Following a trailer laden with kayaks down the Brand Highway. It's Friday and the road is busy. Midmorning. Owing to the fact that we don't have to be in Perth until later in the afternoon, we've opted against the Dawns Crack departure, leaving home instead at the civilised hour of 8am instead. Plenty of time to stop at The Quiet Life for a chair and cake for the road. Lucky me.
It's got it's drawbacks, though. Kayakman being one of them.
We've passed a multitude of caravans, and as each one wallows past I feel a tiny pang of wishing. The freedom grey nomads have is incredible, and it must feel incredible to them. The antithesis of everything they've known in their lives up to now. All the structure of a hard working existence suddenly scattered to the wind and the road stretching infinitesimally forwards.
Ahead, Kayakman makes the dangerous move of wobbling out to overtake a truck that's carting, among other things, an Ambulance. We do the same, though less wobbly, and fall in behind another truck, this one carting about 100 gas bottles and 3 engines the size of our family-sized car. It's a long, straight road. We overtake gas bottle truck and then leap frog Kayakman too. This is good, and also bad.
If I know Chris - and I do - he'll go non-stop now so he doesn't have to pass them again, which means good progress. It's also very bad news for me if I need a wee, which I undoubtedly will. Mother-bladder is a thing....
It's one of those really golden autumn days. There's a few white clouds like silk strands across an otherwise achingly blue sky, diffusing the sunlight just enough to curb its harsh glare into something softer; more glorious and less hostile. It's pretty flat and monotonous along this stretch of road, but the vegetation is glowingly verdant in it's tough Australian way, and there's plenty of birdlife around. The glossy blue-black of a crow sits starkly illuminated standing over its robust nest high in a Banksia tree as we pass another truck. This one has 3 utes and about ten thousand clean orange road cones on the back.
Someone waves vigorously at us as they drive past, and Chris and I simultaneously shrug and glance at each other. No clue who that was. Another time he'll say," Who that bastard?" As if I have any fucking clue.
A ute with some loose plastic on the back zips past us with a raspberry-farting flap and we all laugh.
The good news is that for now the road is clear.
The bad news is I'm starting to need a wee.