The long hard slog up and out of Adelaide is NOT to be underestimated. Some of the toughest cycling we experienced.

The sense of achievement which we felt at reaching the summit was quickly replaced with extreme frustration, as having zoomed off along an incredibly steep downhill for 5 minutes, we realised we had taken the wrong turning and were in fact heading back down to Adelaide via another route. Heading back uphill for the second time was made even more painful by the fact that the Adelaide Sunday drivers were out in force on the narrow winding roads.

Once we were back on track and on a quiet lane we were able to enjoy the beauty and peacefulness of the Adelaide Hills. The morning’s exertions had taken it out of us though and when we happened upon a sleepy little village with a pub offering $12 schnitzel night we found our motivation expired completely. The landlady kindly offered a section of lawn for us to set up our tent and we soon retired to the pub to indulge in a guilt-free feast of schnitzel like only a cyclist can.

Stepping into the bar area, we knew we would be in for a treat. The place was packed with locals; a sure sign that first, the food would be tasty as well as good value and second, we would be having some interesting conversations that evening. Sure enough, we were not disappointed in either respect. The highlight of the evening was talking to an Irish horse trainer who spent much of his time divining for opals in the Outback. He insisted on buying multiple bottles of wine for us to drink with him before stumbling off into the night to drive(!) back to Adelaide.

One of the sections we were most looking forward to in Australia was cycling the Great Ocean Road but first we had to cross the mighty Murray River and negotiate the breezy Coorong National Park – a flat, marshy coastal area devoid of human life but with an abundance of birds.

The Coorong

Although we had plenty of sunshine, the wind was cold and we found ourselves needing to stay in our Goretex jackets long into the mornings. The roads were long and straight but the traffic was light so it was a pleasant few days heading towards the state of Victoria.

Brilliant cycling on the cool mornings.

The first real town we arrived at in Victoria was the port town imaginatively named Portland. We had planned our schedule minutely at this point so that our arrival coincided with the quarterfinals of the Rugby World Cup. We booked into a motel with Sky Sports for two nights and proceeded to spend most of our stay living in the GMT time zone. After a particularly harrowing viewing experience watching Australia narrowly defeat Scotland and not managing to get to sleep until after 4.30am we decided that we needed another night there just to recover.

With our energy restored, we set off onto the first section of the Great Ocean Road. At one point on the first morning we recalled some advice we had been given – look up in the gum trees by the side of the road for koalas. Almost as soon as we had started looking, Steven spotted his first one. Then a few minutes later, there was another, this time with a baby on her back. It seemed that these creatures were pretty easy to spot.

The not so elusive koalas.

Another fascinating creature that we came across was the echidna; the only egg-laying mammals in the world alongside their cousin, the platypus. We came across them a few times marching sedately across the road and rolling into a tight ball whenever we came near.

The skittish echinda is a fascinating creature that you can sit and watch for hours.

As we progressed further, the weather turned on us and we were faced with savage winds and rain coming into our faces at right angles. We were joined by hundreds of other tourists at the Twelve Apostles and although it was a magnificent view, the crowds did not inspire us to linger.

The 12 Apostles and our bikes.

Later that afternoon we found ourselves climbing up a more than modest hill through a beautiful old rainforest. We emerged at the top in a tiny settlement called Lavers Hill; which felt a little like the village that was left out of the tourism marketing campaign for the Great Ocean Road. Everything was a bit run down, especially the local pub/roadhouse; which almost looked abandoned. But there was smoke curling from the chimney, and as the weather had turned that sort of damp cold that seems to seep into your bones, we ventured inside to warm up. We were greeted by a large, shaggy haired, slightly dirty looking man called Paul. Paul is what you might call “a bit of a character”. He berated anyone that dared to enter the pub; from the Dutch tourists who had left a camera lens cap behind, to the local men popping in for their daily beer, and of course the mad cyclists who wanted to camp in the back paddock for the night. Paul was full of cynicism and bitterness about life and was blunt to the point of rudeness but beneath the mop of hair and behind smeared glasses, his eyes were sparkling and kind. We quickly warmed to him and settled in to spending the rest of the evening solving the world’s problems.

The final morning of our ride along the Great Ocean Road was a Saturday and huge packs of road cyclists were out in force, whizzing past us at great speed. We received few friendly greetings – these guys were obviously doing some very serious training. We continued at our leisurely pace, stopping frequently to check out the wildlife and admiring the stunning coastline.

The beginning/end of the Great Ocean Road.

From here it was just a short hop up to Melbourne but we weren’t keen on the busy roads and industrial areas on the outskirts of the city so we had planned a slightly longer but hopefully more scenic route. After a lovely night spent with Janelle and James in Geelong and breakfast at King of the Castle (not only delicious, but given to us for free as the owner thought that our cycle journey was so amazing), we headed out on the Bellarine Rail Trail to Queenscliff. From here we caught the ferry to Sorrento and spent the next day and a half following the beautiful coastline into Melbourne itself. From about 30km out we were on cycle paths the whole way and it was one of the most relaxing rides into a city of the whole trip. Within no time we were sitting at a beachside café; happy that we had made it in time for our only self imposed deadline of the whole journey – the Melbourne Cup.

Photo: Cycling into Melbourne

Cycling into Melbourne was an absolute joy. The weather was turning it on and the cycle paths were perfect!

Celebrating our arrival with some well deserved pizza.

After three nights and the consumption of countless empty calories at the very fine local pub next door to our campsite it was time to head off. We put this off as long as possible and it was not until well after lunch that we finally pushed our bikes back out onto the main street and pedalled off. We had by this time realised that although most of Australia is incredibly flat, it is also incredibly windy and this day was no exception. Unfortunately for us the wind was coming in off the Southern Ocean right into our face. This would not have been the case had we decided to continue along the Eyre Highway directly towards Port Augusta, but we had made the decision to head south out onto the Eyre Peninsula; one, to add to our kilometres (as we were now picturing passing 25,000km for the journey and to us that was important); two, we had a bit of time up our sleeves and knew it would be poorly spent if we just raced across to the South Australia wine region and spent it there; and third (and to us the most important reason), we were completely over having to share the roads with road-trains, bogans, and worst of all, Grey Nomads.

We had heard great things about the Eyre Peninsula and decided that a relatively leisurely seven days (and 700 odd kms) was just what the doctor had ordered. The first day, although into a head wind, was fantastic; the roads were devoid of heavy traffic, the ground only slightly rolling and we had great views of the sea for substantial periods. The plan was to make our way as far as Haslam, which, even by small-town-Australian standards is a very small town. Haslam has no shops, a barely operating Post Office, but it does have a campsite with a $5 honesty box (yes we paid). So we pulled in, set up our tent and then met the rudest person we were to meet in all of Australia (possibly on the whole journey). To be fair, we only met two rude people on the entire continent, which given the number of people we met I think this can be forgiven. I wont go into details, just to say that after taking an earful of Kiwi and Pom bashing, a quick mention of the latest Ashes result and the Rugby League was enough to send him scurrying in shame to his Winnebago.

The beach at Haslam

The rest of the evening in Haslam passed without incident and we woke to a remarkably fresh (read: bloody freezing) morning, sun shining and a tail wind. A great start to the day. The only thing that we had planned for the day was to visit the Mocean restaurant at Streaky Bay as it had been recommended to us by a number of people in Ceduna. We reached the restaurant without incident and in good time and I would be lying if I said it was anything other than sensational. The food was top-drawer, as was the coffee, but the real highlight was the location. The restaurant is nestled right on the shore of the sheltered Streaky Bay, with its jetty protruding out into the calm waters. There were pelicans gliding effortlessly through the water, before taking off with great effort and gusto, just avoiding the fishermen who were hauling in their daily catch. The place was perfect, and to this day I am still confused as to why we didn’t just call it a day and kick back in the local colonial era hotel that afforded, what must have been even more incredible views.

View from Mocean

It was with some disgruntlement, not to mention effort that we pushed off to find that our good friend the wind had returned to haunt us. The rest of the day passed by slowly, and after finding a secluded wild camping location near the road we smashed back the most absurd amount of food known to the human race and passed out with exhaustion. It was only in the morning when we awoke, tired, and broken that we realised we had hit the proverbial wall. Our guess is that it was a delayed reaction from pushing too hard across the Nullarbor and now we were in the middle of nowhere with no real option but to cycle on. Staying at the Streaky Bay hotel was, in hindsight looking more and more like the option we should have taken!

We cycled slowly, further down the Flinders Highway, which traverses the west coast of the Eyre Peninsula until we reached the settlement of Elliston. Elliston is a small town, much larger than Haslam, but nonetheless a small town and was the first of our goals on the Eyre Peninsula, for it is here that you can turn east onto the Birdseye Highway to traverse the Peninsula. Elliston is undoubtedly beautiful, but the two things that have lingered long in my memory are the fact that a giant snake came within a couple of feet of our bikes whilst we were cycling down into the town centre, passed across a finely groomed lawn and into a petrol station forecourt, which of course put me off the town forever; and second, the bakery is excellent. Had it not been for the snake we may still be hanging around this fine town rebuilding our strength on pies, sausage rolls, and burnt flat whites.

One of the great food stops!

After what I like to refer to as a near death experience, because lets face it, a snake in Australia that comes that close to you is definitely a near death experience; we turned east and headed out on the Birdseye Highway. We spent two wonderful days and nights traversing the peninsula along what turned out to be a very remote road. The towns of Lock and Cleve came and went, with Lock being a particularly depressing place. The town’s charm had been winnowed away by the ever-present wall of wind that tears at the environment with unforgiving tendrils. And aside from the sight of tumbleweed being tossed effortlessly down the main street, there was also a flapping iron sheet making an infuriating noise somewhere off in the distance, and a pub, that although open did not have the warm welcoming committee of most small town drinking establishments in Australia. I was shocked at how a town that had so clearly been the hub of a larger community in the not too distant past could come to resemble what it did on that hot and dry spring day. To its credit we were able to stock up on much needed calories; in the form of potato crisps, cans of coke, bottles of chocolate milk, and of course, the trusty reheated meat pie. As you can see, quality of calories was not our major concern at this point.

Don’t be fooled by this fine image of Lock, it was quite a depressing location.

The picture I have probably painted in your head does not do the rest of the Birdseye Highway justice. The countryside was incredibly nice, the road quiet, and the post boxes fantastically Australian (see our favourite below). We also met some wonderfully humble and kind locals who on more than one occasion asked us if we wanted to rest for the evening (even though it was always well before 10am when they asked). The highlight however was not the wonderful scenery or the kind locals but the places that we managed to find to wild camp. To my mind the first night on the Birdseye was without a doubt in the top 1 wild camping locations of the journey.

Surely the winner of the “best post box of all time” award?!?!

Okay, so it is important to realise that the wild camping location that I am referring to definitely was not as grand in terms of views, or as secluded as some others we had stayed at, however the all round experience was fantastic. Having pulled off the road and successfully pitched our tent in a location completely devoid of humans; concealed in such a way that no passing car, lost cyclist, or stumbling drunk would ever likely find us; and most important of all, a well-defined area around the tent where snakes could be easily seen and avoided at all costs; we cooked up a storm and settled in for the evening. It was only after the low hum of our new cooker and the business of putting away more calories was complete that we realised the sunset had turned the land a soft hue of red, coinciding with an absolute stillness and silence. As we peered out of our tent in awe of the spectacle that Mother Nature was putting on, we noticed a very small and exclusive party occurring. Two kangaroos had been joined by one emu, which to non-Australians is very, very exciting, particularly when they are basically within touching distance. The party then started cranking up with the sound of drums echoing through the silence; Katie and I were dumfounded and could not for the life of us work out where this sound was coming from. As the three moved in their separate directions (probably on the pull is our guess) the drum beat followed the emu and it didn’t take too much longer for us to register that this was in fact some sort of emu communication going down, not a drum beat at all. Well, we can confirm that it had the desired effect because it was not too long until one emu became two and then fortunately (or unfortunately depending on your point of view) the curtain came down as darkness enveloped us. If this epic scene was not enough, as we lay there waiting for sleep to take us we finally understood why the bad guys in Batman movies are terrified by the sound of him swooping down from the sky. Out of nowhere a very loud swooping sound shattered the once again silent night, came close enough to the roof of the tent to make us think we were this bird of prey’s dinner, and then without hesitation it was gone. Sleep finally took us, and in the morning, with the cold morning mist that had descended on our location we sat and pondered how incredibly lucky we had been the night before. We didn’t know it at the time, but sadly this was to be one of the last great wild camps of the journey, thankfully it is one we will remember long into the future.

The eastern end of the Birdseye brought us to the quaint little town of Cowell, nestled nicely on the Franklin Harbour. According to some, the town has some of the best fish and chips in Australia; sadly for us we arrived too late to indulge, so, after pitching the tent in one of the nicest campgrounds we had been to we instead headed for the Franklin Harbour Hotel. It appeared to us that the entire town was probably based around the Hotel and it didn’t take too long for us to realise a lot of the locals were over the moon with the result of the South Australia National Football League Grand Final (a victory for West Adelaide). It put my enthusiasm for the England/Wales result in the Rugby World Cup to shame, and we sat discreetly in a corner, celebrating not only the Rugby result, but being back on the bikes and pushing through what was a very tough week up against the wall.

The location of possibly the finest fish & chips in Australia.

The Franklin Harbour Hotel. The centre of Cowell’s universe; and rightly so!

Following a couple of quiet jars in the corner of the ever more raucous Hotel we snuck out a side door and headed for our tent; having hatched a plan that would require early mornings, late nights and a lot of luck. We were confident that we could easily reach the campsite of Spear Creek with three days cycling, so decided that we would do it in two longer days and spend a more leisurely time later on in the wine region. The days were mostly uneventful as we pushed through South Australia’s third largest city, Whyalla and onwards back towards the Eyre Highway. Believe me when I say it was absolutely no pleasure whatsoever re-joining this behemoth of a thoroughfare. After a couple of hours negotiating the ever increasing, impatient traffic we pushed through Port Augusta, stopping at McDonalds to use their wifi and load up on yet more terrible calories, came as close as one can come to being hit on a bicycle without being hit, and headed for the Flinders Ranges; in our opinion the delineation between the back of beyond, and not the back of beyond in Australia (apologies WA peeps).

Welcome back to the Eyre Highway!

We had heard of Spear Creek from a number of Grey Nomads, and given their proclivity for money saving and quality all wrapped in one; we thought we would join the undoubted throngs. Spear Creek is located roughly 20km from Port August up the Old Wilmington Road, through the settlement of Woolundunga near the base of the infamous Horrocks Pass and the mighty Flinders. As it turns out the throngs we were expecting did not eventuate, and the settlement of Woolundunga is not at really a settlement at all, it is more a collection of dilapidated farm buildings. So if you are heading this way and banking on Woolundunga for supplies, don’t! Pick them up in Port Augusta. This oversight was not detrimental to our dinner, but it did mean that we would have to climb over Horrocks Pass on two cereal bars and hope for a long sweeping downhill to Wilmington. This dilemma was soon forgotten as we set ourselves up for the night in the truly beautiful campsite, which is nestled in amongst a forest of lofty gum trees with a stunning vista out towards the back of beyond from the elevated position of the Flinders foothills. Yet another place we wish we could have spent more time.

The Old Wilmington Road up towards Spear Creek and the Flinders Range.

The sunset seat at Spear Creek.

Numerous people had told us; most notably the incredibly rotund owner of a bakery, that cycling up Horrocks Pass was impossible and we would definitely be pushing our bikes. We took this as a challenge and decided against following the main road down towards the Clare and Barossa Valleys. For all the chat of Horrocks Pass it was a bit of a non-event. Yes, it was certainly the toughest climb (to that point) in Australia, but it was by no means impossible and within a relatively short time we were coasting down towards Wilmington and an undeniable amount of food.

The first thing you notice once crossing the Flinders is how incredible lush and verdant the countryside is, relative of course to the back of beyond; we were astounded by the change and could hardly contain our excitement. Pointing out this and that as if we had never seen green grass, roadside shrubs, or fruit trees. On the first day we took it easy and made it only as far as the town of Laura, where we stayed at the municipal campsite and enjoyed what was to become a bit of regular treat… the Schnitzel Night at the local pub. This is basically a half price meal that I would recommend to anyone loitering around in these parts, particularly if you are a cycle tourist. The salad bars are large and endless and helped stave off the on-going issue of hunger that a cycle tourist endures.

Back in from the “back of beyond” the countryside turned a wonderful green.

Ignore the spelling, it is an epic meal.

Through reasonably bad planning on our behalf we had managed to reach the very popular tourist location of the Clare Valley just in time to coincide with some sort of public holiday in South Australia, so our options for accommodation were thin on the ground. We ended up getting a spot at the very nice Leasingham campsite, whose main attractions were the fact you could walk through a hole in the fence and be at a vineyard cellar door, and that it was a 200m cycle to the very handy Riesling Trail – a rail trail on which one can cycle from vineyard to vineyard. We booked in for three nights, and no sooner had we setup the tent and got nicely settled with a bottle of local wine and a very fine cheese board did the hordes start arriving. This of course can always go one of two ways, and when young children are involved it almost always goes the wrong way for the unwilling participants at a campground. Setting up right next to us were three couples and numerous children, both theirs and others that had gravitated towards our area. The delightful campsite experience on the Riesling Trail was resting on a knife-edge, and for all money it was going to be one that would require an awful lot of the local produce to get us through. Thankfully, and to the credit of the large group that turned up, they came over to our tent, apologised in advance, both for their children in the mornings and their noise at night and then welcomed us over to join in. Win-win.

We spent the next three evenings over at their campsite, around a fabulous fire that burnt inside the drum of an up-cycled old washing machine, chewing the fat and generally having a great time. Our days were mostly spent cycling up and down the Riesling Trail tasting the local produce and trying to stay in the shade as much as possible.

Cycling into one of the vineyards on the Riesling Trail.

Enjoying the local produce.

The Clare Valley Brewery at the end of the Riesling Trail is well worth a visit.

It was with much sadness that we had to roll up the tent and be on our way, but it was softened by the fact our next location was the Barossa Valley. We took our time getting there and enroute cycled through the Jacobs Creek vineyard, tasted the ice cream at the Heston Blumenthal recommended Maggie Beer’s Farm Shop and embraced the stunning countryside around the towns of Nuriootpa and Tanunda.

Sadly it was too early to stop and sample the goodness of this place.

In Ceduna we had contacted Ross and Betty who we had met at the Nullarbor Roadhouse, and who had welcomed us to stay in Adelaide. So it was their house we were making a beeline for from the Barossa Valley. For anyone cycling into Adelaide from this direction, a word of warning, don’t stay in Gawler, the campground there was like something out of The Wire. Our one evening there was spent hoping our tent would not blow away and that in fact we would not be blown away in a domestic violence scene or something equally sinister. The morning couldn’t arrive quickly enough, and once it did we cycled in towards one of the busiest roads of the journey. Rush hour from Gawler to Adelaide is something that should be avoided at all costs, at all times.

Gawler Warning

Having survived the outskirts of Adelaide we were pleasantly surprised that the ‘burbs and inner city are fully setup for cyclists, the like of which we had not seen since our first day in Rotterdam many moons before. The cycle along the River Torrens was exceptionally beautiful and we found the locals to be extra courteous towards cyclists. The highlight, no doubt though was seeing the Adelaide Oval appear on the banks of the river near the centre of town. It was not long before we had negotiated the perfectly planned city centre and were out the other side heading for Ross and Betty’s.

The four days we spent at Ross and Betty’s were absolutely fantastic. We were spoilt beyond belief. I could write an entire blog on what we got up to just in their company. We were chauffeured around the Adelaide Hills, taken to the German settlement of Hahdorf (where I consumed surely the world’s largest Wiener Schnitzel), given a driving commentary of exactly how to get out of Adelaide (something that we took note of, but still managed to screw up when we attempted it). BBQs were rife at all times, as was the consumption of numerous wines and beers, sport beamed directly into our minds on the big screen TV, dinner was taken at the Seacliff Beach Hotel (I really recommend the Flathead fish from this part of the world), a classic car show, and a night drive to the Adelaide Hills gave us a great view of Adelaide. All of this doesn’t even take into account the cycling that we got up to, and of course the walk into, and around the truly glorious arena that is the Adelaide Oval.

A 600g Wiener Schnitzel was probably a little ambitious!

Ross and Betty are big into cycling, and ordinarily if we stop somewhere for a break we would rather not see a bike, but this was different, very different. Ross and Betty have top-notch carbon fibre bikes, and a spare, so it seemed a little bit silly not to take them out for a spin. On one of the days, Ross took us on a leisurely 50km circuit (believe me when I say that cycling 50km on carbon is almost like not cycling at all after plodding along on our touring tanks) of Adelaide. We took in the edge of the city, had a chat with the Papua New Guinea cricket team who were warming up for a couple of matches, embraced world class coffee, checked out where Lleyton Hewitt lives, and the truly epic cycle along the Esplanade out near Glenelg. A special day! But the best was still to come…

Katie getting amongst the esplanade out towards Glenelg. A truly glorious day.

First there was the visit to the Adelaide Oval, a place that has held an almost mythical appeal to me ever since watching (on TV) the Windies famous 1 run victory on Australia Day in 1993 and Paul Collingwood’s double century in vain in the Ashes whitewash of 06-07. We approached the ground and were considering looking for a tour when we saw Ross wandering over to a security guard. He mentioned to the security guard that we were a couple of crazy Poms who had cycled to Adelaide from London and would love to look around. The security man looked around, double checked, and then just opened the gates for us with a “good on ya, well done” as we snuck on through. We spent the next 30 minutes walking around and taking it all in. I think that the whole thing impressed even Katie!

Second, on the Saturday morning I was fortunate enough to be taken out for a peleton type cycle; it was a 50km out-and-back trip, with sprint finishes at both ends and an average speed of just a touch over 32km/h to be maintained. What a way to start your Saturday morning! Cycling on carbon certainly convinced both Katie and I that we needed new bikes as soon as the journey was over.

Preparing for a leisurely cycle around Adelaide

Massive shout out to Ross and Betty for looking after us so well, it was an absolute pleasure and we look forward to seeing you in the not too distant future at an edition of the Tour Down Under. Oh, I almost forgot… they also sorted me out a suit for the Melbourne Cup. A truly top-drawer couple that couldn’t have hosted us any better. Yet more evidence that the world is full of truly wonderful people!

The donga!

Every Australian knows about crossing the Nullarbor, it is one of many iconic road trips in this vast country. From Norseman in the west to Ceduna in the east, it is a distance of around 1,200km. Although the whole stretch is referred to as “the Nullarbor”, only a small section of the journey actually passes through the far south of the Nullarbor desert. There are, however, no towns or villages along the way to break up the journey, just the odd roadhouse (aka petrol station) usually with hot food, showers and accommodation for weary truckies, Grey Nomads and the occasional crazy cyclist.

Every person we met in Western Australia said, “you aren’t going across the Nullarbor are you?” in absolute horror and proceeded to tell us how desolate it was, how bored we would be, how they wouldn’t even drive across it in a car etc. but they all finished with the same advice, “make sure you carry lots of water” and “watch out for the road trains”.

Water warning…. perhaps the locals weren’t being over cautious

Road train. They really are quite big.

The enjoyment of this part of the journey, even more than usual, would be mostly down to our luck with the wind. It is notoriously strong and can blow consistently in one direction for days on end. The prevailing wind is from the west in winter and from the east in summer. The change over period is around September/October – we were just praying that it hadn’t turned yet!

After a leisurely stop in Norseman for yet more pies to build up our strength and a dash round the last supermarket for over 1,200km, we wobbled out onto the Eyre Highway. Our bikes were as heavy as they had ever been and we could almost hear them groaning under the weight of additional kilos of porridge oats, tins of beans and stew and around 26 litres of water.

With the early evening sun warming our backs, we had the road, usually busy with road trains and caravans, almost to ourselves. This time of day quickly became known to us as “the golden hour” for the fantastic cycling we would experience once everyone else was off the road. The road was endlessly undulating and as we reached the crest of each undulation we had fantastic views out over the never-ending vastness of the Great Western Woodland. At 16 million hectares it is the largest intact temperate woodland left on earth and is full of beautiful gum trees. We were lucky enough to spot a pair of Wedge-tailed eagles – Australia’s largest bird of prey – perched high in a treetop. These are truly majestic creatures, which unfortunately have a tendency to come to a grisly end, hit by cars while feasting on road kill.

Gum tree

As we started to hunt for a suitable camping spot for the night, we came across a parking area at the side of the road with sandy trails snaking off from it into numerous clearings in the bush. There were a handful of caravans already tucked away in the trees so we followed their lead and found ourselves a private clearing away from the road to set up our tent. As a special treat we fried up some steaks on our little gas burner but other than that it was pretty standard evening while wild camping and we were both ready for bed as soon as it was dark.

As I took my last trip outside before wrapping up in the sleeping bag, I looked up at the stars as I always do. For some reason, the effect of being in a clearing surrounded by huge trees looking up the magical spectacle of the Milky Way made me feel particularly small and insignificant. It was a strangely comforting feeling.

On the Nullarbor, the roadhouses were our saviours. Providers of warmth, coffee of varying quality, a vast array of unhealthy food options and most importantly, company of other humans. We planned our days around the roadhouses, aiming to hit at least one per day just to give us a break from the never-ending road.

It was at our first roadhouse; Balladonia, that we met Will and Jen – two Aussies from south of Perth who were cycling to Adelaide. We shared breakfast and stories before they continued on their way and we stayed to fix a puncture. We were confident we would catch them in no time but we didn’t factor in all the people who would want to chat to us. It took 20 minutes to mend the puncture but almost two hours before we finally managed to escape the endless questioning. By this stage we realised we had no chance of making the distance we had hoped but the wind was behind us as we turned onto Australia’s longest straight road so we were quite happy. We made it roughly halfway along the straight before calling it a night, pulling off the road into the bush and enjoying a peaceful sleep.

The beginning of the longest straight road in Australia… thankfully we had a very helpful tailwind

The next morning we were up early and happy to find that the wind was still in our favour. We smashed through the remaining 90km and arrived at Caiguna roadhouse at the end of the straight road in time for lunch. Reluctant to get back on the bikes, we wasted time chatting to some friendly Grey Nomads from Adelaide and a Kiwi girl working behind the counter, who said to Steven, “who would have thought, a boy from Waiuku making it all the way to London!” which we thought was quite funny given the number of people from Waiuku that even I know who have made it all that way.

As we finally left, we bumped into Will and Jen just arriving at Caiguna (we had passed them early that morning before they had emerged from their tent). They thought we were totally mad when we said we were going to try and push on to the next roadhouse for the evening. We sort of agreed with them but couldn’t pass up on the very inviting tail wind and so continued on, arriving at the quirky roadhouse of Cocklebiddy just as the sun was setting. Sunsets (and rises) are magnificent out here as the whole horizon to the west becomes ablaze with fiery oranges and the colours linger for an age before finally giving way to the darkness.

Cocklebiddy

Typical sunset on the Nullarbor

The next morning we were slow to get going. We had our usually breakfast of porridge and honey washed down with a cup of tea at our tent, chatted to a few other campers before deciding to have a coffee at the roadhouse just to delay our departure even longer. Once on the road we wished we hadn’t been so slow to get going as the wind was still helping us along at a good pace. Since China we had been talking about trying to break the 200km barrier in one day and we wondered if this was the day to try it. We still weren’t sure at lunchtime but we decided it was probably now or never. We were unlikely to get such good conditions again; overcast, tailwind, straight road, light traffic… and so we went for it.

There was nothing exciting about that afternoon, it was all about chipping away at the kilometres, breaking the distance down into manageable chunks, only thinking about the next 10-20km rather than the full daunting distance. As the sun started to set in what was already quite a gloomy sky we started to have second thoughts about whether we could finish before dark. We pushed on harder than ever. As the evening approached, huge numbers of kangaroos appeared out of nowhere in the bush on either side of the road. They bounced across our path every now and then making us very nervous of a bicycle/kangaroo collision.

But it didn’t happen; we made it to 200km without any kangaroo related incidents just as dusk was approaching. There was no time for celebration though; we needed to find somewhere to camp quickly. We thought we would have to continue another 12km to the next roadhouse, as both sides of the road were covered in small bushes and impossible for camping. Just as we resigned ourselves to another half an hour of pedalling in the darkness we saw a sign for a rest area and the welcome lights of campervans, caravans and campfires glowing through the trees. We gratefully pulled in, found ourselves a good spot, set up and shovelled down some food before getting some well-earned sleep.

Cooking setup on the Nullarbor

It was only around 10km to the next roadhouse in the morning. We stopped in even though we didn’t really need anything but ended up coming out with some delicious homemade cake. We also met another cyclist here, Laraine. Over the next few days we were to keep bumping into this inspirational sixty-nine year old who was cycling solo from Perth back to her home in Newcastle, New South Wales. Not only was she doing this, but in the past decade or so she has also cycled John O’Groats to Lands End, climbed Kilimanjaro, skydived, travelled the world, studied for a PhD and become an expert in her field. All this at an age when most people are thinking about slowing down. She has a couple of philosophies that I really like. Firstly, taking risks almost always pays off – she strives to do things that she finds scary such as striking up a conversation with a stranger or heading off on a solo adventure as good things will invariably result. Second, our bodies are much tougher than we give them credit for and we rarely push ourselves to our full potential so most of us have no idea of what we are capable of. Laraine set out ahead of us from the roadhouse and we didn’t catch her all day. We did bump into her good mate Ivan, who was acting as her support crew on his motorbike for the most remote section of her journey.

That afternoon we arrived on the edge of the Bunda cliffs; a sheer wall of rock that tumbles straight down into the wild Southern Ocean. There are some fantastic viewpoints where we could look out along the cliffs for miles but the wind was driving in straight off the sea, bringing occasional rain showers so it was not a day to linger out in the open.

Bunda cliffs (in nice weather)

Unfortunately, cover was hard to find and as the day drew to a close we were hard pressed to find anywhere that was going to give us some shelter from the elements. Up in the distance towards the cliff edge we noticed something moving. There was a large mound of gravel there so we thought that perhaps we could hide our tent behind it out of the wind. As we got closer we realised we had finally caught up with Laraine and Ivan. They had already set up their tents behind the mound of gravel and were happy to have us join them. There was nothing but ocean between us and Antarctica. The wind raged fiercely for most of the night and we really did feel like we were on the edge of the world.

We were both feeling a bit low on power and Laraine immediately offered some of her Glucodine. We were immensely grateful for this the next day when we were faced with our first full on head wind of the Nullarbor. It was a soul-destroying day, with no roadhouse to revitalise us part way through. We survived on honey sandwiches sprinkled with Glucodine powder and fantasised about meat pies, juicy burgers and salty chips (standard roadhouse fare).

Honey and Glucodine sandwiches… don’t try this at home!

We only had around 20km to go to the Nullarbor roadhouse and were finally feeling like the end was in sight when suddenly there was a loud bang. Steven’s tyre had blown out. This was a new tyre that we had purchased in Perth. Given we still have one tyre that has lasted all the way from the UK, this was not good going. It was difficult to motivate ourselves the final distance once we had replaced the tyre but finally we could see the roadhouse up in the distance like a shining beacon guiding us in. On arrival, our first priority was food and we both wolfed down a steak pie without it even touching the sides. We put our tent up in the growing darkness before heading back inside the roadhouse for calorie consuming part two.

The road house is in the distance… what a welcome sight!

There was a merry group in the corner of the restaurant and they soon invited us to join them. They were four-wheel drivers from Adelaide who had just reached relative civilisation after a week in the outback. Among them were Ross and Betty, keen cyclists who were eager to hear all about our adventures. Before long they had invited us to stay with them when we made it to Adelaide a few weeks later. We had warmed to them immediately and had no hesitations about taking them up on the offer.

The next day we took a little detour to the edge of cliffs and the whale lookout at Head of Bight. During May-October, Southern Right Whales come into the calm, shallow waters of the bay to mate, give birth and allow their calves to build up strength before migrating back to Antarctic waters. It was right at the tail end of the season but there were still four whale mothers with their calves basking in the emerald coloured water. The boardwalk jutted right out over the ocean and it was just a beautiful spot to rest and watch the birds. Seeing the whales just topped it all off.

Head of Bight

After this very leisurely morning, it was a struggle to get back on the bikes and pedal the rest of the Nullarbor. The next three days were extremely undulating as we gradually approached civilisation again. The scrubby bush and eucalyptus forests gave way to cultivated fields although there was still very little sign of human life. Almost every day we would pass Laraine and Ivan or they would pass us. We would stop and chat for a while before saying goodbye, thinking this would be our last meeting.

After meeting them at breakfast in a roadhouse in Penong on the final day of the long haul to Ceduna we really thought it was our last goodbye. We were stopping in Ceduna and they were planning to continue another 20km or so up the road. It was a bleak and windy day and yet again we were unable to keep up with the blistering pace Laraine set up and down the hills and she soon disappeared from view. We were very relieved to finally arrive in Ceduna; oyster capital of Australia. We pulled up at the foreshore campsite and checked in. The man at reception mentioned there had been another cyclist arrive just a few minutes before us. We were happy to discover it was Laraine, who had decided that she had had enough for the day. We were very happily reunited at the next-door pub, which was doing $20 three course all-you-can-eat Sunday roasts. I’m not sure they knew what had hit them when us ravenous cyclists turned up.

Laraine getting ready to leave Ceduna.

The bikes were glistening so much they would probably have broken the camera, so a photo of the bike boxes will have to suffice!

Having had the pleasure of quite possibly the most miserable cabin crew known to man on our Qantas flight from Singapore, it was with some trepidation that we pushed our trolleys with precariously balanced bike boxes on them towards the airport staff. I was nervous about having to open the boxes anyway as I have a deep mistrust of anyone who handles “fragile” equipment and didn’t know if I would just break down sobbing if our beloved bikes had been damaged. As it was, the first person we actually spoke to in Australia was a South African…

“Howzit bru? Have you filled out your Ebola landing card? Lekker, lekker, head over there….” I honestly didn’t know if I should laugh or cry; it was like being back in the Biltong Triangle in South-West London…

On we walked, more confused than ever as to where we were and what we were doing, until we came to the young lad who clearly did not want to be at the airport on a Friday night (I can’t blame him at all); “What’s in the boxes?” was the first question…
Me: “Touring bikes”
YLWDNWTBT (Young Lad Who Did Not Want To Be There): “Are they clean?”
Me: “Yes, we spent hours cleaning them in Singapore.”
YLWDNWTBT: “Is there any dirt on the tyres?”
Me: “No.”
YLWDNWTBT: “Cool, have a good night!”

Katie and I walked through uncertainly and then looked at each other in absolute amazement, he had not even bothered to check inside the box or look at any of our camping gear. They have all the biosecurity in the world but we could have waltzed straight in with any one of about a hundred things that apparently will kill off the Australian agriculture industry overnight (according to all the brochures). It was a complete and utter joke; we of course couldn’t have cared less as it meant we were through and ready without having to try and unpack our (immaculately clean) bikes.

Just to add to this lunacy; when we took our bikes into a very good bike mechanic in South Perth for him to tune them before heading off towards the Nullarbor we heard an infinitely more ridiculous story…
A Kiwi cyclist had apparently paid some bike store in the middle of China to clean and pack his bike so that he could head off to Australia. When he arrived and took the bike into the bike shop to get it put back together it was still covered in a thick layer of mud as the bike shop in China had just taken his money, packed the bike and sent him on his way. He had also just waltzed* into Australia without his bike being checked and incidentally was apparently carrying a few kilograms of that wonderfully sticky Chinese mud that adorns the roads there. Australia, you really do need to sort this out!

* The use of the word “waltzed” twice in one blog is obviously in homage to Waltzing Matilda; just letting you know that it was not an accident!

Waiting for us at the airport were two of my old housemates from the good-ole-days in London Town – Partyboy and Samantha. It really was epic seeing them at the airport and being whisked back to their pad in South Perth for a couple of tasty post midnight beverages, a quick catch up and then the sensible option of getting some rest before what we all knew was going to be a massive weekend.

Given that we had just spent the best part of 10 months on the continent of Asia we were under no illusion that arriving in Australia would be an enormous culture shock to the system. This culture shock morphed its way into reality quickly enough when we visited a very fine Saturday farmers’ market to purchase the week’s groceries with Partyboy and Sam. First there was the quiet serenity that comes from a lack of car horns piercing your ears every time a queue forms, then there were the ludicrous number of well groomed and well fed dogs being led around on leads (as opposed to Asia where they are just leading themselves around), there were real coffee aromas wafting through the air, there were pork-belly buns on sale and most notably the locals were actually speaking a version of English that I could fully comprehend. It was abundantly clear that we had come so far east that we were now back in the west; and whilst we supped at our flat whites and tried not to spill pork-belly buns all over the place we realised that we had really missed these little comforts that you take for granted and were truly stoked to finally be in Australia!

Uber it seems has taken off everywhere in the world, but being on bicycles we had not needed to use it for a very long time; this started changing in Singapore and by the time we arrived in Perth it was understood that it is just how the world works these days. Uber has had plenty of controversy in the media, but I can tell you right now there will be no complaints from us given that the first time we used it a Hummer turned up with a lad driving who actually seemed to think he was on the set of a Hollywood blockbuster. The trip down to Freo (which as I found out later is not short for freeway but Australian slang for Fremantle) was excellent and set the tone for the rest of the weekend…

I think it is fair to say the day went downhill from here ;p

Little Creatures in Freo… this place rivals any place I have been to in London (obviously this excludes the late, great Wimbledon Walkabout). Top drawer!

Our last couple of days in Perth were spent putting the bikes back together, getting them professionally tuned, buying food supplies and hunting down reasonably priced camping equipment. The most important items that were required were sleeping bags; in the heat of SE Asia we had made the decision to send a lot of our winter equipment home (including the sleeping bags) as “Australia is surely always hot… it certainly is on Home and Away anyway”. We could not have been more wrong, it was absolutely freezing in Perth and was surely going to get colder in the desert so we sucked it up and purchased the cheapest, bulkiest, most uncomfortable sleeping bags from K-Mart for the princely sum of $40 (for two).

We hadn’t been this wrapped up since before Lanzhou in China.

With the goodbyes said, the bikes packed and the motivation at a fairly low level, we set off from Perth with the thought of the Australian continent stretching out for thousands of kilometres daunting us. We took it easy to start with and after about an hour believed we certainly deserved a second breakfast at McDonalds and sat there for the best part of two hours supping on their incredibly good hot chocolates and watching the world warm up from the comfort of their wifi zone (incidentally Australia has not yet grasped the Wifi revolution and the only place you seem to be able to get reliable, free Wifi is at McDonalds). Finally we decided that it was now-or-never, left the relative comfort and headed for the hills. Now for those of you who don’t know, Australia, or at least the road we were on was deceptively hilly and far too taxing for us. It had been months since we had seen hills like the ones out of Perth and by the end of the day we were well short of our goal of getting to 110km, so scary bush camp presumably surrounded by all sorts of crocodiles, snakes, spiders, and dingos ensued. As the days wore on we got our hill-legs back and found it increasingly less difficult to cycle the bigger days. It is amazing how the quickly the body can get its fitness back.

Perth from one of the many hills we climbed on the first day.

We absolutely loved the cycling from Perth to Esperance and this was in no small way due to the locals. Every town we stopped at, every coffee shop we visited, and every picnic table we ate at we were inundated with questions, helpful advice and really good-natured banter. “Locals” ranged from displaced Kiwis, to displaced Kiwis and everything in between and always offered great advice and were always super concerned about our well-being…

Do you have enough water love?
Do you have enough food? You both look too skinny, do you want some food, particularly you! (pointing at Katie and emphasising the obvious; I certainly do not look skinny);
How far do you cycle in a day?
Please watch out for those road train thingy’s, they’re really big?

Out of all the advice we were never once warned about snakes and had to make polite enquiries on what best to do to avoid them; we were given lots of great tips and after a time it became routine to look for certain things, stamp our feet and make lots of noise. It seems that folk that don’t live in the cities have an appreciation for what snakes do and how they behave; it really has been reassuring picking their brains. And the snakes… almost every snake we have seen has either been slithering away from us with great speed or laying dead on the road; the only exception was the one that we actually saw get hit by a car, which is a sight to behold; or at least a sound one will never forget (but this is not about relieving some horrible memories, so I’ll leave it at that).

We think this was warning us of the snakes… but not too sure!

The advice that we never asked about and were never given was that of the Grey Nomad. Grey Nomads are a distinct demographic in Australia and as the name suggests they are usually greying on the head, are nomadic, and like to speed past cyclists with the gay abandon of a racing car driver. The Grey Nomad is generally a kind and generous soul, but like so many on this continent has a real inability to drive, let alone notice that a caravan is in fact usually wider than the car they are driving along in. The Grey Nomad also likes to randomly stop in front of oncoming trucks to either look at (and photograph with iPhone) Wild Flowers, or discuss the merits of cars over bicycles to us; this undoubtedly infuriates the truck driver and puts us at risk.

We have had many, many great evenings sitting around campfires and bingo halls, and raffle draws with numerous Grey Nomads and they are always good fun. They are also full of really useful information on road conditions, camping locations, and the prices of food for a 1000km radius. This said, the most useful and uplifting information that we were ever given was in Esperance when speaking to another displaced Kiwi of the Grey Nomad demographic and that was that “he knew there were two idiots on bicycles 20km before he spotted us!”; how you ask is this possible… well it would appear that every truck driver (and some Nomads) talk to each other on the radio and discusses in great detail what a pack of f*$^n idiots we are for cycling, but to watch out for us… believe me, this is comforting to know because road trains are not small and if they know we are on the road and we know they are coming it is a win-win situation!

This is the first road train to pass us. We were very excite… this wore off fairly quickly!

One of the truly great things about Australia is the wildlife (snakes excluded). We were incredibly fortunate on this first stretch to see a lot of kangaroos – mostly dead on the side of the road, but also a reasonable number bouncing around. What a pleasure it is to see them up close in their natural environment. In fact, one night when we were sitting in our tent, tucked away on the edge of a bush we heard the sound of bouncing, then a halt and then a series of smaller, lighter bouncing sounds. As we peered out the door of our tent there was Skippy just taking in this strange rock formation looking thing (our tent). He stood and peered for a short time before bouncing off into the night. Now lets be honest, Australians probably couldn’t give a rats about this; but for Kiwis and Brits this is something truly awesome. We were in absolute travel bliss and were buzzing for days… in some respects it is sad that this has become the “norm”, but I will never forget the first encounter tucked away on the side of the road. Brilliant stuff!

On the flip side of seeing these truly epic marsupials there have been countless incidents with other wildlife, most notably the pesky magpie! The magpie is a creature we have both come to hate with an unabated passion. Cycling along we hear the shrill of chicks and then out the corner of our eye (or a shadow on the road) we see them coming… dive bombing directly on to our location… a number of times it felt as if we were in our own little Battle of Britain, or extras in Hitchcock’s Birds. This one particular day we could see the shadow of the inbound magpie approaching and just as it was getting really close I would raise my arm and scream out loud… and it would do a loop-the-loop and come back again, and again, and again. Failing to scare off the determined raider, I stopped and armed myself with a pathetic handful of stones… even though my throwing arm is “out of practice” (read… completely useless/directionally inept) it did the trick and the battle was won, however I am not too sure we will win this war! I guess it has to be said that without a doubt the funniest moment of this whole scene was when I was screaming and yelling profanities at the magpies (something along the lines of “show me your war face, magpie”) and out the corner of my eye I saw a lady leaning on a pitch fork shaking her head at these two idiots who not only appeared to be cycling across Australia but were having verbals with magpies. I had to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

Now we all know Australians are competitive; we all love to hate Australians on the sporting field, on the cycling track and mostly in the swimming pool; mainly due to the fact that they have been so successful! But what we started seeing on our first week out of Perth seemed to take this competitiveness to levels that I would call ridiculous – mostly in small towns. Town slogans are a great way to show ones competitiveness: Pioneered with spirit; Small town, big heart; Lake Grace – The Wave Shire… implying that they have more spirit, more heart, and a better waving ability… but our favourite has to be Corrigin; which if you are having a “yes, I know that name, it is on the tip of my tongue sort of moment” then I can tell you that it is because Corrigin is the centre of the universe when it comes to the “Dog in a Ute” competition (see photographic evidence below).

The explanation of the Dog in a Ute phenomenon… basically get as many dogs in as many utes as you can and drive from the dog cemetery to town?!?!

Dog in a ute on a petrol station?!

Poor effort in ’05 if we’re honest!

To be honest it is all good-natured fun and certainly gives us a smile when we are putting in the big kms day after day.

Note: if anything, Corrigin should be most famous for the Mallee Tree café, owned and operated by yet another displaced Kiwi (from Invercargill, so the accent was incredibly hard to pick… picture Sir Anthony Hopkins in The World’s Fastest Indian mixed with 26 years in the WA wilderness). This has without question the best pies in Australian that we have tasted (we have eaten a LOT of guilt free pies); and to top it all off offers free wifi for guests (this truly is a rare commodity in Australia).

Guilt free second breakfast.

We absolutely love Australia; yes there is a lot of good-natured Aussie/Kiwi/British banter… but that is what it is… good natured. We have found Australians to be incredibly humble, kind, generous people who would do anything for you and certainly love telling (and listening intently) to a bloody good yarn mate. The first two weeks many things were different to what we expected and also what we had experienced in Asia but the undoubted highlight was staying with friends-of-friends-of-friends in Esperance.

When we arrived in Perth, Partyboy and Samantha worked the Facebook magic and hooked us up with Sonya, Jeff, Matt, and Renee in Esperance. When we arrived we were made to feel right at home; we had huge home cooked meals each night (with lots and lots of vegetables that cyclists crave), we chewed the proverbial fat over a couple of quiet beers, and learnt a hell of a lot about Australia, Australians, and the goings on of small towns. We absolutely loved it and when we headed off up towards Norseman and the Nullarbor, Jeff hooked us up with a place to stay in Salmon Gums so that we didn’t have spend our wedding anniversary in a tent! Like I said, we are loving Australia, the hospitality is second to none and that fact we can communicate in English is too good to be true.

Bring on the Nullarbor!