Crossing the Nullarbor
KALGOORLIE TO NORSEMAN
We were now three weeks into our trip. After our rest day in Kalgoorlie and a wonderful time with Rob and Kerry we were back on the road. Ahead of us were about 1,700km until our next rest day. It was set to take us approximately 18 days and felt daunting.
We continued on our southeast trajectory making our way down to the Nullarbor and the Eyre Highway that cuts through it.
The Nullarbor is large, remote flat, almost treeless, dry part of southern Australia. It occupies an area of about 200,000 square kilometres (pretty much the size of England and Scotland combined).
At Norseman and the start of the Nullarbor we popped into the local police station. We’d been advised to let them know we were planning to cycle across this remote area. It was also a good chance to share the resources of Fortem. Tara is an ambassador for this organisation which provides support for the mental health and wellbeing of first responders and their families.
On our first day heading across the Nullarbor it was overcast. Joy of joys – it was the first time we’d seen clouds since beginning the journey! Sadly they burnt off quickly. The road was reasonably busy with cars, caravans and road trains. By now our approach of calling out the conditions on the road to each other was fluent and constant. Tara would let me know what was ahead and I would let her know what was approaching behind us, by looking in the mirror fixed to my handlebars.
Our calls were simple. “Truck,” or “Car and caravan,” or “Bump.” I’d make the call if we needed to get off the road. “Truck, off.” With the wind and traffic, keeping each other informed meant having to yell. It was not conducive to a chilled ride!
CHALLENGES
We weren’t alone on our ride. WA was full of flies. They hounded us from day one, hitching a ride on our backs as we cycled and clamouring to get into our eyes, nose and mouth as soon as we stopped. Nice. As we went, we inadvertently ate enough flies to constitute a protein source.
The flies played tag with the mozzies, so as the sun went down the flies disappeared only to be replaced by mozzies, generally forcing an early retreat into our tents.
The other thing set to hound us were more tyre issues. Day 24 and Tara’s tyre went flat. Ugh. Our tubeless set up meant that any punctures should fill with the sealant in the tyres. Tara pumped it up, but less than 1km later we were on the side of the road looking despondently at the soft tyre.
We explored the options, which proved to be limited: try to get a lift back to the bike shop in Kalgoorlie or take the tyre off and put an inner tube in. The former would set us back enormously. The latter was entering into a new realm of bike repairs. Tara put a call into a fellow firie who was travelling in the opposite direction across the Nullarbor with a friend. He gave us the confidence to put an inner tube in.
From the time we were forced to stop, to being back on the road was an unimpressive 3.5 hours. The problems weren’t over. Twenty kilometres later a concerning bulge in my front tyre exploded. Oh FFS! So we repeated the process on putting an inner tube, this time into a new tyre. On the upside this change took a mere 1h 20mins.
These bike issues created constant doubt and low-level anxiety wondering what would go wrong with them next.
A TRAGEDY
On Day 26, after an early start and a couple of hours on our bikes we noticed a lone cyclist coming in the opposite direction. He crossed over and we stopped and chatted to this lovely young guy, Leif, who was cycling around Australia to educate people about the differences they can make for climate action by changing their banks and super funds to those that don’t support fossil fuel investment. His passion shone through, even in our brief meeting.
After a bit of a chat we said our goodbyes and made our way to Caiguna for breakfast and a rendezvous with the firie, Pete who’d advised us on putting inners back into our tyres and his mate Theron. The manager came over to our table and told us that a lone cyclist had been hit and killed by a truck. It was Leif. We were deeply shocked, heartbroken and utterly devastated that this man, full of life, passion and vitality, in an instant had been taken from this world. Many tears were shed, we were rocked to our core. Our hearts immediately went out to his family and friends. We could only imagine their pain and grief.
We eventually got back on our bikes for the 65km to our end point for the day. It felt endless with a flat tyre just to add to it and I struggled to hold it together. I was exhausted physically mentally and emotionally. Arriving at Cocklebiddy, our planned stop, I broke down and cried. I cried for Leif, I cried from the anxiety and stress of being on the road and the relief of being off the road and away from the road trains.
We made the call that the next day would be a rest day and got a motel room. Later that evening, sitting in the restaurant someone walked up to our table. I looked up and to my utter amazement there were Rob and Kerry.
There were more tears, this time happy tears. Hearing about our continuing bike issues Rob had picked up some new tyres and inners and driven with Kerry over 600km to bring them to us. We could not believe it, that they had driven all that way! They also brought food and drink. It was a level of thoughtfulness and generosity that blew my mind. We changed the tyres and sat and chatted. Having them there was such a lift.
We took the next day off to pause and reflect. For the first time we thought about whether to continue with this ride. We talked about ways we could reduce the risks.
We decided to continue, carefully taking it one day at a time.
BACK ON THE ROAD
We were apprehensive getting back on the bikes and over the next three days we continued to the South Australian border. Some days were better than others, but there was no joy being on the bikes, just constant apprehension. I would experience a rush of tension every time I saw a road train in my mirror.
Tara also had contact with the mother of Leif’s best friend, as well as Leif’s aunt and mother. Tara has a way of holding space for grief, with the right words to hand, shared with incredible compassion and empathy. As the last people to have seen Leif I hope those conversations provided some comfort.
On Day 30 we reached the border - a big milestone. We went to the police as we’d been asked to give a statement having been the last people to have spoken to Leif. Talking to one of the policemen, he bristled when we told him what we were doing. He told us two weeks earlier another cyclist had been killed on the section we were set to embark on. He told us how dangerous the road was and how he shuddered every time he saw another cyclist making their way along this road, worried that they wouldn’t make it.
There was a moment that Tara and I did laugh about later. Tara was explaining our approach to the policeman on how we get off the roads for road trains and the other measures we were taking. He began to soften a little and then said, “Yeah ok well that’s good to hear,” and looking at me said, “and you are”, he paused, clearly searching for the right word, “mmm….mature.” Thanks mate.
We gave our statement and at the roadhouse chatted to a truckie to get his perspective of cyclists and the road ahead. There was no good news or anything to suggest continuing was a good idea.
CHANGE OF PLANS
Tara and I talked. Neither of us were feeling it. All the messaging said don’t continue. We decided to take another rest day and put calls in to friends to get some objective input. We needed to create space and let the emotions settle before making a decision.
What I kept coming back to was is it worth it and our 'why'? There was no enjoyment on the bike. On the other side, I (and Tara) had invested much time, money and effort into make this trip happen. We wanted to continue raising money, but risks felt too high. I reflected back to my Nile expedition trying to dissect why the risk felt different here. The reality was it felt like I was dicing with death more.
We agreed that we wanted to continue, but not on the Nullarbor. We decided to skip the section between the border and Ceduna and instead head down to the Eyre Peninsular. Leif had told us how beautiful it was down there. We would then aim to make up the missed kms back in Sydney.
Having goals is important. It’s also important to hold them gently and know when it’s time to adjust them or even let them go.
Throughout the journey, Tara and I were in agreement on all the decisions, from big ones like this, to smaller ones like whether to get a motel room over camping or if dessert was in order. A better adventure buddy I couldn’t have hoped for!
The next day we scored a lift to Ceduna from a great guy called Steve. It was a lovely drive and he acted as tour guide taking us to see the Great Australian Bight.
Two days later we were back on the road, making our way down through the Eyre Peninsular. As Leif said, it was beautiful. The roads were quiet, the joy came back and our journey continued. Our goal was to make our way down through the Peninsular before heading back up to re-join our planned route.
The next update will be the final one for this trip that sees us dealing with road trains, a mice plague and a lot of climbing over the Great Dividing Range before we could reach the end...
Sarah x x
PS For anyone who’d like to donate to the charities we’re raising money for, please head to www.cyclingoz.com/donate Thanks so much!