The Adventures of Darlene and Friends

I met Darlene through a Craig’s List ad. Her owners, Mark and Maria, had advertised a ride from Nashville to New Orleans in their camper, Darlene the Dream Machine. Harry (a fellow Aussie) and I responded to the call.

She was made in 1981 and still had a lot of the original trimmings; ugly brown carpet, pink and brown crocheted throws and upholstery that would’ve made the Golden Girls proud.

Mark and Maria had brought her for their roadtrip from Massachusetts to Denver, where they were moving. They’d tried to be as gentle with her as they could, limiting daily distances and resting often. This leg of the trip was the longest and would be her greatest challenge yet.

Sadly, it proved a little too much for old Darlene. Somewhere in Mississippi, a tyre went kaboom.

Mark couldn’t find the jack, Maria called the dodgy RV version of triple A. It didn’t sound good. 30 minutes later two men in a sedan pulled up to change the tyre. The jack they bought wasn’t big enough for Darlene, they drove back to get a bigger one. Then they didn’t bring enough air so we had to drive to the nearest gas station at 20mi/hr. That gas station didn’t have air so we drove to the next one. Mark was no longer OK.

Hours later we were back on the road. Harry and I fell asleep in the back to the sound of Mark’s muffled curses.

Maria and Mark had offered Harry and I couches of their friend’s house, however due to our delay, said friend would be asleep and they did not want to disturb. We would stay with another of Mark’s friends.

That friend was Trent. I tried to act natural when I first laid eyes on him.

He was t6all, skinny white man with a long blonde mullet. He wore denim short shorts and and army boots. He had one feather earring, a necklace of beads and painted patterns all over his bare chest, arms and face.

He invited us into his house, showing us around.

“This is the kitchen” he said, “shelves” he continued gesturing at a lone wooden shelf holding a dozen cans of diced carrots.

“I’ve got a couch in a fort with lots of blankets and fairy lights you can sleep in” he said to me and Harry. Mark and Maria would be sleeping in Darlene in an empty lot across the road.

Jammin' - Mark (harmonica), Trent (guitar)

Before bed we all needed food and liquor. Trent showed us around the French Quarter, giving snippets of history along the way.

Trent is what you might call a ‘freegan’. While we walked, he checked every payphone for change, every bin for anything and was constantly pointing out things he could take.

“Man, look at that good lumber just lying there”.

By the time we’d returned to his house, Trent had a stack of clothes, a pole and half a bottle of wine he’d found on a stoop.

Hours later after a kip in the fort, a beer breakfast and a jam in the park, Harry and I said goodbye to our new friends who we would never see again.