Hit the Road Read online

  ALSO BY TONY WILSON

  OUT NOW!

  Book 1 – Battle Royale

  Book 2 – The Miracle Goal

  Book 3 – Hit the Road

  OUT SOON!

  Book 4 – Maintain the Mischief

  DEDICATION

  For Mum and Dad

  — Troy, Adam, Joel and Scott

  To Mum and Dad, for everything

  — Tony Wilson

  CONTENTS

  The Selwood Boys books

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Excerpt from The Selwood Boys Maintain the Mischief

  One

  About the Selwoods

  About the Author

  Copyright

  ONE

  DECEMBER 1997

  Joel hung his body out of the rear window of the Falcon six-seater, a footy raised above his head.

  ‘Count it down!’ he shouted, with enough volume to notify all of the street of their departure.

  ‘Ten, nine, eight, seven, six . . .’

  The whole car joined in, including Mum and Dad. The family had been counting down the months and then weeks and then days to their big Queensland adventure. Finally, there were just seconds to go.

  ‘Three, two, one . . .!’

  The boys erupted in a cheer, and Dad leaned on the horn.

  ‘Bryce! It’s five in the morning!’ Mum said. ‘You’ll wake up half of Bendigo.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Dad replied. ‘I thought we needed a siren.’

  ‘We did, Mum, we did!’ Joel babbled, as his brothers hauled him back inside the car.

  ‘Woohoo!’ Scott whooped.

  ‘At last!’ shouted one of the twins.

  They were away.

  Three suitcases, four boogie boards, two footies, a frisbee, six beach towels, a beach umbrella, two Game Boys and six Selwoods.

  At the one-minute-and-twenty-second mark, the boys had their first fight.

  ‘Muuuuuum,’ whined Joel. ‘Why do Adam and Troy get the Game Boys? This one is Tommy O’s. He’s my friend.’

  ‘He’s my friend,’ said Scott, who was sitting on the front bench seat between Mum and Dad. ‘He’s more my age than Joel’s. I want the Game Boy.’

  ‘He kicks the footy more with me,’ said Joel, and he snatched Tommy O’s Game Boy from Troy.

  ‘Arrrgh!’ Troy shouted as he lost both the Game Boy and the game of Donkey Kong. He grabbed Joel by the shirt and threw him across Adam’s lap. That spoiled Adam’s game of Pokémon.

  ‘Arrrgh!’ Adam grabbed Troy’s hair.

  ‘I want it,’ Scott said, clawing his way into the back.

  ‘No Game Boys!’ Dad commanded from the front seat. ‘If you can’t share, then nobody gets them.’

  Mum took the Game Boys and shut them away in the glove box. ‘Only two days of driving to go, boys,’ she said. ‘Can’t we think of a nice family game?’

  ‘What about Corners?’ Adam suggested.

  ‘Okay, how do we play that?’ Mum asked.

  The rules were that Scott had to name his favourite twin. Then, the twin who wasn’t named would use the momentum of each corner to push across and crush the rest of the back seat. Because it was Joel in the middle getting crushed and not him, Scott was bouncing with excitement. ‘How fun is this!’ he giggled.

  ‘Not that fun,’ Joel wheezed. ‘Muuum! I can’t breathe!’

  ‘Boys!’ Dad scolded. ‘We’ve got seventeen hundred kilometres to go!’

  ‘Why don’t we play I Spy?’ Mum suggested.

  ‘How old do you think we are — three?’ Adam laughed.

  ‘Yeah, put on a Wiggles tape, Mum!’ teased Troy.

  ‘We could play Banana Car?’ said Joel.

  Banana Car was a Selwood family favourite. The idea was that everyone kept a lookout for yellow vehicles. Yellow cars, yellow trucks, yellow vans, yellow motorbikes — these were all Banana Car gold. The first to yell ‘banana car’ when a yellow vehicle appeared, scored ten points. The winner was whoever got to a hundred and fifty points first.

  ‘Banana car!’ Dad yelled, as they turned onto the Midland Highway.

  They all laughed at Dad’s rookie mistake. ‘It’s a taxi, Dad!’ explained Joel. ‘Don’t you know taxis are minus fifty?’

  Taxis were Banana Car poison. If you saw a taxi, you had to hold your tongue.

  ‘Banana Car — that old one!’ yelled Scott.

  ‘Banana Car — Ford station wagon!’ shouted Joel.

  ‘Banana Car — that harvester over there!’ yelled Adam.

  ‘A harvester? That’s not a vehicle, it’s farm equipment. It’s not even on the road!’ said Dad.

  ‘It’s a vehicle!’ Adam said. Troy backed him up. Then Troy got angry when Adam declared that the kombi he’d spotted was mustard, not yellow. The twins wrestled. Joel was caught in the middle so he elbowed them both.

  ‘Pull over,’ Mum said to Dad.

  Mum and Scott moved into the back and Adam and Joel into the front. Troy, who was leading Banana Car, said this was unfair as Adam and Joel could now spot yellow cars without seats in the way.

  Sure enough, Joel picked off two yellow Commodores and a Ducati motorcycle to join Troy in the lead.

  ‘Banana Car!’ Troy yelled, as a yellow speck appeared on the horizon.

  The speck grew larger and larger and became . . . a taxi.

  ‘Taxi!’ the whole car shouted, and Troy crashed back to ninety.

  ‘This is rigged!’ Troy complained.

  ‘Banana Car!’ Joel said, as a yellow Mazda zipped past. ‘One hundred and fifty points. I win!’ He spun around and clapped his hands in his older brother’s face. ‘I-I win! I-I win!’

  ‘Joel! Be nice about it. No one likes a rotten banana winner.’

  Dad laughed at this. Mum giggled at her own joke, too. Joel continued to be a rotten banana winner. ‘Beat you all! I’m the winner! One hundred and fifty points! Just like bowling!’

  The twins were silent. Joel had indeed bowled a hundred and fifty at Dragon City Lanes the day before they left. He was only nine, but he’d beaten Adam and Troy and three of their high school friends. Joel was like that with sport. He just had the knack. Of course in front of older kids he barely knew, Joel had been really humble. ‘I got lucky with that strike. Wow, I can’t believe I won,’ he’d said. But now, with the high excitement of the early start and Banana Car and the long-awaited Queensland holiday, he was letting his brothers have it.

  ‘One hundred and fifty!’ he mouthed in the direction of Troy in the back, like he was calling the darts.

  ‘One hundred and fifty,’ he whispered hotly in Adam’s ear.

  Adam punched him in the upper arm.

  ‘You know what my only goal for this holiday is, Joely?’ asked Troy. ‘I want to find a game, a sport, something that you’re truly terrible at. And take photos of you being terrible at it. To show everyone.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Adam. ‘We’re going to find your kryptonite.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Scott, just to join in. ‘Kryptonite. Like in Superman II.’

  ‘It’s a good mission,’ said Troy. ‘I love a good mission.’

  Joel felt a flutter of concern but decided not to let it show. ‘One hundred and fifty,’ he said softly, one last time.

  TWO

  The sun climbed in the sky and so did the temperature in the car. The Falcon didn’t have air conditioning, so the windows were open on both sides. This let in air but also mad
e a thumping windy racket as the Selwoods hurtled down the highway.

  Joel loved being on the road. He jiggled his legs and felt the backs of his thighs peel away from the vinyl bench seat of the Falcon. For a while, he recognised the names on the green exit signs — Kyabram, Tatura, Shepparton, Numurkah — the twins had played tennis or footy in all of these places. But after a couple of hours the familiar farmland of central Victoria changed to the more rugged and wooded landscape south of the Murray River. Joel no longer knew the town names — Strathmerton, Yarroweyah, Koonoomoo. Their adventure north was beginning.

  ‘Mum, I’ve discovered a good spot for a toilet stop,’ Troy said, squinting at their large foldout map of eastern Australia.

  ‘Yes?’ said Mum.

  ‘Mywee,’ Troy said. ‘It’s only a few kilometres from here. I want to do my wee in Mywee.’

  All four boys screamed with laughter. It faded for a minute but then grew again when Joel spotted the sign for Mywee.

  ‘Can we get a photo, Dad?’

  That was the first photo of the trip. All four boys draping themselves over a green metal sign pointing to the town of Mywee. Dad took the picture. Mum said they were all very immature.

  ‘I think Koonoomoo’s funnier,’ Mum said.

  ‘Why?’ Troy asked. ‘Don’t you like Mywee? Get it? Don’t you like My-wee.’

  Mum breathed deeply but said nothing. The boys laughed all over again. Dad chuckled and told them to get back in the car. He went in the back. It was Mum’s turn to drive.

  A few minutes later, they were chugging across the bridge at Tocumwal.

  ‘New South Wales!’ Adam cheered as they surveyed the green waters of the Murray River. ‘Awesome! A new state!’

  ‘Wow, it’s beautiful,’ Mum said, slowing down on the bridge that marked the border. It really was. River gums with white trunks crowded the banks. An old-fashioned wrought-iron rail bridge ran alongside, red and rusty. Joel wondered if bushrangers had hidden out under it years ago. The sand on the riverbank was white and inviting, the trees reflected in the water. Near the rail bridge, some kids were swinging out on a huge rope and dropping into the river.

  ‘Mum, can we?’ Troy begged. ‘I’m boiling!’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Mum replied. ‘It might be dangerous. We don’t know the river.’

  ‘Oh come on, Mum, some of those kids are Scooter’s age. It’s got to be safe,’ Adam urged.

  Mum hesitated. ‘You’ll be all wet in the car.’

  ‘We don’t care,’ Scott replied. ‘Pleeeeease?’

  Mum glanced at Dad, who shrugged in response. Mum turned off the highway. The twins and Scott gave her a big cheer.

  Joel was thumbing away at the Game Boy he’d snuck back out of the glove box. ‘I might stay here,’ he said casually. ‘I don’t really feel like getting wet.’

  The twins called Joel a wuss and stuck their hands over the Game Boy screen to wreck his game. Joel didn’t change his mind.

  ‘I’m not that hot,’ he said. ‘I’ll just watch from here.’

  For twenty minutes, Troy, Adam and Scott joined half a dozen Tocumwal locals making giant Tarzan swings into the river. The rope hung from a mighty eucalyptus branch, and the water was exhilaratingly cold. The locals welcomed the boys like old friends, and there was much laughing and shrieking.

  The three brothers couldn’t believe Joel hadn’t come with them.

  ‘What’s up with him?’ Adam asked Troy, as they dripped up the bank. ‘He loves the pool. He’s the king of tricks off the diving board.’

  It was true. Joel and Scott were the keenest swimmers in the family. Brennan Park Pool was a favourite Selwood hangout. Joel sometimes even wore a wetsuit to protect himself as he tried somersaults off the one-metre board.

  ‘He’s just worried that he can’t swing as far as us,’ Adam said. ‘He knows we’re looking for his kryptonite.’

  They returned to the car and found Joel still glued to the Game Boy.

  ‘Wuss,’ Adam said.

  ‘Yeah, you totally wimped it,’ said Troy. ‘Even Scooter was flying in off that rope. It was awesome.’

  Joel barely glanced at his dripping brothers.

  ‘I just beat your highest score,’ Joel told Adam. The twins peered over his shoulder but said nothing.

  Joel’s kryptonite certainly wasn’t Donkey Kong.

  The Falcon powered on through the part of southern New South Wales known as the Riverina. Now there were fewer cattle, and more fields with wheat and other grains. The heads of wheat bent and rustled and moved like great golden picnic blankets being shaken out over the country. There were still footy grounds to the side of the Newell Highway, but now there were rugby goals, too.

  ‘Hey, there’s Wagga Wagga,’ said Adam, pointing to the road sign giving the distances for the towns ahead.

  ‘Wayne Carey comes from there,’ said Troy.

  ‘And Paul Kelly!’ Joel added.

  Wayne Carey had held up the premiership cup as captain of North Melbourne the year before. Most people thought he was the best footballer in the AFL. Paul Kelly was captain of the Sydney Swans and had won the 1995 Brownlow Medal. Joel desperately wanted to be like Paul Kelly — fast, skilful and brave.

  ‘Can we go to Wagga Wagga and see where Paul Kelly played junior footy?’ Joel asked.

  Dad laughed. ‘If we stop at every junior footy club between here and Mermaid Beach, we’ll never get there. I mean we’re about to go through Finley, where Shane Crawford grew up. Do you want to stop at Shane Crawford’s junior footy club as well?’

  All four boys yelled, ‘Yes!’

  Adam shouted the loudest. He barracked for the Hawks and loved Crawford.

  Mum slapped her forehead.

  ‘He’s Crawf, Mum,’ said Adam.

  ‘A good player?’ Mum asked.

  ‘A great player,’ Adam said. ‘I think he’ll win the Brownlow.’

  ‘So that means we need to see his junior footy ground?’ Mum said dubiously.

  ‘Ab-so-lute-ly,’ Adam said.

  Mum glanced at Dad and laughed. ‘I do sometimes wonder what it would have been like to have girls,’ she said.

  THREE

  By midday, everyone was starving.

  ‘What about we stop in Mirrool for lunch?’ Dad suggested.

  The back seat erupted. ‘Can we have burgers?’

  ‘Go on, Muuuuum, it’s holidays.’

  They sensed Mum’s steely resistance to junk food to be at an all-time low.

  ‘Pleeeease, we’ll eat something healthy too . . .’ whined Adam.

  ‘Yeah, and burgers do have lettuce in them . . .’ said Troy.

  Mum snorted. But she didn’t say no. ‘We’ll see what we find when we get to Mirrool,’ she said. She was still behind the wheel, her eyes fixed on the endless road.

  There was no burger shop in Mirrool, which dampened the mood in the car. But when they saw the stately Royal Hotel with its ornate balconies and wraparound verandahs, a bistro meal seemed like a good idea.

  It seemed an even better idea after Troy asked about the footy behind the bar.

  ‘That’s the ball for the Silo Challenge,’ the pub owner said. ‘You all know about Mirrool’s famous Silo Challenge?’

  The Selwoods didn’t know. The publican introduced himself as Brian. He had a friendly smile and crooked teeth. He picked up the footy like it was a holy relic. ‘In the late seventies, the coach of Mirrool, a fella called Mark Newton, tried to kick this footy over the wheat silos across the road. He couldn’t make it, so he offered twenty dollars to the first person who could. It took five years, but in 1984 a kid from Darwin called Robbie Mills booted the ball over in his bare feet! He won the money and everlasting glory.’

  ‘A kid?’ Joel said excitedly. ‘Like us?’

  ‘Well, he was eighteen, actually. How old are you kids?’ asked Brian.

  ‘Nearly ten,’ said Joel.

  ‘Thirteen,’ chorused the twins.

  ‘Seven,’ said
Scott.

  ‘You might battle, boys. Certainly, you’d be setting age records if you made it. Billy Brownless was twenty-two and playing for Geelong when he did it.’

  ‘Billy Brownless!’ Joel gushed. ‘He’s been here? I had his poster in my room!’

  This was true. Joel had used Billy to hide a hole he’d made in the plaster playing Bedroom Footy against Scott.

  ‘He just retired,’ Joel said. ‘After a hundred and ninety-eight games.’

  Brian lowered his voice, almost whispering, like he was sharing a great secret. ‘Billy was born just up the road here in Jerilderie. And he was on his way back for a wedding when he stopped here. Asked about the footy, just like you did, and then went out and roosted it. I thought it’d never come down. Now we have the Silo Challenge in the second weekend of October every year. People come from everywhere to have a crack. Billy himself’s been back.’

  ‘Can we have a go?’ Joel begged. ‘Pleeease, Dad, Mum?’

  ‘Well, we have brought footies,’ Mum said.

  The Silo Challenge was put on hold while they had lunch. The boys ordered burgers and chips and everyone agreed that they were better than from a fast-food place, especially Mum. She liked that the lettuce was fresh and green. She talked up the iron and folate in beetroot. Scott mustn’t have liked the sound of either iron or folate, because he picked out the beetroot and threw it at Joel. It slapped into Joel’s chest, and left a purple stain dead centre of his favourite light-blue Superman T-shirt.

  ‘Purple heart,’ joked Dad.

  ‘You’re beetrooted!’ said Adam.

  ‘Yaaaargh!’ yelled Joel. He was furious. He fished the beetroot out of his lap, preparing to return fire.

  ‘Enough!’ Mum said sharply. ‘If anyone even thinks about throwing food, there’ll be no attempting to kick footies over wheat silos!’

  Joel smiled. It was one of the weirdest threats ever. It did the trick though. The boys finished their burgers and chips without further fuss.

  They stood up to go silo kicking, and Brian said he’d tag along. ‘Who knows,’ he grinned, eyes shining, ‘you might be wantin’ an independent witness to say you hoofed it over. Me wife’s got the bar.’