Oceania: Day 23: 7-26-94: Ayers Rock (Uluru)

This morning, we climbed "The Rock," alternately known as Ayers Rock, or by its native Aboriginal name of Uluru. The world's largest monolith, Ayers Rock is a solid chunk of sandstone thrusting up from the bowels of the Earth.

We awoke early and arrived at the base of Ayers Rock while it was still dark, affording us the chance to see it undergo its morning metamorphosis. Since sandstone changes colors along with the sunlight it reflects, the best times for viewing Uluru are during dawn and dusk. I watched mesmerized as the rock phased from black to brown to red to orange, like a giant mood ring worn by a schizophrenic. It was a beautiful sight to behold, and I took photos at 15-minute intervals to document the transformation (I also did a running commentary, with Bonnie as my cameraman [er, lady] -- a fake news broadcast we called the "Rock Report.")

--------------------------The Many Hues Of Uluru...--------------------------
-----------------------------------(6:30 a.m.)--------------------------------------




------------------------------------(6:45 a.m.)-------------------------------------

------------------------------------(7:00 a.m.)-------------------------------------

Soon it was time to stow away the camera and commence the climb. Before I began, I was (unfortunately) told that the record time to the rock's summit was 12 minutes -- suddenly, the leisurely, scenic walk I had originally intended became a timed challenge (my competitive nature allowed for nothing less!). In my blind enthusiasm, I forgot the age-old lesson taught by the fabled tortoise (i.e. "slow and steady wins the race") and made a rather foolish blunder -- I sprinted up the 57-degree gradient, eschewing the safety chain. Here's how this tragic comedy played out . . .

I started out strong, chugging along at a record-breaking pace, counting my proverbial chickens as I gave a hearty thumbs-up sign to my cheering travel companions below. This lasted all of two minutes. I made it about 75 feet up the slope before I started wheezing and hacking uncontrollably. I grabbed the chain in a last-ditch effort to keep my forward motion -- I pulled, straining my weary muscles, my body hunched over, eyes fixed upon my shuffling feet. I wanted more than anything to stop, to rest, but how could I? Dozens of people were watching and rooting, and I was loathe to reveal any weakness. Fear of public humiliation can be quite a motivator, so I kept going . . . sort of.

I made it about 30 more steps before dizziness set in. My brain had become so depleted of oxygen that a blackout was imminent. I tightened my hold on the chain ("an iron grip," literally and figuratively) -- not for momentum this time, but for balance. Alas, it was too late. I had gone too far, too fast. My head throbbed, my vision blurred, my lungs ached and my equilibrium faltered. Reasoning that fainting would be even more embarrassing than resting, I reached down a tentative hand, barely touching ground before my legs buckled under me. I collapsed, leaving me sprawled on my back, baking in the blazing desert sun (perhaps I was more like a tortoise after all, I thought abashedly, though not without humor).

Panting in rhythm to my spinning head, coppery blood crawling its way up my throat, I fought desperately to maintain consciousness. I was certain the last threads of alertness would slip away -- and that I, in turn, would slip away off the rock, becoming the 27th such victim of Uluru.

In time, however, my breath became less labored, my head less fuzzy. Eventually, I was able to lift myself into a sitting position, where shapes realigned themselves and darkened colors regained their proper hues. I slowly struggled to my feet (not daring to peek down at the Contiki crowd) and began anew . . . cautiously, this time.

Somehow I managed to make it up the remainder of the slope and the tricky bit was done. The rest of the hike was relatively easy-going (rolling hills, a few crevices to navigate). Cooee! The summit was in sight. I dipped into my reserve energy bank and suddenly became fleet of foot, booking over to the large metal cylinder which marked the peak. There was a logbook on the cylinder for all those who survived the climb. I barely qualified. My entry: "It's a mighty big rock."

-------------------------------The Path to the Peak---------------------------

I made it all the way down without further incident. At the base, I acknowledged the good-natured jeers of my peers with a mock salute. Perhaps as a consolation prize for my failure and pain, a magnanimous Aussie treated me to a Harley ride around Uluru -- I donned a leather jacket, gloves and a helmet, and I held on tight. It was a cool, "Easy Rider" kind of moment (I could even swear at one point that I heard "Born to Be Wild" playing in the background). Midway through our journey, a pack of wild dingos came out of the bush and started nipping at our legs, seemingly without fear of being crushed by the half-ton of metal bearing down on them (maybe they really DID take that woman's baby).

--- "Get Your Motor Running, Head Out On The Highway..." ---

After a rest break, Scott and Carl gave us a brief tour of Ayers Rock. We studied some of the honeycomb and cornflake patterns cut into the rock face by eons of weathering, went into one of the rock caves, and eyed some millennia-old cave art.

We went to our hotel for a nap before returning to Ayers Rock for a sunset viewing. Once again, the rock underwent a panoply of palette changes, and the lot of us enjoyed the spectral scene while slugging down champagne and an assortment of "nibblies." After 4 or 5 glasses of the bubbly stuff and all the cheese and crackers I could swallow, I anchored an evening news "Rock Report" in front of Bonnie's camera. While perhaps not as professional as my morning broadcast, it was equally as enjoyable.

The bus trip back to the hotel was lively indeed, as our normally tame coach turned into a "disco bus." Inebriated Contikis danced, sang and even flipped in the aisles (Yours Truly), as the radio blasted and the overhead lights blinked.

After much drinking and merriment at the hotel bar that evening (I did my share of dancing), it was off to bed. Dare I say that I slept like a rock?