How driving for 13 hours became a spiritual journey/ descent into madness

I'm fairly upfront about being an Australian. As such, it should come as no surprise to you that I've never been to the Outback. It's the same thing as British people not really calling each other "guv'nah". I've been to the Steakhouse, but I've never actually been to the Outback Outback. Recently, however, my partner of two years took a job in Bourke. I drove out to help her move and settle in, but had to come back quickly for a job interview. What follows is an hour-by-hour break down of the journey home.

Hour 1:
I woke at 6:00am. It's a brisk 4 degrees Celsius in the morning. The sun isn't up yet. I'm wearing two jumpers, a hoodie and a leather jacket. Still cold. I turn the car on to warm up and the drivers side headlight immediately blows. It's an omen that the whole day will blow too. I depart at 6:43am. I am carrying food supplies. Four bananas and a sack of tuna snacks, Vegemite snacks, LCM bars and two Red Bulls. Despite the cold I wind down all four windows and turn up Edguy's Ministry of Saints. For one brief and glorious moment I imagine that I am both the fastest and loudest thing this side of the Outback.

Hour 2:
The Mitchell Highway is straight. Straight. Really straight. Quiet too. Ahead of me two cars stop in the middle of the road. One driver gets out to talk to another. I stop and ask if they need help, but it's a father and daughter stopping to chat. They are nice people, but they are also like R.M Williams mannequins brought to life. I press on to Nyngan. At some point I stop to take that photo. I stopped at that same place on the way in. As you can see the sun is barely up. The same people are sitting in the same chairs in front of the same pub behind me, one day later. I respect their commitment to the country lifestyle.



Hour 3:
I blow through Narromine on the way to Dubbo. The road starts to develops curves. I am initially cautious as I want to preserve my stamina for the trip. The traffic around becomes more numerous, but they stick to 80kmph in the 100kmph. I realize that though I want to preserve my strength, I want to preserve it at the speed limit. I start overtaking people.

Hour 4:
I reach Dubbo and decide to stop for half an hour for food and a bathroom break. I head back out onto the road. I knock back my first Red Bull and a banana. The potent mix of nutrients and additives they supply reinvigorates me. I launch a potassium and caffeine fueled assault on the highway. People are still being cautious on the roads due to the double demerit point weekend. I overtake a number of people on the road. The number is "All of them"

Hour 7:
Having overtaken every moving thing on the highway I still feel confident enough to blow through a few smaller towns without stopping. It takes a to find parking in Orange and when I do it's outside the visitors centre. My bag of food is still full so I do my best to make a dent in it. My efforts are hampered by the haunted park I've chosen to sit in. A voice issues from a nearby statue reads me poetry about how people like me aren't tough enough to survive in the bush and I fully agree. The voice, however, does not care that the roads are clogged with slow moving holiday traffic. The kind of traffic that panic brakes on approach to every corner, that tailgates on the straights and habitually drifts into oncoming traffic. For seven hours I have felt besieged by never ending flood of incompetence. I have so long left to travel. I flip the statue off and head out. I am immediately almost involved in a crash when a small Honda rolls through a Stop sign. I remember that you can't drop your guard, even for a moment. I feel like Jet Li at the end of The One

Hour 8:
I was still feeling confident that I would make it back before nightfall so I forgo the pilgrimage to the Bathurst Repco. Besides, I have no idea if they are open on the long weekend and I would have to buy the tools necessary to replace the headlight itself as I stupidly left those at home. My optimism seems so shallow and false now. I stop in Lithgow for a half hour nap. The weather has closed in the skies have traded blue for gunmetal grey and a surly drizzle has started. I could feel myself trending downwards and was forced to throttle back on the enthusiasm in my driving. I down the second Red Bull and leave Lithgow. Traffic is much heavier and aggressive now. There are warnings for congestion at Blackheath. How bad can it be though?

Hour 9/10:
It's bad. Traffic is at a standstill at the top of Mount Victoria. The rains begin in earnest making a bad situation worse. Caravaners are to blame, that much is obvious, seeing the tailback in the right hand lane they plow their awful offroader tow cars with their awful caravans up the left lane, only to be forced back into the right. They cut off right hand lane traffic, slowing it to a crawl as the right hand has to brake to let them in. I settle back and try to rest while we crawl along.

Hour 11:
The enormity of what I am trying to do hits me. The creeping along isn't hard but it is relentless. I run out of water in the car and cannot bring myself to pull over knowing how long the tail back is. The traffic finally starts moving at Blackheath but I am ruined. I pull over for food and water which help ablate the light headedness.

Hour 12:
I feel perpetually flushed. It's like making a 24 hour flight but worse. This is the level of physical degradation you would experience after a 48 hour flight. I know two things; I do not want to take the M4 turn off. I do want to take another turn off. I don't know if it is the Picton turn off or not. I start to feel worried after I pass the Light Horse Interchange, a landmark I not pass on the way out. Exhaustion gives birth to melodrama. I believe that deciding not to continue is as good as death. In hindsight, giving up would have been far wiser and it's incredible that pushing on did not result in death.

Hour 13:
I take a somewhat circuitous route of the major city, hitting every stop light on the way. The final stretch is almost painless and I feel unbelievably thankful that it is. Traffic is non-existent. I arrive home in a daze. Somewhere distantly I realize that I am now very far from someone very important to me and it is only my physically dilapidated state that spares me from the full sensation of the sadness and anger that brings. I decide that I do not like country Australia. As I fall asleep it feels like I am falling in a spa bath.