On The Road

I read somewhere that the latest V8 performance cars get better fuel efficiency over long distances than the new model “fuel efficient” little run arounds. That makes sense. But I still drove for 11 hours on Wednesday for around $70, which I don’t think is that bad.


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Driving for 11 hours on your own in one day is horrible. It’s also really cool, and you develop a sense of not only the size of this country but also the feel of movement and control of direction. It gets to a very metaphorical point about 8 hours in.

However, by the time you hit 10, the whole experience starts to wear thin… much like the Brand Highway.

For one thing, I had nowhere near enough music to last. The four CDs I brought for when the radio went out of range are now anathema to my ears where once they were anthems. I never want to hear another Newton Faulkner song in my life.

Newton Faulker’s name doesn’t suit how he sounds or looks. He should be the guy who discovered DNA ligase with a name like that, not a folk-pop star.

I do feel a little more of my deeply suppressed excitement since I took the trip though.

I now have:
a) Actually been to the town where I’ll be living into the blurry and indefinite future (Even if only for a few hours).
b) Inspected, applied for, and been approved for a place to live there (In what must be the record time of only a few hours).
c) Taken two minor but important wrong turns which made two 4-hour drives into two 4.5-5-hour drives.
d) Used too many numbers and words that sound like numbers in that last sentence.

The best bit about it all is that I have to do it again on Tuesday. That’s when I move in, pay my first couple of weeks of rent, settle my meager and basic possessions into the small-but-full-of-potential-kick-ass-ery unit that I will now be the tenant of, and tend to it.

So, Monday, golf; Tuesday, Geraldton and back; Wednesday, Melbourne via Adelaide; Thursday – Sunday, driving back west; Monday, it begins.

Mondays sound good.

“Highway 1, twelve-hour drive…” – The Waifs.