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 September-October issue of 2003. Length: 2600 words |
Curse of the Nullarbor Nullarbor, Nullarbor, Nullarbor. It’s on everyone’s lips, though few dare to speak its name. It howls across the windswept plains, conjuring images of fear into the hearts and minds and calves of cyclists. It is unrelenting. It is unforgiving. It is… not as bad as all that. Rule Number One: Never take cycling advice from anyone if you can’t see their cycle nearby. It has seemed that the Nullarbor Plain is the bane of city-dwelling motorists. They can’t think of anything worse. As we passed through the populace of South Western Australia, we’d tend to end up in conversations like this: Local: “Flash bike! Where you ride from?”People... it’s not very bad at all. It’s not even slightly bad. It was actually pretty user friendly. I mean, there’s not enough traffic to cause stress or anger, but still enough to hitch a ride should you get injured or bored. The longest stretch without a roadhouse is less than 200km, there are water tanks along the way, and if you’re on a Penninger quincycle, you might even get a feed or two from a passing motorist who admires what you’re doing but wouldn’t be caught dead doing it himself. I think motorists hate it just because they can’t do it in a whole day, and there isn’t a Holiday Inn or a Macca’s along the way. (Sure, you may end up paying Holiday Inn prices, but it’s just not the same when it’s at Caiguna Roadhouse, and a sign out front that reads “Heater in Every Room” doesn’t necessarily mean that the heater is working.) As you’ll see, even if you’re just tiptoeing along at 8km/h on a quike, happy to sleep behind a bush, scheduling a month for the journey but really only taking 16 days, it’s a snap! Just make sure you check the wind charts before you leave… Day 1: Leaving Norseman After filling up all of our water bottles, wolfing down twelve Fair Dinkum Ham sandwiches, and wandering through the Foodland for one last time with an air of wistful sweet sorrow, it was time for us to take a collective deep breath and a sharp turn to the right. Contrary to our hopes, there was no sign welcoming us to the Nullarbor Highway, not even “Abandon all hope”. Nothing but a standard, government-issue green distance marker displaying the unfathomable stretch to the first roadhouse (189km), the state border (710km) and the next major city (Adelaide: 1986km). I don’t know about you, but when the distance to the next Wooley’s is higher than your top score on pinball, you think it’s going to be a rough month. Day 2: The First Stretch I took another look at the map today, and convinced myself that it’s not as bad as everyone makes it out to be. In fact, once we reach this first roadhouse, the worst is over. After that, it’s a roadhouse every day or two. No sweat! Speaking of sweat, water is a great deal less of an issue than we thought. Up north, where the weather never dropped below 40 (even at night), we were drinking 16 litres a day. We had to carry 60L with us between Halls Creek and Fitzroy Crossing, and we still ran out. Mind you, all the storage space we used for water up north is now being taken up by warm weather gear for those cold desert nights… Day 3: Out of the Fraser Range Three days on the Nullarbor, and our only question is: "Where is it?" From the way people talked about the Nullarbor, we could only assume everyone was talking about a 1200km desolate, grey wasteland, riddled with skulls and old rusty bicycles from all of the adventurers like us who tried and failed, but above all, absolutely NO TREES. Hence the name. What is it really? The same old gum trees and rolling hills of yesterhighway. Phooey. This Nullarbor is a sham, I tell you. Day 4: Balladonia Roadhouse Wow! Today we hit our 10,000th kilometre! What a feat! This is the moment we've been curious about for some time... the moment when our speedometer turns over to zero again. Not a row of zeroes, but just a single zero. Not nearly as impressive; it would have been cooler to have one of those 'E's like on a calculator when the number is just too darn big. It's like we've exceeded the manufacturers expectations of how far you're supposed to go on a bike. As a side note, why is it that we never hit a significant milestone outside of a Wooley's? It's always in a spot where we're forced to pretend that some portion of our normal supplies are a 'celebration treat'? "Wow, Aim! We made it to 10,000! We're going to get TWO tunas tonight. Good work!" Where's a broken-down refrigerated Arnott's truck when you need it? Day 5: The 90 Mile Straight Today we rolled onto the longest straight stretch of road in Australia! It's nice to have a sign marking the occasion; somehow it turns boredom in to excitement. Boredom in a car, anyway. I suppose to a motorist that driving for over an hour without a turn in the road could get tedious. On a bike (especially our bike) most roads feel turnless. There have been times in the past when I’ve been reading a book (yes, while steering), and realized we’re leaning to the right, thanks to a banked turn for 100 tonne trucks traveling at 110 km/h. Anyway, a sign for the 90 mile straight makes you feel like you're accomplishing something. It’s like a historical marker that reads, “This spot marks the only place in Australia where nothing significant has happened.” Day 6: Caiguna Roadhouse It has dawned on us, after somehow missing yet another water tank, that the Official Nullarbor Road Map put out by the Government of South Australia is one Official piece of crapola. I don't know who is giggling behind their bureaucratic desk in Adelaide, but the water tanks, rest areas and parking bays posted on this map are either missing entirely, or are 20-100 kilometres out of place. What did they do? Play Pin the Water Tank on the Nullarbor at the office Christmas party? Honestly, I think they drove the Nullarbor in an afternoon, and said, "Okay, what was that? Rest area? We'll put that about... here. And another one here... how many? Was that a water tank? Looked like a water tank. I'm putting tank here. And there were five rest areas between Madura & Mundrabilla... I'll just space them out equally to make the map easier to rea—was that another tank? I think it must have been..." I think all map makers should have to do their section of the route by bicycle. Then they'd understand how important accuracy can be. Day 7: Cocklebiddy Roadhouse Realized today that we have enough food to reach Eucla, but no further. Should exhaust supplies within 500km of the nearest Foodland. Begin rationing tuna. Considering eating Aimee's leg for sustenance. Not like she pedals anyway. Day 8: Nowhere (approaching the Middle) We're feeling great today. Contrary to what a lot of people have said (never listen to naysayers, they're not very positive) we're having a blast on this highway. It's a great confidence booster to be making some good distance and some real headway. The Nullarbor is ours for the taking! Hyah, camel! One of the reasons for our positive mood has got to be the roadhouses. Not because of them, mind you, but despite them! Up north, we were forced into using them. They were the only escape from the sun and heat, so we’d plan our mornings to reach a roadhouse by nine, and stick around until four in the afternoon. It sucked. But here, we don’t depend on them for anything. It’s kind of fun to cycle for two days, reach a roadhouse and say, “Ahhhh… Well, time to get moving!” Day 9: Madura Roadhouse Feeling less great today. It rained all night. And all morning. Thankfully, the Madura Roadhouse was right around the corner. Ruined a good downhill, but worth the hour-long stop to get our gear dry and watch an episode of Winnie the Pooh. I guess roadhouses are good for something. Tip for future cyclists: The Madura Caravan Park dryer will run indefinitely on one token. Day 10: Mundrabilla Roadhouse Why is it that as soon as I express my independence from roadhouses, one comes along and offers up a Truckie Breakfast Special? Definitely worth the stop. The staff actually smiles! Ever since the food shortage was calculated back on Day 8, I’ve been put in charge of food in charge of food rationing. I think it’s working out well. Sure, Aimee is constantly whinging about how hungry she is, and she occasionally gets tired of my insistence that she call me Food Boss and referring to myself in third person. Contrary to popular belief, Food Boss believes that a person can exercise for ten hours a day on six cherry tomatoes and half a can of tuna. But, Food Boss caved in today when we reached Mundrabilla when Food Boss saw the Truckie Special. Food Boss is not made of stone. Day 11: Eucla & Border Food Boss arrived at the South Australia Border, and rediscovered an untapped source of more food… the Quarantine Station! It had been so long since we’d crossed a border (over six months), we forgot about all the fruits and vegetables that go to waste in the border bins. We made a sign for the back of the bikes that read “We’ll eat your fruit!” It worked up at the Kununurra border, scoring us a bag of oranges and a handful of mangoes. Unfortunately, all we got along the Nullarbor was a bag of raw potatoes and some cauliflower. Not exactly feel-good food. Day 12: Nullarbor Plain National Park Today, we met a most interesting lady. Sarah and her blue heeler, Joe, are walking the Nullarbor. And we thought we were tough. Actually, the Nullarbor is the easiest part of her trip. This Swiss miss started walking at Alice Springs, crossed overland to Cairns, down the Great Dividing Range to Sydney, cut across to Port Augusta, and is now on the Nullarbor before tackling the Canning Stock Route and the Tanami Road back to Uluru. Needless to say, Joe is nearly dead. Day 13: Head of the Great Australian Bight Stayed in Gary’s room at the Nullarbor Roadhouse last night. Funny story about that. Yesterday, Sarah told us to say hi and thank you to a few people in our next few hundred kilometers. There was Gary, Paul, Alf, the three cyclists raising money for Arthritis, and a few others. When we pulled into the Nullarbor Roadhouse last night (in the rain), we asked for Gary. We met him, said thanks from Sarah, and got to chatting. Nice guy from Adelaide who moved out here to save money for a trip… forgetting that beer is $5 a bottle out here. Anyway, it was a miserable night, and the caravan park wasn’t much more than a car park, so Gary said, “Tell you what. Set up your tent, then come into my room, have a shower and a good sleep. They’ll never know.” Ahhh… This morning, after driving us out to the Bight and back for a quick tour, Gary waved to a fellow employee and called him over. “You guy should really meet Paul. He talked to Sarah the most while she was here.” Turns out, Paul was the one we were supposed to thank at the Nullarbor, and Gary was a Pommy cyclist going in the other direction who left three days ago. An amazingly lucky case of meeting the wrong Gary at the right time. Or the right Gary at the wrong time. Whatever. Day 14: Yalata & Nundroo Roadhouses That was it? The treeless plain is over? I don’t even think I got a photo. The Nullarbor Roadhouse marked the start of it, and it couldn’t have lasted more than a few hours. On a bike. On our bike. I feel ripped off. By the way, Yalata and Nundroo were both very friendly stops. Make sure you stop and ask them what YCWCYODFTRFDSTY means. I’m not telling. Day 15: Penong Those poor, poor people that start their Nullarbor cycling journey from this end. I can't imagine hitting a place like Penong as the first stop, and expect to keep in good spirits all the way to Norseman. It's too horrible. We drove into Penong today, the last stop in our journey before a Foodland. Sure, it had a roadhouse like all the other stops. It also had a pub. It had a hotel. A laundromat. A General Store! Book exchange! Craft shop! And the prices are all reasonable! Horrible, I tell you! It's horrible because at Nundroo, they only have a pub and a petrol station. Then by Yalata, all you’ll find is a restaurant and a take-away counter. The farther you go, the sadder it gets, until one afternoon you pull up to one of your scheduled stops expecting a roadhouse but merely finding an old man holding a bucket of water, of which you can't have any. Penong? Penong's a dream. A dream that won't last. Not for the next 1100km anyway. I'm just thankful we're ending our Nullarbor trek with Penong, instead of starting with a benchmark like this. Horrible. Day 16: Ceduna Success! It can be done! Sixteen days later, we roll into Ceduna, get ourselves one of those caravan park en suite cabins and shut ourselves off from the elements for a few days. All we wanted to do was watch some bad rural South Australia TV, make some popcorn and listen to the sound of rain hitting the roof of something other than the tent. Now that we’re finished, mentally we’re a little lost. After all, it’s as though the entire trip has been building and building toward this insurmountable obstacle (which turned out to be rather surmountable in the end), and now that it’s finished, we don’t know what to do with ourselves. It’s like a five year old who works himself into a frenzy until Christmas morning, then opens all his presents in under 30 seconds. Now what? Hey, if you’re a cyclist looking for my advice, here it is: If you’ve ever wanted to do it, do it. In the end, it’s not that difficult, you’ll feel incredible when you’re finished, and for the rest of your life… you’ve got bragging rights. “Sure,” you can say, “I’ve been across the Nullarbor. I even cycled it once.” Then watch the ladies line up. Or men, if you prefer. Sure, it may have been easy, but they don’t have to know that. |
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