Good story, Don.
Speaking of stories of mistaken identity, I've got a doozie.
I'd taken off from the world for 1990, no one really knew where I was until I called and said I was coming home towards the end of the year. I spent 1991 here but reality was creeping into my bone and I took off for an undetermined amount of time going fully around Australia.
I managed to convince two mates to come along, we all drove our own cars. They bought a Kombi and a Landrover respectively, I already owned my Valiant Safari and that was always going to be my motor of comfort.
I have thousands of stories about these years but this is one I like to tell a bit more than the others.
We left in January 1992, 2 days after the very first Big Day Out that only had 10,000 people and Nirvana played. Great day/night.
By September/October we were in NW WA, more specifically, Carnarvon.
Myself and the fella in the Landrover had picked up some chick's in Qld and they'd hopped on board with us. We surfed every day and were in general pretty active.
My mate in the Kombi was the exact opposite, didn't have a girl and in general just laid in his van smoking, and smoking, and smoking. He enjoys to smoke to this day. Picture Neil from The Young Ones.
Anyway one day in Carnarvon these two cops knock on the Kombis window and ask my mate to come out. They ask him to come to the station for questioning about something, he complied and I went along for support.
They questioned every where he'd been the last year, day by day. He had been actually keeping a diary somewhat and he let them read it.
"Smoked in Coolum today" "Kombi blew up in Katherine today so I smoked there" etc.
They made him report to their CIB every day he was in Carnarvon for the next 4 weeks.
Why was he reporting to them?
Some backpackers had been going missing around the country.
Whom did the culprit end up being?
Ivan Milat.