Road kill Tour isn’t about moaning about the past.
That’s just too time consuming.
It’s about embracing the now.
Like  where the fuck am I going now.
Broome was in my sights.
Outside, things were heating up.
I could get a tan now.
I was still doing my isometric exercises.
I had a walking stick which I used to control the accelerator.
That freed up my legs for sit ups.
Sit ups at 140 kph.
A first, I guess.
The roads are straight and underpopulated.
It’s important to work on circulation.
There’s the risk of moulding into the contours of the seat.
Some never escape.
They become part of the car.
They actually melt into the seat.
Never to be seen again.
It wasn’t going to happen to me.
I still wanted to work out my biceps.
I might have been banned from my gym.
But that was no reason to not work out.

Sleeping out of my car was becoming second nature.
I’d be saving myself a fortune on this drive across the continent.
The car sucked up lots of fossil fuel.
A rainforest somewhere in the Middle East, was fueling this trip.
I was burning fuel from trees that died over a million years ago.
And the further north I went, the higher the price got.
Once I hit the Pilbara,  I was paying four bucks a litre for diesel.
Cough up or shut up.
I’d need a few back up fuel tanks.
Twenty litres by three.
Eighty bucks.
I’ll take it. Heading north of Broome, petrol stations became even more scarce.
For some reason, they also closed at 6 pm.
No worries.
Carry your own fuel.
It stunk the car out.
There was no airing out 60 litres of diesel.
I was fine with that.
I could now drive another 1000 kilometres.
On top of  a fuel tank, that gave me a range of 1600 km.
I was sorted. Norther Territory was looming.
Close.
Looming larger than life.
From Darwin to Perth, it was a four hour flight.
And now I was heading that way.
I still hadn’t reached Kunnarra.
Cunt-a-nurra, was my crude nickname for this agricultural town.
It got laughs all the fucking time.

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