Ford Mustang convertible is the wheel deal in Queensland
The first time I drove to Cairns, I was in a cream and brown and rather boring Toyota Corolla. This time it’s different.
The first time I drove to Cairns, from Brisbane, was a journey defined by firsts. I was 24, in my first car, a cream and brown and rather boring Toyota Corolla, and on my first solo road trip. On Magnetic Island, I rap jumped for the first (and last) time. Why would anyone would want to abseil forwards, facing the rock-hard surface that spells instant death if things go south, as it were? Who knows, but back then I did.
In The Whitsundays, I was introduced to the wonders of snorkelling. The skipper of the yacht I was sailing on said he heard me squeal through my snorkel like an excited piglet during my inaugural glide over the myriad colours and critters of a coral reef. Later that night, I caught my first glimpse of phosphorescence when a couple of us slipped into the inky water for a moonlit paddle.
Up at Kuranda, being young and foolish, I ticked bungee-jumping off the list and was slightly alarmed to see the bruising around my eye sockets that resulted from the adventure. Never again.
And in Cairns I found out the newspaper I was working on, the Brisbane Sun, my first real job, was suddenly closing down. It was my first experience of feeling the rug ripped out from under my feet, of feeling unanchored and lost. I got back in my little Corolla and drove the 1680km back to Brisbane in two days, and I bet I’m not the first idiot to undertake that distance in such a dangerous fashion.
Three decades later, I am back in Cairns. The Corolla is long gone and I am behind the wheel of a shiny blue V8 Ford Mustang convertible, specially built by Rob Herrod, general manager of Dick Johnson Racing, for Cairns Luxury Car Hire. I have never driven anything like it. I recall steering the family V8 sedan as a freshly licensed newbie from Brisbane to Toowoomba and my white-knuckled father telling me the car had “driven itself home”. This time, I have more experience and better control.
Heading north on Captain Cook Highway, the Mustang growls around the countless roundabouts, kicking its heels up at each exit. After a quick lunch stop at Trinity Beach, I put the top down for the cruise up the coast and am abused by a tradie in his ute. I’m unsure what crime I have committed but assume jealousy is a curse.
The Mustang prowls along the Great Barrier Reef drive, surely one of the most glorious stretches of tarmac in the country. The ocean is a rippling green-blue sheet on my right, and the road dips in and out of corridors of forest, sunlight flickering through the canopy. The Turtles song Happy Together comes on the stereo and I serenade my sporty new four-wheeled friend loudly and shamelessly. We do, indeed, seem to make a harmonious pair. I’ve never really been into cars. There’s a first time for everything.