From our room, the passing road trains sound like swooping aircraft, not the earth-bound rush of mighty 18-wheelers bearing their goods eastward.
The highway sustains life out here. It is a straight and lonely stretch of asphalt – or bitumen, the Aussies would say – stubbornly crossing the barren Nullarbor Plain.
It’s the unpredictable suicide route of too many short-sighted wombats; the stark yet exotic touring line for patient road trippers; the demarcation zone between roadhouses, these isolated outposts of civilization.
150 kms from Nundroo Hotel Motel to Nullarbor Roadhouse. In the other direction, 150 kms to Ceduna.
Instead of losing my mind to extreme loneliness, I’m surprised by a sense of gumption. Like pioneers, we’ll refuse to let the environment wear us away…