Day 283 | bushcamp 70km from Kalgoorlie: and looking forward to a choice of supermarkets

113 km | Heading west total: 13,479 km

I think that I used to be a pretty generous type: giving of myself, (except to my family), generally thoughtful and helpful to people or clients and caring, loving and supportive to my partners.

But I’ve become less generous on my travels, there’s a hard world out here. It’s got to the point where I don’t usually acknowledge oncoming 4WDs but self preservation keeps my waving to the road train drivers. On this highway there are twice as many trucks as cars and no tourists.

I’ve banged on ad nauseam in this blog about the interrogations I undergo. (Yeah, people walk up, ask 8 or so questions, maybe listen to the answers, or not, and then walk off leaving you drained. You’ve been given not one jot of information, or warmth, from them.)

I’ve realised how ungenerous the real world is.

A few cans of Coke or beer, a sandwich here and there, an old apple.

Occasionally there’s some generous company: Ahn and Chee, Sebastien, John in Nitmiluk, and once the wonderfully generous Jan.

A cheery woman, Julie, took my order at the Menzies roadhouse. Yes, a second breakfast of bacon and eggs, $10 with an instant coffee for another couple of bucks. It was before 10 am so what the hell and out here, a long way from not much, a diner’s brekkie is designed for truckies: it’s usually a great deal.

The eggs come fried or scrambled.

I ask for poached. (What roadhouse can’t do a poached egg?)

She says she will do what she can.

A huge plate comes out filled with half a loaf of toast, bacon (half a pig) and eggs. There’s a mound of scrambled eggs in the middle.

They have tried the poached species but they didn’t quite work out.

You know things are getting desperate in your life when you are thankful for getting a couple of extra eggs that look as if they have exploded in a microwave.