Bruce returned not long after breakfast to find his latest visitors hunched together over an atlas.

“How could we have gone from there,” Chip said, pointing out LA, “to here?” he added, pointing to the Northern Territory.

“I wish I could always travel that way,” Ryan mused.

“Hey, Bruce is back,” Drew whispered.

“Go talk to him, Colin” Brad whispered.

“Yeah, go on,” Wayne chimed in and shoved Colin forward.

Colin took a deep breath and reluctantly approached Bruce. “Hi. We’re really sorry we’ve had to put you out like this,” he began.

“No worries, mate.” Bruce grinned.

“Oh no, we have worries. That’s what I want to talk to you about,” Colin nodded.

“Go ahead, mate,” Bruce perked.

“We need to get to the Alice, and we were wondering if you would…if you could…maybe take us?” Colin said meekly.

Bruce pondered Colin for a moment. “Well I can…but I only have the ute, so you’ll have to sit in the tray.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” Wayne asked, looking up from the atlas.

“Mate, we don’t even have road rules here in the top end,” Bruce chuckled.

A short while later with a bottle of water and a sandwich each, they piled into Bruce’s ute. Colin was offered the passenger seat in the cabin, which he gladly took after noticing it was air-conditioned.

The roads to the Alice were little more than dirt trails, and all the bumping and swerving meant the six in the tray were getting thrown around like ping-pong balls, and it wasn’t unusual that after a large bump, someone would land in someone else’s lap.

What made the trip even more unbearable was the sweltering heat. If they could have sweat any more the tray may have begun to fill.

In the cabin, Colin was cool and fresh and enjoying several lengthy discussions with Bruce.

“It’s funny,” Colin mused. “When I’m in America I get nothing but ridicule for being Canadian.”

“Yeah, people can be cruel,” Bruce sighed.

“I mean they really put shit on me.”

“They put shit on you? You know what we call Americans here?” Bruce asked.

“No I don’t,” Colin replied.

“Septics,” Bruce grinned.

“Septics?” Colin said confused.

“As in septic tanks. Rhyming slang for YANKS…” Bruce chuckled.

Colin couldn’t help but laugh too; he was beginning to really like Australia.

Seven hours and fifty-six minutes later (they ran ahead of time) Bruce pulled into a town. Although it was dark, they could see it was as barren as Ammarro. Even the golf course appeared to be completely lacking grass.

“Welcome to the Alice, fellas,” Bruce chirped as he hopped out of the ute and greeted the bedraggled, sun-burnt and sweat-soaked Whose Line men in the tray.

Colin bounded out of the ute and was greeted by the bitter glares of his friends. Even Ryan looked considerably pissed off.

“Thanks Bruce,” Greg managed to hack through his parched throat, “How much do we owe you?”

Bruce looked at Colin and then back at the others. “Ahh, you don’t owe me nothin’.”

“You sure?” Colin asked.

“Yeah. Now Big Bazza should be at the local pub. They should be able to put you fellas up for the night, too,” Bruce smiled, slapped Colin on the back and said goodbye.

Once Bruce was gone, Brad turned to the others. “This place sucks,” he grumbled.

Everyone agreed.

“C’mon lets try and find Big Bazza. And a shower” Wayne announced, sniffing under his arm and then cringing.

They set off in the direction of the pub along the dusty main street.