Am I there yet?

A year ago, I developed Post Very Steep Road disorder after being tailgated by an enormous B double in my very small red car down the hell that is the Mount Lofty Ranges descent into Adelaide. If the Formula 1 driver is the epitome of the fluid confident driver able to take every turn with grace and elegance, I am the exact opposite, rigid and bricklike most aptly describing my driving style on the big bends.

In the recesses of my mind, I know there is a steep descent somewhere between where I am and where I want to be. I have poured over maps, plotting what seems an innocuous route. With sadly misplaced confidence I set forth on the last leg of my journey to the sun. It's not as steep as Mt Lofty but it is a substantial descent. I can only think "it won`t get worse than this "and as steepness goes, it doesn`t.

As road madness goes however the closer, I get to the endless conurbation that is the east coast of Australia, the heavier and more insistent the traffic, the more confusing the road signs and the more frustrating the failure to be in the right lane at the right time. The freeways and highways are beautiful, soft and silent under tyre, but by the time I follow one to Bribie Island (a whole peninsula away from where I want to be) and circumnavigate several huge and incomprehensible roundabouts I am beginning to flag and scan " vacancy " notices on accommodation with a wistful eye.

The gaudy herald of my prebooked accommodation announces its location. It looks unprepossessing next to its multistoreyed neighbours which are apartments, neatly painted and maintained. I have chosen this motel for its closeness to a river estuary with beautiful views along the coast. I stop to admire the views for a moment before checking in and am taken by the serenity of the scene and the family groups dotted along the shoreline clearly enjoying each other's company. I also note that nobody is on their mobile phone, nor are they photographing the scene or each other. This waterway feels tranquil, and I realise how rarely I find places that do.

My motel driveway is not at this moment, tranquil. A young man with an urchin under his arm and two small boys running wildly ahead of him toward the road is striding toward me venting his anger at the world and its inadequacies in a tirade heavily laden with obscenities. A car wheels in behind me, dispenses a small package to the young man and he and his little family disappear into the cabins which form part of this complex. I just feel so sad for them all.

The man at reception seems concerned that I am on my own and advises me that the motel is accommodating people who have housing difficulties. I reassure him that I have some understanding of people with challenging behaviour and potty mouths. He continues to seem concerned and gives me a card which reads " in case of trouble phone this number. "

It is unnecessary. My stay is uneventful, and the serene waterway provides the perfect place to shake off the last harrowing drive and reflect on the journey to date. Tomorrow, the final leg.