Day 28 - Back to reality

Dusk arrival into Coolgardie

Have decided not to go back over yesterday. There’s not a lot more to say. Met a nice couple from Macau cycling East, and drivers were decent to a fault, not really much a lot else to add.

If getting to Norseman left me a little demob happy it was almost done, today brought me crashing back down to reality. All weather reports said it was going to be a tough, but really wasn’t prepared for what’s just happened. And the motel manager didn’t help matters.

More good signs - Finally have
km count down to Perth

Rather than share local knowledge she called me an idiot within seconds of meeting. Unfortunately this is not the first time on the trip. A too large minority out in the sticks believe handing out crass insults makes them some sort of straight talking bush oracle, breaking down fay city manners.

But calling someone you’ve never met an idiot does not make you a bush oracle, it just makes you rude. A rude, parochial and small minded jerk, especially if the person in question is tired and sore from the road and apprehensive about the day ahead. To top it off, she then sniggered at my questions about hills and roads, saying there was “only one” I needed to worry about. She was wrong.

"Lake" Carson at dawn

There were hundreds of hills I needed to worry about, all day long. It barely stopped from the start to the finish. Short sharp hill after short sharp hill. One 103 miles of pure cycling pain. Then there was the weather. Every weather report said the wind would be against me, they didn’t lie. For four or five hours it was so strong you even had to pump the pedals to go downhill. I was blown to a standstill again and again. Oh, and it was hot. Really really hot. 40 C in the sun, maybe more. Then to finally ice the pain cake there was 30 minutes of curiously cold rain that drenched me mid morning, pushing the humidity up unbearably till sundown.

It was a grim and violent experience, not remotely improved by the fact WA government are mid way through ripping up the entire road. Multi mile stretches were the roughest grade tarmac.

And the road was almost all twists and turns. In a country were people are used to the space and the one mile lead time endless long straight roads, this meant I was cut up all day often by screeching road trains.

Even the scenery was a disappointment. With this part of WA deep in drought all the lakes that are meant to make this a beautiful ride were dried up. All that was left were strange sandy moonscapes over which the wind rushed.

Guest the customer base must
overlap

This was gritty cycling from first light till dusk, when I finally limped Coolgardie. It’s a curious and intriguing little place, and wish I’d got here hours ago. It’s a scruffy ex-gold mining boom town, with roads and buildings laid out for a much much bigger city, which never came as the gold rush moved on. Modest ramshackled homes line the great wide road at generous intervals, peppered with great solid Victoria government buildings and taverns that suggest a greater place and abandoned shops in the high street that never came. It’s cinematic in a dusty sort of way.

All in it was tough day, physically and mentally. After ten continuous days cycling my body make it’s displeasure known, and 04:00 wake up are doing little for my mental breaking point. Howling at the wind in an outback forest, was not really how I envisioned the final run in to Perth. At points it was a proper strain to keep my mind in some sort of calm equilibrium that’s key to getting through days like this.

Everything says tomorrow is looking favourable. Here’s hoping And the motel tonight are charming to a fault (and great cooks). Going to write today off as the grit that makes the finishing sweeter. Glad it’s over, but oddly not unhappy it happened.

Part of Coolgardie's high street
that never was

Miles: 103 – Norseman – Coolgardie.

Breakfast – Standard in the petrol station. Good company.

Lunch – Ham sandwich, crisps and mars bar at the tired roadhouse at the excellently named Widgiemooltha , run by a really decent bloke.

Dinner – Sweet potato soup and Butter chicken curry, Both delicious, really delicious. The manager here is really sweet, kind, and a cracking cook. The best of Australia, reminding me what the overwhelming majority of the brilliant people in this country are like, outweighing the occasional berk like the manager last night. Good end to a dreadful day.

Thank you

Thank you very much to everyone who has kindly donated already.

All donations to the excellent work the MS Trust do are hugely appreciated.

This is the link again to the just giving page:

http://www.justgiving.com/William-White4

Thank you in advance

Day 27 – Update delayed due to technical difficulties

No concrete, tin roof camels on a roundabout are a very acceptable
alternative. Norseman knows what the people like.

Right. Can’t face fighting this internet any more this evening. Will give it another go tomorrow, but it’s good news today. 120 miles of hills, heat and flies, and I’m the spec of a town called Norseman. 9 days since Ceduna, and I’m back in a civilisation of sorts; shops, houses, cars, people, that kind of thing.

Less than 1,000 people in the middle of the outback makes for a strange little place, but it feels good to have made it here. Ceduna to Norseman is the classic Nullabor crossing, feels like an achievement.

More details tomorrow hopefully.

Day 26 – Straight up fun

Beginning of something cool

Ever since starting to plan the trip there is one day I’ve been looking forward to. Today. Someone (thanks PB) showed me a photo of them in front of the sign above. It was the first time I’d ever heard of the Nullabor, and it stuck me as a properly cool. Know it sounds dumb but the thought of riding 90 miles without turning left or right seriously appealed. London to Oxford and back without moving the handlebars, quite a thought.

Like it that much took a pic of myself
with it. Not sure why so serious

It didn’t disappoint. Was only out on the road just before sunrise, even though this will be the longest unsupported crossing of the whole trip (I’d been woken at 04:00 by the lady sleeping in a saloon filled with teddies parked outside started playing Elvis love songs. Odd place the Nulla). Probably should’ve been up earlier, but the snake yesterday has given me the willies, and I’m a little less bullish about rides in the dark now. Wet, but true.

The 90 mile straight starts right by the roadhouse. The wind was constant and straight up behind me and the temperature was down so low, I was almost cold at points. Perfect condition. Decided it would be cool to do the whole thing in on, so I got on the bike at 05:20 in the morning, and at 13:20 exactly I hit the first corner of the day. Other than mini stops to decant some water from the bottles in my bag, I didn’t stop cycling and didn’t turn the handlebars for eight hours cycling. Straight up cool.

It warmed up suddenly around midday, and one or two drivers were trouble, but basically I locked in and rode like almost robotically hour on hour. Trees last night where a false dawn, and it’s still vast open plains with odd trees here and there, but it never really changed. It was hypnotic. I lost the sense of time after a while. Your mind drifts all over the place with that little to occupy it, and I was glad to see another vehicles or hit a pot hole just to bring me round. It was an awesome thing to do, and a perfect conditions for it.

0.1mile before 1st turn

Once off the road started to twist again there wasn’t much to talk about. It was 25 miles of pretty basic riding, back onto rolling hills and thick forest. For some reason I still didn’t fancy stopping lunch, and pushed on through. With eight odd miles to go, I was starting to regret locking myself into a dumb macho challenge, but fate had one more little gift up it’s sleeve. Out of the haze came the eleventh cyclist I’ve come across heading East. A nice bloke called Peter from Cambridge who was onto his sixth month of a world tour. He whipped out a pack of ginger nuts as we chatted, and two saw me through perfectly to late late lunch at Ballidonia, the last remote roadhouse before I’m back into towns from tomorrow.

The run count of cyclists is three Japanese in a group, three French in a group, one Norwegian round the worlder, and four Brits (three of them round the worlders and one over 70). Makes you kind of proud, bar the bloke with the carriage, can only assume Aussies go for it in the cooler months. Still hoping to bump into the three ledgends everyone tells me are a few days ahead. Two 85 year old yanks on bikes, and a bloke who is walking across the country dress as a stormtrooper from Star Wars. Would really top off the trip to catch up with him tomorrow.

Because some people asked how long
it is. Big, but not Blessed

The Nullabor a strange old place no doubt, would make a fitting end to the crossing.

Miles: 112 – Caiguna – Balladonia

Breakfast – Standard

Lunch – Streak sandwich at 15:30 on arrival. No idea why I didn’t go for the chicken sandwich I had.

Snacks – Jelly beans and an energy bar. Despite the awesome young German family crawled along side me so they could all lean out the window to offer me lollipops from the front and back windows, decided this was enough sweet stuff for the day. Felt bad as the kids were so keen I take them.

Dinner – Pasta with chicken. Very bored of pasta (and not really a fan at the best of times) but does seem to work energy wise the next day.

Day 25 – Finally off the plain

Another good sign - Final time zone

There’s no denying it, I’d slightly lost the love last night. And waking up this morning didn’t change matters. Madura roadhouse was just too weird. In dusty trees hugging the bluff, it had the sad air of a place the world had moved on past. Nowhere had seen a paint pot in 30 years, and the owner and his wife looked tired of the whole thing. They just looked like they’d given up the fight starting with their appearance.

Roadhouse are surreal

He had Just for Menned his moustache Day-Glo blonde and offset the whole look with a sweat stained Swansea City FC baseball cap, whilst his wife's ample backside seemed to be in a titanic battle with the black leggings and skin tight polo shirt combo she’d decided for appropriate for her age and frame. The bar was covered in dog eared laminated A4 print outs of crude jokes from 70s TV and pictures of trucks on the pass in the 60s (including four b&w pics of one full of dead rabbits). It was a surreal, god forsaken, fly ridden place. Like being stuck in a macabre farce for 16 hours of your life.

Lies. Most kangaroos are
roadkill.

I swatted my way out at dawn, happy to be moving on.

Luckily, in contrast, today’s been a good day. Having hauled myself up the pass back onto the plain proper, it was, well, plain sailing. The wind was largely in my favour, the temperature is right down, and found I was chewing through the miles, with time enough for a half an hour lunch stop at the awesomely named Cocklebiddy roadhouse.

There really isn’t anything new to say about the landscape, but it does finally feel like I’m pulling off actual the Nullabor plain. Hills and trees proper started appearing by the end of the day. After nearly a week of plains with the odd scrappy clump trees here and there is a relief. And the roadhouse at Caiguna tonight is a world away from the last few days. Gnome garden and standard aggressive signs everywhere (the customer is definitely not right out in the bush) it’s clean, modern and well run.

Nullabor Links - Longest
golf course in the world

It’s been interesting being out in the Nulla. The space and sense of remoteness is hard to convey in words. And the highway itself is a properly unique place. Without towns, it basically one huge constantly changing town for miles and miles. Everyone acknowledges each other, people stop to ask you if you need water and check you’re alright, and the same cars, trucks and caravans come past you waving and tooting day after day, as they stop and move on at different paces.

To prove the point, nearly at Caiguna, the backpacker couple who had been in charge at Nundroo six days back, came steaming past in a 90s saloon having finished their stint there today. Spotting me they pulled up in the dust by the side of the road, waited for cycle past, leant out and asked if I needed anything.

It’s unique and very cool, but think I’m done now. I can suddenly feel Perth within reach, and keen for this part of the journey to be over. And with two days over to the town of Norseman, the first in days, it feels real finally.

A solid day’s cycling all round  (Although slightly tempered by seeing a live snake lounging by the road. First live one of the trip, but still - Pee stops were a little unnerving after that).

Tree finally

Miles: 97 – Madura – Cocklebiddy – Caiguna

Breakfast – Standard

Lunch – Good steak sandwich and crisps at Cocklebiddy

Supper – Another package of food sent forward from Mildura has arrived. It included a trekkers’ freeze dried beef curry. When rehydrated, was delicious, and beat another roadhouse special. A white Magnum for pudding, because no one’s here to tell me not too.