Yes We Can


It was morning in America and today over 169 million registered voters were about to be given the first opportunity to vote for an African-American as their head of state.

The sun rose over the Manhattan skyline and burst through our apartment window to signal that a new day was dawning on America. For the Road Trippers, it was the final day together after seventeen days on the road that had taken us from the gun toting, pickup-truck driving state of Texas, through the corn fields of the mid-west to the fall leaves of New England. We were now sharing an island with over 8 million New Yorkers and were about to embark with them, on the final journey that would be the political grand final day to end all grand finals.

However, in fine Australian grand final tradition, there was always one key player in the team than let his pre-match nerves get the better of him and returned home from the night before just as the morning sun was hitting the first New York skyscraper. The Doctor had played his road trip long and hard and wasn’t about to go soft on the eve of the election. Hey, if you’ve got a winning formula, why change it?

While the Doctor got some beauty sleep, the other four Road Trippers headed out onto the streets of the city to sample election day: New York style.

Skuzzlefark, donned his now traditional travel uniform of hiking boots, knitted fleece, appalling choice of tracksuit pants and map in hand and headed down to inspect the juxtaposition that is capitalism, consumerism and democracy and took to the streets around Broadway and Union Square. To find out more about Skuzzlefark’s day, he will shortly be releasing a travel book titled, “Flying by the seat of my parachute pants: Why do people look at me funny?”

Meanwhile JT, the Rabbit and the Don headed down to 57 Broadway, in the financial district, to the State Democrat Campaign Office to lend a hand. Before the boys could help Barack, a quintessential New York pizza was needed to give them the sustenance and stamina required for such a momentous day. Unfortunately, the three of them nearly got thrown out of said pizza restaurant on the corner of E 8th St and Broadway when the Rabbit attempted a half-arsed New York accent when ordering his pepperoni. Road Trip Rule No.7 – Don’t impersonate the locals, they could be packing heat.

Once the three boys arrived at the campaign office they walked out of the lift onto a floor that was buzzing with activity. They weren’t the only people to be offering assistance, the place was heaving with locals who had walked off the street in their morning break to make an hour’s worth of phone calls or hand out flyers. Once they filled our pockets, bags and every other orifice with Obama campaign mementoes they met a campaign volunteer co-ordinator, who suggested they head into the room where most people were making calls into the key battleground states of Pennsylvania and Ohio to get out the vote. This small room that seated over 800 phone bank volunteers had made just over 250,000 connected phone calls in four hours into Pennsylvania only the night before. The boys offered their time but hit a snag when they discovered that most off the street volunteers were using their own cell-phones.

So instead of going to jail, or at the very least returning to Australia with an employer greeting us with a large phone bill and instant dismissal, she gave them a bundle of flyers and vague directions of where to go to hand them out and sent us on our way.

So off they went in search of the subway and headed to the Bowery district to hand out flyers ready to fulfil our obligation to help deliver Barack to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. On the subway platform they met a woman who claimed to be a key fundraiser for the RNC in New York and had raised all the money for Mitt Romney’s failed primary campaign. As they all squished on to the subway, she was none too pleased with our Aussies for Obama t-shirts and the RNC Jump For Jesus Trampoline Centre gag on the back. However she couldn’t get too nasty, she was on a packed subway in Democrat New York. This was not her town.

They ascended from the subway to a neighbourhood that was in the lower east side and began walking north handing out our flyers to passers-by. The flyers had the location of all of the Democrat phone banking centres located in Manhattan for volunteers to go and make calls to voters in swing states. The Don, JT and the Rabbit's job was to walk up to complete strangers and ask if they were prepared to give an hour of their day to make some calls for Obama.

Of course if anyone tried that back home, you’d probably get your head punched in, but amazingly, the locals where quite receptive to it. So much so, the boys managed to send at least 40 people off to an Obama phone bank centre to help the great man. Surprisingly, some people had already made their calls at some point in the day, but were willing to go back again and make some more. I guess you don’t know if you don’t ask.

One old woman was so amazed to meet some young Australians helping her beloved Democrats that she invited the Don and the boys to come home to her place for an election night dinner party, she was serving meatballs and soup.

But the meatballs and soup had to wait. The three Aussie volunteers continued heading uptown into the East Village handing out the flyers. JT targeted attractive young women with his Hugh Grant looks, the Rabbit when he wasn’t on his blackberry targeted older voters and the Don found traction with non-English speaking midgets and the homeless.

By late afternoon, the boys put down their flyers and rested at our NYC local, Luca Bar. The Don did a quick interview with ABC radio in Adelaide and trotted out all the standard key lines, “this is the Kennedy election of our generation”, “this election is about Change” and “I’m sick of f***ing tipping these c**ts”.

While the Don mulled over what he just said to the fine people of Adelaide, JT and the Rabbit headed up to Midtown to meet some foreign affairs academic. The Don was soon joined at the Luca Bar by the rock star himself, the Doctor who had awoke from his morning/afternoon siesta (who quickly ordered a pint for breakfast), and Skuzzlefark who had returned from his day fresh with tales of meeting other New Yorkers that dig ripstop nylon pants with zippers.

By the time JT and the Rabbit returned from their intellectual verbal berating from the academic, the others boys had made new friends in the guise of the Luca barmaid and her fire dancing mate from up state New York. The Doctor who was quickly back on his feet taught the girls the finer parts of the Australian vernacular, while our hostess proceeded to give them and herself copious amounts of free wine. Guess where the boys were sitting? That’s right, at the bar. Have you people learned anything yet?

By this time it was 5pm and the bar, and surrounding establishments in the Village, began to fill up with expectant office workers ready to sit down with a quiet libation, some fine food and witness history take place before our very eyes. The owner of the bar had set up the TV and a rear projector, with CNN on one and MSNBC on the other. The Rabbit asked if he could change one of the TV’s to Fox for a laugh and he dutifully obliged.

By 9pm all the networks were putting Pennsylvania and its 21 electoral votes in the Obama column on the basis of exit polls! That’s right, not one vote had been counted and the polls had only been closed for two minutes. Over the next hour or so all of New England turned blue and Ohio, Virginia, North Carolina and Florida were teetering towards the Democrats. State by state, the electoral votes piled up on Obama’s side and it was only a matter of time before it was official.

So the Road Trippers, now including the Pink Pants Man, sans pink pants, jumped in a cab and headed across town to the Mansion. On most nights the Mansion is a nightclub in the Meatpacking district, but it had been converted into a phone bank centre for the days leading up to November 4. For tonight it was the main NY State Democrat close of polls function.

When the cab pulled up outside the location, the boys noticed an establishment right next door which will be all too familiar with those in the Labor Party back home. There it stood in all its glory, a venue so far away, yet a venue that is now burned into the lexicon of ALP history. A venue that took in a nerdy politician and ejected a leader of men, a man of the people, a man who would one day lead the great southern land. That venue was of course, Scores.

Unfortunately it was shut; maybe Scores were keen to put Bush behind them too and hope for change they could believe in. Anyhow, now wasn’t the time nor the hour for overpriced bourbon, fake breasts, overbearing perfume and innuendo-loaded humour.

The boys headed into the main area of the Mansion which was packed with campaign volunteers drinking, chatting and watching the coverage on the big TV screens. We headed to the bar and ordered a round of drinks that would have equalled the GDP of a small African nation, whilst the Don, who was fast becoming the media slut of the group, did another radio interview back home.

The Rabbit then set about scoping the place for the next adventure, only for him to return with passes that gained us access to the VIP section of the party.

Once the former slave state of Virginia and its thirteen electoral votes were declared Democrat Blue, all that was required was for the polls in California to close and its fifty five votes to fall in the Democrat column; it was now a fait accompli.

At about 11.30pm ET, CNN declared that Senator Barack Obama (D-IL), the son of the Kenyan academic and a single mother from Kansas was now the 44th President elect of the United States of America.

Words cannot describe the feeling in the room at that point. To stop and look around at the Democrat volunteers who had worked so hard, some from the moment that Obama had announced his intention to enter the primary race back in February 2007 on the Springfield State Capitol, others who were probably voting for the first time in their life, to witness the shear elation and joy on their faces was a memory that will live long in the minds of all of us. African-American women and men openly wept, Americans of all backgrounds embraced and high five’d each other and standing amongst it all was six Aussies who were accepted into the Democrat family, privileged to witness and play a small part in changing a nation for all the right reasons.

It's impossible not to be swept up in the hyperbole of this stunning result. So much of a campaign's effort was to 'get out the vote'. To do that Obama campaigned not just for swinging voters but all voters in his broad church (hello Gilesy). All voters had a stake in his success – families, old and young, gay and straight, lunch-box Democrats, moderate Republicans, independents, the poor as well as the middle class and of course black and white. He appealed to the better angels of our nature, replacing self interest with national interest. The victory is so heavy with symbolism that some of its simplest meaning can be lost.

Obama broke the perverse nexus that existed between Republicans and white working class Americans who in the past voted to concentrate wealth in the hands of the super rich because of conservative Republican cultural values. Obama has changed the modern meaning of the American dream and restored the idea of America as a place of opportunity and equality.

Obama faces daunting challenges. With these challenges, there are strong historic parallels with Lincoln, FDR and Kennedy. To be sure, the challenges and expectations are impossibly high. But it feels that in just one day so much has already been achieved. Obama's victory has provided a shot of integrity and confidence that America has been crying out for. Everyone is proud of the nation's ability to right its wrongs.

No wonder Jesse Jackson wept tears of joy during Obama’s speech. 150 years ago a black man could be owned as a slave; just 50 years ago blacks weren't guaranteed a vote. Today, a black man born in that time is now the 44th President. We are moved by reports of ten year old black students in Bronx public schools telling of being woken up by their moms at midnight to be told the election had been decided and history made. When asked what this means for them one kid said "I can grow up and be whatever I want to be. Obama is our first black president but he won't be our last."

Yes He Can. Yes We Can.

Start Spreading the News


New York, New York.

After our final night in Boston we arose from our Cambridge hotel and caught the oldest underground in the world and headed to the South Boston train station to jump on an Amtrak fast train and head to New York City, NY. The Rabbit informed us that the NY – Boston commute was the only commute that turned a profit for the national railway company. Wow – what an anorak.

The journey took us back down the New England coast through some ground we had already covered with the Truck of Justice, this time our driver was an American civil servant and just like Skuzzlefark he wasn’t for diverting.

The Don, who had become the morning driver across the States so he could deal with a latent case of travel sickness, was finding the train journey all a bit nauseating. He went up and asked the driver if he could have a go to relieve the nausea, producing his union ticket in the process, but the driver was having none of it the bloody scab. So he returned to his allocated seat and proceeded to change to the same colour as his Celtic strip.

The boys arrived at Penn Station and took the subway towards our palatial East Village apartment on 2nd Avenue. In hindsight, maybe a cab might have been the better option. We followed the Lurker who had become a semi-regular visitor to the Big Apple and had a fair idea of what line to catch. However, six blokes in tow carrying their recent lives on their backs across town meant that the journey slowly wore away at both their spinal cords and the patience of both the Road Trippers and the subway’s notorious commuters.

You can imagine Skuzzlefark’s face when he discovered that the Lurker had taken us on the wrong line and we had to ascend even more flights of stairs. The only thing that collectively brought a smile to most of our faces was the knowledge that JT had to drag his 600 kilogram bag with wheels up four flights of stairs after he lost his sherper in the Manhattan traffic.

Once we reached our destination we were told that our apartment wouldn’t be ready for an hour - so we headed down to a little bar on St Marks Place called Luca Bar. JT had been here before and while we were all a bit knackered from the trip down from Boston, we ate our food, drank our drinks and then headed back to the apartment to freshen up and prepare for our final assault on the greatest mountain of them all. New York City.

Upon receiving our keys to the apartment we opened up the door to the fifth floor apartment to be greeted by a classy New York two storey apartment that had a modern kitchen, tall ceilings, classic antique furniture, including an arnoir (see Seinfeld), two bathrooms and a roof top balcony. It was everything you could ask for in a great city like this, except three double beds, meaning one of the boys would have to jump in the cot with someone else.

Now while most women would have no problem sleeping together, and indeed most men would have no problem with women sleeping together either, the unwritten rule of all men is to have some distance between us when it comes to sleeping arrangements.

We’ll happily pat each other on the arse after someone takes a catch in slips, or kicks a goal from 50 meters on the angle, and some sports like Rugby League we clearly invented just so men could have the chance to lie on top of one other. But when it came to the bedroom, proximity is strictly off limits.

Thankfully after a couple of quick phone calls, additional bedding was arranged and “Awkward City” was avoided...or was it?

Once the boys had freshened up, they caught a cab across to Greenwich Village and took in a little Italian restaurant on the corner of Bleecker Street and McDougal.

Following our over-priced, under-performing meal (think Lygon Street with American accents) we headed across the road to a small bar the sat below the quiet wet Monday night Village streets. Our main purpose was to watch the presidential candidates being interviewed during the half time interval of an American institution - Monday Night Football.

It was a let down. In the end, we should have guessed, you’re not going to get much of an in-depth political debate when your interviewer is the American version of Sandy Roberts. Following the half-time interview we convinced our young lonely Irish barman to change the channel and try and locate the running of the race that stops the nation - and five slightly pissed Aussies in a bar in the Village - the mighty Melbourne Cup. Once located, JT and Skuzzlefark felt that this was far too much Australiana for one night and headed up the stairs in search of a new location. The Rabbit headed home and that left a dangerous combination in the Lurker, The Don, The Doctor, the Mikey, an Irishman and empty bar full of liquor to sample.

Our barman who was on until 4am was keen to get this five man party started and literally said, “lads I’m going out for smoke, the bar’s yours.”

It was like being in the best stocked Qantas Club you’ve ever seen, without the cold pies.

Meanwhile, across town, Miranda and Charlotte were finding it difficult to come to terms with living a Manhattan lifestyle where all the best men in New York were either gay or …… sorry wrong story line.

Meanwhile on the other side of 7th Avenue, JT and Skuzzlefark had managed to talk their way into one of the Village’s more exclusive bars aptly named Employees Only.

Inside the boys ran into some of Manhattan’s cooler kids. They also ran into a B-Grade celebrity comedian from aunty back home who surprisingly was not impressed with the Road Tripper’s heroic tales. Just to ruin the celebrity’s night The Doctor chose to baffle him with the most boring details he could muster in a conversation that would make Grandpa Simpson proud.

Realising that this was the Aussies for Obama tour and no additional extras were required, the boys moved on up the bar to people who deserved to be a part of the Road Trip You Can Believe In. And it didn’t take long. Meet independent movie director and his girlfriend that ran the Louis Vuitton store on the Upper East Side.

After the Melbourne Cup had run its race the other boys joined the fun activities that were being had with the Village Elite. It was like the Village Elite meets the Village Idiots. The Don, over an few martini’s, was impressed with some dude’s latest iphone program that enables democrat voters to go onto the www.barackobama.com website and download a list of contact numbers of potential voters in your area to call and get out to vote.

JT got the latest on local fashion from an “insider”, Skuzzlefark spent most of the night knocking back invitations for Sex in the City and the Doctor, Lurker and the Mikey amused themselves with tales of wonderment that would only make sense if you to had much to drink.

All in all, it was good preparation for the big election day that would occur in less than five hours. We had tasted a little bit of what New York had to offer....and we liked it.

Bahston


We awoke from our New Haven slumber to a stunning day in this Ivy League town. The weather had been quite cold lately but Yale threw us a curve ball and we took full advantage of the warm weather and wandered the streets of Yale University in our speedoes. When walking through the main quadrangle we passed by a group of environmentalists who had set up a stall. Seeing this as a good opportunity to stick the boot into some ivy league trots, we headed over to engage in some banter. Problem was, these guys were moderate than we were. Boring!

So we returned to the Truck of Justice and shipped up to Boston. On the way up we wandered through northern Connecticut and into Rhode Island before arriving in Boston just in time to meet the peak hour traffic. Y’know, some on the Road Trip We Can Believe In, may have questioned why we were taking in Boston, but for others who are not narrow minded and bigoted against those of Irish heritage, this was an opportunity to take in a city that wasn’t just a salvation for millions of starving Irish, but also the cradle of freedom and liberty that birthed an new independent nation.

Our journey to Boston also coincided with Halloween. You’d be amazed to realise that Halloween in the US is more than just kids trick or treating and overdosing on lollies. For the adult population, they too get into it in a big way. We headed across town to a famous restaurant for some Massachusetts lobster and came across hundreds of young people dressed in Halloween costumes ranging from Tinkerbell to Tiny Tim. After dinner we headed to Boylston Street, home to many bars and the building that houses the US series Boston Legal. Paisley.

The following morning we all loaded back into the Truck of Justice and headed out to the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library. The centre is situated on Boston harbour and is home to the great but tragic story of America’s first and only Catholic President. Going through his story reminded us how much of an impact he had on America before his life was cut short in Dallas.

After we raided the gift shop and bailed out the US economy at the same time, we headed back to the hotel to freshen up and catch up with an expat Aussie called the Lurker who had flown in from London that day.

We headed over to Harvard for dinner so we could pahk the cahr in the Haarvaard Yaaard and get some clam chowdah.

Our last day in Boston was spent taking the Freedom Trail around the city and followed the story of America’s fight against British rule. Along the journey we were joined by the Pants Man, a fellow traveller from Melbourne. Two things were remarkable about the tour and neither had anything to do with the historical nature of the journey. One was why did Skuzzlefark choose to wear shorts when the mercury was clearly hovering around freezing point and secondly, what was the Pants Man thinking when he put on pink tracksuit pants with his Australian Rugby League jersey that morning?

The journey took us from the city centre up to the suburb of Charleston and Bunker Hill. The scene of the famous clash during the civil war, where out-numbered patriots of freedom held off the might of the British Army and were ordered not to fire ‘til they could see the whites of their eyes. They did and ended up winning the American Revolution.

We descended back down the hill and headed back to the hotel to thaw out. That night we headed out to some Irish-American bars and prepared for our journey to New York and the impending election day.

Where's the cheese?


New Haven, Connecticut

The following morning, we all boarded the Truck of Justice to head north to the town of the University of Yale, New Haven, CT on New England coast.

Before leaving Washington however there was one more bit of sightseeing to be done; Arlington - the National cemetery and home of the burial place of John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Some criticism has been levelled at this blog for perhaps going into too much detail around these things so we will simply say that Arlington does a tremendous job of honouring the many men and women who gave their life in the service of their country.

Besides this stop the drive up was uninspiring and largely uneventful. We did drive through some scenic country-side, the north-east gives off an amazing array of colour in the fall and the Don was given ample opportunity to use his word of the trip “deciduous”.

Meanwhile the Doctor had quietly decided to see how long he could hold a small poster of Obama against his car window. It wasn't until they finished that day's driving that anyone noticed this pointless exercise when the Doctor answered his own question with a sense of proud achievement: "Four and a half hours".

But the real story of the day was of American cuisine, particularly that of the fast food variety. On this day the Road Trippers experienced both ends of this cheese reliant industry that is clearly responsible for shaping, in a very real sense, Americans.

The first experience was Wendys. It was way back in Dallas that the group became aware of this “sandwich” chain which has the slogan “It’s not fast food, it’s Wendy’s”. They have outlets along every interstate highway in America and can lay claim to the signature burger the Baconator. The Baconator has either two or three beef patties, patrons presumably settle on a preference based on the level of health care insurance they have, and American size servings of melted cheese and bacon.

JT, since becoming aware of its existence, had been insisting that the group stop into a Wendys and having ticked the box for biscuits and gravy was now lobbying hard for the group to sample the Baconator and on the drive to New Haven he, unfortunately for him, got his way.

Two of the five simply flat out refused to participate. The Rabbit and the Doctor took what JT felt was the Shane Warne “baked beans” approach to touring and walked off to a Burger King being closer to their cultural understanding of fast food. Of the three remaining it was only the instigator of the experience that actually ordered the famous meal.

The whole experience was incredibly depressing. The store we settled on was in the backlots of Baltimore. Readers should picture a very empty store, very, very bad musac and staff who had clearly made a number of decisions based on a very, very, very high level of health care insurance.

As hard as it might be to accept, the Sheik of Tweak might have been on to something after all. The Baconator which incidentally has square patties, was awful. JT’s blood pressure went through the roof just opening the wrapper. It is the only time any of the trip resented our universal Health care system which had inspired the choice of the triple deck option. The group early on had instituted the rule that due to the size of US meals we should always aim to leave something on the plate and JT was more than happy to follow that rule than on this occasion.

The other end of the experience was dinner in New Haven. We had been given some good tips from a friend, and reader of this fine blog, who had studied at Yale and as soon as we arrived put our faith in his local info to try and erase the memory of the now cursed “sandwich”.

We ended up, eventually, at Frank Peppe’s. (The Rabbit is the worst person alive at giving directions and seemingly thought the restaurant was in Montreal.)

Our friend, like all our readers, knew his stuff. Frank Peppe made the best pizza any of us have eaten. From the photo’s on the wall, which included Bill Clinton and Ronald Regan, we got the impression we were not alone in this conclusion. Apparently Clinton actually prefers a place down the road that we had tried first but had been informed by the owner that our arrival at 9:15pm was too late and we had to go elsewhere. Our waitress at Peppe’s told us he was known for a gruff persona but his pizza was good. Amusingly they were cousins but hadn’t spoken for 15 years.

Once the Rabbit had been talked out of ordering spinach as a topping we were delivered up a classic pepperoni and sausage pizza and a chicken special (a choice the Rabbit had not been talked out of).

The chicken was great, the pepperoni and sausage amazing.

The food on this trip has not been the standout. The servings are huge, fries are ubiquitous and cheese, or in some circumstances clearly a synthetic recreation, often served in equal volume to the rest of the meal.

Frank Peppe’s signalled that New England was going to be more rewarding in a culinary sense than the south and Midwest had been.

The trip went to bed with our faith restored in America’s fast food.

Washington


The following day after the Road Trippers met the next President of the United States, the boys decided to fill our final day in Washington DC by taking in all the monuments and museums that line the national mall. The boys split up with The Doctor and Skuzzlefark visiting the Spy Museum while The Rabbit, the Don and JT checked out the Lincoln Memorial etc.

We won’t bore you with the details of the various sites that we saw, instead each member of the Road Trip You Can Believe in will instead provide you with an observation of what they saw on the walk around the national mall. Some cynics may feel that they are being short-changed with this instalment, and that we are being lazy by not giving a full detail and you would be quite correct.

The Doctor: The Spy Museum is a cracker. I got to see all the original gadgets used by the CIA, FBI, KGB and other spy agencies. They even had an original Nazi Enigma code machine. The only disappointment was that they had the logo of every significant agency from across the world on display at the front of the museum, but not ASIO. Guys - I know you are a regular reader of this blog so can we please do something about this – even the Kiwis got a mention for Christ’s sake even though they are just a couple of blokes keeping a keen eye on Australia’s sheep.

Skuzzlefark: The National Mall was a sensational grand statement of US patriotism – in its good form. The Lincoln Memorial, the Korean and WWII memorials and the Washington monument all represent the dignity and respect shown to true national heroes. Unfortunately for me, my decision to try to squeeze in some exercise with the touring of the Mall by putting on the running shorts and shoes was proven to be a little misguided given the five degree temperature, rain and howling winds. Persevering with my decision all day, I was a little taken aback when the beggars at the tourist sites didn’t bother to ask me for any change and I swear one of them felt sorry enough for me he was going to offer me his pants.

JT: Americans honour their heroes particularly well and the National Mall is the embodiment of this. It is grand in scale, impressive in layout and poignant in execution. My personal favourite is the Jefferson which does a wonderful job of remembering one of the truly great men of history. It is perhaps the use of the words of these heroes that provide the monuments with their power. The Mall helps you understand American patriotism because it reminds you that if nothing else the proposition that America is founded on, equality, democracy, freedom is one that is pretty special.

The Don: They need more toilets and rubbish bins.

The Rabbit: The timing was perfect … taking in great monuments of history along the National Mall just days after meeting the next President. Inspired by the memorials to Lincoln, Jefferson and FDR the Road Trippers in a slimmed down form of me, JT and the Don were reminded of Paul Keating’s public lament ‘that Australia has not had truly great leaders’ of this ilk. We reckon we’ve had a few. Maybe it’s time to recognise those of quality. The Road Trippers agreed that all Aussies would embrace grand monuments to Whitlam, Keating and may be a few others. The walk ended with a low sweep by the Marine One helicopter, presumably about to drop off W for one last time. We waved goodbye!

The night ended with the Road Trippers heading down into Georgetown for some beers to reflect on our day in the nation’s capital. The boys stumbled across a nightclub that was completely empty. What could have been a boring night was turned on its head. When you combine olives, couches with wheels, and appalling doof doof music, you’re sure to have a good night.

Thank you so much


The first day in Washington the group was presented with a choice about exactly what the day’s activities should involve. We had been informed that there was going to be an Obama rally about two and a half hours out of DC in a small college town called Harrisonburg, Virginia. However he was speaking in the university’s basketball stadium which only held 7,000 people so we were very unlikely to be able to get in. Apparently lines for Obama rallys are notoriously huge.

The question facing the Road Trip was should we drive for over two hours in what was very likely to become a fruitless endeavour or stick around in the Capital and enjoy the experiences that Washington has to offer.

One of the five decided to stay - the idea of going all that way only to be disappointed was too much. Scuzzlefark put on the back pack and headed off to see the great monuments that line the National Mall.

The rest of the group decided that Lincoln and Jefferson were not going anywhere and this was the only chance we would ever have to experience what has been the feature of this campaign, the fabulously attended and electric Democrat campaign rallies.

We boarded the Truck of Justice and dared to dream.

There are four lane highways littered across the US, and we have seen a fair bit of them over the course of this trip. The one to Harrisonburg is a standout running through the Shennondoah Valley which provided the drive with a stunning backdrop. As we surfed the local airways we stumbled upon a talkback show discussing foreign affairs with one Gareth Evans as the talent. Readers will be pleased to know that Biggles’ communication style has not changed.

As we drove into Harrisonburg and past the University Campus our hearts sank. There would have been well over 7,000 people already in line despite the doors not opening for another hour and a half.

But the boys were not for turning. As JT walked down the line in the forlorn hope that a friend or acquaintance volunteering in the area might be there The Rabbit, the Don and the Doctor standing towards the front of the line were, out of the blue, offered a muesli bar by a young college student in line. It was the break the group had been looking for. By the time the muesli bar had been consumed we were ensconced in the line. Being in this country with an Australian accent is brilliant.

We were in the line but we were still nervous. The security for the event was unbelievable. There were Secret Service and State Police everywhere, to actually get into the building was like going through an airport. So it was not until we were actually in the building that we relaxed.

As we filed through the metal detectors we, like everyone else, were filled with anticipation and disbelief that we had made it in. We found plum seats directly in front of the stage in a raised section behind were the network cameras were setting up.

We sat down and began to appreciate what was happening. We had made it, we were in.

There is only one way to describe the whole event. It was like being at a rock concert. The hall slowly filled up with people, mainly university students. U2, The Who, the Rolling Stones and of special significance for our group, Midnight Oil, were being played to keep everyone feeling good. They really didn’t need to. When a campaign worker just came up the microphone to encourage everyone to volunteer the place went wild.

After the National Anthem, Pledge of Allegiance and a prayer, for which everybody present stood, a uniquely American experience, the Doctor and JT went for a walk to take it all in.

As they wandered through the crowd a Democrat staffer pulled them aside and asked them if they would like seats on the stage behind the candidate. This is the section you always see in the TV coverage, the people over the shoulder in shot. After it became clear the opportunity was open to all four Road Trippers in the stadium the two collected the others and proceeded to take places on the stage.

We couldn’t believe what was happening. It would have been harder to plan out a series of events better than the reality of what was happening. We had flown halfway across the world, driven for over 2,000 kilometres all because of one man. And there we were, holding our “Change” signs about to be less than five meters away from the next President of the United States.

The warmup speakers, the Gubernatorial and Senate candidates, will never have a better crowd. They could have declared that they thought it was a joke that only American Baseball teams could play in the “World Series” and they still would have been rewarded with wild cheering.

And then the moment arrived. Democratic candidate for the Presidency of the United States of America, Barrack Obama, entered the stadium about 10 meters to our left and the place erupted. 6,996 Americans and four Australians went absolutely berserk.

As he began to speak, from our vantage-point behind him, it became clear exactly how this has happened and what it meant. As he delivered his message of change, hope and opportunity we could see the faces looking up at him with expressions that showed what it meant to each of them.

This country is doing it tough and this is not just in the obvious ways. The current Administration, it’s Party’s current candidates, and all their proxies and supporters are now only about division. They are angry voices. They seem only interested in, or capable of, scaring and dividing people.

Barrack Obama is about bringing them together. His story is not about why we should fear our neighbour but why, if he helps me and I help him, we will all be better for it. He is the man for these times. The Kennedy of our generation.

“There is no red America, there is no blue America, just the United States of America.”

“It does It does not matter if you are white, or black, or latino, asian American, or native American, gay or straight.

“In one week we can choose to invest in health care and education for our families. In one week we can choose hope over fear and division, the promise of change over the power of the status quo.”

It was a good speech.

As we stood behind him, conscious of keeping our facial expressions matched to the words being delivered, we each did our best to take it all in.

As he finished his speech to the applause of a crowd who had been as equally inspired by his message as we were, he began to walk off stage….. and towards us.

He had decided that he would not walk directly out of the arena, instead around the stage area shaking the hands of those at the edges. By the time he had finished shaking hands each one of us had had the experience of putting our hand in his and locking eyes for a period of time that each of us will not forget.

It was an amazing way to finish the event. You could not help but get caught up with it all. There are a lot of things about American politics that leave a lot to be desired. This was not one of them.

American politics still has the ability to inspire and motivate. To get people interested and involved. I don’t think any of us would want a system like this back home but we would like to be able to attend rallies like this with Australians as excited about their political candidates as JMU stadium was.

As we drove back to Washington we reflected on what had been an experience that politics will probably not ever deliver to any of us again.

And Scuzzlefark said the monuments were good.

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