Rigabold the pernicketness sped down the bitumen black top, well it was more of a speckled grey, white and black top because as his studies had shown him the bitumen roads like those found in most cities were not practical in areas where the ambient temperatures were so high, so a less melty mix of products were used.
With Chiko Roll in hand he was enjoying his leisurely drive along the highway, he could tell it was warm outside because the heat was such that he could see it rising from the road surface. He’d decided as he left town that he’d drive below the posted speed limit, partly because he wanted to see the scenery around him, it wasn’t often he got to do that, but mostly because he didn’t want to draw any undue attention to himself and a Dodge Ram doing three times the speed limit would do that.
During his studies of Earth, in particularly Australia, Rigabold had read many things about how barren the outback was, how lacking in anything but dirt and scrub it was but in contrast he had also read reports from travellers who claimed that even with so little out there things always changed. It was that change, that difference while apparently staying the same, that Rigabold was hoping to see as he drove casually across the country. How he was going to notice that he wasn’t quite sure.
Sucking down the last of the green moo juice, it was getting warm but it still tasted stunningly wonderful, Rigabold almost felt every bolt, washer, nut and rivet of the Dodge rattle. To his right was a truck, a large truck, a large truck with three trailers and it was passing him on the opposite side of the road, headed in the direction he had come from.
He didn’t need to see exactly how the truck was set up to know that it was a cattle truck because the stench of it as it passed told him everything he needed to know about the cargo. Even with the windows up and the air conditioner turned on the smell of moo shit was unmistakable. There was probably upwards of 100 large mooers on the truck, why the silly humans hadn’t worked out teleportation, especially of stinking livestock was beyond Rigabold.
As the truck speed on by, more than likely going faster than the speed limit, Rigabold wondered what it was going to be like when he came across one of the big road trains that Australia was famous for. But he didn’t get much chance to wonder because almost immediately something caught his eye on the right hand side of the road up ahead. It was something moving, not just anything, it was a human, and they seemed to waving at Rigabold.
He knew there was no other Tumcuddulan’s on his part of Earth so Riagabold was immediately able to discount the idea that the person ahead was waving at him to say hello. In the travel stories he’d read there had been countless stories of people being stranded in the outback and waving down complete strangers who helped them without question and saved their lives. For that reason Rigabold knew he couldn’t drive past a stranded traveller.
He slowed the Dodge and flicked on his right indicator, there was no other traffic around to see his intention but he did it anyway. The closer he got to the man waving his arms the more details were revealed of where he was about to stop. It was a pull off area on the side of the road, a largish open area with signs up that stated it was a truck parking area, the truck that had just passed Rigabold wouldn’t have fitted in there but smaller truck would. The area itself was fairly barren and on Rigabold’s right hand side as he stopped his Dodge he could see a large hole dug in the soft sand, it almost like the hole had been left there to warn other drivers not to park in the loose sand.
The only other things the was in the parking area was an old battered car, the badge on the front was a blue oval which Rigabld recognised as a Ford logo but he did not recognise the model, and three men, four if he included the one that was jogging in from the road where he had waved Riagbold down.
Rigbold put down his moo juice container and climbed out of the Dodge. He’d barely made three steps before the three men were coming up to him. He didn’t feel threatened, even the biggest of them who looked like he was the sort of guy that spends five days a week pumping iron and the other two days pumping himself would haven’t been much of a match for Rigabold, human form or not.
“G’day, the name’s…” He stopped before using Rigabold and he stopped before using the name Rick Flair like he had in Halls Creek, instead he came up with another name which he’d picked up watching Earth movies. “…Jake Elwood. Please to meet you. Is there something I can help with?”
“Yeah you can hand us all your money and the keys to that fancy ride you’re driving!”.