Sweet Mercy, Halelujah

Last night was horrendous. The wind roared up to gale force intensity and the campsite was drenched in rain. The walls of the cabin were bowing from the wind so badly that the bunk beds were shifting back and forth. I'm glad we eventually decided on the cabin instead of the tents; I reckon my tent would have been picked up by a gust and flung over the horizon.

In the morning the sky is overcast with dark clouds and it's still breezy but at least the rain has stopped. We climb up to one of the hilltop lookouts with a panoramic view of the town and harbour. There are several cargo ships in the harbour being guided in by tugs. The beachside resort we stayed at last night belies the true nature of this town as a major shipping port. They've done a good job of hiding that reality from the tourists.

We stop briefly at the abandoned fort facing the harbour. Built during WWII it served as defence for the town and as a command post for the ANZAC naval fleet. The original cannons and guns are still there although now only for display. Old material from the scuttled HMAS Perth is also on show. I'm not usually into war related exhibitions but I can't help to feel some empathy for the previous residents of Albany. The fear and uncertainty that ultimately created these war weapons must have been intensely demoralising.

We leave Albany to see the local coastal rock formations The Gap and The Bridge. The first formation is a natural funnel for waves and wind. We've chanced upon a perfect day to see this in action. The wind howls from the south, hits the rock funnel, and is then launched vertically out of the gap. Waves crashing into the gap are thrown tens of metres upwards by the concentrated wind. A precarious metal balcony hangs over the edge to let spectators get a better view. Of course this is also the best place to get drenched by the seaspray, as I quickly discover. National park rangers have a warped sense of humour.

Heading west from Albany I notice something really odd with my bike. It keeps leaning from side to side, twisting back and forth, almost as if.... sweet mercy... there are bends in this road! Dave has picked one of the roads from his Motorcycling Atlas. The ride is absolute magic. It winds through a forest and behind every inviting corner is another bend lying in wait. The camber and surface just begs the bike to go faster; sticking to the speed limit becomes a real struggle. After several weeks of straight roads disappearing into the horizon I was worried I'd forgotten how to turn corners but it's just like riding a bike, you never forget.

We stop briefly to tour the Valley of the Giants Tree Top Walk. This is similar to the Cape Otway Fly and I have the same reservations then as now with the concept. I don't consider it to be bushwalking when my feet never leave a man-made walkway. It seems clinical and tame. I entertain myself by shifting my weight on the suspended metal walkway until it's swaying from side to side by several feet. Dave gets seasick. I'm amused.

It's still early in the afternoon but we're now heading directly into the setting sun. Visibility is poor and I need to shield my eyes with my left hand. Rather than waste this brilliant piece of road we decide to call it a day in Walpole.

Blown Away

It's a shame we have to leave Cape Le Grand so soon but we have a deadline to meet in Perth. I'll be coming back here one day for a longer stay. Although next time it will be in spring; it got a tad chilly in the tent overnight.

Today we're aiming for Albany and it's another long haul which means an early start. I ride cautiously out of the national park, well aware that roos will be hopping about at this time of morning. Once I'm out of the park and back onto the highway I ramp up to the speed limit of 110kph.

Ten minutes later a big kangaroo jumps directly in front off my bike. He comes from behind a row of trees and I don't see him until he is on the road. I wail on the front brake and the ABS kicks in. I don't even think to pull the clutch or use the rear brake. I'm barely able to stop myself going over the handlebars, the rubber bites that hard into the road. The roo hops away, blissfully unaware of the disaster that was so narrowly averted.

I'm still in one piece, full of adrenaline, and now riding a lot slower. I catch up to Dave near Esperance and we start the first leg. The wind is getting fierce and it's a northerly which means almost all crosswind. It's also really gusty. The bikes are frequently pushed off balance so it's a constant fight to keep them upright. Oncoming trucks throw solid walls of air at my chest. I lean heavily into the crosswind and the front wheel steers an erratic path beneath me.

I stop for lunch in Jerramungup. Dave arrives soon after and he is clearly unimpressed. He's not enjoying the gusty conditions at all. However we continue onto Albany. The wind gets even fiercer as we head further south and it's not until the last few kilometres that we get shelter thanks to the forests. Thorests.

The last few kilometres are a great ride through wine fields, green pastures, and aromatic forests. It's a real treat after the dull straights of the past week. We rent a cabin right on the beach and only just in time as it starts to pour down.

Zzzzzzz

Ahhh, now this is the life. I wake to the soothing sounds of waves on the shore. After a lazy breakfast I retire to the beach with a book. It's winter yet it's comfortably warm in the sun. I alternate between reading, snoozing, and just staring at the waves.

Dave appears just before lunch. He's already climbed to the top of Frenchman's Peak, gone exploring the caves, ridden his bike all over the Cape, and is about to start off on a hike along the coast. "Are you just going to read that book?" he asks. "Why travel all this way just to read?"

My kind of holiday seems so much more relaxing.

Cape Le Grand

We stayed a second night in Kalgoorlie and it's another sunny although freezing morning. The bikes have been a big hit with the miners. Everyone wants to chat with us about the odyssey. There's something "mysterious" about travelling on a bike. However all I can think this morning is that it's probably better to ride around Australia in spring. Brrrr.

The goal today is Esperance and it's a big haul. The roads are well maintained, smooth and fast, with gentle sweeping bends. It's not an entertaining ride but it is exactly the right sort of road for eating up the kilometres. The bike is simply humming; there's no better way to describe it. There's not much to see other than scraggly bush. I relieve the tedium by singing loudly into my helmet.

We reach Esperance just before 2pm and after refuelling both ourselves and the bikes we detour east to Cape Le Grand. This is a national park on the southern coast and describing it as spectacular doesn't do it justice. The ride into the park curves gently around towering stone peaks. Soon we are in sight of perfectly white sands and clear blue oceans. Our campsite at Lucky Bay is mere feet from the beach. We're the only people here and it's so quiet. It's the exact opposite of the dirty bustling pandemonium we experienced just this morning in Kalgoorlie.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

I wake up to a cold but sunny morning in Kalgoorlie. It's only 6:00am but the campsite is bustling with activity. We soon learn there's a housing shortage in Kalgoorlie with even the nastiest rundown rentals going around $800 per week. Many miners have instead opted to live in tents at the campsite. They're all up early and getting ready for today's twelve hour shift. It's a rough way to live.

My bike needs new oil and the only Suzuki mechanic in town has graciously squeezed me into his Saturday schedule as the first job of the day. What a champion. My bike is purring again, pleased with all the attention no doubt, and in no time we're off to see the Kalgoorlie Super Pit.

For those who have been living under a rock, Kalgoorlie is a famous gold mining town. Originally people found gold nuggets simply lying on the ground. When the surface was exhausted they started underground mines, excavating seams, and digging out gold ore. Eventually even that was exhausted and the miners had reached rock so hard that their tools became useless.

So they gave up on underground mining and turned the whole area into an open cut mine. It's a bloody huge hole in the ground; about 1000 feet deep and kilometres around the edges. The hard rock is regularly blasted into rubble by hundreds of diesel-fertilizer explosives and the ore is then scooped into gigantic trucks. Each truck carries 200 tonnes of ore which produces just a few ounces of gold.

I'm watching all this from the observation deck and I feel a bit like I'm a kid in the sandpit with Tonka toys. I know the trucks are gigantic - each wheel is bigger than my bike - but from up here they look so tiny I could almost reach out and grab one. There's an endless stream of trucks rolling up and down the sides of the pit. A digger fills each truck with only four scoops. Within seconds the truck is trundling back out of the pit. It's like watching gigantic mechanical ants. The allure of gold causes all this activity and expense. It's just mind boggling.

I'm fascinated but I can't stay here all day. We scoot off to tour an old underground mine. Squeezing into a mining elevator we descend about 30 metres underground. Our guide is a retired miner with a gift for the gab. He demos various mining tools and takes us around the warren of old tunnels. It's kind of creepy and very cramped. The mining tools are deafening; it would have been difficult working in these conditions every day. I feel immensely grateful for my cushy desk job.

Back on the surface we're approached by another tourist who wants to know just how cramped it is down in the underground mine. He explains he's very claustrophobic and enclosed spaces might cause panic attacks. How should I explain this to him... IT'S A MINE!!! Sheesh.

We ride outside Kalgoorlie to an old abandoned mining "ghost" town. I was hoping for some decent ruins but the best I can find is a pile of rubble where the schoolhouse used to stand. It's a bit of a disappointment. However I did get a chance to practice my offroad riding. Dave is still a whole lot better at it than I am. This is not boding well for when we head north.

All Things Must End

It was a freezing cold night and there's ice on the bikes in the morning. Not frost. Solid ice. We scrape the bikes clean and head off west. This will be the last day on the Nullarbor and I'm eager to get it over with.

But the Nullarbor has one last nasty surprise. Just outside Caiguna is a sign announcing the 90 Mile Straight. No bends for a hundred and fifty kilometres. When the highly anticipated turn arrives it's a cause for celebration and Dave stops to take a photo. It's a normal looking turn in a normal looking road but I appreciate the significance.

After a few more hours on dull roads we reach Norseman, an old mining town and a definitive end to the Nullarbor. The town doesn't have much to offer. Even the locals seem to agree and we get advice from an old codger to go see "the biggest hole in Kalgoorlie". At least I think that is what he said.

Kalgoorlie is a large active mining town however the central shopping area is only four blocks long and it's all on the one street. Yet despite the apparent simplicity we manage to get lost trying to find the visitors information centre. The locals point us in the right direction and after arming ourselves with brochures and supplies we stop for the night at a campsite.

Boring Across The Nullarbor

Over the next two days we're crossing the Nullarbor. It's a short backtrack to Ceduna then it's west to Penong. The ground becomes very flat with few obstacles to obscure the view of the horizon. There's a forecast for thunderstorms today. I find it hard to believe we're headed into one of the driest places on earth and it's going to rain. Just our luck.

Heading into Penong we witness an amazing spectacle. Towering directly over the town is an incredibly large thundercloud. It must reach at least ten thousand feet into the atmosphere and it's clearly dumping buckets onto Penong. By pure good fortune the rain eases just as we reach town so we refuel and get moving before it starts again. Maybe the rain gods are taking pity on us.

The trees begin to thin and soon I see a sign announcing the start of the Nullarbor. It isn't what I expected. I thought Nullarbor meant no trees however I see many trees and shrubs. They're actually quite densely packed. We are still very close to the southern coast and I guess there's a long (very long) distance yet to cover. I was simply hoping for something more dramatic.

As we pass the Head of Bight we stop at one of the few tourist centres on this stretch. It's a lookout on a section of cliffs where whales are frequently spotted. We are lucky enough to see three Southern Right Whales. They swim at a leisurely pace right past the lookout. The wind is fierce and bitterly cold so we don't stay for too long.

We spend the first night at the Nullarbor Roadhouse. It is expensive but we're not in a position to argue.

The next day is perfect weather. Despite ominous warnings from the gray nomads we aren't riding into gale strength headwinds. In fact there's a slight tailwind and the sky is clear blue. The roads are still very straight and there's not much to do except stave off boredom by counting roadkill.

As I'm passing number forty seven I notice another kangaroo standing near his unlucky friend. Much to my surprise the kangaroo leaps into the air and sprouts a pair of wings. It's actually an eagle and it's nearly as wide as the bike. I had no idea they got so gigantic. I guess they're very well fed along this stretch of road.

The sun is setting quickly and neither of us want to risk hitting a kangaroo at dusk, so we spend our second night on the Nullarbor at Caiguna.