Getting permission to do one-off events - like the Baja 1000 and the Pikes Peak Hill Climb - was tough.

The powers that be in AP's New York Sports Department kept a tight grip on the budget and trips considered unnecessary were usually met with firm turn-downs.

During the winter of 1990, as I was working on my schedule for the next season, I looked longingly at the opening race of the Indy Car season, scheduled in March at Surfers Paradise in Queensland, Australia.

It was the first visit to Australia by the American open-wheel series and, adding the fact that I had always wanted to visit "Down Under," I put the event on my proposed schedule, crossed my fingers and sent it off to my boss, sports editor Terry Taylor.

Amazingly, I didn't get a knee-jerk "No!" Instead, Terry called and said, "Get me some numbers - plane fare, hotel, etc., and we'll see."

The Wire Service Guild contract stipulated that we could fly first or business class on any flight over six hours and, obviously, the trip from the  U.S. to Australia would be considerably longer than that. But I checked the cost of business class ($3,400) and coach ($1,440), both on Continental, which was my airline of choice in those days.

I was told, unofficially, that, if I insisted on flying business class, I could forget the trip. But, if I settled for 17 hours in coach, I could make the arrangements. So, coach it would be. I didn't need to rent a car, since most of the media was at hotels next to the race circuit. And most of the other expenses - meals and incidentals - would be very similar to any other race weekend.

After the arrangements were made, I began to have second thoughts about that long, long trip in coach. Then I realized I had lots of Continental miles to possibly use for upgrades. It took a bit of bargaining with the airlines but, in the end, I was able to upgrade each of the five international legs of my trip to business or first class for a total of 30,000 miles.

Friend Lewis was making the trip, too, and got the same deal. Both of us were in Phoenix for a Formula One race before leaving for Australia. We began the long journey with the short flight from Phoenix to Los Angeles before facing hops from LA to Honolulu, Honolulu to Auckland, NZ, and Auckland to Brisbane, Australia before taking a one-hour bus ride to Surfers Paradise, the site of the race.

Our flight from Phoenix arrived six hours before our scheduled departure to Hawaii and we decided to see if we could get our boarding passes and check our luggage.

The Continental ticketing area at LAX was completely empty except for one clerk. He was a small, mousy-looking man wearing a gray cardigan sweater over his uniform and with thick glasses hanging from his neck on a croaky.

He smiled when we approached and said in a light, sing-song voice, "Can I help you?"

I told him we were traveling to Brisbane by way of Honolulu and Auckland and he looked up and said, "Are you going to the Indy?"

Surprised, we both said, "Yes." He then told us that he was a regular visitor to the Indy car race at Long Beach.

All was smiles and pleasant conversation until he tried to pull up our boarding passes. It turned out that both of us were listed for coach seats and had not been upgraded for any of the flights. Worse, all the first and business class seats were locked out.

Lewis and I looked at each other with something approaching despair, thinking about those 17 hours in coach seats with no leg room and people crushed in on both sides of us.

But this little man was not about to give up, particularly since we were fellow Indy car fans. We watched silently as he worked his computer screen, his face screwed up in concentration behind those thick glasses and his fingers flying over the keys.

Five minutes went by. Then ten. Still, we stood silently, watching and hoping.

Finally, he looked up with a broad grin and said, "You're all set."

That man's magic fingers had put us in first class - in the upstairs lounge of the first jumbo jet - for the leg to Hawaii, and in business class for the next two legs on a different plane. He also worked his magic for the trip home, setting us up in business class for the legs from Brisbane to Honolulu and Honolulu to LA.

We gave him our contact info and told him to get in touch with us and we would make sure he had access to hospitality for the next Long Beach Grand Prix. But, unfortunately, we never heard from him.

We were able to wait for that first flight in the first class lounge and the ensuing trip was pretty much a breeze, despite the length.

Upon arriving in Brisbane with great anticipation, we got off the plane among the first group and, as we started to head for immigration, I realized I had left my briefcase in the overhead compartment above my seat.

I told Lewis to go ahead and I turned around. Passengers were still streaming off the plane, coming down the metal stairs, and I realized there was no way I could go against that stream of humanity.

I told a Continental agent my dilemma and he looked at me like I was an idiot, saying, "Well, you can't get back on the plane. You'll just have to wait until everyone is off the plane and we can fetch your briefcase for you."

So I stood there, tired, embarrassed and thinking about missing my bus until the last passenger had left the stairs. Finally, the agent asked my seat number and went to get the briefcase.

When he brought it down the stairs, I felt relief. But then he made me tell him what was in it. It seemed to take forever.

Amazingly, I got to the bus to Surfers in time and got the last seat. And I found myself sitting next to Jim Hall, an Indy car team owner and one of the great innovators in motorsports. Strangely, instead of racing, we talked about shoes.

Jim had foot problems and noticed I was wearing a pair of Rockports. He said his foot doctor had recommended he buy Rockports for walking and this was our major topic of conversation for almost the entire hour-long ride to Surfers.

It was a strange way to begin the much anticipated visit.

If you want a description of Surfers Paradise, on the east coast of Australia, in 1991, think 1950's Miami Beach. With the palm trees, waterways, blue skies and big hotels surrounding the race circuit, Surfers, also known as the Gold Coast, looked just like the Miami Beach that my parents took our family to for winter vacations many years before.

It was mid-afternoon and we were able to pick up our credentials and check out the working facilities before checking into our hotel (a Hilton, just down the road). We ran into several people we knew, including PR man extraordinaire Michael Knight, who invited us to join him for dinner at a local restaurant called Grumpy's.

The restaurant was known for its seafood, particularly an Aussie east coast specialty called "Bugs" by the locals. They are also called flat lobsters, with broad heads, flattened antennai and no claws. Aussies eat them like we do blue crabs in Maryland or crawfish in New Orleans.

The bugs were delicious, but the most fun that night came when Michael tried to order iced tea. It seems that Australians, at least in Surfers, had never heard of such a thing.

After the initial shock at the waiter's lack of comprehension, Michael asked for a cup, a glass of ice, a pot of hot water and a tea bag. When it was brought to the table, he made himself a cup of iced tea. The audience, watching the process, included most of the amazed wait staff and even the chef, who came out of the kitchen to witness this strange ritual.

It was a great start to our Australian adventure.

The next day, with practice beginning on the temporary circuit, I met Dennis Passa, one of the local AP writers and the guy who would have covered the race by himself if I hadn't shown up. He greeted me with a smile and a handshake and said, "Boyo, I'm glad you're here. I know next to nothing about these guys."

He also said he had gotten "a good bloke report" on me from other AP writers who had visited the area.

The day went smoothly, with the highlight, finding out that there was a topless beach close behind the media tent, with the walkway to and from said beach going right past our open windows. I must say, though, that the novelty quickly wore off as the parade of lovely Aussie birds went past and the work inside the tent heated up.

That night, Lewis and I were trying to decide what to do for dinner when we saw a large crowd gathering across the street from our hotel. Walking outside to see what was going on, we found out that it was a free concert, put on as part of the race weekend, featuring Dionne Warwick.

I talked Lewis into eating some of the street food and watching the concert and it was a great evening.

The east coast of Australia is also known for the mining of fire opals. After reading up on the area before the trip, I was determined to buy one of those opals as a surprise for Judy.

The day before the race was reserved on track for the support series, which I was not covering. So that gave me the chance to head for the downtown area and find a jewelry store that had been recommended by a local.

The lady in the store was terrific, suggesting I just pick an opal and let my wife decide if she wanted it mounted in a pendant or a ring. Great idea. But picking the right stone wasn't easy.

I told her my price range - up to $300 - and she brought out a bag and proceeded to pour the contents onto a cloth table. There were dozens, in all shapes and sizes, to choose from, all ranging from $250 to $300.

Finally, I said, "You're the expert. Pick me one she'd like."

The lady zoned in on a beautiful stone, about the size of  raisin, that sparkled with many colors in the light. It was perfect.

We eventually had it made into a pendant that Judy wears for fancy occasions.

The race turned out to be an interesting one and the winner was even more interesting.

John Andretti, Mario's nephew and one of the good guys in racing, got his one and only Indy car win that day, beating Bobby Rahal in a race in which cousins Jeff and Michael Andretti finished seventh and 14th, respectively, and Uncle Mario crashed out in 17th.

It was a really good story for my one and only trip to Australia.

But the good times were not quite over.

Lewis and I were not scheduled to leave for home until late that Monday, so Dennis Passa invited us to have lunch with him and his wife at their farm about an hour away from Surfers. The ride to the farm proved daunting as the morning sun was right in the driver's eyes as we traversed a small mountain pass on a narrow, two-lane highway.

As we came around a 45-degree bend, a very large kangaroo bounded in front of the car. Dennis hit the brakes hard and missed the critter by inches. As we sat their momentarily, two of the kangaroos apparent offspring bounced past, looking at us like we were the strange sight.

We had a nice day and made our flight with time to spare. The trip home was long and generally uneventful, except for a few minutes of consternation in the Honolulu airport.

As the plane was being boarded for the flight to LA, I was called to the ticket desk and asked for my boarding pass. The woman took it and tore it up, which made me nervous. She said, "We're trying to sort out some seat assignments and I'll call you when we're ready for you to board."

I was still sitting there, waiting nervously, when I realized the lounge was empty except for the ticket clerk and me.

Finally, she waved me to the desk and handed me a boarding pass. I didn't even look at it before getting on the plane, figuring it didn't matter where I was sitting as long as I was in a seat.

A pretty flight attendant looked at my boarding pass, smiled and sent me to first class. It turns out that I had been upgraded from business to first. Strangely, Lewis, who was one of the first people to board, was sitting in the next seat over. He had been moved up to first class after getting to his original seat. But all's well that ends well!

By the time I got back to New Jersey, I was totally wiped. But it was a great trip and I loved the part of Australia that I saw and the Aussies that I met. I would love to go back some day with Judy and see the rest of the country.