Riding Backwards Uphill

"Endurance is one of the most difficult disciplines, but it is to the one who endures that the final victory comes"

 - Buddha

The ride from Esperance to Albany did indeed test the endurance of my body and mind. It was the most difficult stretch of road that I encountered on the southern coast of Australia - and indeed the toughest to date as I sit to write this blog from the comfort of Perth.

I was crippled by heart-breaking head winds that slowed my pace to a maximum of around 9km/hour. Day-in day-out I pushed into the gale-force winds which spat rain in my face and held me hostage to the road. Ten hours of physical strain per day allowed me to progress some 80km's. When my legs stopped, the bike stopped. I literally had to pedal down hills to maintain my vertical position. My brain raced and wound itself tighter and tighter with frustration for every turn of my legs. But onwards I pushed.

I passed through farm-land of little beauty, through the tiny township of Munglinup - significant only for the huge numbers of yellow-tailed black-cockatoo's defoliating towering trees outside of the road-house. 

Ravensthorpe was the next town along, and even my psychotic state of mind could not ignore the charm and character of this small community. The 'Country Kitchen' offered me yesterdays pies, pasties and sausage-rolls for $1 each. An offer to good to refuse, so I loaded up my bike with pastry goods for the upcoming slog. 

I stayed a night in the caravan park of Jerramungup to power my electrical devises and relax in the company of some pretty German tourist girls. I was glad to shower and my spirits were lifted significantly with a long phone call from my sister Stacey.

My bike was really starting to suffer from a few small problems along the way, resulting in snapped spokes in my rear wheel, and a very real bump in my ride - it was starting to feel like riding a bucking bull. This phenomena strongly promoted the snug relationship between the thin bicycle seat and my sorry back-side. Without providing too much information, this bumpy ride induced physical discomfort/injury to the point that I thought to seek the advise of a medical professional. However with no such professional in sight, I pushed on slowly until eventually I found myself walking my bike the last few kilometers into Albany - for fear that my back wheel would fold in half, and for fear that I may otherwise be left sterile for the remainder of my adult life. 

None-the-less there I was in Albany, with three bicycle shops and the desire to rest and recuperate over the Easter period. I was not going anywhere near the bike for a few days.

And so I was happy again.

From Hardship to Heaven

Crossing the Nullarbor plain had been hard work. I had been relatively lucky with the winds, which historically blow from west to east at that time of year. But in saying this, it was still a long, lonely road.
One of the motivations that kept my legs turning over was the promise of paradise at the finish line - or at least very close to.
'Esperance' - even the name sounds fresh and welcoming.
It had promised some of the most spectacular beaches in Australia. It also promised grocery stores, a bicycle store, water from taps, quenching ale from taps, PEOPLE, national parks, caravan parks and... you guessed it... McDonald's.
The last 200km's of road before Esperance was characterised by ugly farm-land, ugly head-winds, and an ugly mood to match. To top this off I ran out of light about 30km's before the town, and was therefore forced to sleep in some bushes near the road. It was a poor camp spot, and a terrible sleep.
When I arrived in Esperance bright and early the next morning, I visited the bakery and took a stroll down the jetty - pie in hand. The bay was gorgeous. Every shade of blue glinted back up at me from the water below. The jetty was alive with anglers boasting bucket-fulls of fish, squid and crabs. The local thug was even sleeping under the jetty undisturbed by excited passing tourists - Sammy the Sea Lion.
After long days on the bike, it was time to relax. So I decided to head for the caravan park to tinker with my bike, make a few calls to loved ones and maybe have a quiet beer.
As I made my way up the drive-way into the caravan park, who should I bump into but Kel! He was staying there for a week, and invited me to stay with him. The benefits of this offer were two-fold as I was able to avoid the $30 per night camping charge, and I was able to relax in great company and talk to a friend once more. I would like to take the time here to thank Kel for his incredible generosity and invaluable friendship. I could not imagine my time in Esperance being any more memorable thanks to his relaxed, trusting, fun nature.
We spent the next two days sight-seeing, 4WD'ing through the sand dunes, relaxing and drinking beer. It was ace.
We had met many couples within the caravan park who had formed a great social community, and I was lucky to meet many of these characters later on down the road.
Next I took the 67km road out to the Le Grande National Park to camp the night at Lucky Bay. As I peddled into the national park, I was left truly speechless by the unique beauty of the scene. Giant granitic structures stood towering stark over the white beaches. The ocean horizon was broken by countless stony islands. There were plants and animals of every colour. Kangaroos relaxing on the beach. Blue sky mirroring blue water. It was stunning.
I took the time to climb 'Frenchman Peak', a towering granite out-crop. It was difficult to climb in my riding shoes with attached cleats, and I was left with painful blisters.
That night again I struck luck, and bumped into a coupe I had met at the Esperance caravan park - Ross and Jo. They were staying there for a few nights in their caravan. I was treated to a delicious meal, cold beers and even some cheeky chocolate for dessert. I was on top of the world that night with a full stomach and a satisfaction having seen some of the best scenery yet.
From Lucky Bay it was back to Esperance for one more night of beer and luxury before it was once again time to put in the hard yards. Every luxury had to be earned.  

Last push to Norseman... and back to civilization!

Wake up.

Tent hot.

Too hot.

Pack bags.

Pack tent:

Outside pegs,

Unlock clips,

Inside pegs, 

Fold,

Roll,

Shove,

Swear,

Shove a bit more....

Swear a bit more...

Argh, the morning ritual, wearing a bit thin through endless repetition. But... running like an occasionally oiled machine none-the-less. 

This particular day I was up with sun, packed, pumped and ready to ride Australia's longest dead-straight road: the 146.6km stretch. 

I had wind blowing up my back-side helping me ride through the straight, and indeed all the way to Balladonia. 

With the wind helping me along I made the decision to see the ride out, stopping only to visit the little boys room/bush. I did stop at the one toilet on the road which was a small box housing a hole with an official sign above it saying: 'if waste does not go down, please push it down with provided stick'. As my eyes followed the arrow to the left of the room, I did indeed find a stick, plucked straight from the tree outside the cubicle, with some rope wrapped around the 'handle' for the finishing touch. Very classy. 

Apart from that I ate from the saddle, drank from the saddle and worked my little legs harder then ever, resulting in my timely arrival in Balladonia, 182km's later.

Upon entering the roadhouse, I ordered two of the biggest meals on offer, and washed them down with a plate of dessert. Much to the horror of the young waitress. My wallet also shook its head in shame. But my stomach was an empty petrol tank in need of some premium fuel!

I split the 192km, hilly ride to Norseman into two days, 150km's in one, and the rest the next day, passing Noreseman halfway to Esperance. 

The scrub gave way to trees once more, and I was suddenly in a beautiful forest for the remainder of the trip.

The Nullarbor had been an adventure for me. A barren, sandy expanse that taught me a lesson or two on what my body needs from the outside, and what I'm made of inside. It was an accomplishment.  

Madura - Cocklebiddy - Caiguna

Madura - Cocklebiddy 91km's, Cocklebiddy - Caiguna 65km's

It was with a feeling of great relief that I woke up in the morning on top of the world again. After a solid ten hour sleep, some sandwiches and chocolate for brekky and some careful bike maintenance, I was able to burn through the 156km's of road with minimal fuss.
I stopped at the Cocklebiddy road-house for a spot of lunch, but pushed on to the Caiguna road-house where I was hoping to camp.
The Cocklebiddy air hung heavy with the unmistakable stench of dead mice. The plague was apparently hitting this area hard, and I could hear tourists complaining and planning to move on with haste. I was only too happy to join the evacuation.
As I pulled-up outside Caiguna just on sun-set, an old, local bushy made his hatred of cyclists very clear to me, and I was careful to give him a wide berth for the remainder of the night. He was extremely drunk and had used very colourful language to indirectly threaten me. In light of this unnecessary complication, I stowed my bike close under my watchful eye, and wasted no time in befriending some tall, solid truck drivers: Mark and Greg. Mark was taking some time away from his accomplished profession in I.T - a very big change! He was sick of being called upon at 'Del', for problems around the clock, and so decided to drive trucks, where "the job finishes with the turn of a key". He was well dressed, well spoken and stood out clearly from other truck drivers I had met in the past. Greg was just a big, loud meat-head - but lovely all the same.
It was a Saturday night and Mark, Greg and I had mustered quite a large group of people to socialise with.
It was an uneventful, yet interesting evening, and I was comforted by the knowledge that I was nearing the end of the mighty Nullarbor.
From the storm-lashed coast-lines of Victoria and South Aus, to the sun-bronzed outback of W.A, I was finally feeling settled in an unsettled life-style.

Mundrabilla - Madura (116km)

"Tommy, I'll give you 20 seconds to get off my truck before your riding with me to Broome!!!", came the booming voice of Chris the truck driver at first light of the morning. I lifted my tired head to see his grinning face peering over the railing of the trailer. He was laughing and handed me a hot coffee which I threw out when he wasn't looking (I hate coffee).
Luckily the young girl behind the bar had given me a shower key the night before, so I took the opportunity to clean the Nullarbor scum off my sticky body to start the day fresh. I looked down in shame as I watched the dirty brown water of my own filth flowing down the drain. My hair had looked like one thick, short dreadlock. It was strange to look into a mirror again and see my transformed, rather thin body and terribly patchy beard.
The road to Madura was a flat 116km's, but I was feeling a little 2nd hand (possibly related to beer consumption the previous night) and probably hadn't eaten enough food - resulting in a heart-breaking ride. Certainly, it was the worst day of my experience on the Nullarbor, and I cursed every inch of white-line.
Madura is situated mid-way up the pass within the Hampton Tablelands, and is an incredibly scenic, peaceful stop. It was nice too see trees again, and the buildings of the road-house were quaint but beautiful.
When I finally arrived feeling weak and beaten-down, I had to sit down outside first with a bottle of water to collect my thoughts and strength to talk to strangers once more. It was lucky I did, because when I walked into the restaurant/bar area, I was stunned and rather embarrassed to receive a round-of-applause from the patrons sitting around the room. I wasn't too sure what to say, and stammered a few words of thanks before sitting at the bar to order a beer with a very flushed face. I didn't even want a beer, but it was my automatic reaction to the sudden burst of attention. I was soon talking to people within the bar, and they told me that they had been talking about the crazy cyclist (me) just as I pulled up.
Most people were brimming with questions about my trip and despite their friendly nature, I was just too tired to sit and talk for long. So I excused myself politely and rode a few km's up the road to find a patch of bushes to camp in.
That night my tent was swarmed over by a plague of mice, some 20-30 at a time, between the tent and the fly. They chewed their way into one of my drink-bottles, nibbled my helmet and shoes (all stupidly left outside), and chewed small holes in my tent, luckily not big enough to fit through.
Fittingly, it was a horrible end to a horrible day, and I was left to fall asleep to the sound of their tiny foot-steps hurrying around my tent.

Nullarbor - Border Village - Eucla - Mundrabilla RH's

Nullarbor - Border Village: 145km, Border Village - Eucla: 13km, Eucla - Mundrabilla: 62km

Nullarbor: Nullus: 'No', Arbor: 'Tree'
Worlds largest single piece of lime-stone. Visible from space.
Occupying some 200,000 square km's.
Big, hot, dry and bloody tough to cross by bicycle.

The sky clears, the wind turns and Tom Mackie peddles to freedom!
In fact, I really was in luck this time, because as the sky cleared, the temperature remained fairly low. This allowed me to carry a little less water as I was not working as hard to stay cool, and was therefore not drinking nearly as much as I had been. And the wind! Oh the blessed wind took pity on my pathetic struggles to push forward, and turned just enough to help push me in the right direction. With the wind my mood also took a change for the best. After days of head-winds, it becomes a little difficult not to take it personally. The scenery looked just a little prettier, my legs felt just a little stronger and I was able to remember why I was putting myself through this strenuous expedition.
This stretch of road was particularly spectacular because it runs very close to the edge of the world. That is, it runs very close to the Great Australian Bight. With cliffs of that size overlooking sparkling oceans as far as the eye can see, one could be forgiven for thinking that it is indeed the end of existence.
Countless lookout sites are accessible via short dirt tracks, although the bight can quite often be seen from the road.
I pulled into Border Village for a quick bite to eat, but hurried through as I wanted to rest at Eucla, which I had read was far nicer.
I found myself snagged in the quarantine check-point for some time, turning my trailer inside-out to prove my innocence in the fruit-smuggling trade. People laughed and took photo's as my bike looked rather ridiculous in the huge truck inspection bays.
I gave myself quite the stomach-ache in Eucla as I ate myself silly in a thoughtless feeding-frenzy, and spent the next hour or so curled up on a quiet stretch of grass beside the road. I was buggered.
From Eucla the road to Mundrabilla was fairly uneventful, although beautiful with the ocean to the left and the table-top ridge to the right.
Sadly it was dark by the time I rolled into the Mundrabilla road-house. The lights of the road-house shone out clearly in the darkness, and I could see it from kilometers up the road, like a heavenly glowing oasis for food. By this stage I was very hungry.
The road-house was old but full of charm, and had a small bar within feeding ice-cold stubbies to passing truck-drivers. By luck I met a pair of drivers who were unable to drive their 'oversize' trucks at night. They were real characters. Huge men with loud, booming voices, but warm friendly personalities. We sat, drank and laughed together for hours, and they insisted on buying my beers which they claimed could be billed to their logistics company (seems unlikely but hey I'm not their accountant!).
It was nearly closing time when somebody asked me where I was staying... Oh crap! I hadn't even thought about a camp-spot for the night.
It was decided that I would sleep up on the trailer of the truck, utilizing the 90 ton hunk of steel as shelter. It really was a strange feeling rolling my mattress out to sleep high on a truck within my steel cocoon. But none-the-less, I was out like a light.

IMPORTANT-ISH!

I have back-tracked the blog to add a few photo's so be sure to check it out!!!
I will also update here by saying that I am currently in Albany with just under 5,000km's on the clock (4,973).
Just between you and I, I'm having a few cheeky rest days here!