‘Good day for a drive
eh? Not too hot, and you’ve got a tail wind.’
The guy who checked me out of the backpackers at Esperance
was the last person I talked to before setting off over the Nullarbor. My
second crossing – four years after driving west I was returning to my east
coast homeland. Again the car was full of everything I had, again I was moving
to a new beginning. Though this time it was to a familiar territory. And this
time the car stereo was working.
As I pulled out of the car park that old melancholy
seasickness settled in – a familiar feeling that comes to me during times of upheaval.
I made it worse for myself by putting David Gray on the stereo, and the ache of
his voice singing ‘through the wind and
the rain my darling, say goodbye’ and the grey sky and drops of rain on the
windscreen combined with the thoughts in my head about places I was leaving
behind and a love that never happened and the vague uncertainty of life, to
make it a wistful journey north towards Norseman.
I filled up with fuel, ate an apple and then turning
eastwards the countryside changed. The steel grey road glistened in the wet and
off to the side there were eucalypts of glowing white, dark brown and rusty
orange. The moist leaves shimmered in subtle shades of green, and there was
bare red earth, dark grey clouds and patches of blue sky.
I was in no hurry and stopped for stretches, for snacks, to
admire the view. The road was quiet – a couple of road trains but mostly
campervans or four wheel drives towing caravans. People crossing the country,
people on the move.
I drove the ninety mile straight listening to Midnight Oil, ‘yellow belly black snake sleeping on a red
rock waiting for the stranger to go’, it’s suited to this country. At the
end of the straight I pulled down a dirt track and found a spot to set up camp.
There was enough wood for a fire so I got a little one going then began my
maiden attempt at making damper. It was messy and there was flour everywhere
and dough stuck all over my hands, but after giving it a spell in the coals I
brought out a toasty, one person sized loaf of warm crusty goodness. I sipped
my tea, leaned back to take in the stars and felt alright.
...
A dark cloudy morning, somewhere on the Nullarbor. Wind
gusted light rain onto the windscreen. Five or six crows stood over the slain
figure of a lone roo in the middle of the road. They looked like sinister men
in dark suits, not uninvolved in the death of this unfortunate individual. Some
sort of gangland hit. One pecked at its exposed guts while the others stood
guard. ‘Aaaarg’ said one of the henchmen. As I drove closer they reluctantly
flapped over to the roadside. ‘Oooorg’ said another. I had a suspicion I had just
witnessed a murder of crows.
...
I watched the gradual changes in landscape and vegetation.
So many trees, more than I remembered seeing last time. At Madura Pass there’s
a slight rise and as the road drops there are sweeping views to the south over
a flat plain dotted with low acacias. A scarp ran to the east and the road followed
the bottom of this into the distance. There was a lookout and a barefoot guy had
hopped out of his van to sit on a rock and strum his guitar; another couple in
a big campervan took some photos then drove away. There was a cool breeze, and
I sat for a while then drove off too.
Thick clouds roamed the skies dumping brief rain showers as
they passed. Puddles formed in depressions in the road, luring thirsty kangaroos
into dangerous territory. An emu took tentative steps onto the road in front of
me before wisely deciding to give it a miss for now.
Entering South Australia the ocean became visible off to the
right. There were tracks leading to the cliffs, vertical and powerful and I
gazed over the Great Australian Bight. Less trees, more low scrub here. The
afternoon wore on, I wasn’t sure of the time exactly because there had been one
or maybe two time zone changes. But it was late enough to stop. I pulled onto
another track to find a corner to pitch the tent and light a fire. Did I talk
to anybody today? A few words to the crusty fella at the Eucla servo, that’s
all.
Next morning, the third day, I drove on. My mind was
everywhere. I tried to be present in the moment, to appreciate the place and
time because I know it’s special to be doing this trip. But I was flicking to
the past and the future. Thinking of how the metaphorical journey of life is
occasionally a literal journey as well. For a lot of people on this road, and
for me, we’re on a journey to somewhere. I’m beginning a new part of my life, done
with Western Australia, I’m driving somewhere new.
I gently brought my attention to the feel of the sunshine
streaming through the windscreen and warming my chest, these waves of energy
that have flown through space from the fire in the sky just to crash into my
navy blue tshirt, bringing a hum and a zing to my skin; I noticed the smell of
the wood smoke in my hair and clothes from last night’s fire; I felt the
vibrations of the tyres on the tarmac coming up to me through the chassis and the
seat where I was perched only centimetres above the road I was hurtling past; I
heard the sound of Paul Simon on the stereo singing ‘and I could say ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh and everybody would know
what I was talking about’ , and for a moment there, just for a flash, I
think I did know what he was talking about and I felt that truly this moment,
this minute of this life is something to treasure.
There was a sign stuck to a tree with the painted message
asking WHERE
WILL YOU SPEND ETERNITY? Someone else had banged in a handwritten sign
below this replying 6 FEET DOWN WITH YOU.
Further along there was a sign proclaiming JESUS
DIED FOR ALL, but it was barely legible, thoroughly pocked as it was
with what I assumed were bullet holes.
The Nullarbor... the place draws the lurking demons to the
surface. I guess I outran mine this time. I made it unscathed to Cactus Bay where
I stayed quite still for a few days, giving them a fair chance to catch up.
