Day 18 & 19 – Great run into a rest day

Not a bad way to end the day

The run into Ceduna was the best surprise of the trip so far. For some reason I’d miss read the map for the last two days, and assumed I’d be heading southwest. With all weather reports showing strong southerlies, had prepped for crosswinds at best, headwinds at worse. Again the route was Northwest all day.

The wind was not right up my backside, but I’ll take it hammering up my left buttock and occasionally having to right the bike, over headwinds any day. It gusted so hard all day (and helped by starting earlier enough to ride the first 30 mins in the pitch dark pre-dawn) I made Ceduna two hours earlier than hoped. A very satisfying end to this leg of the journey.

Lunch a long way from anywhere

There is really not a lot to say about the scenery yesterday. Hills are down to almost nothing, and it’s just vast industrial wheat growing as far as the eye can see. Peppered occasionally by these little dusty villages huddled round the grain silos. It feels about as remote from big city life as you could get in the developed world.

Traffic has died down even further, and is more noticeably dominated by tourists. And it’s been amusing me what “real life,” you know the bit where you go to a job 5 days a week, get a house, kids and all the paraphernalia does to people. As it’s term time the only people on the roads are students and retirees. They are as enthusiastic as each other in their waving, tooting and generally being nice. In fact it looks and feels as though they are all on one huge trip together, all as excited as one another, but how they’ve prepared for the trip is gloriously different.

More seaside piers, obv

The retirees come past in their pristine compact 4x4s, hauling well maintained caravans, spare petrol strapped to the sides, plastic lock boxes on the roof, thermal coffee mugs in cup holders, sun hats on in the car, and all dressed like they are off to a golf club bbq.

Then the students come through in a wonderfully motley assortment of old vans, 90s saloons, 80s 4x4s,, windows open feet out, music blaring, camp gear flapping on the roof, occasionally surfboards strapped on any old way. Coffee cups, coke cans and road trip detritus cluttering the dashboard. Have little doubt few of them know where the catch for the bonnet is or how to change a wheel or where the next roadhouse is. They all have that glorious air of the best plan in life made on the hoof, in a pub, over a beer.

I envy them being in that slim window where you believe you’re invincible for a few years. And it’s fascinating because clear both groups are doing the crossing for the same reason, you can see the motives are the same. All “real life” seems to achieve is to make you a little more cautious. Personally also love the idea of these  same retirees waving off their grandchildren on big trips, assuming they are prepped up to the hilt. Little do they know.

Flashy frontage to hotel

Ceduna itself is a dusty little town of a couple of thousand on the shores of Murat Bay. It’s another of those places that has taken on a rather mythical relevance on the road. It is the point where without question I’m over half way to Perth. It is also the last service town of any size for over 700 miles, and it is the gateway to the Nullabor proper. It is also the first full day’s rest stop for a week. Getting here last night felt great, as did discovering the sports shop has all the cycle spares I need.

Crapy motel part

The motel is something of a disappointment sadly. Wanting to treat myself I’d booked into the smart looking (and annoyingly expensive) Hotel on the shorefront. Turns out the big flashy frontage masks a pretty average motel behind, but what a cracking view from the café at the front (see top).

I’m writing this looking at the same view after breakfast. Now it is then off to close out a long list of admin, and hopefully find the Japanese cycle touring couple I spotted yesterday coming into town. It’s the first people spotted on a bike in a week, and the first cycle tourers at all. Guessing they have come in from the other direction, so keen to get tips.

So that’s it. A day off the bike, in the sun by the seaside, an easy day’s cycling in here, and on the way to the finish line. Feels good.

For anyone reading this relatively regularly you may have noticed updates are coming in batches. Pretty sure it going to be this for a week. Internet is patchy round here.

Stocking up on essentials

Miles: 109 – Minnipa – Wirrula – Ceduna

Breakfast – Standard

Lunch – Cheese toastie, Yummy dried beef sticks, rather too many fruit pastille type sweets and an Almond magnum. – Wirrula Grocery store – Aware this is hardly going to win me Woman’s Own Nutrionist of the year, but bugger it I was hungry and those where the first things that appealed. The store cum post office, was just about the most remote rural place you could imagine, but the lady running it was very kind and friendly.

Dinner – Curiously disgusting grilled fish at the grandly titled “Bistro” in the hotel. Wanted fish, but not battered, so chose the grilled option. Bizarrely they had still covered it in batter before grilling it. Was really revolting and expensive.

Day 17 – Still Hilly

The slightly North Korean effort in Wudinna. They need to talk to Kimba,
the people just prefer rubbish concrete parrots, fact.

It’s calmed down a bit, but still been a hilly day to grind out rather than enjoy. A few things went my way though, but some piss poor planning meant the day ended 20 miles short of where it was meant to, resulting in a big trek down to Ceduna tomorrow.

It’s noticeably cooler as I got out on the road at first light. WiFi had packed up early last night, so hadn’t researched the weather properly. As the sun rose it became clear what was keeping the temperature down. 30 mins into the ride, I was confronted by a huge dense cloud blocking the road. Clear bright morning then a wall of cloud from the ground high off into the sky. For best part of an hour I rode through some of the thickest fog I’ve ever seen. Visibility was 15 metres tops, and all my clothes where damp from the moisture.

The hard shoulder has disappeared to almost nothing since Port Augusta meaning I’m now riding right out on the road. Usually this is little issue, but in this fog it was unnerving to say the least. Most of the tourist traffic clearly decided to wait, but I still rode along with my head sideways listening for any engine noise. As soon as anything came I was off the road and into the bushes to let things past. Sometimes it is just worth being a wimp.

But for all this I still made good progress in the cool of the morning. Combined with the fact I was heading northwest not southwest, the wind was tucked in behind me most of the day. I was into Wudinna for roadhouse lunch by 13:00, ahead of schedule and with well over half the planned day’s riding complete.

Roadhouse living begins

It was then thanks to planning or lack there of, my target slipped. Hoping for a more gentle ride into Ceduna tomorrow I’d planned to reach the little township of Poochera by the evening. Given the distances between towns here I’ve taken to calling ahead to check if there are rooms before setting off. Whilst carrying a tent, I’m pretty keen to keep it’s usage to the bare minimum. For whatever reason, I’d not bothered to call ahead to Poochera. Multiple attempts at lunch got through up a dead line.

The curious thing is the place I was trying to call was the Poochera Hotel, but in these outback towns that is the least reliable name for there to be an actual bedroom. These outback hotels are unique places. They function as pub, café, village hall, local casino, and if you are lucky have a dodgy room or two out the back with a shared bathroom. However the accommodation is an after thought, unless it is a “Hotel Motel” or a “Motel” with hotel facilities. It’s confusing.

Not really keen to ride an extra 20 miles to find nothing, I called the “Hotel” (which despite its name was a Hotel Motel. So confusing) in the village before Poochera called Minnipa. Three miles from Minnipa a motorcyclist rode up beside me and offered me a bed at his for free. Kind as the offer was, and I’m not proud to say it, but the tattoos right up over his face, and the fact he his motorbike was loaded up with “stuff [he’d] found on the municipal dump” slightly put me off. I passed on the offer.

How to spot a village

Minnipa itself was like every village here. Essentially one or two streets in dusty trees hugging a huge grain silos hard up against single track railway. Little green dusty oases in a sea of wheat fields, dominated by the imposing realities of industrial agriculture. The Hotel was dead when I arrived at 15:00, but more strikingly it was an almost perfectly preserved slice of 1985.

Nothing looked tired, just the decor, the lighting, the signage, the fruit machines, etc all looked 30 years out of place. It was as if the landlord has chosen to keep it that way in perfect nick, and when I came back through for supper it made sense. Everyone in the packed bar and restaurant looked like the prime of their life had been in the early 80s. They looked happy in a place where time had never moved on.

Whilst the landlord was helpful and friendly, unfortunately his views on race were 30 years out of date too. Whilst luckily I’ve not come across too much of this, when you do it’s hard to know what to do. Couldn’t have found his view on aborigines more stupid and narrow mined if I’d tried.

Sage advice in the roadhouse

But if he’s got to 70 holding them, there is little you can do to change his mind now and frankly on a bike out here I feel a little exposed to start a fight. Unfortunately the only real solution to these kind of views is they will die with his generation. I made my excuses and fled the bar, keen to just get away from hearing such idiocy. Sometimes it is not good to be a wimp, but you just kind of are.

Miles: 87 – Kimba – Wudinna - Minnipa

Breakfast – Standard.

Lunch – Ham wrap – Kimba Hotel packed lunch. Really not bad.

Dinner – Ham and pinapple. Not the first clue why I ordered this. It was rancid, made of formless water filled pork, like everything else it felt like something straight out the 90s.

Day 16 – Still and hilly

All rather depends where you are on the half full/half empty debate

Today has been a grafting day. With wind down to nothing its been all about chewing through the miles towards Ceduna. The above photo is obviously a good thing, even though 99% sure I don’t hit half way till tomorrow or Wednesday. And more importantly means I need to do the same distance again, which is a slightly less good thing.

The first 90 mins south out of Port Augusta was beautiful wide open, kangaroo and emu studded country, but was tempered by a head wind charging up the Gulf and by unthinking Monday morning traffic rushing towards Whyalla. One of those runs where you pull your head up from cursing and swearing you remember what a privilege it is to be up at dawn riding through the bush, framed by the Flinders range.

Well place juvenile graffiti is always a good thing

All changed from the second I took the turned off towards Ceduna. The traffic died away drastically, the Flinders Range disappeared in the mirror and it was out into proper bush. Not sure if I’m technically on the Nullabor yet, but it’s certainly not living up to it’s Latin translation. The bulk of the day was spent riding in thick forest as far as the eye could see.

I’m also most definitely not on the plain yet. The road rolled and rolled all day, which has it’s advantages, but by 16:30 I’d finally had enough of the sharp little peaks to each hill, and walked the last five. Which is always depressing.

There’s not much else to say on actual cycling, other than good news on the other drivers. It is noticeably a holiday crowd coming past, and overwhelmingly they are in a good mood. They give me plenty of room, wave, toot, in more that one case film me on their phones, and just generally make me feel welcome. Locals just seem more relaxed too. After 24 hours back on busy highways, it’s nice to be calm again.

The local attractions sound excellent.

Right think I'm done with lavatory 

humour for now

The highlight of the day was a lunch stop in the amusingly named Iron Knob. Had a sandwich I’d brought with, but stopped at the Post Office for a coke. It’s a tired old mining town well past it’s prime, and the wilderness reclaiming the town oval and pavilion kind of defines the place. There was a good plan once, but it’s been put out to grass.

Sitting outside the shack of a Post Office there was a constant stream of old men coming to collect post from their PO boxes. All talked to the postmistress as they did, and most had one of those strange accents where you can hear the old British tones under 50/60 years of Australian living.

One bloke was very friendly. Turned out he’d been brought up in Plymouth and moved here 50 years ago. He had that unique blend of the friendly and the reserved that is so distinctive to the west country. Guess he didn’t have a lot else to do today, there isn’t really a lot else to do in Iron Knob. So he kept me company for lunch. He wanted to know everything about the bike, and my plans, and obviously to give a view on tyre quality like every man who looks at a bike.

He put my mind at ease that lots of people do this route, and confirmed again what I’ve heard constantly. The Japanese are the keenest, and almost always on overloaded and poor quality equipment. No one seems to know why they are so into it, but they are.

A big crap concrete parrot. Top marks Kimba

He also was most concerned about what I thought about all day. Had to confess it I thought about a lot, and nothing really. And confessed that it is amazing how much of your thinking time in a day can be taken up by worrying how the bike is riding, if there are technical issues, and constantly calculating km to miles and visa versa hour after hour. All in, he made for good quality lunch company, and sadly never even got his name.

I’m currently holed up in the very sleepy town of Kimba, in a room at the back of another cavanerous pub, but the locals seem very friendly and amusing at the bar.  One more of these big days tomorrow and Wednesday, and then Ceduna and a break. Starting to really look forward to it.

Miles: 99 – Port Augusta – Iron Knob – Kimba

Breakfast – Standard

Lunch – Pre-bought Subway chicken sub outside the Iron Knob post office

Supper – Bacon and spinach pasta – Basically food today has been functional not a feature.

Day 15 – A milestone and a rest

Longest wooden pier in Australia apparently. No reason to question the stat.

When setting off two weeks ago reaching Port Augusta had been the target by this date. Making it has been very satisfying. There’s little to recommend it as a place, it’s really just one large crossroads straddling the creeks, but it’s the first or last town of size for people heading North towards or from Uluru and the Northern Territory, or West out across or back from the Nullabor.

Trains are cool (1)

It's full of bus loads of miners glad to be back with Subway, Hungry Jacks (Burger King here) and all other good corporate things, or people like me excited about heading off into the bush. It’s a place people pass through, a railway junction dressed up as a city. And whilst I’ve not had trouble, you get the feeling there are something not quite right here. For one the number of homeless is noticeably higher. But all in I’m happy to have made it here, and with only a half day of riding today, it’s been as good a place as any to relax for a few hours.

The morning's ride was fairly easy up the shoulder of Highway A1 (which I've realised I joined yesterday afternoon and will not leave for near on 1,000 miles. Quite a thought). The scenery was spectacular, with the Flinders Range to the East and Spencer Gulf off in the distance West. 

Trains are cool (2)

Even though it’s Sunday, the road was noticeably busier than the last few days, with the most unnerving thing being the vast mining equipment been transported inland to the North. Great diggers, drills and tyres overhanging the road trains' pallets. Even though almost all gave me a wide birth, it was unnerving seeing them disappear off into the distance with these vast objects hanging off over the shoulder at exactly cyclists' head height. The two exceptions were a bloke transporting the mega dumper truck tyres who felt uncomfortably close as he passed and another transporting two trailers of stinking camels who made no effort to give me room. Annoying exceptions to a generally good rule.

Market in Port Germain

The highlight of the morning though was a detour to the little village of Port Germain. As I passed the turning off at 08:30 saw a sign for the Sunday market, with time to burn today I decided on the spur to go and have a look. I'd almost pushed on and stayed here last night, and now seriously regret that I didn’t. It’s a gem of a place. A huge long fishing pier a km out to sea, a pub, a teashop and a thriving market in the old boat shed, and not much else, but in such a beautiful setting with a mellow pace to the place.

It should be more like
this everyday

Sat out with a latte, a bacon sandwich and a small orange cake, looking over the sea, Jack Johnson blaring out from the market speakers, I got a little glimpse of very different type of cycle touring. The sort I hope becomes part of life once the hunger for idiotic challenges is over. Ride a few miles, have a coffee, take in the view, relax. It’s a seductive picture. I left reluctantly.

Port Augusta has provided me with Aussies at their finest and oddest, but the good news is finally people are pretty neutral about cycling on to Perth. They’ve seen people do it before, and Syndey feels as far away again. Makes me feel like I’m half way there (which I’m not technically for two more days).

Lots of looking in the
mirror

So the oddest first. On the edge of two I pulled in at the detailed tourist boards, they have edge of all these  smaller towns, to get my bearings. Had not noticed a bloke sitting in the shade. After the customary g’day mate, he didn’t get back on with his own business as usually happens, but started asking me questions. He seemed normal till he came out the shade when it was obvious he was on something. He seemed uncomfortably interested in the details of my trip, interspersed with a running commentary on his beef with local police.

By this point I was trying to make my excuses and ride off, but he insisted he give me instructions on which road to take (which as I’ve pointed out above is at best irrelevant). Didn’t want to insult so went over to look at his road atlas. It was then I realised he was properly nuts. Scrawled all over the atlas was swear words, cartoons and angry comments about the police, his mother and other authority figures. I thanked him for his advice and legged it, hoping his parting farewell to “see me out on the road maybe” was just idle talk. I’ve moved my Leatherman tool which includes a knife into my topbag.

Carrots straight out
of Compton

Thankfully an hour later I came across the very best of Australia. There is only one bike shop in town. It’s closed because it’s Sunday, and frankly looked below average at best when I rode past. However research online yesterday had told me there was mechanic who can come out and fix your bike and provide you with supplies. The website had a home address, and after a quick call I agreed to run over to his house.

And what a decent bloke, he had the bike supplies I needed, at a reasonable price. We had a good chat about the bike and my plans. He looked at a couple of things for free, and told me it’s in some of the best condition he’s seen bikes come through heading West. Turned out he’s seen loads of people like me come through (oddly mostly Japanese) and 15 mins which he kindly gave me on a Sunday afternoon where just what was required to settle my nerves.

Although technically the Nullabor crossing starts after Ceduna, tomorrow very much feels like the next phase of this journey. I’m excited to get started.

Motels are a unique class of bleak

Miles: 61 Port Pirie – detour to Port Germain – Port Augusta

Breakfast – Standard, but they provided no toast. Turned out to be no issue. Bacon sandwiches and cake sorted me right out at Germain

Lunch – Greek salad and chips at the pub over the road. Average at best, but the waitress was a sweetheart and chatted away and wished me well.

Dinner – Chicken spaghetti at the same pub. Average.