It was an interesting phenomenon, and one of the quirkier elements of our long drive west. We’re not even sure at what point it commenced but once we became aware it was omnipresent. I guess this is the nature of many phenomena – seemingly nowhere, and then {BAM} everywhere – think corduroy in the 70′s (and mid-90s), pop-balls in the late 80s, and bluetooth headsets in the neo-wank era.

And, like most fads, trends and taste defying fashion phases (think Normanby hotel on any myriad of Sunday afternoons in 2008 – I mean maternity dresses and fluoro-vomit-patterned-dress-boardshorts?), it ceased, abruptly.

At some point past Whyalla – maybe Wudinna, Ceduna, or in the proximity of one of the many silos, wheatfields or turnoffs that guide the way – drivers starting waving as we went by. As we progressed closer to the edge of the Nullarbor, the habit became much more consistent. By the time we were fixed on our black line to oblivion, with nary a spot of shade for hundreds of kilometres around, the probability of being waved at approached 1.

Like all things in life, there were a large number of variations:
* Hand held on the steering wheel with any number of fingers raised;
* Includes the single-digit salute, two finger peace sign and, rarely, the full fingers/thumb combo;
* Hand removed from wheel and held up but still;
* The enthusiastic ‘yeah man, we’re crossing the nullarbor!’ wave with jolly sideways oscillations;
* The driver & passenger combo; or
* Any of the above with a head nod or wink.

Regardless of form or gusto, the wave held a symbolism for me. It basically said,

‘We are aware that things go wrong out here and we’re just checking to see if everything’s cool with you; on the flipside, everything is cool with us.’ Or in some cases, replacing the latter half of the sentence with ‘Yeah man! We’re crossing the Freakin’ Nullarbor Dude! In a wicked camper with no aircon and a punctured spare tyre!!’

If I’m even remotely near the mark, I think it’s cool that the ‘perceived’ dangers of the Nullarbor (whilst only seldom experienced) help to establish a camaraderie amongst travellers of all ilks and destinations.

Then again, it could simply be something to break up the monotony of staring at a black asphalt, dotted lines and vast skies for as far as even the most long-sighted eye can see. Most feasibly, it’s a mixture of the two.

All I know is that past Norseman, when trees abound and water is plentiful, the phenomenon ends… Whilst most phenomena in the realm of fashion and pastimes are ended due to the passing of some point on the time (or common sense) continuum, the Wave Zone appears to have finite and well defined geographical limits.

So, if you should ever be heading out west, or into the desert (or into the heart of Lakemba) to a place where there is a collective awareness of a latent danger outside the chassis of your automobile, see if you notice the Wave Zone. Do as Storm and I did, and see how many fingers you can average, cursing the lazy beggar with a one-fingered go…

And take a can opener, because you never know when your girlfriend will get a hankering for tuna and tomato corn thins on the way….