23rd - evening
I had not realized how high we had climbed from Ceduna to Cleve, but I now blessed those slow, subtle rollers as we coiled cleanly through the well-shaped hills. It did rain, but only very light and not for long. The red lights of the wind farms revealed themselves, and if not for our young friends at Cleve, we would have wondered what these bright red dots were on the gray, but clearly visible hills. It was a gorgeous, gray descent, and despite the light clouds, moonshadows still covered the road. We bush-camped just out of Cowell, cooked a feed and slept.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Cleve – South Park of the Eyre Peninsula
Feb 23 - noon
I did not expect the heat to wake us at noon. When it did, it was harsh, immediate and stifling. However, I felt surprisingly good. A shower would have gone a long way to making me feel human. Yet, sweating on the bike, a camp meal of cheese and rice, and two ice cream bars were enough to get us through the sheep and wheat fields (they look silver at night) to the well-manicured country town of Cleve. It was roughly eight at night, and we had 40 km before Cowell, our destination for the night. Each of us was hankering for a beer and, hell, a pub meal was sounding pretty good at this point as well. We scanned the streets eagerly for the town pub. No joy. Cleve is so big that the pub is not on the main street - gasp! - but on a side street. Some local kids were wandering around - that’s what you do in a small country town as a kid - and we asked them. Two turns later we could see our liquid salvation. But yet, mere meters from our destination we were accosted by a group of 15 children between the ages of 11 and 15. I admit that as they fanned across the road between us and the pub, I briefly imagined the headline of the local rag: "Cyclists detained after confrontation with local school children on way to pub." Then one of them yelled out, "Roadblock!" followed by 14 other echoes of the same thing.
"Where did you come from?" "Esperance."
"Where is Esperance?" "What are they teaching you in school?" I thought.
"Do you play footy?" Nine out of every 10 males have played, or still play, footy. This always seemed like a silly question, but kids see our bike shoes and run with it. I had to answer, "no."
This was perhaps a tenth of the questions that bombarded us. In the background, four-letter words and other less obvious dirty words were whispered and sniggered at to no one in particular as the leaders continued with our interrogation.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" "No," said I. "Yes," said Anthony.
"Why not?"
"Can we ride you bike?"
"Are you gay?"
"No" and "no."
"He’s gay," the leader – Tim - pointed to one boy in the pack. The boy shrugged; "I am," he said cheerfully (this was either a progressive town or he could take a hell of a joke for a kid in the middle of puberty).
They proceeded to ask Anthony questions relating to the physical qualities of his girlfriend, which he deftly parried, and all of the sudden they parted. We had passed this test, and at least for a short time, were accepted as part of their troop, and received an honor guard to the pub, at which more children were running in and out of.
We leaned our bikes against the wall, threw on some jeans, and a rather inebriated man wearing his cricket whites from a match earlier that day flung open the pub door.
"Where you lads from? Across the Nullarbor? Jesus let me buy you a beer."
This was an offer we could not refuse. Inside they had stopped serving food, but we made do with leftover pizza and some meager, but warm, toasted ham sandwiches. Inside were some more good folks who had clearly been holding down the fort for quite a while. A man named "Snook" introduced himself. He and his mate were impressed with our efforts; however, Snook’s friends did make scissor-hands to pretend to cut my hair.
"We don’t like that kind of hair around here."
"But", Snook replied, "he’s got a fair bit of chops" (you’ve seen the pictures; damn right I do).
The conversation with Snook and his mate was one in which I would need to drink a few beers to really get into. A young man who had spent the past eight months on farm exchange in the States introduced himself, and we finished our beer with him. He was coming down hard after his eight months away, and I think he was pretty happy to talk to some fellow travelers. Alas we left him, still 40 km to go, and the Cleve kids had a few more rounds of questions.
"What happens when it rains?" "We get wet," and it was looking like it was getting ready to rain, too. They also gave us some advice, "Watch out for the boogie man!" and some good advice, "Take care on the road to Lucky Bay; it’s about half dirt."
"Those red flashing lights on the way down to Cowell, those are wind farm lights."
I was about to be impressed at the with-it-ness of these kids, when one of the kid’s older sisters walked across the street and yelled out to one of the little darlings, "Mom wants you home."
"Suck me off!" he replied.
With that ringing in our ears and a grin I could not stifle, we rode into the night.
I did not expect the heat to wake us at noon. When it did, it was harsh, immediate and stifling. However, I felt surprisingly good. A shower would have gone a long way to making me feel human. Yet, sweating on the bike, a camp meal of cheese and rice, and two ice cream bars were enough to get us through the sheep and wheat fields (they look silver at night) to the well-manicured country town of Cleve. It was roughly eight at night, and we had 40 km before Cowell, our destination for the night. Each of us was hankering for a beer and, hell, a pub meal was sounding pretty good at this point as well. We scanned the streets eagerly for the town pub. No joy. Cleve is so big that the pub is not on the main street - gasp! - but on a side street. Some local kids were wandering around - that’s what you do in a small country town as a kid - and we asked them. Two turns later we could see our liquid salvation. But yet, mere meters from our destination we were accosted by a group of 15 children between the ages of 11 and 15. I admit that as they fanned across the road between us and the pub, I briefly imagined the headline of the local rag: "Cyclists detained after confrontation with local school children on way to pub." Then one of them yelled out, "Roadblock!" followed by 14 other echoes of the same thing.
"Where did you come from?" "Esperance."
"Where is Esperance?" "What are they teaching you in school?" I thought.
"Do you play footy?" Nine out of every 10 males have played, or still play, footy. This always seemed like a silly question, but kids see our bike shoes and run with it. I had to answer, "no."
This was perhaps a tenth of the questions that bombarded us. In the background, four-letter words and other less obvious dirty words were whispered and sniggered at to no one in particular as the leaders continued with our interrogation.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" "No," said I. "Yes," said Anthony.
"Why not?"
"Can we ride you bike?"
"Are you gay?"
"No" and "no."
"He’s gay," the leader – Tim - pointed to one boy in the pack. The boy shrugged; "I am," he said cheerfully (this was either a progressive town or he could take a hell of a joke for a kid in the middle of puberty).
They proceeded to ask Anthony questions relating to the physical qualities of his girlfriend, which he deftly parried, and all of the sudden they parted. We had passed this test, and at least for a short time, were accepted as part of their troop, and received an honor guard to the pub, at which more children were running in and out of.
We leaned our bikes against the wall, threw on some jeans, and a rather inebriated man wearing his cricket whites from a match earlier that day flung open the pub door.
"Where you lads from? Across the Nullarbor? Jesus let me buy you a beer."
This was an offer we could not refuse. Inside they had stopped serving food, but we made do with leftover pizza and some meager, but warm, toasted ham sandwiches. Inside were some more good folks who had clearly been holding down the fort for quite a while. A man named "Snook" introduced himself. He and his mate were impressed with our efforts; however, Snook’s friends did make scissor-hands to pretend to cut my hair.
"We don’t like that kind of hair around here."
"But", Snook replied, "he’s got a fair bit of chops" (you’ve seen the pictures; damn right I do).
The conversation with Snook and his mate was one in which I would need to drink a few beers to really get into. A young man who had spent the past eight months on farm exchange in the States introduced himself, and we finished our beer with him. He was coming down hard after his eight months away, and I think he was pretty happy to talk to some fellow travelers. Alas we left him, still 40 km to go, and the Cleve kids had a few more rounds of questions.
"What happens when it rains?" "We get wet," and it was looking like it was getting ready to rain, too. They also gave us some advice, "Watch out for the boogie man!" and some good advice, "Take care on the road to Lucky Bay; it’s about half dirt."
"Those red flashing lights on the way down to Cowell, those are wind farm lights."
I was about to be impressed at the with-it-ness of these kids, when one of the kid’s older sisters walked across the street and yelled out to one of the little darlings, "Mom wants you home."
"Suck me off!" he replied.
With that ringing in our ears and a grin I could not stifle, we rode into the night.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Discretion is the better part of valor.
Feb 22 @ 7:30 a.m. to Feb 23rd @ 4:30 a.m.
Sometimes you can get the feeling that you’re more rested than you really are. That’s how I felt the day we decided to try and push the whole way across the Eyre peninsula, roughly 400 km, in one go. Two nights in a bed had us revved up, and with six hours under our belt we were feeling like we could go forever. It was enough to get us 270 km or to about 4:30 a.m. on the 23rd.
Two things:
At Kyancutta we said goodbye to the Eyre Highway. This was our first fork in the road since Norseman nearly 2000 km ago. This meant that for at least a short time we said goodbye to the road trains that dominated the road.
And gradually on the 50 km to Lock, with each peddle over peddle and crank over crank, the bike wore down our determination to try and get to the ferry by 1 a.m. the next day.
It was a short talk of our options before Anthony asked if I would think less of him if we stopped for the night. I told him it was great idea, in fact I said, I think more of him. We laid our bikes on the deserted country road and pealed open tuna and crackers, laying down gingerly on our sides to avoid our battered backsides. We rolled our bikes to the bush and didn’t set the alarm. The heat would no doubt wake us.
Sometimes you can get the feeling that you’re more rested than you really are. That’s how I felt the day we decided to try and push the whole way across the Eyre peninsula, roughly 400 km, in one go. Two nights in a bed had us revved up, and with six hours under our belt we were feeling like we could go forever. It was enough to get us 270 km or to about 4:30 a.m. on the 23rd.
Two things:
At Kyancutta we said goodbye to the Eyre Highway. This was our first fork in the road since Norseman nearly 2000 km ago. This meant that for at least a short time we said goodbye to the road trains that dominated the road.
And gradually on the 50 km to Lock, with each peddle over peddle and crank over crank, the bike wore down our determination to try and get to the ferry by 1 a.m. the next day.
It was a short talk of our options before Anthony asked if I would think less of him if we stopped for the night. I told him it was great idea, in fact I said, I think more of him. We laid our bikes on the deserted country road and pealed open tuna and crackers, laying down gingerly on our sides to avoid our battered backsides. We rolled our bikes to the bush and didn’t set the alarm. The heat would no doubt wake us.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Big enough to have a salad bar!
Feb 20th -22nd
Ceduna - In our minds for the past 11 days we had seen it as the end to our Eyre Highway adventure. This was the biggest town since Esperance - smaller than Esperance, but still bigger than Norseman; at this point, it seemed downright cosmopolitan.
It is situated on the coast and has a long jetty that is a regular fixture on all of these towns in western and southern Australia that are built on shallow bays. We spent roughly 36 hours in Ceduna before our big push to Adelaide. Our time here was thankfully uneventful, with of course the following exceptions:
Food: my, what a surprise. Both days found us repeat customers at both Bill’s Fish and Chips for lunch and the Ceduna Hotel/Motel right on the beachfront for dinner. They earned our business for the following reasons:
1) Bill’s fish are as fresh as they could come; some, if not all, are line, not net, caught. The silver, pink and gold fillets are laid out in small quantities in the display case. When that day’s fish are gone, you just have to wait for the fisherman.
2) The batter is tasty, but light. I felt like I was eating a fish fried in batter, not a batter-ball with a fishy center.
3) The hotel serves a decent feed. What brought us back was the diverse, fresh and unlimited salad bar. Good for the fresh veggies we had been missing, plus we could eat to our full volume, which is considerable.
The second reason Ceduna was of note was that our dear Austrian cyclists, Phillipp and Valeska, rolled into town a few hours after us. We both stayed at the same caravan park. It was just 10 bucks extra for our own self-contained trailer over a campsite, and after a lot of time outside it’s hard to put a price on your own enclosed space. We shared some beers, commiserated over cycling, and I was delighted to find out that they planning to head through Seattle to Alaska. I hope to put them up.
Ceduna - In our minds for the past 11 days we had seen it as the end to our Eyre Highway adventure. This was the biggest town since Esperance - smaller than Esperance, but still bigger than Norseman; at this point, it seemed downright cosmopolitan.
It is situated on the coast and has a long jetty that is a regular fixture on all of these towns in western and southern Australia that are built on shallow bays. We spent roughly 36 hours in Ceduna before our big push to Adelaide. Our time here was thankfully uneventful, with of course the following exceptions:
Food: my, what a surprise. Both days found us repeat customers at both Bill’s Fish and Chips for lunch and the Ceduna Hotel/Motel right on the beachfront for dinner. They earned our business for the following reasons:
1) Bill’s fish are as fresh as they could come; some, if not all, are line, not net, caught. The silver, pink and gold fillets are laid out in small quantities in the display case. When that day’s fish are gone, you just have to wait for the fisherman.
2) The batter is tasty, but light. I felt like I was eating a fish fried in batter, not a batter-ball with a fishy center.
3) The hotel serves a decent feed. What brought us back was the diverse, fresh and unlimited salad bar. Good for the fresh veggies we had been missing, plus we could eat to our full volume, which is considerable.
The second reason Ceduna was of note was that our dear Austrian cyclists, Phillipp and Valeska, rolled into town a few hours after us. We both stayed at the same caravan park. It was just 10 bucks extra for our own self-contained trailer over a campsite, and after a lot of time outside it’s hard to put a price on your own enclosed space. We shared some beers, commiserated over cycling, and I was delighted to find out that they planning to head through Seattle to Alaska. I hope to put them up.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Push to Ceduna, Goodbye to the Nullarbor; Hello Eyre Peninsula
Feb 19th
We slept. We ate. The weather changed with the wind bringing cool air and the threat of rain. We got ready and checked the weather. Nothing conclusive. We had locked our room as the proprietor had asked, but after looking at the wind and weather we decided to wait and leave at midnight.
Nundroo is owner operated. There is something to be said about this. On a road like the Eyre Highway, you just don’t have to be nice if you don’t want to. That morning I had been immediately put off by the sour looks and pinched face of the landlord, but had held back judgment until we spoke to him about the room. We said we needed it for the day, and he charged us the full $77 AUD. This made sense, as he would be unable to rent the room that evening. I left thinking that despite his constipatidly-pained appearance, he was just a no BS kinda guy. No worries right? That evening, after deciding we would wait on the weather for three more hours, I asked him if we could get back in our room – having paid the full price for 24 hours of occupancy. He leaned back in his stool, crossed his arms and looked at me with disdain through glasses that made his eyes seems rather large, "Well, you’re entitled to it. Do you have your key?"
That morning he had told us to leave the key on the dresser and lock the door behind us. "No" I replied, "I locked the door like you said I should."
"Well, I don’t have a key; there’s nothing I can do for you." Behind this charmer was a wall of keys, and it really defied logic that after each tenant left they would not have a means of opening the room again. I like to think the best of people, but this gentleman was doing his best to make me pay for those assumptions. Fortunately a recent hire, and English bloke, who had been watching the whole episode unfold, piped in.
"What about those keys?" he gestured to the wall, covered as it was in keys.
'They probably don’t work. If they do, it might be this one," he said and pulled off a key ring that looked suspiciously like the key ring that a maid might use as she made her rounds to change the bedding.
Our Limey hero, probably earning a tail-chewing in the process, grabbed the keys and led us back to our room. Trying several keys, he found the correct one. We slept. I believe I am better at napping than Anthony. I think this might irritate him a little. We had instant coffee in the room to wake up and made our way onto the road.
75 km down the road in Penong at the local roadhouse there, we met a kindred spirit of our landlord. She served us terrible coffee and under-heated pastries, but it was really the frown that gave it the vitriolic taste that I really enjoy.
Except for rain, nothing happened on the way to Ceduna. However, I was somewhat disappointed that the lady at the information center who gave us our Nullarbor Completion Certificates was so nice. I was hoping for a hat-trick of nasty people. You just can’t always get what you want.
We slept. We ate. The weather changed with the wind bringing cool air and the threat of rain. We got ready and checked the weather. Nothing conclusive. We had locked our room as the proprietor had asked, but after looking at the wind and weather we decided to wait and leave at midnight.
Nundroo is owner operated. There is something to be said about this. On a road like the Eyre Highway, you just don’t have to be nice if you don’t want to. That morning I had been immediately put off by the sour looks and pinched face of the landlord, but had held back judgment until we spoke to him about the room. We said we needed it for the day, and he charged us the full $77 AUD. This made sense, as he would be unable to rent the room that evening. I left thinking that despite his constipatidly-pained appearance, he was just a no BS kinda guy. No worries right? That evening, after deciding we would wait on the weather for three more hours, I asked him if we could get back in our room – having paid the full price for 24 hours of occupancy. He leaned back in his stool, crossed his arms and looked at me with disdain through glasses that made his eyes seems rather large, "Well, you’re entitled to it. Do you have your key?"
That morning he had told us to leave the key on the dresser and lock the door behind us. "No" I replied, "I locked the door like you said I should."
"Well, I don’t have a key; there’s nothing I can do for you." Behind this charmer was a wall of keys, and it really defied logic that after each tenant left they would not have a means of opening the room again. I like to think the best of people, but this gentleman was doing his best to make me pay for those assumptions. Fortunately a recent hire, and English bloke, who had been watching the whole episode unfold, piped in.
"What about those keys?" he gestured to the wall, covered as it was in keys.
'They probably don’t work. If they do, it might be this one," he said and pulled off a key ring that looked suspiciously like the key ring that a maid might use as she made her rounds to change the bedding.
Our Limey hero, probably earning a tail-chewing in the process, grabbed the keys and led us back to our room. Trying several keys, he found the correct one. We slept. I believe I am better at napping than Anthony. I think this might irritate him a little. We had instant coffee in the room to wake up and made our way onto the road.
75 km down the road in Penong at the local roadhouse there, we met a kindred spirit of our landlord. She served us terrible coffee and under-heated pastries, but it was really the frown that gave it the vitriolic taste that I really enjoy.
Except for rain, nothing happened on the way to Ceduna. However, I was somewhat disappointed that the lady at the information center who gave us our Nullarbor Completion Certificates was so nice. I was hoping for a hat-trick of nasty people. You just can’t always get what you want.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
The Nullarbor fades.
Feb 18th*
At sunset we left this Tarantino-inspired landscape for Nundroo – flat road and a sunset that set quickly on the unobstructed horizon. The heat still broiled the air despite the sunless sky. We powered up on Tim Tams (like Oreos but 10 times better – chocolate filling dipped in chocolate) and Redbulls before rolling away.
I soon decided to ride shirtless, a rare treat as it has usually been quite brusque at night. Riding without a shirt in the daytime is out of the question with my Northern European pigmentation. Besides, I would hate to ruin my Seattle tan - what would the neighbors think? Within 15 km, the land began its transformation from the desolation of the Nullarbor back into, as the lady at Nullarbor Roadhouse said, "good old Australian bush." Scrubby skeletons gave way to fuller salt brush and, eventually, actual gum trees.
Thankfully there was no wind. The road began to show some shape again with the rolling hills that breed speed – something Anthony and I were grateful for after the last few days of slogging it out. In between the heat were pockets of cold, refreshing air that whipped pleasantly across my bare skin.
We arrived at Nundroo a half hour after sunrise. I was more exhausted than I realized. The heat was already up, and the flies were coming with it. Dirty with dust and salt, they went right for our eyes and mouth. It was not an option to ride in the upcoming heat. We got a room for the day.
* Note: My dear readers, by this time you will have realized that these blogs are quite postdated. I did this because the internet between Norseman and Adelaide was very spotty. I am now in Hall's Gap in the Grampians and have a terrible confession to make - since leaving the Nullarbor Roadhouse, I have only made brief notes on the days, and for February 18th through the 28th will have to rely on these and my memory. I will do my best. Please enjoy.
At sunset we left this Tarantino-inspired landscape for Nundroo – flat road and a sunset that set quickly on the unobstructed horizon. The heat still broiled the air despite the sunless sky. We powered up on Tim Tams (like Oreos but 10 times better – chocolate filling dipped in chocolate) and Redbulls before rolling away.
I soon decided to ride shirtless, a rare treat as it has usually been quite brusque at night. Riding without a shirt in the daytime is out of the question with my Northern European pigmentation. Besides, I would hate to ruin my Seattle tan - what would the neighbors think? Within 15 km, the land began its transformation from the desolation of the Nullarbor back into, as the lady at Nullarbor Roadhouse said, "good old Australian bush." Scrubby skeletons gave way to fuller salt brush and, eventually, actual gum trees.
Thankfully there was no wind. The road began to show some shape again with the rolling hills that breed speed – something Anthony and I were grateful for after the last few days of slogging it out. In between the heat were pockets of cold, refreshing air that whipped pleasantly across my bare skin.
We arrived at Nundroo a half hour after sunrise. I was more exhausted than I realized. The heat was already up, and the flies were coming with it. Dirty with dust and salt, they went right for our eyes and mouth. It was not an option to ride in the upcoming heat. We got a room for the day.
* Note: My dear readers, by this time you will have realized that these blogs are quite postdated. I did this because the internet between Norseman and Adelaide was very spotty. I am now in Hall's Gap in the Grampians and have a terrible confession to make - since leaving the Nullarbor Roadhouse, I have only made brief notes on the days, and for February 18th through the 28th will have to rely on these and my memory. I will do my best. Please enjoy.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Miles and miles of bugger all.
Feb 18
Woke from a deep sleep, and the wind that had shifted from the east to the north – a crosswind. Still tiring, but it was a wind that let us keep up a pretty high speed.
The Nullarbor Plain proper was not the shrubby land we had rode through so far. The actual plain only comes to the coast for 15 km. The majority of the plain is farther inland and nearly the size of England. It is quite treeless; they don’t lie; there’s not even a shrub higher than my knee. The locals say, "miles and miles of bugger all." Translated, this is means a lot of excessive amounts of nothing. Everything is either gray or straw colored and looks dead; yet a few hardy settlers chose this harsh land to make their home.
15 km out, we spotted the Nullarbor Roadhouse – a one-story building that stood out like a sore thumb on the horizon. Too hot to ride, we took a pink trailer room that was too hot to sleep in. We dozed, had beer and burgers, and planned our ride into the night. "Good old Australian bush" was said to be coming up. Having not seen any for 400 km, I was quite happy in anticipation of this.
Woke from a deep sleep, and the wind that had shifted from the east to the north – a crosswind. Still tiring, but it was a wind that let us keep up a pretty high speed.
The Nullarbor Plain proper was not the shrubby land we had rode through so far. The actual plain only comes to the coast for 15 km. The majority of the plain is farther inland and nearly the size of England. It is quite treeless; they don’t lie; there’s not even a shrub higher than my knee. The locals say, "miles and miles of bugger all." Translated, this is means a lot of excessive amounts of nothing. Everything is either gray or straw colored and looks dead; yet a few hardy settlers chose this harsh land to make their home.
15 km out, we spotted the Nullarbor Roadhouse – a one-story building that stood out like a sore thumb on the horizon. Too hot to ride, we took a pink trailer room that was too hot to sleep in. We dozed, had beer and burgers, and planned our ride into the night. "Good old Australian bush" was said to be coming up. Having not seen any for 400 km, I was quite happy in anticipation of this.
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