The door of the dust-crusted semi-trailer swings open and Kym Mozol emerges, grinning and weary.
The truckie clambers down, gratefully accepts a mug of instant coffee and pulls up a plastic chair to enjoy a rare moment of peace in the soft dawn light of Australia's largest desert.
For the past 14 hours he has been knocked, bumped, bounced and shaken, steering the vehicle through the night along the "rough as guts" track from Ceduna, on South Australia's Eyre Peninsula, to Tjuntjuntjara, 650 kilometres east of Kalgoorlie on the West Australian side of the Great Victoria Desert.
It is a mammoth journey for the solo driver dodging "dopey camels", often changing multiple tyres and avoiding the thick, sticky mud where he was once bogged for eight long weeks.
Yet without Mr Mozol's efforts, life in Tjuntjuntjara may grind to a halt.
He brings the only delivery of groceries to the community's only shop, returning every fortnight to refill the shelves.
"Not many people would like it, I don't think," he said, smiling.
"But if you like the outback, it's just a part of everyday work."
'You take a punt'
Mr Mozol is first and foremost a farmer, with wheat, barley, oats, cattle and Merino sheep on his property near Ceduna.
He has spent his whole life, apart from a few years away shearing, living in the South Australian town, which he believes is greatly underrated.
"Not many people want to come out there," he said.
"I don't know why.
"The beaches, fishing. It's a beautiful spot."
When he was about 30, he discovered truck driving helped pay the bills, particularly during drought years.
He has since run triples up to Darwin, carted grain around most of the country and carried demountables to mine sites.
But few routes are as isolated or challenging as the fortnightly journey to Tjuntjuntjara.
Although he rings ahead to check the conditions, he often hangs up none the wiser, as so few people drive the track.
"So you take a punt and head for it and see what happens," he said.
About four years ago his vehicle got so bogged that even another 400-horsepower truck could not pull it out.
He spent four days in the mud before giving up.
Tjuntjuntjara community members came out with trailers on the back of their cars to save all the food, and extra supplies were flown in by plane.
"We just had to wait until it dried out eight weeks later," he said.
"[Then] we came out with a D6 dozer and lifted it out."
The camels are another frustration, particularly when they run in front of the truck, beguiled by his head lights.
"You just got to switch the lights off and sneak past them," he said.
"Else they might end up in the bunk with you."
Wombats, kangaroos and the odd group of travellers, requesting water or a box of matches to make a fire, are virtually the only others he comes across on the journey.
Cam Dumesny, the CEO of the Western Roads Federation, said few people in metropolitan areas realised just how hard truck drivers worked to supply areas like Tjuntjuntjara.
"It's a tough breed of men and women that do it," he said.
"[Truck drivers] are critical to their ongoing sustainability as communities."
Yet in spite of the trials, Mr Mozol said the trip does have its perks, particularly when rain coaxes flowers onto the otherwise barren landscape.
"Sturt's Desert Pea takes your eye when it's out in flower," he said, recounting the deep red and black of South Australia's floral emblem.
It also provides a much-needed distraction.
With too much rocking and rolling in the cab for music or podcasts, Mr Mozol said he spends most of the 28-hour return trip contemplating his ever-growing to-do list.
"I just talk to me self," he said, laughing.
"About farming, what else I've got to do.
"There's plenty of things to think about."
Hard work
Coffee drained and feeling more alive, Mr Mozol is on his feet with a band of local helpers, unloading enough food to feed more than 100 people for the next two weeks.
Cans of tuna chunks in brine sit on boxes of spaghetti spirals. Slabs of bottled water are stacked under tins of braised steak and onions. There are big slabs of meat, cans of beetroot, juice boxes, soft drink, corn flakes, eggs.
For more than an hour they work, placing goods onto the forklift, lowering them out of the truck, driving them to the back of the shop and unloading it all in the storeroom.
After a break and with little fanfare, Mr Mozol is then back on the corrugated track, rattling his way home again, where more work awaits.
