Mind-numbing boredom accompanies us along the gun-barrel-straight road to Walgett. Bourke-based radio 2WEB keeps us company. Offerings of Dolly, Lee and Slim are served routinely, but the playlist also delves into rock, pop and, for the taste impaired, rap.
With dusk approaching, wind velocity picks up, bowling tumbleweeds hard and fast at our three-car convoy. The big skies overhead take on hues of navy, purple then charcoal. Surely not rain? A few drops of water dance across the bug-smeared windscreen, then accumulate long enough to require the wipers on intermittent. For the drought-ravaged north-west, it looks promising.
As the sun slips lower in the western sky, fiery reds and oranges light the leaden horizon. Photographer Thomas Wielecki is beside himself, whooping and dancing like a loon as he drags out his gear to capture nature’s artistry.
Within minutes the precipitation has blown away. We later learn this is an all-too frequent tease. “It comes over all promising, there are a few drops, and then it moves on,” a local tells us. So when was the last decent rain? “That’d be maybe eight or 10 years ago...”
Driving into parched Walgett soon after dusk, having backed off our pace to minimise the risk of wearing Skippy as a hood ornament, there’s an eerie quiet. A desultory few locals shuffle up the main drag, past shuttered shop fronts. Our simple but clean motel has iron gates out front, which are closed and locked between 9pm and 6am. I’ve sometimes wondered about living in a gated community, but this isn’t quite what I had in mind.
Later, in the Walgett District Sporting Club, Ness the barmaid dispenses beers and observations with an easy flourish. Born and bred around here and protective of her town, she learns what we’re doing there and hastily professes her love of cars. “I own a Toyota Camry Vienta, and I’d buy another one in the future. Toyotas hold their value, and they’re reliable. I’ve had mine for eight years.” But Walgett is a Holden town, she adds ... except for the farmers. “They tend to buy Prados with their drought-relief cheques. And the farm workers drive old Landcruisers and Hiluxes.”
Having no real rain for years promotes some black humour: “I wish it would rain so the kids can see what it’s like,” says Ness.
Like Walgett, our next stop, Brewarrina, has a history of aboriginal trouble. Most of the action comes after dark, fuelled by grog and boredom. Jobs are not the problem. “We’re crying out for skilled farm workers,” says a skinny cocky from under his wide-brimmed hat as he tucks into breakfast on the sunny verandah of the Bre pub.
And rain. “We got plenty through summer but not enough when we need it ... now. Out here, farmers are planters, not growers,” he adds as an afterthought.
Dusty Brewarrina is also famous as the birthplace of Leo Schofield, the arty aesthete and ex-advertising guru. But there is not a flicker of recognition on the locals’ tanned faces when we drop Leo’s name.
So what is Wheels doing out west; nearly, but not quite, to the back o’ Bourke? On the face of it we’re here to establish whether Ford’s new FG Falcon has the measure of its main rivals, the Holden VE Commodore, and Toyota Aurion. But our journey is also designed to answer another burning question: does the ‘Big Car for a Big Country’ mantra still resonate in rural Australia?
Lifestyle realities and galloping petrol prices are transforming the local car market before our eyes. Many budget-sensitive Australians – those who don’t need ’Cruisers, Prados or Hiluxes – are looking at fuel-sipping littlies. Big-car sales have slumped, while compact SUVs and small four-cylinder models sell up a storm.
Australia’s best-selling vehicle for the first five months of 2008 was the Toyota Corolla. From a smallish base, diesel passenger vehicle sales continue to blossom. At the green end of the spectrum, Toyota has cranked out its one millionth Prius hybrid. Holden has pre-empted hybrid and diesel Commodores within two to three years. Australia’s new-car landscape is changing, fast, raising questions about the relevance of large sedans in 2008.
We’re hoping the answer to such questions lies somewhere upon our 2000km test loop, which will take us from Sydney via Gloucester, Walcha, Narrabri, Walgett, Bourke, and then back to Sin City via Dubbo and Bathurst. With due respect to these noble country towns, this is probably not a road trip NSW Tourism will be promoting any time soon.
Our drive team is headed by Wheels staffer Sean Poppitt; he of the heavy right foot and swollen left knee, thanks to a recent soccer accident. Sean provides the separate, individual car assessments throughout this story. Field marshal Fraser Stronach, a former motorcycle racer and Overlander editor with extensive touring and testing experience, devised our remarkably varied route. It takes us across and along the Great Dividing Range, for an appraisal of handling; over vast stretches of open, outback bitumen for comfort and economy; and via unsealed secondary stages for ride quality, dust sealing and general suitability to the Wide Brown Land. I’m along to drive, analyse, and engage with the folk we meet in an effort to separate large-car myth from reality. Privately, there is also the challenge of finding a decent latte west of the Great Divide.
Our photographer is the well-travelled and well-regarded Thomas ‘Just One More Shot’ Wielecki. He’s a class act with a camera but, like a malfunctioning vampire, the bloke has a truly weird relationship with sunlight, insisting that we rise at 5:45am every day.
Our journey begins at a BP servo at Asquith on the northern outskirts of Sydney. Fuelled and laden with life-sustaining confectionery, our convoy of mid-spec sedans heads north, on the F3 freeway, towards Newcastle. Peeling off the Pacific Highway, we power through the hills around Gloucester and along Thunderbolts Way (named after the bushranger) to Walcha. Here, the extent of our sacrifice and unswerving devotion to consumer enlightenment sees us ensconced in some fairly average digs for the night. We may not have seen Norman Bates behind the shower curtain, but he was almost certainly there in spirit. And out here, unless you’re on Next G, your mobile phone is no better than a paper weight, so no-one can hear you scream.
An early start the next day (thanks, Thomas) heads us out to Uralla and Bundarra where we also get our first taste of dirt. Drivers hop from car to car (with the requisite 30 seconds of seat, steering column and mirror fiddling) to sample the effectiveness and subtlety of their respective stability controls; the Ford wins here. Ride quality and dust sealing are judged good to excellent.
A sinuous, roller-coaster stretch through Mt Kaputar National Park reinforces the dynamic qualities of all three, although the Falcon clearly has an edge here as well. Its ESP light flashes sporadically, but the electronics are not noticeably interventionist. I note that the Toyota has more turns lock-to-lock (3.2) compared to the Holden’s 2.8 and the Falcon’s sharper still 2.6.
Seemingly without notice, the landscape becomes flatter, sparser, the road straighter ... and bumpier. At the outskirts of dust-dry Narrabri, serious-looking levees rim an industrial area near the river. The low water levels and blue autumn skies make it seem an unnecessary precaution.
Narrabri presents itself as Australia’s home of cotton, but production has been hit by the drought. Something else is missing, too – people. It’s 2pm on a Saturday yet the wide main street is all but bereft of pedestrians and vehicles. Stronach orders a battered sav from the only place open. “Salmonella-on-a-stick,” sneers Poppitt. Risk averse, I settle for a Magnum ice cream. No chance of a latte, I suppose?
Walgett doesn’t offer much in the way of Michelin-hatted cuisine, either, nor sustenance for caffeine snobs like me. But the fare at the Sports Club is at least honest and substantial.
On to Bourke, perched on the Darling, and as far west as we’ll go on this trip. In Australian folklore this is where the true outback starts, where Henry Lawson spent nine months on assignment for The Bulletin in 1892-93, his subsequent writing helping to define a different life for readers back in the cities.
“You can have no idea of the horrors of the country out here. Men tramp and beg and live like dogs,” he wrote to his aunt in Sydney (from the book A Stranger on the Darling by Robyn Burrows). No romance of the bush there. That’s left to Banjo Paterson.
Pulling into a car park in front of the IGA in Bourke, a teenager tumbles out of the store and becomes a part of this story, simply by being the first person in three days to notice the new FG Falcon.
“I’ve been reading up about this car in Wheels,” enthuses 18-year-old Ben. “I’ve been waiting for one to come through. This is the first I’ve seen. Looks good.”
Answering our questions without averting his gaze from the Falcon, Ben tells us he likes the country life in Bourke, “playin’ league, pig shootin’ and ridin’ bikes”. Enough work? “Yep, plenty.”
New Falcon’s not too anonymous? “Aw maybe,” he concedes. Poppitt recollects that when Wheels did a similar tour with the then-new VE Commodore in ’06, big crowds gathered to gawk wherever they stopped.
“There are a lot of Holdens in Bourke,” says Ben, almost painfully. “Mainly VNs and VTs, but my father’s got a Fairmont Ghia. I’m a Ford man.”
Then he tells the now predictable story about the farmers all driving Toyota four-wheel drives...
Trundling in convoy out of Bourke, we notice a bloke sawing wood in a front yard strewn with old cars. His three dogs are showing more teeth than the Osmonds, and they’re not smiling. The bloke’s name is Phillip, he’s a cheerful roughnut and way more welcoming than his hounds. He’s also a car collector who doesn’t mind a yarn, and he’s soon giving us a guided tour. There’s a ’64 EH, ’65 HD ute, ’66 HR, a couple of HGs, a ’77 HX ute, and an ’82 WB ute. But his pride and joy is a ’70 HT Monaro that’s under restoration.
“It’s complete: I’ve got a 350 Chevy to drop in. People offer to buy it, but I might give it to my son,” he says.
We’re momentarily distracted when Poppitt drifts a little too close to one of the dogs and nearly loses a leg. He moves away with the speed of a man who’s forgotten his knee has ligament damage.
Despite his collection’s strong Holden bias, Phillip professes no particular brand loyalty. We show him the new Falcon. “Not a bad looking car,” he offers. “I had an XF Falcon once; and a Zephyr. Good cars.”
What about choosing one of our three cars to drive away in? “I like the Falcon but I’d take any of them. In this day and age, I’d go for the one with the best petrol consumption.
“I like comfortable sedans, not big four-wheel drives. Driving a ’Cruiser is like driving a truck.”
We wonder how he feels about diesel? “Yeah, I’d go for a diesel Falcon or Commodore: I like the sound of 1000km from a tank. Here to Dubbo and back, easy.”
We leave Phillip and his dogs for the joys of the Mitchell Highway, farther along which lies our overnight stop at Dubbo. The road is flat, straight, and lightly trafficked. At the stupidly slow 110km/h limit, it’s possible to appreciate how a deadly doze could be just seconds away.
After several days driving covering many hundreds of kilometres the importance of seat comfort is an obvious topic of discussion. All three pass muster in this regard; you tend to sit ‘on’ the Commodore bucket, ‘in’ the Falcon seat, with the Aurion somewhere in between.
We take on our last fuel at Lithgow, with the Falcon just 0.1 of a litre behind the class-leading Aurion. The Commodore trails a distant third. To be honest, I’m looking forward to a decent latte and a meal of something other than the roadhouse food-group staples of bacon, egg and tomato.
Heading along the M2 motorway into Sydney, I again hear those dreaded words from Wielecki: “Just one more shot, going through the tollgates.” Justifiable homicide?
Car-wise, a clear consensus has emerged. The Aurion has the most sophisticated engine and transmission package, is large enough inside, the most economical to run, and, has the tallest, narrowest, cheapest tyres. Its leather seating looks smart and feels upmarket. Given Toyota’s solid resale values and reputation for reliability, it’d be my recommendation for those who place a lesser priority on dynamic ability. But in a Wheels road test, it ranks third, no question.
The Commodore’s drivetrain feels comparatively primitive and is the thirstiest of the trio. This base V6 and four-speed auto combination was the weakest link back when VE claimed the 2006 Wheels Car of the Year award and, in the face of stiff competition from the Falcon and Aurion, there’s now a clear need for Holden to raise its drivetrain game. Few would argue, though, that the VE wins the styling stakes, hands down.
Just as unequivocal is that Ford’s FG Falcon has pulled off the classic leap-frog manoeuvre that’s typified the Holden-Ford rivalry for decades. Its combination of fine dynamics, well-considered interior and strong, responsive drivetrain make a highly persuasive case. For any driving enthusiast, the FG is the obvious choice.
But is it the default choice? Clearly not, as evidenced by the exodus from the local large-car sector. Australians are increasingly voting with their wallets in favour of small and medium-cars. However, within the sales statistics there’s a trend that gives a lie to suggestions people are deserting big Aussie sixes because of high fuel consumption. Despite the high cost of fuel, SUV sales continue to soar. For many people the SUV, with its space, versatility and presumed safety, has replaced the Aussie-built sedan as the family conveyance of choice. But for how much longer?
Already there are signs that consumers are beginning to question the validity of such vehicles. Truth is that unless you’re a bushie or have a big family, any one of these three will make a safer, more fuel-efficient and driveable option than most SUVs. It would be ironic if concerns about fuel consumption and global warming drove families back to the arms of the big Aussie six.