All we wanted after a magnificent snorkeling session off the coast of Western Australia was for the stupid motor home to start, to stop grinding away with that almost-but-not-today sound that made our hearts race faster than the engine. Bertie, as we called the 21-foot recreational vehicle we had rented, sounded like she wanted to work. She just lacked the energy.
My wife, Diana, turned the key once, twice, three more times, yielding only the same sneezy rhythm. I could see panic in her usually cheerful eyes as she pulled her hands away from the troubled ignition. We were in a remote spot with more marsupials than people.
“OK, breathe,” she said, exhaling slowly.
I stayed silent, as did our two children, Baz, 14, and Amelia, 12. Sitting in the van with the teal Indian Ocean to our left and a campground to our right, we were shocked at our misfortune. Five years ago, Amelia bounded home from school begging with third-grade enthusiasm to someday see what she’d apparently just learned about in class — the Ningaloo Coast, home to one of the longest near-shore reefs in the world, where hundreds of enormous, peaceful whale sharks gather every year.
We were 150 miles from her dream. I had already paid a fortune for us all to swim with the gentle giants early the next morning. It was our third attempt. The first, for Amelia’s 10th birthday in July 2020, fell to Covid lockdowns. So did the second — just a day before departure, no less, leading to wails and desperate pleas for refunds.
Even this time, we feared and attracted trouble. A Category 5 cyclone hit Western Australia the week we arrived. It was about 800 miles north of us, but on our first night, wind gusts tossed our R.V. from side to side like the plaything of a Marvel villain.
Amelia, miraculously, took it all in stride. “I don’t think Western Australia likes us very much,” she joked as Diana called the rental agency to ask for a tow truck, and as I searched the web for a taxi service willing to travel long distances on remote roads for God knows how much.
“We’ll get there, Amelia,” I said. “I just don’t know how.”
Bumps in the (long) road
Truth be told, stuck in the rusty plains of a vast continent, we were all feeling torn between problem-solving and doom. The pandemic was still whispering in our minds: Do not trust in the gods of serendipity and adventure; every little thing will not work out.
Pre-Covid, Diana and I had been true believers. We’d dragged our kids at a…
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