The Road to Hell

It’s music. Here.

But someone tagged me, and it was about cities, towns, something Rudy built. Sorry, Jim, I don’t do the townscapes.

I was listening to music. The road to hell, to be precise, by Chris Rea. I love that music, it’s music for a constant traveller. There are others. I have favourites, and this is but one.

My nomad blood screams at me, calls me to the path of a wanderer, a wonderer, a ‘what’s around the bend’ traveller. This song does that, too. Reminds me of something out there.

The feet get that itch, the headspace can’t see what’s in front of it, the heart surges at the sight of a sun setting or rising, and walks the soul to the edge of the horizon.

I’m there, right now.

On the road with the music, imagining I’m on another road no one has ridden before, even if it is the road to hell. The wanderer in me needs a bit of a loose rein every now and then, a heavy bike, a 4WD, a tent or a swag. It’s winter, the bird wants to fly. Not to the warm sands or the noisy places, not where there are people. I seek silence, or —

… immersion. Maybe to stand on the edge of the untamed ocean, feel the roar of a storm, a wild tide, a sand-blast of winds across the barren scapes of nowhere, somewhere … out there.

Not here. Not there.

Is this the road to hell?


Yes, it’s called editing and rewriting – still going on my own road to hell, and dreaming of escape, of being anywhere but tied to the task … easily distracted but trudging on, as if a swaggie from the past, my roll on the shoulders and a string to hold up the belt. Nothing else matters, but to see beyond …


That’s the crush between a dribble and a wee, and nothing yellow about it. See you on the next round …

16 thoughts on “The Road to Hell

  1. I don’t know if it’s the road to hell but I’m feeling the same urge but with a different destination in mind. Wintery windswept beaches are all around me down here. The call I here is the call of the desert – not this year though for me so instead I’m thinking of how to do it next autumn

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes, I love the sight of the sun rising over the desert, especially Simpson Desert and Gibson Desert. I like the colours, the sounds, the smells of it. The emptiness, the freedom, the cleaness of the indrawn breath … oh, and Murchison. Love that region.

      Liked by 1 person

      • I haven’t been out as far as you. Mostly I’m a coast dweller yet in a way it’s the same. The wild coast in winter is all about the breath and how that cold wind tears away the locked, tired parts of the self. Still there is something about the desert that’s been calling me for years now. My goal is to get to Lake Mungo next autumn. Its been so long since my eyes were stretched out across empty land.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. I should be editing and rewriting. Got a pass from a publisher, the upside is I got lots of good feedback. The downside is, I just don’t want to do it right now. I will. I’ll get there, just not right now. Keep at it, Cage ๐Ÿ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

    • Getting feedback is high praise – the start of the road that leads somewhere.
      The editing – that takes me longer than the writing! And I’m prone to deleting great hunks and rewriting (it works, though).

      Liked by 1 person

      • That’s certainly the way to do it. I’ve heard it suggested that we cut draft zero from 80k words down to 20k, and re-writing back to 80. Second draft from 80 down to 40 and so on. It’s obviously not as systematic as that, but I found it to be a good guide for me. I’m at my fourth draft now on this ms, so getting there. The feedback from the publisher was amazing. I’m humbled she even took the time to read it, and to have such detailed feedback is incredibly generous (and helpful once I actually do something with it!). ๐Ÿ™‚

        Liked by 1 person

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