At daylight, I fuel the ute, throw some things in, and head out. I’ll be driving west for five hours: a little south-west, and bit north-west, but west over all. I put my sunglasses on, and turn the radio up. I reckon I’m driving towards answers and away from something, and that’s a feeling I’m going to hang on to for all of those five hours. I’m not going to think about what I’ll do with the answers I may or may not get. And as the country changes from undulating to fairly flat, to really bloody flat, I keep guiding my thoughts away from who would be interested in those answers, why they would be, and what they might do.

I sing along loudly to old songs, and disagree with opinionated radio announcers. It borders on fun, and is definitely a type of peace. My phone is off, and nothing can touch me in my cab. There is just me and the whirring of my tyres on the black top. I check off towns as I go — none of them the same, and none dissimilar. Some look like they’ve been boosted by mining or some other new industry, and others look like they should have ‘If we don’t do something soon’ written across their ‘Welcome to …’ signs. The trees on either side of the road change as I cruise through different districts. Eventually the trees take a back seat, and forms of shrub and low bush dominate.

When James was a small boy he was always asking me the names of things, especially plants and animals. I would explain box trees, Myall trees, red river gums, and kurrajongs, and he would say them back to me, rolling the words around in his mouth and trying them out until he got them right, or close to right. He demanded to know grass types, thistles, and birds until I was running for books to expand my own knowledge. I know so much more of my world because of him. Just one of his legacies, I guess.

Late morning, I pull over in a small river town and buy a hamburger and a drink in a cafe that feels like it refuses to notice it is the twenty-first century. There is a large coffee machine, but I’m not willing to risk it. I take my lunch down to the riverside, sit at a shaded council bench, and look at the slowly flowing water, glad that it actually exists. I’ve made such good time that some of my urgency has dropped off. After I’ve eaten I put my feet up and half doze for an hour or so. It is almost like being on holiday: no one knows me and nothing is familiar.