for the car and the journey ahead: look for roadkill to get an idea of the nightlife’s agenda and at the road’s edging to peg the level of maintenance. In the first hours these signs are good and we run the two vehicles in three-second convoy, both on high-beam – with the lead car’s mirrors averted – to maximize vision. We also learn, even in this early stage, that the Crossfire’s Grand Touring credentials are suspect. The short-travel, harshly damped suspension and lo-pro tyres give it the ride quality you might imagine and both wind and road noise at open-road pace discourage casual banter. The lights are good, though, and see us into Port Augusta without strain.

Less comforting is the range. The car’s 60-litre tank hasn’t a prayer of covering the 525km to Coober Pedy and, let the record show, Jesse’s researched enough to determine there’s no pre-dawn fuel available before there. So jerry cans are purchased and filled and things look, briefly and deceptively, organised.

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"Who’d be crazy enough to chase us flat-out across a continent in a mum-mobile?"

Leaving Port Augusta, a sign relates the options available. These are as follows: ‘Northern Territory/Western Australia’. This is probably as primal as choices get on any continent and spearing onto the road north is, for me, the real jump-off point of the journey.

In the way-late night on the Stuart Highway, civilian traffic is virtually non-existent. Trucks own the road now, giant freighters running through the darkness, visible from behind in the distance as massive blocks of red and orange light and easily overtaken, despite their two and three-trailer length, on the otherwise empty road.

Considerably more difficult, and dangerous, are the same species incoming. Their ferocious candlepower encourages the early dipping of our headlights but, even at a closing speed somewhat in excess of 200km/h, that can mean many minutes of driving into a bright point of light on low beam. Scary. Sheep are on the road now and cattle warning signs, grids and stock crossings all tell the story. Impressive skidmarks and explosions of blood on the road underline it.

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We will lift our average in the Territory daylight and perhaps enjoy more of the Crossfire’s dynamic ability then, but tonight’s constant-speed cruise is not favouring it. Or us. The seats are harsh, with sod-all under-thigh support generating pressure on the coccyx and growing discomfort. Granted, they’ve got gangs of lateral grip but that’s a bit tell-my-bum right now, and their inability to recline beyond the normal driving position is a bugger when you come off-shift.

About 250km south of Coober Pedy we stop in the epicentre of absolutely bloody nowhere for a driver change and jerry can refuel, an episode made briefly romantic by the spectacular star-mass above but very soon less so, let the record also show, by an End Of Planning somewhere short of a funnel that fits the unleaded filler neck.

Jury-rigging produces the sloppiest fuel-handling since the Exxon Valdez, followed by a desperate swab-up involving every rag in the Crossfire’s first-aid kit (you might want to look at that, Mr Johnson) and climaxed, on finding that neither open-plan vehicle has anywhere to store the fuel-soaked components, with their wholesale abandonment.

Onwards and upwards, we are soon punished by nature firing back all manner of stuff in retribution, including one enormous feral cat, many kangaroos, even more sheep and a fat night-lizard-thing (who knew?) but they all miss. I can’t wait to see what the daylight brings but for now it’s all Jesse’s problem as I squirm into a sleep that lasts as long as the tankful which, unfortunately, is some 50km shy of the nearest fuel stop.

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That’s what we’ve got the jerry cans for, but having flung the funnel to buggery, we’re well short of something to pour it into the tank with until Jess gets editorial, empties his bottle of octane improver into the tank, cuts the butt away and Hey Presto! Instant Funnel.

Thus, with the surprising blend of blind luck and management that distinguishes most things MOTOR, we run 1200km through the night until the sky begins to flare, the tops of the low shrubbery candle and the enormity of the vast, flat outback appears in a fiery spectacular. All in all, this is a hellovaway to start a Friday morning.

Right on target, we arrive at the border at dawn and soon after take a mighty caffeine hit at Kulgera, which, FYI, boasts 17 people, 6 dogs, 1 horse, 1 bull and 6 fish, the latter of which I suspect may be on the menu and subject to change. The rest of breakfast is brief, however, as we’ve still got the equivalent of Sydney-to-Melbourne and back to drive before the 24 hours are up.

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The unlimited highway north promises an astonishing drive. Built to cater to a far-flung population that uses cars as an alternative to light planes, it crosses a landscape largely flat but rarely dull. Well-maintained and cleared to the sides, the Stuart allows speeds that would encourage incarceration anywhere else in Australia. And the locals use it accordingly and well.

Not that it doesn’t require attention, mark you: we soon encounter our first cow and add it to the list along with the crows and ride-sized eagles claiming the overnight kill by the roadside.

The speed rises now, revealing a readiness in the Crossfire to whap past 200km/h with some very serious, supercharged whomp when needed. In truth, this isn’t very often, as traffic is light… it will be all day… and cooperative. Our pace, however, is set by the Grand Voyager, which the ferociously competitive MT has bowling along at a fairly impressive 180km/h once we’ve all accepted, ref his bet, that, okay, its real top-end is a wee bit higher in third but let’s be sensible.

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So far, only Jesse and I have shared the Crossfire, alternating seats in 2-3 hour shifts, but now Photographer Brunelli takes the navigator’s chair for interior shots so I briefly retire to the mother-ship and am immediately impressed at its comparative comfort and quiet. Plus the thing has reclining seats and enough space back there to roll out a double-swag and set a campfire.

Okay, it’s not the rocket of the pair but its grace above The Ton is surprising. Which only makes the Crossfire’s irritations, such as non-adjustable steering wheel height and insufficient legroom, more noticeable… and, with the morning sun blinding, in the absence of sunvisors that swivel to the side unforgivable in an $86,000 luxo coupe.

But for all that, the journey through an ever-changing land, ancient beyond imagining, is an absolute joy. South of Alice we cross the Finke River, the world’s oldest, now just a string of waterholes waiting for the rains but capable, when they come, of flowing in a torrent hundreds of metres wide.

A sense of grand scale pervades the journey now and, beyond Alice, our velocity increases. We will cruise between 180-190km/h for 10 hours this day, soaring between flatlands and skyscapes of infinite size, unrolling the land in spectacular stop-motion images of mesas and mountains once higher than the Himalayas now worn to mounds and the Devils Marbles in their incomprehensible balance, all in colours and light unique on the planet.

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Despite the speed, however, the breaks for fuel and photography are limiting the average. At this pace, the Voyager’s fuel range has dropped below the Crossfire’s and the wagon now becomes the determinant of both speed and stops.

It has been a shield and punched through the night for us, carrying spares and vital fuel, but good roads have rendered the former unnecessary and, in daylight, the latter is readily available. Throughout the morning it becomes clear that we may not make the 3000km to Darwin in under 24 hours and the option exists for us to leave the ballroom behind and run for the record in the Crossfire. But it’s Jesse’s call and he makes it. We will go together.

Spurred to even greater endeavour by such generosity, MT folds the wing mirrors back to gain another five-kliks-worth of whack and by the 16th hour we’re on schedule. And still grinning about the passing police car that gave us a wave while we got there.

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By mid afternoon we’ve raised the trip average to over 140km/h including all stops and, even allowing for the two-and-a-half hours we’ll lose in a dozen fuel ’n’ food grabs, roadside refueling, every stationary shot in this story (and more), getting lost (Cristian) in Alice Springs and cruelly caught at roadwork redlights, we’re tidy for time. But we use the light to keep the average as high as possible in deference to the coming night and, as the day closes in around Mataranka, home of the hot springs that I’d give Jesse’s left nut to be sitting in, we add ‘pig’ to the wildlife sightings and concentration to the task.

At the end of a splendid day we pass through Katherine and, having explored the Crossfire’s catch-up ability in the last of the light we’ve grabbed extra shooting time for Photographer Brunelli and aroused ourselves with some extraordinary Top End rush but hush. Just didn’t want you to think it’s all work. So we sail the last 300km into Darwin well-sated and, above all, in awe of this highway.

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Jesse calls it “one of the few world-class roads Australia has” but that’s an understatement. After all, where else in the world can you drive in complete freedom 3000km across a continent, for much of it at whatever speed you choose, on an excellent and empty highway through a spectacular landscape largely undisturbed by improvement?

And, as we roll into Darwin to stop the clock after 3001.4km at 23hrs:35mins, I realise that not only have we done just that but have done it in perfect safety, harming nothing larger than an insect, without rousing a horn, flash or brakelight from any other road-user, without ever having to brake hard or swerve. Hell of a road. Hell of a drive.

And as, now wearying, we pull into our hotel, I realise I’ve warmed to the Crossfire SRT6. Oh, sure, it’s still flawed, funny-looking and deeply confused about its role, but it’s got a good heart underneath. And getting out of it for the last time, and seeing the travel stains all over its unlovely nose I feel, if not affection, respect for a shared accomplishment.

Only one farewell fits: “That’ll do, Pig. That’ll do”.

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The Mission

We reckoned we could do Adelaide-Darwin in under a day (the record has long stood at 30-odd hours), but we just needed a reason. Well, how about this? Cockburn revels in abject silliness, MT was bemused by the distinct lack of A Point, while JT just felt like getting out of the office. Still, as holders of the record for the lap of the continent (6 days, 9 hours) we thought we might as well claim the record for bisecting it as well. [Ed's note: the Lap of Australia record has since been broken, and now stands at an impressive 5 days, 13 hours and 43 minutes.]

Run to glory

Stay together or push on alone?

With just over 1200km to Darwin and less than 9 hours to run before the clock struck 24 there was talk the Voyager had done its job and the Crossfire should push on to victory alone. The soccer-mum wagon had supported the SRT6 throughout the night but was now starting to slow the pace, putting the record in jeopardy. However, I felt it was still too early to make that call and barring an incident both vehicles were on target to hit Darwin just shy of the 24-hour mark. It was agreed we’d reassess the situation at every fuel stop and as every hour ticked away.

In the meantime, the Voyager would leave each servo first while the Crossfire crew paid for fuel and then played a game of high speed catch up. After a frustrating 20-minute wait to pay for juice at the spooky, one donkey Ti Tree servo, Cristian and I jumped into the SRT6 and, for the first time all trip, put all 246kW to use.

Even though we were running at high speed since crossing the NT border at dawn, there’s a noticeable step-up in the required focus above 200km/h, but your mind soon adjusts to the increased pace. While the SRT6 tickled its 250km/h limiter a couple of times it was actually less comfortable above 235km/h which became the actual top speed.

By the time we’d caught the tail of the Voyager, the SRT6 had covered 140 kays in just 40 minutes at an average of 212km/h (and Cristian slept for most of it). – Jesse Taylor

Shield of Steel

It’s a funny old world where the support truck leads the way

Point man is the one who gets shot first or who aurally alerts the rest of the boys to the presence of mines by stepping on one.

And so it was with the Grand Voyager and I. We spent approximately 22 of the 23 hours out there cutting a house-sized hole in the air for the slim-hipped, whispy-haired nancy boys, sheltering them from drama and giving them a relay set of high beams.

After leaving Adelaide, the Voyager cleared a 1200km path through the ’roos, sheep, cattle and wedge-tailed eagles (but, curiously, not a single insect) to the NT border. Considered expendable, it lead again until half an hour out of Darwin, when CB and I waved them through to take their glory (did you buy this issue to read about Voyagers?).

It’s not easy to drive at 180-plus, and its lack of acceleration meant carrying a lot of mid-corner speed. Anyway, I preferred to drive it because I just figured the whole thing would be a quirkier achievement in the bus. It rode well, had great seats and it was quiet. It’ll sit for days on 180 (or 190 with the mirrors folded in!) and it was incredibly stable.

I had another very good reason to be point man, though. No way was I spending the whole width of Australia looking at an arse that crook. – Michael Taylor