I arranged the night before to take the three youngens back to Adelaide with me. So when asked if I had a seat for an old man as far as Port Augusta, I said Palya. I was looking for another driver to share the trip. As it happened the joungens mum and dad decided they wanted to come after all so that would be extra drivers. I thought, great. As it happened, neither had a full license so once again, things never come out the way you picture them in your head. I used to experience this as a disappointment, a letdown; that things never work out the way I thought or imagined they would until it occurred to me after many years of trying to plan or anticipate better, that that is the way it is, not something you have to accept, but the way it is meant to be. All the old chestnuts: The best laid plans etc, etc miss one essential point. Plans are more like a rudder than a boat. I'd put a lot of effort into trying to build a better boat over the years when what was needed moment to moment was agility with the rudder.

It was dark when we set off thinking. There would be little traffic. I was particularly conscious of animals on the road, donkeys, camels, bullocks but the only animal we saw was what looked to me like a very unusual black rabbit darting across the road. Deep in contemplation of how such a thing had come to be, a black rabbit here in the bush rather than a suburban pet, I was coming up with some pretty convincing possibilities until it was pointed out that it was in fact a brown rabbit and what I had seen so clearly was the shadow in the headlights. My theories of the genesis of this black rabbit, a number of which in this very short time I was already becoming quite attached to, was about as substantial as the black rabbit itself, nothing but shadow.

If you are a practical type of person who loves learning by doing, that is, learning from experience, it's important to be happy to be wrong most of the time. Many things are rarely what they seem at first and how they came about is be different to what you think. My uncle had a saying that I first though was clever and later realised it was a piece of homespun wisdom. When asked for his opinion on some controversial matter, "It's anybody's guess," he would say, "but nobody would know!"

A crack of light was starting to form at the horizon, a couple of shades of grey difference. You couldn't make anything out in the low light but you could clearly see where it was. There should be a word for that, the sense of optimism that you feel in your whole body, a pure sensation, unsullied by content, an absolute assurance of potentiality. "Let there be light," comes to mind, a kind of light that doesn't make black rabbits.

As quickly as I notice the light on the horizon the vehicle is enveloped in a pall of dust. We have to slow down to that bone shaking speed at which the Landcruiser relinquishes its 'King of the Road' status and is is not better than any other rattle trap. Below a particular speed the vehicle faithfully follows the corrugations of the road like every other. I wonder who else is out on the road early like us. Speculation from the back seat, usually accurate, says it's the Mai Wiru truck, a tripple trailer road train that comes in to restock the community stores twice a week. Now there is a third driving hazard; the light, the shadows, the dust.

If you know the road well you can read it as you go and build on you prior experience. I don't and can't. I have to interpret, not remember what I see in this partial low contrast light. It's like this: If you put white text on a mid grey background, then you wan to see what black writing looks like instead you can change the colour. If you have a slider to take you through a continuum of greys from white to black, at the point the text vanishes as it transits for lighter to darker than the background. The same happens with colours. While the text might not vanish completely there is a range in which you can't read it clearly. The closer you are, the easier it is to see the boundaries.The further away you are the closer your are to the vanishing point.

A small region on the horizon turns the rosiest colour of rose I can recall. It is stunning. There is enough cloud cover to catch and hold the spectacular scene for us. The dust alternately drifts away and hangs over the road. After about 20 minutes we see that the lights of the semi seem to hang on the top of the next hill about a kilometre away. he must have pulled up to check his load or to let us past or both. Drawing near we see it's not Mai Wiru but a load of camels, the third one in the last two days. That's nine trailer loads of camel being trucked out.

The dust gone, we can increase to a more comfortable driving speed, but not too much because I don't know the road. The changes in the colour of the road from white to red are so abrupt that in this light that on this undulating country I sometimes interpret the colour boundary as road edge profile against the brighter sky. I should prepare for a sharp corner ahead. On closer inspection it is simply a change in soil colour and the road continues straight on. I should know this because there are no sharp bends on these roads only sweeping curves. My eyes and senses are playing tricks in the early morning light.

There's enough cloud in the sky to treat us to a spectacular display but not enough to shield the blast of the rising sun itself. We are travelling due east and a new choice presents itself. The changing light leaves us as blind as the dust. Keeping your eye on the edges of the very wide road is essential. It is the most distinguishable thing in the field of view at the moment. I understand now why leaving at four is so often talked about. It is so obvious to everyone else but I didn't have a clue, till now. But hey, had I known and we'd left earlier, we would have missed a feature sunrise.

By the time we reach the bitumen we have full daylight. As we hit it I have a pang of regret and a flash of fear that I will forget everything and fall back into city sleep. I search for something to hold on to, but there is nothing. Now is a new moment.

The rose red sunrise

offers a moment

to remember.

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