My daughter is learning to drive and I have the scary responsibility of instructing her. Since a loose gravel surface was the cause of my motoring undoing a few years back, I am aware of the risks of driving on dirt roads. As my hubby has already tried to educate her on the physics of kinetic energy, friction coefficients and possibly atomic fission, all I’m left with is the simpler portion of the teaching which includes such commands as, “Watch out for that magpie,” and “Think about changing gears.”

So we drove to Warwick the other day, on the best route possible - that is, along the Mount Lindesay Highway (or Road, depending on your generation and memory) and then the Cullendore Road across the border. We could have driven on the New England Highway but that to me, is boring as can be in terms of scenery, and just a mite terrifying with all those trucks barrelling along. Boring – terrifying. Those two concepts at once do seem contradictory but even if you can’t accept that they can occur in the same journey, you’ll know that both are negative experiences.

I really do enjoy driving along the Cullendore Road, with its hills and curves and bushy paddocks. There’s a vista that presents itself after you’ve crossed over the Maryland River and have climbed the rise following some cattle yards and a couple of causeways. One minute you’re struggling to avoid potholes and watch out for potential oncoming traffic around blind corners, and the next… you see the earth fall away and paddocks roll down across verdant slopes towards the distant line of the Great Dividing Range. Often there is mist still nestling in the low-lying areas and this shimmers in the morning sunlight. This is the mid-journey reward and buoys you on for further travel.

The surface of a dirt road is a dynamic thing – shifting and changing with time, after different weather events, and under the pressure of a varied range of transport. This is something to be wary of, the unknown. Quite unlike the bitumen road experience, where everything is sealed and engineered to be as safe and bland as possible for the driver. Plain black surface, neatly measured lanes for comfort and reassurance, and in the case of really smooth new laneways on the expensive routes around Brisbane, the trip can seem as mellow as riding an escalator in an empty shopping centre. Many, many drivers relish this sort of road, for the driving experience is controlled and the driver is the one in charge. You can go as fast as you want, to get where you need to go on time, and nothing is in your way. A bit like the life they usually strive for.

I read a poem about dirt roads by Philip Hodgins who noticed the same thing. While the sealed bitumen surface numbs you with its monotony, a dirt road has a sound and texture of its own that lives and interacts with the driver. The dirt is a malleable slate that records the passing of visitors such as the wriggle of a snake or the wobble of a bike tyre.

Something we need to realise when driving on dirt is that we are not in control. We can try to be, and drive as defensively as possible, but the road is narrow with unknown obstacles beyond the next bend. There are changes that we can’t predict, like a new hole opening up near a drain, or a branch lying across the road. The dirt road is often the trickier one to navigate and like Robert Frost wrote, is the road less travelled. It is the road of uncertainty and risk, but one of discovery, excitement and beauty. I know which one I would prefer. 

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