Cycling the nothingness of the Nullabor Plain
The story of how I lost my mind…. and legs…
“Is this the real life?
Or is this just Fantasy?”
“It was never ending. My mind would wander. My grip on reality loosen, I was losing it. Long roads jetting into the distance to unreachable horizons, any crest breached would reveal yet another endless, daunting vista.
Balancing on a narrow ribbon of asphalt stretching through this arid world I plugged in and switched off, escaping in music as the tedium rolled past. Every now and then I’d be jolted back into reality as a thunderous road train roared past. This was the Nullabor.”
Leaving behind the gold rush town of Norseman I headed East, 1,200 kilometres of scrubland stood between me and the next recognisable settlement. Roadhouses dotted the route at intervals of up to 200 kilometres or more but rumours of outrageous pricing had me well stocked up with supplies. I carried 10 days of food and only 6 litres of water.
From the Latin for ‘No Trees’ the Nullabor is often referred to as a desert, it was with slight confusion then I found my first night sheltering from the rain under the forest canopy. The truth is that the “treeless plain” is a hundred kilometre stretch centred on the hamlet of Nullabor but an utter lack of habitation has extended the label to the entire crossing from Norseman to Ceduna.
A wet night in the ten - better tie it to a tree!
Waking up in a sodden tent from my truly “wild camp” I scoffed down some cereal bars, packed up and emerged from the forest to rejoin the road. The road was a lifeline, my only hope of crossing East, but as another road train screamed past at alarming proximity I wondered If the road was there to save my life, or take it.
My first day proper on the Nullabor started at 7am, there wasn’t so much as a place to lean my bike against for the first 70 kilometres before arriving to an outback station at Fraser Range. I stopped for lunch, topped up my water bottles and got back to it. My only company a never ending loop of Queen’s ‘Greatest Hits’, the only surviving music after losing my iPhone a few weeks earlier.
Long and lonely road!
With nothing to punctuate the distances I felt stationary, only the light breeze on my face hinting at motion. As darkness approached (there really wasn’t much else to report in between!) I ducked off the road five kilometres before the first road house at Ballodonia. One hundred metres into the trees was enough to remain camouflaged without feeling completely disconnected from the world. “God knows how long it’d take for someone to find me if anything happened here” I pondered.
No water at the inn!
In the morning I popped into the roadhouse, I was still fully stocked but thought I’d test the waters and try and score a water top-up. To my surprise the staff wouldn’t even fill a bottle for, an apparently desperate, cyclist. Insisting instead I pay $6 for their chilled bottled water. I declined their kind offer and spotted a caravan outside who after a short chat generously topped me up. 10k past the roadhouse I remembered last night’s mishap in the rain and the wet matches I was meant to replace, cursed and decided the detour too long to go back.
There seemed to be a remarkable and unexpected torrent of caravans heading West across the Nullabor. Chatting to some retired caravaners, or ‘Grey Nomads’ as they are delightfully referred, they explained how everyone was heading north for winter. I imagined David Attenborough’s slow drawl narrating the story:
“Today we witness the great migration of the Grey Nomads…”
“…Stocked up with jam scones and cups of tea these unusual mammals tour the plains in search of quaint villages, obscure country museums and more cups of tea….”
“…Our cameraman camped out for three weeks in this small-town tourist information centre to capture this magnificent footage of this couple idly flicking through some leaflets and ordering more tea…”
“… In the achey cold of winter these elderly explorers flock north in search of warmer climes, leaving a trail of crumbs and biscuits in their wake.”
Some of the Grey Nomads would hop from caravan park to caravan park, whilst others, like me, scoffed at the high prices and would camp up in rest areas and car parks. The one thing common to both was their kindness and eager to help out as I plodded my way along.
Australia's straightest road, great!
After 50 kilometres of more monotony the road took a turn to the East, it would be the last directional adjustment of the day as a sign informed me “Australia’s longest straight road”. Stretched before me was 146km of completely straight tarmac. As luck would have it a light Westerly wind converged on my bearing, pushing me along nicely with a bipolar mixture of angry horn blasts from road trains and cheery waves from caravans keeping me awake.
A sang along at full volume to the empty expanse. “Beelzebub has a devil put aside for meeeee…. For meeeeeeeeeee…. For meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!” I got a bit caught up in the moment and my wayne’s world style head banging looked to have startled the next passing caravan, which I didn’t quite notice in time to act normal so just continued through. “So you think you can stone me and spit in my eyeeeeeee!….So you think you can love me and leave me to diiiieeeeeee!…Ooooohhh baby…….. can’t do this to me baby……Just gotta get out…. Just gotta get right outta here!”
After what could have been minutes, hours or days, I’m not sure, another sign informed of a rest area 5km ahead – a real highlight on such a day. I lunched on a picnic bench before a 4×4 pulled in to the bay. I said “Hello” and after chatting about my trip was delighted when the guy returned from his car with 2 packs of waterproof, windproof matches. “These’ll light in anything” he said handing them to me. “A warm meal tonight after all!”
Darkness once again fell but flying along at 30kph, to the sounds of Queen still rocking in my ears, it seemed a shame to waste the tailwind. Having no lights on the bike was a slight hindrance, but on such a road I could see the bright lights of approaching traffic for kilometres in both directions and get off the road in plenty of time. I pushed on guided by moonlight alone until I reached another sign, informing me of the next roadhouse. I didn’t want to pay to camp so set up in a rest area just before. I’d covered 192km and was in high spirits. “At this rate I’ll be across in 7 days or less!”
Bush camping
Wake Up. Put oats on to cook. Pack up. Dismantle tent. Eat oats. Load up bike. Cycle. I was becoming a well oiled machine feeling as if i was automatically following instructions from a an existential source. Cycle. Cycle. Stop. Eat lunch. Cycle. Cycle. Wave at caravan. Cycle. Cycle. Get Tired. Stop. Put up tent. Cook. Eat. Too tired to read. Sleep.
I made it that night to Madura Pass and camped on top of the lookout I had an infinite view of the expanse of the Roe Plain. In the night a 4×4 had arrived and in the morning chatted to another couple of Grey Nomads over breakfast (of more oats!). As I jumped on the bike I spotted something I’d been looking for for days. A cyclist was climbing up the pass. Various people i’d chatted to had told me about cyclists heading my way, but their confusing guesses of distances seemed to wildly vary. “We just passed them” or “Just 20km back” turned into 2 or 3 days cycling. The difference in speed between cars and bikes warping their hopeless estimates.
A chilly morning overlooking Madura Pass
It turned out to be a father and son team, the father cycling from Melbourne to Broome and the son with the monotonous task of driving the support van and supplying dad with food and drink. As Dad made his way up the pass I chatted to the son at the top and swapped stories and info on the road ahead, it seemed a whole lot easier having someone carry all your stuff I joked! As I said good bye he held out his hand and gave me a folded up note. “To help out with the roadhouse prices and some accommodation along the way”. It was $50!
I rolled down the pass with a smile on my face, the first downhill in days, skipped another roadhouse and joined yet more straight road. I reached the next roadhouse at around 3:30pm. My electronics were all running low on battery. My phone and laptop weren’t a problem but I was keen to keep my GPS alive, so I could continue to track the trip. Opening my wallet for the first time I bought a $5 Aussie pie and sat in the cafe for an hour recharging my electronics. It was frustrating to watch time slip by but I didn’t have a choice. I asked a couple of truckers how far the next rest stop was, wanting to free camp again that night. Answers of 8-10km filled me with confidence in the fading light… 25km later in complete darkness I arrived to the rest stop – never trust distance estimations from drivers!
The next morning I was low on water. I rounded a corner and spotted a group of vehicles on the horizon. Parked on a Royal Flying Doctors airstrip was a police checkpoint. A tall policeman waved me down. I told him about my trip before he ran back to the police van to grab a few bottles of water and send me on my way. “Big climb ahead” he shouted as I rolled away.
The ‘big climb’ was Eucla pass, at around halfway across the plain it was a significant milestone but with tired legs and a heavy load the steep hundred metres of elevation was slow going. At the top I turned around and was treated to another incredible view extending forever across the plain and out to sea.
There were a few tourists at Eucla who offered me water and food. I cleaned up in the restrooms and charged my electronics some more – it was proving a ridiculous waste of time, but lonely days and evenings in the tent had me draining batteries listening to music and watching movies on my laptop.
Eucla: closing in on Sydney
Getting back on the road it was just another 12km to Border Village, marking the border between Western and Southern Australia. “What a mammoth state!” I thought, having taken 3 weeks to cross it! Despite being on the road less than an hour I took a second food stop. I was exhausted and getting no where battling against the strong headwind. I resolved to get back on the road and was treated to my first views of the impressive coastline along the Australian Bight. The Bunda Cliffs are 90m high at points and I was more than happy to use the frequent view points as excuses to rest against the relentless headwind, inching as close as I dared to peer over the edge.
The Bunda Cliffs
The wind continued all afternoon and looking at the time I wasn’t anywhere near where I’d aimed to get. A depressing average speed of 14kph stared back at me from my GPS. Again low on water I targeted a rain water tank marked on my map about 20km down the road. I tucked down but with all the panniers on the bike it felt like cycling into the wind with a parachute dragging me back.
To my despair the water tank had been shut off. I had no water and it was still 60km to the next roadhouse! The rest area adjoined to the water tank extended towards the cliffs and in the distance I thankfully spotted another caravan. Seeing me approaching the friendly owner came out to greet me. Shouting against the wind I explained my predicament and handed over my empty water bottles. There was another hour of light, but against the wind there was no chance of making the next stop 20km down the road, exhausted I decided to call it a day. I pitched my tent in the gale force winds, sheltering behind a small pile of stones.
Camping in the wild wind
The tent flapped in the wind all night, creating a loud annoying noise inside. Never-the-less I soon collapsed to sleep, waking before sunrise to pack up for another day on the endless road.
The wind was still howling in the morning. Turning east on to the road that wind slapped me in the face, and would remain in front all day. At times I would push up on my pedals and try and break through and at other times aimlessly spin in a low gear feeling useless against the awesome force of nature. Either way I seemed to make no progress whilst inputting huge amounts of energy, I was slowly burning out. Kilometres could take anywhere up to 10 minutes, a depressing increase from the usual 3!
I became frustrated at the smallest of things. The wind was so strong it blew out my headphones, I spent an infuriating 10 minutes trying to replug them in, each time they popped out becoming more and more angry. When I finally came up with a way of keeping them in it proved fruitless as I couldn’t hear anything over the wind.
By now I knew the words by heart anyway and continued my angry song to the wind.
“Open your eyes….Look up to the skies and seeeeeeee….I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy… Because I’m easy come, easy go… A little high, little low….
Anyway the wind blows, doesn’t really matter to me, to me”
Actually you know what Freddy, I thought. It really does matter which way the bloody wind blows to me!
More endless road
I barely looked up all day. Waves and smiles from passing caravaners went unreturned. Another pitifully low average speed had me way behind schedule again. I rolled into the Nullabor roadhouse after dark. I’d planned to top up on water and push on to a free camp spot again but exhausted and after four days on the road decided a shower wouldn’t go a-miss.
“Does that include water or a shower?” I tried. “Nope”. $20 seemed like a lot to pay when I wasn’t getting any more than I would be camping in the bush, an extra $1 for a 3 minute shower. I set up my tent on the hard standing, my tent pegs failing to penetrate the ground. “What a rubbish camp site”.
Bicycle outside the nullabor roadhouse
“3 minutes for my first shower this week, hmmm…” I undressed and lathered up in soap in the cubicle beforehand, not wanting to waste valuable hot water time. My soapy hands dropped the dollar coin into the shower machine… *clunk*…nothing… I sighed. Naked and covered in soap I didn’t have another coin on me. “Arse!”
“Try this one, mate. I’m done” came the odd shout from the next cubicle. “No worries , mate” he continued, a soggy hand appearing above the door offering out 3 dollar coins on somehow overhearing my predicament. “See you in the bar later!”
Returning to my tent, semi-clean, I realised I was again out of drinking water. It was now 7pm and most were already tucked away in their caravans. I saw one man coming back from his car, doing his final end-of night checks. He gladly offered to top up my water, whilst his wife shouted out of the window “Do you fancy some food?”. A few minutes later I was eating a delicious meal chatting outside with the both of them. I headed to the bar to return the mystery shower guy’s $3 and charge up my electronics yet again. He refused the money and bought me a beer. After a hard day’s cycle I went to bed with another smile.
Head of the Bight
The next morning the wind blew even stronger, I was reluctant to get back on the road for another tough day. 20km down the road was a turn off for the Head of the Bight, where whales had been spotted in the bay. 12km off the highway I debated the detour, but having done nothing of interest in days, and happy to take a perpendicular turn out of the wind I headed south to the coast.
“You just missed the Whales!” I was informed. “Should have been here earlier!” The cliffs were impressive enough, but I felt a little short-changed at my mammoth detour. I chatted to a friendly young couple of backpackers who offered to give me a lift back to the highway. I concluded it wasn’t cheating and somehow we squeezed the bike inside their touring station wagon. “Sure, you don’t want a lift to the next town?” Mike asked.
I sure wasn’t enjoying myself… “Why not take the lift?” “Doesn’t it all seem a bit pointless?” I thought… Stubbornness won through in the end and I declined the kind offer, cursing the decision all day as I battled on into the crushing wind.
The road rolled up and down, slowing my progress further. I ran low on water again but couldn’t find anywhere to top up. By early evening my last hope was a roadhouse. I pushed on into the evening yet again but found the roadhouse abandoned. I had under 1 litre of water left. I cycled in the dark for another hour before realising I was too far from anywhere, all rest bays coming up empty in my search for more caravaners.
Cycling into the empty evening... again
I set up camp and cooked some noodles, drinking the water I’d cooked them in and trying to sleep. In the morning I woke up dehydrated and hungry. Not enough water to cook oats, I saved the last 200ml to ration throughout the morning. On the road at sunrise it was bitterly cold, I struggled to circulate blood around my hands, shaking and rubbing them together vigorously, which is quite tricky whilst cycling! I checked my GPS’s temperature reading which read 1 degree.
The sun finally peaked above the trees and I attempted to bask my hands holding them above my head in the flittering sunshine, the windchill far outweighing any solar gain. Eventually I made it to the Nundroo roadhouse. A scruffy place, I put the prices aside and ordered a breakfast sandwich and bought some milk, “$17?! ouch!” I still didn’t fancy paying so much for water and downing the milk I felt that would get me to the next free water source, wherever that was!
Five or six empty rest stops later I was again starting to get desperate. I’d gone 70km on no water and there was still nowhere in sight. Deciding the time was right I reached down to my water bottle and waved it in the air as a caravan passed. First try I got a hapless cheery wave back, but the next caravan I was delighted to see had stopped around the next corner. “Hey Mate! Need some water?”. I smiled and handed him my water bottles. He came back with them full and a big bag of oranges, explaining that the fruit quarantine check point coming up meant that they’d have to chuck them otherwise.
Reinvigorated by the water and the first fruit in days I pushed on, making it to the village of Penong at lunchtime, which to my surprise had a general store where I bought some overpriced snacks to keep me going. The afternoon was slow and again I was on the road at dark. I was just 7km from Ceduna, dreaming of food and a warm bed, after 8 days of repetitive food and camping on the Nullabor.
Camping in the woods before Ceduna
I soon remembered my budget and realised I’d not ran out of food that I could cook with the stove, so resolved again and pitched camp 5k before town. As I entered my tent in the evening I could see the lights of Ceduna flickering on the horizon. So close but still in a tent in the bushes!
I got to Ceduna in the morning. First stop was the supermarket and a *HUGE* breakfast of cereal, fruit and yoghurt followed by a big pack of chocolate biscuits. Appetite temporarily satisfied I had a look around town, but soon realised there was no real point in stopping and at 100km to the next village it didn’t seem to be any less remote post Nullabor. I’d considered and obsessed over the Norseman to Ceduna crossing and how to overcome the challenge, but the truth of the matter was I still had around 400km to my next prospect of staying indoors with a cycling host lined up near Port Augusta and nearly 3,000km left of Australia!
Halfway across Australia!
The next few days I cycled more long distances across the Eyre Penninsula through farmland, little more interesting than the scrub of before. Camping on small community campsites, rest areas and, when it started to rain, indoors in a camp kitchen. I’d cycled about 1,900km in 14 days since Esperance without rest, camping every night, I was exhausted. I’d tested my body and come out more or less intact, but less could be said for my mind. The cycling had become a boring chore punctuated by lonely nights in the tent and repetitive meals. That was the Nullabor.
FAQ for cyclists
What did I eat?
It is possible to buy food at the roadhouses (approx every 100-200km), expensive meals and basic supplies. Being on a tight budget I didn’t want to reply on this so carried 10 days worth of food for the crossing. Cycling big distances every day concentrated on trying to consume enough calories, whilst trying to keep the weight down. I ate through the heavy tins of veg in the first few days. My basic meal plan was:
Breakfast: Instant Oats with jam
Lunch: Tortilla wraps (keep well in sealed bags) with salami or peanut butter
Dinner: Pasta/noodles/cous cous with tuna/tinned veg (with a few emergency instant meals)
Snacks: Chocolate digestives, nuts, fruit, cereal bars.
Nullabor Food List:
6x tins of Tuna
4x tins Chicken
1 tin Beetroot
5x tins 4 bean mix
1 tin Peas and corn
1 tin diced tomato
32 tortilla wraps (spinach, tomato, whole grain)
1.5kg oats
500g Jam
550g Peanut butter
750g Nutella
450g cous cous
500g pasta
1kg peanuts
3x 275g salami
13 packs instant noodles
6x instant meals (pasta and sauce, ainsley harriot cous cous and risottos)
1 pack m&ms
1kg bananas
3x 200g dark chocolate
4x 300g choco digestives
2x 200g shotbread
24 cereal bars
How to get water?
I carried 4x 1.5 litre water bottles. Drinking around 3-4 litres a day in the cool winter temperatures I didn’t often fall below 3 litres without a chance to ask a caravan to top up. Rainwater tanks were few and far between, the ones in SA were actually all switched off. Roadhouses would not top up water bottles, but expensive drinking water was available. It was possible to top up water in some toilet blocks, this water was usually marked “non-potable” though. In summer temperatures, it may be necessary to drink double the amount I was drinking or more, which would mean needing to carry much more.
The Wind
Everyone told me that in the winter months the wind prevailed from the West. This was true for a couple of days as a southwesterly blew, before the wind turned around. With nothing to break the wind in any directions I think whichever way you go you have to be ready for at least a few days of huge headwinds!
