Journal: |
I woke at midnight after about four hours sleep and, conscious of
the big task I had set myself for the day, hastened to get away as
quickly as possible. The skies were clear and the Southern
Cross was directly ahead of me as the road set out into the plains.
Straight away, I realized it was going to be difficult to make the
380km target for the day. Although it wasn’t strong, there was
definitely a slight opposing wind and the road seemed to be
gradually ascending although it was difficult to tell in the dark
Dawn revealed some remote and awesome scenery. The spinifex
covered red soil plateau which stretched into the distance was
broken here and there by mesas and low rocky mountain ranges and
hills. There was little evidence of human activity and the
angled dawn sunlight created some fantastic shadows and luminous red
rocks in places. The geology in the Pilbara is very old and
the hills and mountains I could see are probably the eroded remains
of some once-mighty mountains. The scenery compensated
somewhat fo0r my fatigue, the climbs and the headwinds and I tried
to see it in a positive light. I’m gradually refining the art of
taking photographs while riding to save time and added a few to my
collection here. Unfortunately the cut-down software on my
laptop doesn’t include the means to downsize the picture files for
internet display so website pictures may have to wait for my return.
I kept the pressure on myself to maintain a good pace but, by
the time I reached the Nanutarra Roadhouse (159km) at about 9:00am,
the only supply point for the day, I could tell I wasn’t going to
make Minilya Roadhouse (a further 227km), my target for the day by
their closing time of 8:00pm. So called them and cancelled my room
booking. After a big breakfast at Nanutarra, I bought
sandwiches, cakes, drinks, etc., enough to last me 24 hours of solid
riding. The lady at the Roadhouse was very kind and threw in
extras and gave me discounts on various things. I set off into
what was becoming a warmish day across the landscape which became
flatter and more featureless. At a rest area I met a family
taking a year to travel around Australia with their caravan and they
insisted on taking some pictures. I was envious of their trip
and could tell their two boys were excited by it. I pushed
on feeling more and more tired, the gradual hills and slight
headwind wearing me down. Later in the day, the road climbed
through a series of long red spinifex-covered sand dunes, each about
50 metres high and about a kilometer apart. I also saw a few
emus, one of which kept pace with me while I rode and struggled to
take a picture. Soon after dark, I began to feel very tired
and decided that, if I wanted to keep riding through the night I
needed to have a quick nap. I found a spot just off the road,
climbed into my tent, without erecting it, and woke two hours later
in bright moonlight, dreading the thought of resuming riding.
I forced myself to get up and get going and rode the 50km to Minilya
Roadhouse which was now closed and dead quiet. I found myself
a quiet spot and had a sandwich dinner admiring the stars and trying
to stay awake when, around 1am, a Greyhound bus going from Perth to
Broome arrived and about 12 backpackers got off and shivered in the
moonlight. They just stood there waiting for something and
then another Greyhound bus going from Broome to Perth arrived and
shortly after yet another, which I assume was from the nearby Coral
Coast. I noticed that the Perth-bound bus was towing a box
trailer that my bike could have easily fitted into. Soon
people and drivers swapped buses and they drove off into the night
leaving the place as quiet as it had been. This probably
happens every night of the year here. I continued riding but
it was becoming a nightmare. My legs were shot and I was
barely making 15kph, on top of which I kept dozing off (there was
virtually no traffic) and weaving all over the road. At some
point I passed a sign saying I was leaving the Tropics. In the
end I decided there was no alternative to more sleep and just walked
into the grass off the side of the road, making sufficient noise to
scare any snakes and climbed into my tent again on what proved to be
a particularly hard and stony piece of ground. I was asleep in
no time and woke three hours later as it began to get light.
Saturday morning traffic was quite heavy and it felt like the
roadtrains were driving right through the tent. I began
riding again, feeling relatively refreshed although in pain from
some butt chafing that was getting worse. I crossed the
Gascoigne River as I approached Carnarvon and entered an area of
banana and other fruit plantations. At the Carnarvon turn-off
(it’s on the ocean 5km from the main highway), the western-most
point of my journey, I stopped at a roadhouse about 11:30am and
called the Wooramel Roadhouse (119km) my target for the night to
book a room. They said they had a basic cabin, but that they
closed at 6pm. I bought a pie and egg and bacon sandwich which
I ate hastily for my breakfast/lunch and set out for Wooramel.
What at first was a tailwind turned into a cool crosswind, but I
only had one break on the long straight road which crossed a vast
grass and scrub-covered red soil plain that in places has a lot of
standing water from recent rains. I reached Wooramel at 5:30pm
and bought a dinner of home-made vegetable pasties, showered and
looked forward to sleeping in a bed, even if only for about five
hours.
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