We meet up at my place at about 12.30pm in readiness to head off at 1pm. As a bonus, my daughter also came along to see us off. I take the opportunity to give last minute instructions in the off-chance something goes wrong... Fun thoughts 😬
After some photo's of the intrepid travellers, we begin to get on board... and then there's a crashing sound. I look around to see C's bike on the ground and him staggering away from it. It seems he has misjudged getting on the bike with the swag and the bike has moved unexpectedly and then fallen over.
After checking that he's OK, which he fortunately is apart from a bit of ego bruising, we lift the bike and inspect for damage. There's nothing major, although the end part of the clutch lever is snapped off, but certainly still usable. The front indicator stalk is a little more problematic, swaying and hanging as it is like a pendulum on the wiring cable. After a few moments thought of whether we will have to abandon the trip or we just ignore the problem, we decide to try and splint it with a few small pieces of wood (ice cream sticks from my collection of woodworking bits and bobs) and a heap of electricians tape! In a matter of minutes, it's looking robust enough that we decide to continue with the trip.
On we get and head off to our starting point on the Great Eastern Highway - the Puma service station at Burswood. Of course in the excitement of C falling off in the driveway, which is something I've done myself in the past, I've managed to forget my phone and wallet. The phone is a crucial piece of kit for tracking our travel, taking photo's, recording fuel consumption etc. that it is impossible to think of going without it, let alone the impossibility of proceeding without a wallet! It is a frustrating moment.
After a quick trip back home to collect the forgotten items, it's back to the service station to fuel up for the official start (the time stamp on the receipt). It's 1.30pm and I have a real need to get going.
Getting out of Perth via the Great Eastern Highway is, for those who know the route, an exercise in (further) frustration given the amount of unsynchronised traffic lights. We seem to catch every single light, although in reality it is possible we made it through one or two.
Up into the hills and the flow of the traffic opens up a little, although still at relatively low speeds dictated by the signage. I also now realise that I've forgotten to put in my ear plugs to protect my hearing, so yet another stop to put them in. It's all adding up to a rather slow first hour getting out of town!
Once we make it past The Lakes, we're up to full speed. The GPS indicates that the speed needs to read 107-108 km/h in order to achieve the 100 km/h I want to average over the course of the next day. We therefore need to be sitting on an indicated 118 km/h in the 110 km/h zones, which is not so easy with most of the traffic following their speedometers.
The next big trick is to understand what sort of mileage (or kilometrage) we're getting from the bikes that are far more loaded than usual. I've got the full luggage system (Hepco & Becker side and top boxes, plus the swag) and travelling at a full 110 km/h, it's about as aerodynamic as a brick. It's still a bit of a surprise to see the reserve fuel light come on a bit after 220 km, so we get our first fuel at the next town, which turns out to be Merredin. C is rather bemused at my need to get fuel already, as he is expecting a range of some 500km out of his bike. Helpfully, he notes that the KTM seems a bit thirsty!
We plow onwards to the east, by design heading away from the setting sun. Past experience in cars showed that heading west in the sun as it makes its way to the horizon while motoring along the aptly-named Great Eastern Highway is uncomfortable and I was loathe to be travelling in this direction on the bikes. Following the same idea, it's also why I didn't want to be travelling east into the rising sun.
There's relatively little traffic along the road which is nice. The buffeting received from trucks moving in the opposite direction really doesn't add a whole lot of fun to the trip, although it definitely does keep you alert! We pass the occasional slower vehicle, while faster vehicles overtake us, despite feeling that we're moving with some urgency. It seems others have even more than we do.
Roadworks along the Highway to the east of Merredin provide both welcome benefits and unwelcome delays. It's nice to have the opportunity to stretch those muscles being abused by their static riding positions when we stop at the traffic control signs at the beginning of each section of road being repaired, however the downside is the delay and reduction of average speed along the route. It is usually only a couple of minutes of being stopped before we get underway again, but occasionally it does seem interminable, especially as we only travelled a few kilometres since the previous repaired section of road. I remain hopeful that we'll be able to make up the time, but it is certainly going to be a challenge and the GPS trip computer refuses to give me much hope.
I lose count of how many sections we stop at, and somewhat ironically we always seem to be at the front of the queue. It feels like a dozen times, but in reality it was probably less than six. We head off again, sun blessedly lowering and the temperature also slowly falling to a very agreeable level, such that I'm no longer noticeably sweating. I reach a point where suddenly I realise that there hasn't been any roadworks for a while. Holding that thought, the kilometres tick by and it seems we might be past the delays. We roll into Southern Cross and I fuel up again despite it only being 110km or so from Merredin, as this is the last assured supply of petrol until we get to Coolgardie. There are a couple of small roadhouse type of places between Southern Cross and Coolgardie, but I'm uncertain as to whether they will be open and whether they will sell 95RON fuel and I have no real desire to run out of petrol in the middle of nowhere. Whatever the delays to our progress have been so far, that would be a far worse option!
Refueled and downloaded, it's off into the deepening dusk we go. Darkness descends rapidly and then it's just headlights and shadows. There is a strange absence of vehicles moving in the opposite direction to us. I'd expected a late afternoon exodus of people from Kalgoorlie heading to Perth for the weekend, but that isn't happening. Perhaps they went earlier? Perhaps they're going later? Perhaps they've decided that Kalgoorlie isn't such a bad island to be on during COVID? Regardless, traffic is light.
Bum and knees aching, the journey continues. We pass those little isolated roadhouses where fuel definitely would have been available, one of which was lit up like a Christmas tree and looked reasonably inviting, the other less so.
Coolgardie is normally a sleepy little town, but tonight it seems positively abandoned. There's an almost complete absence of cars in the street, an absence of signs of humans apart from the occasional light in a window. We pull in to the brightly lit Caltex and fuel up. Bright lights, two attendants tucked away behind the cash registers, waiting for us to complete our tasks and then return to their peaceful evening. It's just after 7.30pm.
From Coolgardie, the road turns south. It's pleasantly cool now, longer shadows, and there is the ever-present risk of bouncing kangaroos trying to kill us by bounding across the road that produces sober thoughts about the possibility of a collision. Actually it's the static ones that concern me more, as their lack of movement against the dark background of the road and bushes makes spotting them a challenge if they sit still - it tends to be the movement that you see. In the dark, finding on parked in the middle of the road is the worry. We are fortunate enough to be overtaken by a car early on during this section of road, which will hopefully perform the task of clearing the road ahead of us. Unfortunately it turns off at Kambalda...
By 9.30pm, we find Norseman. The big BP service station where you turn off onto the Nullarbor Highway is alarmingly deserted and poorly lit, but it turns out to be open. Normally this is a hive of activity with cars arriving from the east and heading off that way too. COVID has had a serious effect here in a place that relies so heavily on the movement of people across the country. We fuel up again and decide to purchase some of the most expensive cheese and tomato sandwiches on the planet. They aren't very satisfying, but fill a hole.
Deciding against staying here, I determine to press on to the south. I've never been on this road further than Salmon Gums, so I formulate vague plans about sleeping there and carrying on in the morning, however once we arrive, it's quite late and doesn't seem so appealing. My tiredness is notable, as I think I see a kangaroo on the edge of the road and slam on the brakes, with C shooting past me with a surprised look on his face. Turns out bushes can have similar shapes to kangaroos, and when combined with a reflector on a marker post, it gave me quite a start.
I consider stopping at several of the small hamlets we encounter as we get closer to Esperance, but it's later and later for each one we pass and the idea of just carrying on to Esperance grows stronger. The halo of light on the horizon advertises its location in the distance, and as it increases in size and strength, I'm feeling more and more pleased to have made it in one piece, despite my growing weariness.
We pull in to the first caravan park we find on our arrival, trying to be as quiet as a 1,000cc v-twin motorcycle with sports pipes can possibly be. We take the first available parking spots, kill the engines and unpack. Rolling out the swag, necessary ablutions, and then attempt to sleep. Turns out we're right next to the ocean, whose gently crashing waves on the shoreline send me off to sleep very quickly indeed.
