'I drove to Cape Peron', I will tell my friends when they've all returned from holidays. 'Beautiful place, well worth the drive' I will add.

But a lot is left unsaid. Let's start with the car. Old Caramella has just had an engine transplant. When I anxiously told the mechanic that the new engine developed a rattle he looked at the car (which admittedly is probably the most weatherbeaten jalopy in Carnarvon) and then advised me to turn the radio up louder. But it is lugging Maison Roofrack around. While the Southwesterly is howling at Gnarloo, rocking Caramella on her suspension, I lie luxuriously on blue satin while sipping wine and reading a book. It now also sports a small fridge- which cost its weight in gold. But while driving through the featureless bushy plains, on a straight ribbon of bitumen bisecting the horizons, still sweating with all windows open- that's when that ice-cold Pepsi Max is nectar. And besides, there's no other way to prevent Nicorette Gum from stubbornly sticking to its plastic bubble. I refrigerate my supply.
I've rigged a Diskman to play over the speakers. There's a collapsing picknick-table, a deck-chair, a cooker and a gaslamp aboard. Between the roo-bar (two kangaroos and an emu have suicided themselves on this contraption) and the radiator is my large barbeque-grill and my ego-enhancing tongs. And with beer, wine, water, Pepsi, food, fuel, kiteboard, surfboard, three sails, wood, charcoal, snorkelling equipment and catch bag, fish-spear, fishing rod plus lures, at least four books and a pack of cigarettes- you can parachute me and Caramella anywhere on earth and I'll be fine for a week or so. Somewhat miffed if it's not near water, though.

So enveloped by all this I headed off. It's 200 k's (four cans of Pepsi) to the Overlander Roadhouse, turn right, 140 k's to Denham. I fuelled up and had a quick windsurf there to admire the town from the sea's perspective. Denham is a small fishing/ tourist place in Shark Bay. All of Shark Bay is shallow, but near the coast there's a ledge of either white sand or tiny white shells extending 500 metres offshore. Water gets this beautiful yellowish tinge over these expansive shallows, only to merge with the aquamarine skies in the distance. And there are seams of iron-ore, which are vivid red. Sometimes there's white surf, red rock, black bitumen, cobalt-blue sky and all shades of water in a single view. And the music gets changed to suit my mood. The most comfy chair in the universe is the driver's seat of Caramella, there's no hurry and besides- hurrying these distances doesn't help. It's still a long way, a large chunk of a day whatever you do.

I entered the National Park. 4WD only. There's no attendant so admission- and camping fees are left to the honesty of the visitor. I scrupulously fill in the details and even walk back to Caramella to see if I've got the registration right. I can't disappoint people who trust me. The track got sandier and deeper- changed to 4wd. The sun was setting. I'd driven for an hour over a bad track and had seen nobody. The map said there was a camping spot in the distance so I went on. Driving through ruts is quite absorbing, and time flies.
Despite all these beautiful beaches the designated camping spot was in ankle-deep red dust. But again, I can't disappoint the people etcetera so I pitched camp. Or rather, I tried to avoid pitching anything at all because everything outside the car became coated in tenacious red talcum-powder dust. Parked my deckchair on top of a concrete block, had a beer, contemplated my red feet, and watched the last bit of sun setting and the first bit of moon rising. Possibly no other people in a radius of 75 km or so. What if Caramella didn't start? Or if I got a nasty renal colic in the night?
The best defence is offence, so I downed another beer or two, cooked a scanty meal and stared through the fly-netting of Maison Roofrack at the surf which was silvery in the light of the moon.

This solitude (and it's been a week of this) should be a great Agar plate for deep and meaningful thoughts to grow and multiply on. But I'm happy to announce that I'm just like the rest of you- nothing out of the ordinary was extracted from the cosmos. I should add though, that in my experience D&M thoughts are best flushed out of hiding in a discussion. Most D&M feelings are also provoked by others. The best I can say of prolonged solitude is that it increases awareness of nature and one's role in it. Well, that's what it does for me anyway.

With a cup of coffee the next morning ( I cunningly brew coffee in the beercans of the night before, saving me having to lug a kettle around) I headed further North. It came to the point of 4WD Low Range. For the uninitiated, that's where owning Caramella pays off. Until I reached Cape Peron. There were two fishermen there, who warned me not to swim. They'd just seen a 3 ½ m tiger shark almost beach itself in pursuit of a ray
'Oh well... another shark' I said nonchalantly.
-'But this one is hungry; he didn't geet the ray!'

The men left. I parked my chair on a scenic spot and looked at the waves and froth of the sweeping tide around the cape. Got out my camera and spent a fair while getting the reds and blues and whites and what have you into pleasing composition. Crabs were picking at two inedible fish left by the fishermen on the beach. A gull scared them away. The crabs, with beady black eyes on stalks were OK as long as I didn't move- just pointing the camera sent them scurrying into the waves.

On the way back I stopped- oncoming traffic, and was immediately bogged. I deflated the tires; the last resort short of digging and a tow rope. It needed both.
I later helped some French tourists get unstuck. They turned around for the safety of Denham.
- Non, we are not confident! said one of them.
- 'You don't need confidence... there''s two other cars at the Cape who will have to pass on their way back... the worst that can happen is a day bogged in the bush...'
I tried to instill some sense of vastness into them. If you've got time, and water, and a book- who cares?
They never set eyes on Cape Peron.

And the next night I opened a bottle of wine on a beach, looked at my watch until midnight and saluted the stars, the world and all of you with my best wishes for 2002.

Kees