There’s no gradual transition from town or country here. No scattered houses or fields or orchards. As soon as we pass the petrol station, we’re in the desert, with nothing but four hundred kilometres of scrub between us and Hansbach.
I gently ease my foot down on the accelerator. The Holden’s engine growls and the ute surges forward. It feels a little bit like driving off a cliff -I have no idea what we’ll find at the bottom, and if we get stuck there’ll be no one to come and rescue us.