The Road Block

Yesterday, after a week's holiday crammed with deep thought and nostalgia, followed by a few hours on catch up- paying bills, responding to emails and phone messages, I made my way to the farm about lunchtime. The weekend's rain was lovely. With the strain of the hot, dry weather now in the past, my spirits should have been high. Not so. Maybe it was the mail waiting us for us on our return which included one from the tax office, Lib's tax assessment. Somehow she owed them $1200 for the last tax year because she chose to take some accumulated leave pay but keep working as they were so short staffed. Tax was taken out of course, but unknown to us , not enough.

An unexpected bill of such magnitude would dampen anyone's spirit. It was accompanied by threats of legal action and fines if not payed promptly as the money was due last November - Lib was late getting her return in, as always, but normally it doesn't matter as it's usually them that owes her a small amount. I withdrew from the bank and paid the money at the Cockatoo Post Office on my way through. With that and the house insurance I'd paid that morning, notification of a price hike to health insurance, sundry other recent bills including the council rates, repairs to Pip's stomach after a gash needed stitches at the vet the day we left for Lakes, etc etc, the household budget has taken a hammering.

I turned into Monbulk Rd. and immediately saw flashing police lights and coppers in flouro jackets motioning for me to pull up. Gord and I had bought a $5 chow mien lunch special each and I cursed at the thought of it getting cold before we got to the farm. There were two police cars and six cops, half of them swarming over the car ahead of me and the rest coming at my vehicle. They all guns on their hips and stern faces. One with a name badge stating he was a sergeant of Emerald police came to my window, said it was a license and vehicle check and asked for my driver's license. Mistakenly I gave him Lib's, she'd given me hers when we left on holiday as she didn't want to take her wallet, but she may have needed to share the driving, which she did.

The sergeant was unimpressed. I gave him mine and he asked do I still live at the Monbulk Rd. address shown on the license.

I too, was unimpressed at the interrogation and took a deep breath, exhaled, and paused.

"No, I live in Gembrook. I have part ownership of a property at that address." I was waiting for him to take issue with me, as have other checkpoint police over the years, who insist that the address on my license must be my principal place of residence. (Truth is, years ago, I had vehicles registered in my name at the farm address, garaged there. I drove home in a van registered in my father's name, but my license listed my Gembrook address. The computer chucked a nutter and sent me a threatening letter. In the upshot someone in the computer section decided my license should have the farm address.) This cop let it pass without argument.

He was checking my license on his mini computer while a dog in the car in front was snapping, through the glass, at the police walking around inspecting the vehicle. One of the cops said to the other, loudly, "I'll give it a lead pill in a minute."

"I've done that before," piped up the sergeant, as if to display his experience to his junior colleagues.

They asked me to flick on my lights, hi beam, indicators, brake lights. One younger cop told me to turn my steering wheel so he could inspect the front tyres, which I did. He looked through the window of the van. He had dark hair and bright blue eyes, his face spoiled by what must have been angry pills. "Further", he said loudly.

My annoyance rising I made a token further turn on the wheel.

"FURTHER", he shouted.

"JESUS CHRIST", I shouted back.

"I've already checked the front tyres, they're OK", another cop said in a calm voice.

A minute passed while the sergeant finished his form. "Just another minute or two and you'll be on your way."

He tore off a yellow 'DEFECTIVE VEHICLE' sticker and stuck it on the passenger side window, explaining that he was putting it there as my windscreen was cracked and would need replacing. There was, he had said, after asking me to move my feet so he could look at the pedals, a rubber missing from the accelerator pedal which he also listed. I told him there was never a rubber on the accelerator pedal, not when the van was purchased. He ignored this.

"As this vehicle has a major defect you will need to have the the problems rectified and a roadworthy certificate presented to a Vicroads office by 16 April or registration of the vehicle will be withdrawn. If the problems are not rectified in one week, by 5.00 pm on the 23rd March, you are not permitted to drive the vehicle from that time."

Our chow mien wasn't too bad after all that. Of course I already knew my windscreen was cracked, it had been for some months. I tried to put the incident out of mind. If I'd had the windscreen fixed ages ago perhapps I'd have been waved on quickly. I don't enjoy roadblocks. I have an aversion to guns. Even when cops walk down the street I hate seeing the guns. It sends bad messages. It worries me. I don't like it, and I like it less in a roadblock situation, especially if there's no courtesy.

This morning I met Harry on my walk. I hadn't seen him for a few weeks since the 'beehive under the eaves' day. We talked about the rain and I told him about the holiday, then about the road block yesterday. I remarked that the police have been so active around Gembrook recently. "For two weeks after 7 Feb a police car was parked every day, all day, at the East Beenak Rd/Tonimbuk Rd. intersection, with two police in it. Noting rego numbers of passing vehicles I suppose, in case there was a fire bug. There was nearly always police cars in Main st. during that period, for about three weeks, sometimes as many as 5 at once, outside Charlotte's tea rooms. They must have used it as some sort of base. You'd think after all the extra workload they'd be catching up on some leave, not setting up roadblocks."

"Strange, isn't it? said Harry. "I had police knock on my door last week, wanting to check on my gun cabinet. There was two of them. I'd handed my gun in, rather than go to all the trouble and expense of renewing the license, two years ago. I took them to the police station and handed them in."

After my walk I phoned about a windscreen and a roadworthy. I learned the 'full roadworthy test' box had been ticked on my paperwork. This inspection would take a couple of hours as there's a fine tooth comb procedure covering brakes, suspension, seat belts etc. It cost me $100. I don't have time to muck about. They're going to fit me in this week for the windscreen, new rubbers on the brake and clutch. Not for the accelerator pedal, no such thing for my van. I need a seat cover, there's wire exposed. New wiper arms and blades are a good idea. Then I'll have to find a Vicroads office and present the certificate and be checked again.

At least it's stimulating the economy.