A lighter shade of dust

Midnight Oil sung about it, and I'd be warned about it - the dreaded red dust of the north.
It gets over, under, in, out and through absolutely everything, including the double-sealed doors of my, ahem, 'desert rated' 4WD.
Obviously the novelty of being up north hasn't worn off, because I must be the only person who likes it. I'm happy sitting by the side of the road waiting for the dust to settle and visibility to return after a road-train passes in the opposite direction (current record: 13 minutes, 22 seconds) and there's a certain childish charm about seeing your once-bright-white vehicle turn a flat shade of rusty brown.
Sitting in the carpark of the Tennant Creek Hotel, I get the sense of an unspoken rivalry as to whose car carries the most dust; tangible proof of who's travelled the furthest, roughest or most remote.
Despite over 600kms of dirt tracks, and dust from one end to the other, my car doesn't even come close.