the dreaming festival...

I slip into my lucky green dress, jeans and flip-flops and set out for Woodford, a town made famous by its annual folk-music festival and associated crazy hippies.
First, I catch the train to Caboolture.
The ticket office is closed so I manage to do this without paying for a ticket.
A good start to the morning.
There is no onward transport to Woodford from Caboolture.
Ah.
Problem.
I hesitantly make my way over to the taxi rank.
I can tell by the way he regards me that this driver probably doesn't warm to people like me, especially when they're trying to get to an aboriginal arts festival in Hippy central...
"Fifty bucks", he gleefully informs me, red neck glistening in the early morning sun.
Hmmmmmm. Too much.
I ask where the d'Aguilar Highway is, since this will be my hitch-hiking point of departure.
Oh, hardy-har-har... it's 4km away.
Pah. that's nothing for a seasoned traveller like meself, even if i am carrying a toilet-knee injury...
I stride off down the grit road with my head held high and an air of, what i hope the nasty taxi driver interprets as, 'dignity in the face of ignorant bigotry'.
It's a tricky one to pull off, that. I wouldn't recommend it for beginner drama-queens, leave it to the professionals.
I stand at the intersection for a long time.
Some vehicles actually swerve to the far side of the road as they pass me, as if i'm about to jump on their bonnet and demand they carry out all sorts of depraved actions to satisfy my twisted horror-hitchhiker whims...
I swear i saw one elderly car occupant perform the sign of the cross as she passed...
Suddenly, and unexpectedly by this point, a huge truck screams to a sliding halt just beyond where i'm standing on the hard-shoulder.
Oh.
I s'pose i ought to get in then.
I climb up into the cab, it's at least 3 steps up and I can't see who is driving until i'm at the top...
It's a tattoo sporting, super-sized wrestler of a man.
And his name is Wayne.
He's a big softie, under all that grease and ink and singlet.
He earns $40 an hour delivering water to Caboolture from it's source in the outlying mountains. He loves his job and only wishes he could accommpany me to the festival because he 'likes all that Abo art 'n' stuff. ' He goes to the Woodford Folk festival every year and gets pissed and ends up scrapping with his f**kin' brother-in-law, who he's never liked but has to get on with for the sake of his sister, like.
sweet.
He lets me out at woodford town centre (three cafes and a garage) and I quickly catch another ride to the festival site with a weird dude who doesn't make a sound throughout the 10 min journey...
I feel very intrepid as i walk the remaining 1km to the entrance tent.