21.  Iced Coffee – For U Damo

At the beginning of the previous chapter I hinted at taking you on an exploration of another crash site, but never got around to it. What did I have on my mind? Agapanthus and DNA most likely.

To investigate the crash scene, which held the clearest “Go LA” message so far, I decided to combine it with a bicycle trip on Saturday 12/02/05. Before I do, let me share a thought with you, why it appears that somebody is staging car crashes, even fatal ones. Why would anybody go to such length to simply tell another person – go away, go back to Los Angeles? A simple letter, phone call or other anonymous message (one I understand clearly) would be far more effective.

As far back as July 2003 I received messages, after I had started my writing online. Even then people must have believed, but were reluctant to communicate with me. I picked up this message from the road, after seeing a girl open a car door and dropping it onto the ground, just ahead of me. (As reported in ‘Mind’ Chapter 11).

Those who think God shows me things, and explains all his reasoning behind it, are mistaken. HE allows me to hear and see specific information, but I have to wrestle to make sense of it. Otherwise, I simply would be a robot. There would be no need for a close, loving relationship, yearning for closeness and searching for God’s thoughts on all these happenings. The word trust describes it very well. 

One theory, why I am attracted to fake car crashes, goes like this (please fasten the seatbelts of your brain): A group of clean, honest police officers, ambulance staff and fire brigade members are arranging car crashes, such as I have shown, to draw attention to a scheme, involving real insurance fraud. They know that some of their colleagues are subsidizing their low incomes, by going along with faking car crashes. A scheme like this would require corrupt police, ambulance officers and even journalists to play along with.

If the names of victims were fake too, it would have to involve an entire section of government to co-operate to make it all work – the word is conspiracy. But why does it have to involve people dying? If those trying to expose this scheme were not involving deaths, the crashes would never make it onto the TV News or broadcast on radio. Like everybody else, I would not know what is going on.

Two facts I came across supported my theory (please remember, it is only a thought). The first was a statement by the leader of our State’s Opposition Party. During a Liberal Party presentation on 19/2/05 he mentioned that the deficit for the Motor Accident Commission had blown out from 50 million to 580 million dollars in a few years. He compared it with the Statebank debacle, where our state found itself in debt by thousands of millions of dollars, through mismanagement or otherwise. It took us years to recover financially.

Were did 530 million dollars disappear to in a small state like ours? Our total population is only 1.5 million people. If it is not an organized scheme to make some people rich, it certainly is very bad management. 

The second fact, which would make sense if my theory were on track, is that the University of Adelaide no longer investigated all fatal crashes. When I had dealings with this unit some years ago, showing them my road safety book, I was told that this team of experts investigates each and every fatal crash, and published its findings.

About a year ago I showed this research unit my invention for reducing crashes under heavy braking. I have not heard anything since, but found out at the time that only some, not all, fatal road crashes are being researched.

In a way I am glad God did not show me all the details, corrupt schemes and/or names of conspirators involved. What would I do with it? Upload it onto the net? It would be a sure way of self-destruction, ending my day in a mental hospital, or worse, which I was afraid, would happen right at the beginning of this incredible sage.

To report what I have seen, heard or read and to ask questions, is not a punishable crime. Anyone wanting to laugh at my theories please feel free to do so. The remainder, those who have doubt, but still want to listen to the facts, please come with me for a trip to Adelaide’s Southern Wine Region. I shall be as detailed and honest in reporting as my diary describes that Saturday, February 12, 2005.

That morning I was conducting a driving lesson. At the conclusion, I visited a relatively minor car crash scene. The circumstances surrounding it would fill a whole chapter. To keep it brief, so we will have time to take the trip down South, I report the following:

It started just before my driving lesson with a radio announcement on the news: Traffic was delayed, due to a road crash on North East Road, Windsor Gardens. My antenna was raised. Please don’t ask why. As my lesson progressed I noticed further clues, including the names North East and Windsor Gardens, during my driving lesson. I knew I’d be taking a look at the end of my lesson.

It was not far to travel. I walked the last few hundred meters as not to get caught in the traffic jam. The name of the side street right opposite the crash site, where a car had mounted the kerb and knocked down an electricity pole, is called “Forbes” Street. Unless it was co-incidental - Es in German means “it” - so I read  "for be it!

This same name had been part of my recent uploads. Forbes Street was also the address (in another state) of the company I had sent a letter to, after following another trail I had followed, if you follow what I mean. By inserting a G into their name, I made it into LIGHTS. (Chapter 12).  

My diary that morning contains a lot more detail. Sufficient to say, I was in the right frame of mind when I packed my bicycle and a snack, and drove into the city around one o'clock. I wanted to combine the crash investigation in the south with a brief stop in Adelaide’s South Parklands, where the Sudanese Community was celebrating the Peace Deal, which had been struck the previous months.

I only knew about this event, because I had been prompted to pop into McDonalds on the Monday evening before, during a bike ride.  I just had a quick read of the Advertiser newspaper, when I noticed an article about this event.  I am glad I followed my instinct, otherwise I would not have known about this colourful gathering.

As soon as I had parked my vehicle in a tight spot just around the corner, I bumped into Phillip. He had had a driving lesson with me a year or so earlier. Like many he was all dressed up in a suit and tie. It only took a moment after entering the closed-off area, when amongst the hundreds of black faces I noticed Jacob, the man who shared with me a moment I shall never forget. He was the one who climbed with me to the top of the Bluff in Victor Harbour, where we spilled drink all over us, because it was so windy. We were celebrating the completion of a series of animated car crashes on my driving school website. (Chapter 44, More in number).

It was a joyous occasion, seeing so many happy faces, enjoying Adelaide’s sunshine and each other’s company. Even Jacob’s little one-year old was all dressed up in golden-colour shirt and bow-tie. He looked so cute. I held him for a short while, before he stretched out his arm, wanting his daddy again. Rebecca, Jacob’s wife, was with a group of dancers, preparing for an official appearance later.

The South-Australian Attorney General was amongst those who gave a speech. He and I have more in common than going to church - we both ride a bicycle. Another local politician, a lady named Vini, surname Da Ninci (just kidding), also rolled up with her two-wheeler, an old fashioned one with a high handlebar. There must be a state election in the making.

I would have loved to stay longer, but McLaren Vale, from where I planned to ride to the crash scene at nearby Tatachilla, was almost an hour’s drive away. I parked at a reserve in this tourist village, which we had only visited once or twice before. The area is famous for it’s wines, which has experienced huge growth in South Australia in the past 10-20 years. 

It was a great idea to combine ‘work’ with pleasure. I followed the sign to Tatachilla, up a gentle slope. I wasn’t as fast as in my younger days, but very pleased that I was fit and healthy to enjoy such pleasure. On my left a large complex dominated the scene. It was a Lutheran School, surrounded by open spaces and vineyards. Had the front gate been open and a car inside, I may have been tempted to pay a visit and ask some questions. The gate was shut.

I turned left, skirting the school. Again it was a sight slope and my mind had time to think. On my right I saw car rego …316, then 613 and 221 which was that day’s date backwards. But I was more in thought about the word Tatachilla. Tata is a slang expression for “good bye”. Chilla sounds similar to chiller, somebody giving somebody a chill, a scare?

There was a time when I was excited seeing the three colours yellow, red and blue together. (They are our state's colours, plus more). In this case I even stopped and took a photo.

There was a lot more, however, which made me drive this far to see for myself, what I had seen on the television News. It was the street names, the name of a friend of a victim (Waller) and the registration plate of the wrecked car – VPL 555 (it may have been VTL). I was slowly pedaling up California Road. On top of the hill was the intersection with Communication Road. Now you may understand, why I was tempted to think, this was a set up to play the game.

But there was more. A nearby street carried the same name as somebody, who would be able to help me obtain finance, if indeed I would heed the communication and go to California. Read on, more names were to emerge on this bizarre bike ride.

Stop Press: Just as I am writing an earth-quake is reported in Iran. The newsreader said, it occurred at 5.55 am (on 22/2/05) and measured 6.4 on the Richter scale. A string of villages near the town of Zarand, in the province of Kerman, not far from Bam, were flattened with over 500 casualties. 

My mind boggles – Oh God, why? Why there? Why at this time? The earthquake near the Andaman Islands is still fresh in everyone's mind. Is God speaking again? Will we listen? 

When I reached the intersection I saw the burned tree on my left. I leaned my bike against a post and took a look around. There were no houses nearby, only vineyards and only two or three cars went past during the few minutes I was there. The road was bitumen. I noticed three skid marks leading from the correct side of the road, crossing over to the wrong side. I had seen (and reported – Chapter 37 Mind) another crash site, where I had seen three skid marks, which didn’t make sense.

Yellow paint was marking the rest of the car’s assumed path over the dirt, before ending at a medium size tree. There was a total lack of broken glass and other small debris. Not everything burns in a fire. My diary says, I didn’t even find anything to take as souvenir. Unless I wanted to take a full carton of 600 ml Iced coffee, left at the scene. In small letters somebody had written on it: 4 U Damo. (On the crash site at West Croydon, on Australia Day, I had picked up two empty cartons of the same product).

According to the small memorial plague installed at the crash site, the accident occurred on 9/02/05. This happens to be the date of my son’s birthday. Was this a kind of a message of death/birth – father/son?? If it was meant to be, I didn’t fully grasp it. I noticed the name of Damo’s passenger. It was Danielle, who was also allegedly killed in the crash. They were both young. 

Not far away at the intersection I found 2 souvenirs to take. Firstly an empty beer can, a brand I had not seen before – Canadian Club. Secondly, nearer the intersection, on leaving, I picked up a small, long pipe, about the size of a cigar, but not as thick. It was made of white plastic with a tiny pipe protruding from the main pipe. If it weren’t made of plastic I would have thought it could be some sort of pipe to smoke with. On second thoughts it may be a breathalyzer unit. (Checking in Google, it is just that). 

The lettering on the plastic read: LION CMI – 400. Da Ninci loves it. The item was still wrapped in clear plastic. When I picked it up I saw another identical one on the opposite corner, unwrapped. It may still be there.

As I was showing my son the item, he sensed I was into something. He reminded me that I was clutching straws, while going under. With a swirling motion of his index finger, on the side of his forehead, he demonstrated what everybody thought of my strange behaviour and inquisitiveness.

Yet, the data is all so clear. What huge co-incidence would it take for me to be fooled by all these names, facts and data? 

There were more to come that day.

Chapter 22

Index