I'm driving from Melbourne to Brisbane. Its 1800 kilometers. I'm in my camper-van so I'm going to take a few days, looking forward to snuggling into the bed of the van like a cheating swagman. I drive out of the city, waiting at traffic lights with the M of McDonalds looking down on me. I look up at the symbol and sneer, I know its coffee and its calories yet I say:
"Wait 'till I'm in the bush, wait 'till it's trees and gum leaves and the smell of road kill, then we'll test your temptation." I'd already eaten and a home made coffee was in hand. The M curled away like the Wicked Witch of the East's dead legs and I nodded.
I drive away from the city, through the winter fields of Victoria. Winter here is the budding time for the eucalyptus, its the time of plenty because winter has the water and summer is the dead time. The European deciduous trees wait skeletal whist the native fauna makes hay. Parrots lick bottle brush, and dodge hurtling traffic. It is heartbreaking to see a galah struck down. Beside the pink and grey feather corpse its mate stands motionlessly looking. I know the bird feels grief. I let emotion come into me and wonder if I should record the scene in a video. I drive on, losing the thought of the galah's sorrow because of me.
I drive 'till its night and quickly setup the van in a rest area. The road roars its trucks and in the fields the lambs are bleating. Distantly shotguns pop at the fox. I fall into sleep and dream of sex. I wake and smile and think of McDonald's coffee. They commissioned Nestle to make the brew, I know it's a cunning drug and I get to the flood plain town of Shepparton and buy a large long black and bacon and egg McMuffin. I think about the struck down galah and that the old timers had a recipe for them.
I cross the Murray. The biggest Australian river will not know about me. I pass 'Turn Back Jimmy Creek' and 'Poison Waterhole Creek'. European names that possibly describe Aboriginal tragedies caused by Europeans. It's all flood plains. It takes an age to see to bedrock again and the day wants to close. I want to get deep into the bush to camp and slow down, looking at fenced off hills and remanent ridges too hard to farm. I slow right down trying to escape the highway and the rest areas. Trucks roar at me for making them pause. I don't care, I want to find a place that hasn't changed for a millions years.
