It was two days after Travis and I had made a lucky escape from the police with an ounce of pot hidden in his Ford Escort, but of course the Ford Escort had not been as fortunate.

A mobile Roads and Traffic Authority vehicle checking station had declared Travis' much loved Escort a deadly, hazardous pile of junk, and he'd been given a checklist of $8,500 worth of repairs to be made within a week should he wish to continue using the car. On a paycheck of $14 an hour working part'time for the local council, however, these kinds of repairs weren't happening any time soon. And yet with the car needed for work lest he be fired, and his wife's temper looming on the horizon should they lose the vehicle, Travis had come up with a cunning, stoner plan to solve his problems.

As was our regular practice at the time, every Wednesday evening Graham would pick me up from home and we'd head down to Travis' house to smoke a little weed, play a little Playstation and talk a little banter. Travis' wife worked overnight shifts at a local frozen food factory so we were free from her regular psychotic episodes and only had to keep an eye out that his sweet eighteen'month old daughter ate a good dinner and went to bed at a decent hour.

On this particular Wednesday, however, though outwardly it had seemed just like any other night, shortly after arriving with Graham at the house Travis simply stood at the door, sombre'faced, and eyed me up and down looking rather disappointed. Then, with a flick of annoyance, he turned to Graham and asked, 'Why isn't he dressed in black?'
'Aw, fuck it. I completely forgot to tell him' replied Graham.
'Tell me what?' I asked.
At that exact moment I suddenly realised that Travis and Graham were both dressed from head to toe in black.
'Oh, no' I muttered in dismay. 'What the hell is going on now?'

It was a simple plan, really. As Travis sucked down a bong he calmly informed me that, seeing as he needed about $8,500 worth of parts for his Ford Escort but didn't have $8,500 he was going to steal those parts from the local auto wreckers.

And we were both going to help him.

More than a little concerned, I turned to Graham for support out of this madness.
'Fuck yeah!' he nodded, as he handed me a fully packed bong with a smile.

Thirty minutes and about one hundred protestations later the three of us (plus Travis' well'behaved daughter) were seated in the Ford Escort on the edge of town parked outside of the auto wreckers, stoned to our eyeballs and listening to KISS sing 'Detroit Rock City'. It was ten thirty p.m.

The wreckers were essentially the only business located in a field of abandoned, overgrown lots neighbouring the highway out of town. It was poorly lit, but surrounded by a high fence and razor wire. As I had far less experience in break'ins than my companions (and as I think they also still saw the merit for their own good in me one day actually completing my studies in law) I was designated lookout man and keep'the'baby'occupied man.
'Lookout man won't get as big a sentence if arrested as we would' Travis had confidently informed me.

Graham made quick work of the fence with wire'cutters and within seconds he and Travis had breached the junkyard's outer perimeter and vanished into the darkness. Abruptly, Graham reappeared and threw a metal bar at me.
'By the way, they've got dogs. If you see one, hit the cunt.'

It was not a reassuring moment. I already had a baby to look after in a vehicle parked a few metres behind me, and security or police to spy for in the stream of cars constantly rushing past on the highway about half a block away. Now I was also on the lookout for angry German Shepherds. As if that wasn't already going to be enough to deal with, earlier at the house Graham convinced me I'd be more capable of dealing with the mission if I had at least four cones. Now, as the marijuana kicked into full gear, I was high, jittery, paranoid, and could do little else than stand at the fence opening, a crowbar in my hands, and ponder whether I'd soon be arrested or mauled into oblivion.

The entire time I was jumping at the slightest of noises and hoping I wouldn't have to beat a dog to death I could hear Travis and Graham rummaging about in the junkyard. Lurking around in the darkness for spare car parts every now and then someone would whisper, 'You found anything yet?' only to be met with the occasional clang or bang and an annoyed 'Nah, not yet' or a brighter 'Here we go, perfect!'

Soon, everything from odometers to spare tyres, whole axles to seat belts had been thrown over the fence and into an adjacent field of long grass. The problem of course was, that when at last the two thieving goons were satisfied they'd gotten what they needed 'and believe me, that moment didn't arrive soon enough' a stifling combination of low light, long grass, and the ill effects of marijuana meant that they couldn't actually find everything they'd stolen and tossed over the fence. On a fine edge and increasingly worried our luck was surely due to run out within minutes, I managed to convince the lads it was time to pack up and go.
Or, as I put it, 'Fuck this fucking shit and let's just fucking go!'

Still, after another return mission an hour later to search again with flashlights now in tow, the boys pretty much gathered together most of what Travis needed to rescue his beloved car from joining the scrap heap.

Well, almost.

A week later, with Travis happily now driving his deemed'roadworthy Ford Escort to work it occurred to Graham to ask how he had managed to get the engine cleared by the RTA. After all, spare parts here and there were one thing, but the entire engine in Travis' car had been deemed deficient. Had the authorities given him a pass, or had he managed to conjure up some sort of mechanical magic in his garage?

With a rather nervous glance sideways, Travis gulped and decided to come clean. Apparently, the very night we'd broken into the auto wreckers he'd already been thinking ahead about his vehicle's various needs. To that end, he'd borrowed an engine pulley from a friend who was a mechanic. As he revealed, some time ago Travis had noticed a man in his forties living with his mother about three doors up from the house. That man worked overnight shifts at the frozen food factory with Travis' wife. That man also just happened to own a Ford Escort.

As brazen a thief as could be, using the pulley he'd borrowed, Travis removed his own Escort's rusty time bomb of an engine and then, under moonlight, wheeled it up the street, and, stealthily, broke into his neighbour's garage. Then, keeping as quiet as possible so as to avoid waking up the elderly mother, he lifted out the superior car engine, dropped and soldered in his suspect engine, and swiftly wheeled his new score back down and into his own garage. It was simply ludicrous behaviour.

We can only hope that the unlucky factory worker didn't himself come across a mobile vehicle checking station a few days later.

Travis, employing a wicked combination of criminal prowess and stoner luck had managed to save the day. High times in country NSW, my friends, high times.