There’s a unique and irreplaceable feeling, that I associate with driving a vehicle, that no other thing can replicate. The tyres on the road, the weight of the steering wheel in my hands, the gentle sway through every bend; it’s more than just movement. It’s a kind of meditation. For me, driving isn’t just a method of getting from point A to point B.
June of 2024, I found myself craving that familiar feeling, the stillness that only comes while in motion. I wasn’t looking for anything flashy, no big plans or checklists. Just a long, moody drive through Victoria’s Yarra Valley, with nothing but the road ahead and my lens riding shotgun.
Now, the Yarra’s usually all about wine tastings and sunny vineyard lunches. But I’m not much of a wine guy. What drew me there was something else entirely, the winding roads, mist-covered hills, and the subtle textures of winter in the country. It was cold. A sharp, lingering kind of cold that sank in as soon as you stepped outside. The temp hovered at around 6 or 7 degrees for most of the day, and light rain followed me for some of the journey. Not ideal picnic weather, but I guess if you’re just out for a drive, then it doesn't matter too much.
The trip up to Marysville and back isn’t short, and the route winds through a handful of quiet towns and endless ribbons of alpine road. But what makes drives like this special isn’t the “big” stops, it’s the little things that catch your eye when you’re not even looking.
Like the way old vehicles sit half-forgotten in country driveways, flanked by long grass and rusted mailboxes. The kind of scenes that look like they’ve been paused in time. Or the shop fronts you drive past in small towns.
There were barns tucked away at the end of gravel paths, wooden garages with stories in their timbers, and hills cloaked in mist that gave the place an almost cinematic vibe. I stopped the car here and there, each time tempted by a visual itch I had to scratch. A photo of some bare trees. A country house with a long driveway that seemed to disappear into the distance. Ferns growing wild along the roadside like they had their own agenda.
There were stretches of the drive where the rain eased off, and the sun broke through the clouds for a moment or two. Just enough time to catch a soft glow across the mountains or cast some shadows through the trees. Then it’d slip away again, as if it had someplace better to be.
That hot drink looks really good about now…
It’s funny how a long drive helps me clear the head. Something about the repetition, the sounds of the car, the turns, the flow of passing scenery, it allows the brain to wander without pressure. Ideas form. You process things without even realising it. We often ignore the ordinary, even though it’s always offering us something to see if we’d only pay attention.
That’s what these drives are for me. Observation. Not through a screen or from behind a desk, but in real time, in real weather. Studying the slope of a roofline, the curve of a road, the soft contrast between a dark forest and the grey sky above.
By the time I rolled back into familiar streets, I felt full. Not in the literal sense, no roadside food stops on this trip, but visually.
Driving, for me, is more than a pastime. It’s a lens through which I view the world, both in the literal sense, with camera in hand, and also metaphorically.
You don’t need a destination when the road itself becomes the experience.
