. . . Depression everywhere. A steady clinging mist. The sun is shining. The wind is icy cold.

I’ve been wettexing the back windows, the licence plates, our hire number – 54. (Remember that – 54!) I’ve cleaned the cupboards and the kettle. I’ve collected the dirty clothes and placed them neatly in a laundry bag with the thought that they will be washed in Alice Springs. This way I plan ahead. I think positively. I am prepared. I have made a list of groceries. I have done.

So it wasn’t wanting to stay that made us tense. The cause of our concern, like everyone else’s, was not regret, any more than it was distance or Mad Max bikers, it was the state of the road we were fearful of, the two stretches of unbitumenized highway which were reported to be even more ‘mongrel’ than usual because a brand-new road was going through and no one could be bothered spending money to grade the old. In six months’ time the journey would be a doddle, in the meantime the sacrifices to progress just happened to be us. Horror stories, either in the form of rumour or personally authenticated anecdote, circulated the park. One man had suffered punctures in all four tyres plus his spare; a chassis had broken in half; an engine had fallen out; a steering column had been jolted through the roof of a Toyota, missing the brain of the driver by millimetres. In the women’s shower rooms Ros overheard someone who had just driven in from Alice Springs saying that the road was ‘a blot on South Australia’s character’. Amongst the men the talk was all of suspension systems and types of tow bar. A queer bravado, based upon a blind loyalty to one’s own vehicle, underscored every conversation.

When I went for my last shower of the day I caught a couple of Eastern states pensioners putting themselves through their paces. ‘The NRMA told me not to take my caravan across under any circumstances,’ the senior in stress was saying, ‘but I thought that was bloody ridiculous.’

‘Ah, yeah, well I’ve heard that as long as you take it easy you should be right. Anyway I’m retired. I’m in no hurry.’

‘What have you got?’

‘A Jackaroo. But I’m pulling a Statesman.’

‘Ah, yeah. A Statesman’s all right. I’ve got a Jayco. I don’t expect any problems to be honest with you.’

‘No, you shouldn’t with a Jayco. I can’t see my Statesman giving me any strife either.’

A third person who had just slipped in to clean his teeth could not resist slipping into their conversation as well. ‘I’ve just come from there,’ he said. ‘Just watch the bulldust holes and you’ll be right. The corrugations are the real bastard. But I got through no worries. And I never had to drop below 70 ks.’

‘What have you got?’ they both asked him.