My car's fuel gauge is dipping lower as I drive out of Rosebery, but I pay it no mind. My trusty online map has flagged up a number of fuel outposts, so I speed ahead to Lascelles and its double-barrelled silo. Melbourne street artist Rone sought out people who had lived their whole lives in Lascelles, and found inspiration in the merry-faced Geoff and Merrilyn Horman. Their faces, bleached by the sun, now smile gently down on Lascelles.
30 miles further on, Patchewollock takes its name from aboriginal word 'wallah' meaning 'porcupine grass' – something like tumbleweed, somewhat fitting for this lonely place. Standing tall in technicolour is artist Fintan McGee's mural, a portrait of a local farmer with hay-coloured hair set against a periwinkle-blue sky.
I pull up by Patchewollock's sole fuel outfit and general store, where a hand-written sign urges me to call one of two mobile phone numbers. No-one's around. As I ponder a long night in Patchewollock, a lady rushes to my aid, advising that I'll likely make it to the town of Speed, just 12 miles away.
"I'll follow you with my jerry-can," she says, eager to help a stranger whose car is at risk of clapping out on a dusty country road.
The presence of my jerry-can-toting guardian angel acts as a talisman and I reach the Speed petrol station without issue. As she pulls away, she calls out, "Watch out for the emus". The buzz of the petrol pump at my hand, I ponder at how much, in this unforgiving landscape, one is totally reliant on human kindness.
My car kicks up a flare of ochre-coloured dust as I begin the drive back south. The road slices through clusters of silver gum trees, passing a few silos that are unadorned: they seem like blank canvases. With so many stories out here in Victoria's countryside, it can't be long before they, too, are given tales to tell.
Top image: Brim locals by artist Van Helten © Nicole Reed