What can be said about Leach Highway that hasn’t already been said about a roadhouse toilet? It’s desolate, filthy and you have an above-average chance of spending your time as the meat in a truck driver sandwich.
Leach Highway is the fluffer in the Perf arterial fuckscene. It was never designed to be the star, rather, it was designed to help large rigs glide towards their goal more effortlessly. At its eastern end, it forms an unholy alliance with the Tonkin Highway. This is an area of Perth where driving dreams go to die.
Unlike, Canning & Stirling, Leach has some big lane energy – between 4-6. Of course, more lanes doesn’t correlate to better traffic flow in Perth. Observing the carry-on of most Leach Highway motorists you will begin to understand the complete lane-illiteracy of the masses.
Every day, you will see a motorist who can’t believe they should have been in the left lane to turn left. So, instead, opt to push their way across gridlock traffic at the last minute. Are they baffled by the overabundance of choice? Or do they just not care? Maybe a bit of both.
You may be old enough to still be processing the nightmares you inherited from looking at the mannequin in the window of a house on North Lake & Leach. This blank faced spectre of death would often change costumes but was always most comfortable wearing the souls of its victims. Rough stuff.
Remember to pay your respects as you drive past the site of the old licencing centre. A fine institution that served many a southerner. It was taken from us too early. If you’re not a local you’ll know you’re close when you can smell tonnes of processed meat wafting into the air from D’Orsogna.
Of course, one of Leach Highways greatest downfalls is the impotent length of its turning lanes. There is no greater frustration than knowing that once the car in front of you veers into the turning lane you’ll have pole position to proceed straight.
Only for that car to block your roll to glory as the turning lane is full. Then you get cucked up the wazoo when you see another motorist flick into said lane to claim your spot. So close, yet so far.
It is important to develop coping mechanisms to deal with the general frustration of Leach because if you are riding this baby down to Freo you’ll need all the extra patience you can muster. Where Leach transforms into High St is not for the faint of heart.
Try to breathe deeply as you navigate the many obstacles in your way – trucks wafting the summery scent of sheep piss into your nostrils, shit drivers in hatchbacks of Notredame, dirtycunts rubbernecking at the junior netball, hippies, etc. Horrific.
Leach Highway in the night time is quite magical though. If you’re lucky, you’ll get to see a boy racer impress no one with their unnecessary acceleration from the lights. If you’re really lucky, you’ll see a premium raising, multi-car pileup involving drivers too focused on paying tribute to Paul Walker than on the road. Good times.
To make matters worse the lights are pitted against you. One does not simply reach 70kph before being struck down with the orange light of frustration. Resistance is futile. Long live Leach.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?