Nullarboring (Null – nil, nothing: Arbor – trees) Noun; the act of travelling west to east or vice versa between Perth and Adelaide.

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Hello folks and welcome back!

We left Perth bright and early on Thursday morning, well I say bright and early, it was actually 7:00am, but the sun had been up since 4:30am thanks to those athletic types that want to exercise at some ungodly hour and who canned daylight savings. Heading through the suburbs of Perth we saw no one out and about (no exercisers, so who did vote against daylight savings then??) but met busy traffic on the Tonkin Highway. Our itinerary took us via the Brookton Highway to Hyden and the famous Wave Rock, which was surprisingly larger than I had anticipated. However I would not recommend it as a day trip. It is also very similar to rock formations adjacent to Ayers Rock (Uluru). Beyond Hyden the road is unmade and the Rav came into its own bouncing us the 250km through to Norseman. Even with four wheel drive there were spots where the car felt it wanted to go a little sideways, but it held on and delivered us safely to Norseman. The scenery along this route is very beautiful and varies from dense forest to salt lakes. It is deserted and is one of the things that makes Australia such an intriguing land. You can travel for hours and see no sign of human habitation (except the road). By early afternoon we reached Norseman and the paved road. It was eerily quiet in town and felt like a Sunday, luckily though the service station was open so we could take on more fuel. Leaving Norseman is simple, from the main street head north to the highway, then turn left to head west (Perth etc) or right to head east (Melbourne - Sydney), it’s that simple. Indeed it is too simple and you are left with that uneasy feeling as to whether you are actually heading the right way. Our Rav has a 40 something litre fuel tank, giving us a range of about 400km and this set our stopping pattern across the Nullarbor. Fuel stops are spaced about every 200km so it is pretty easy to take just about any vehicle across.

The most expensive fuel stop was Balladonia roadhouse at $1.69 a litre. To get fuel you are required to enter the shop and hand over your drivers licence before they will turn on the pump. The roadhouse is in the middle of nowhere (in fact just go nowhere and go a little bit further) so queuing up while the two old women chat about crap to motel guests starts to get a little irritating. After a 5 minute wait the fuel pump was switched on and the car filled. It then requires another wait in the queue to pay for the fuel. The crotchety old hag who served me explained that they had a lot of people drive off…. well I’m not f***ing surprised. I cannot believe that two people running a petrol station / motel in the middle of nowhere can be so slow at everything they do. If you don’t need fuel, just don’t stop! Although the interesting thing with Balladonia is the Balladonian marbles, small round rocks with fossilised bits inside. A friend had noticed these for sale in the roadhouse many years before at $15 for a small bag. However as he left he noticed that they were strewn all over the ground. To Leanny’s delight they were still to be found in the gravel parking area. After 10 minutes we had weighed the car down with a boot full of rocks (at least this time I didn’t have to carry them in my rucksack!).

Nullarbor means no trees, but this is not actually the case for the majority of the trip. There is a 100km section of treeless plain in South Australia to which this applies, a small proportion of the 2,000km that lies between Perth and Adelaide. The road passes over a flat vegetated plain with slight undulations and few bends. This is a good thing as ample opportunity exists to pass road trains ferrying goods between the east and west. These trucks have two or three trailers and can be 51 metres long. This may not sound much, but at 110kph, they require a long section of road to get past.

As the day passed and sunset approached we stopped at Caiguna roadhouse to avoid hitting kangaroos which commonly come out at this time. The motel was basic and just about functional. It is establishments like these that make you consider whether your human rights are being abused, particularly given the $110 overnight fee. I am sure there would be public outcry if our prisoners and illegal immigrants were kept in such conditions. Still, whilst expensive, it is a bed and far more comfortable than sleeping in the car or on the ground. The food at the roadhouse was not bad either, so it is hard to complain. If I owned the place I would be reluctant to tart it up as you have a captive customer base passing by. Sunrise woke us and after a hot shower (that was a bonus) we refuelled the car and hit the road. Now was it left or right???

We reached Nundroo roadhouse just after 1:00pm to refuel and contemplated stopping for lunch. I paid for the fuel to a rather young looking German backpacker working there. He looked and acted totally out of is depth. I can see it now as the owner drives off… “No worries Gunther me ole mate, she’ll be fine, just take the cash for the fuel and pies, what could go wrong??”. Leanny needed the loo and while I was waiting for the key (which opened both toilets) a local aboriginal came up. “It’s locked mate” I advised him. “Maaaaaaah” he replied. I assumed this was just a grunt of dissatisfaction, but could have been a local dialect. Leanny produced the key and I was followed in to the toilets. “I dunno why dey don’t leave it open” he said walking into the cubicle. “Probably to stop people stealing stuff, you get a lot of backpackers through here you know”. “Maaaaaaah” he replied and promptly filled the toilet with the sound and smell of his ablutions. Walking outside a group of aboriginals had gathered and I got a bad feeling so suggested that we hit the road. It was about a half hour later we saw a high speed cop car hurtling the other way along the highway, followed 5 minutes later by an ambulance and a divvy van. Had things gone off at the roadhouse we wondered?

At the South Australia quarantine post we got chatting to the quarantine office who advised that the Yalata community was dry so the locals go to Nundroo to get alcohol. We had noticed that the Yalata roadhouse was closed and later heard that the locals had burned it when they stopped serving alcohol. Poor Gunther had enough trouble understanding me. I cannot see how he could have fared well with 10 aboriginals demanding grog from him. I do hope he survived!

Whilst the drive between the west and east is predominantly flat there is a rather steep hill at Madura. It is almost as though you have reached the end of the world. There is a view point at the top where you can gaze over the landscape below, which is identical to that which you have just driven through, for two days I might add. The plain is vast and you cannot help but realise that Australia is a huge country and Burke and Wills must have been bloody crazy to venture out here.

By late afternoon we reached Streaky Bay in South Australia and checked into our motel. We found our friend Mick in the bar with the room key (where else would you look??) and after a quick freshen up had a few coldies overlooking the bay. Streaky Bay looked like a nice place, a little quiet, but serene. The water looked inviting, but Mick pointed out the shark net hanging off the jetty which dulled my enthusiasm for a swim. By this time our body clocks had got out of whack and at 9:00pm local time (6:30pm in Perth) we were ready for bed.

Mick is an early riser and would normally head out for a swim, jog, cycle ride and other painful exploits that neither Leanny or I would wish to undertake without medical assistance. However today was obviously an off day and by 7:00am we were seated in the pub for a continental breakfast comprising of cereal and toast. I do not really understand why this is called a continental breakfast as I always perceived that continentals ate croissant and drank real coffee, not Weetbix and Nescafe.

The highway nudges the coast for a few hundred kilometres heading east and wonderful ocean views are had. Signs also suggest whale watching is possible at the right time of year, which was not while we were passing.

Our next overnight stop was in a small town called Morgan on the banks of the Murray River. After a long hot day in the car there is only one true remedy - cold beer. We visited both pubs that evening, but retired relatively early. The following morning we met up with Mick at the local bakery for a coffee and quick snack. Having said G’day to the lady owner, I asked for an espresso and a skinny latte. “What’s an espresso?” she asked. A little confused I advised that it was a single shot of coffee in a small cup. “oh” she replied “ so you want a small black coffee and a white coffee then?”. “Yep, I guess I do and I’ll have a sausage roll too”. “Sauce?” she asked. “Err yes, I think I will”. She promptly rammed the sauce bottle spout in the sausage roll and pumped sauce into it like she was stabbing a vampire and injecting holy water.

Sitting outside, a wide load arrived with Police escort and being a friendly bunch we engaged the two cops in conversation. They were escorting a drilling rig and had had a few issues with blown tyres along the way, but were optimistic about getting to their destination on Monday. They sat next to us eating their pies and drinking coffee and within a short while the truck crew arrived, a rather large middle-aged bloke and his young apprentice. There appeared to be a definite ‘Us and Them’ between the cops and the truckies, even though they were essentially doing the same job. The young apprentice was taken with the pies and suggested that he might get another one to take with him. “A roadie” I suggested and the two cops thought this was an excellent idea. As they were about to enter the shop Mick quipped “They sell doughnuts as well you know”. The cops didn’t hear him but the truckie crew were rather amused and nodded at us in a conspiratorial manner.

We hit the road and 30 minutes later Mick turned off to head further south into Victoria leaving us to skirt northern Victoria before dropping down through Echuca. It was a sad moment when Mick’s bike disappeared from my rear view mirror and we felt quite alone. It was another 9 hours of driving before we would reach our destination.

By mid afternoon we were travelling down the Murray River Highway, but there was something just not right about the landscape. There has been drought in the area for a while and you realise that whilst WA looks dry, Victoria looks sick. The trees appear to be hanging on, but it is evident that the drought has had a serious impact out here.

We returned to Benalla, Leanny’s home town at nightfall and leaving the Hume Highway a sign suggests merging with traffic on the road into town. This is not uncommon and should not present the driver with too much of an issue, or so I thought. Rounding the bend from the highway at 80kph you are placed parallel with the road you are joining which makes seeing approaching traffic a little difficult, however, the bright yellow strip of the cop car in my peripheral vision caught my attention and time just slowed. It felt like I was driving along beside the cop car for ages, smiling and waving and generally passing the time of day. This was not actually the case as I had to slam on the brakes as the merge lane was all of 3 metres long. The cops had obviously seen this before as they continued on their merry way, leaving me exasperated wondering what the hell Vic Roads thought they were doing. (Note to self, don’t waste paper writing to them, they obviously can’t read as text books advise on how to build merging lanes).

It is not until you come to the rural areas of Australia that you begin to realise how far everyone travels. An hour drive is common just to get to the next main town and this can be anything from 80km to 120km. Having spent a little time here, driving over 1,500km and not having actually gone anywhere, I can only conclude that rural living is unsustainable. And to make matters worse it is hard to find a decent coffee in rural towns. We have had some not bad ones, but things are named differently here, for instance an espresso is called a short black (as it was in Morgan). Oh how I yearn for a real espresso in the crowded back alleys of Melbourne.

Our departure to Melbourne took a little longer than expected but we entered the city suburbs late in the afternoon along the western ring road. We followed the signs for the City which leads you on to the toll freeway (that’s a trick Vic Roads obviously got from the French, not that they would admit to ever reviewing anything that anyone else may have done). There are no toll booths so you need a pass or must telephone payment within 3 days of using the road. What a stupid system! There are no fees displayed and no guidance on where you can actually pay, just a phone number. Well that’s great if you have a good memory for numbers (which I don’t), I guess you could pull over and write the number down, but it is a freeway - no stopping. We left at the last exit before the toll and headed into the City via Sydney Road (which we had passed sometime before, but the direction signs guide you to the toll road). On Sydney Road you pass through Coburg and the natural reaction is to lock all the doors and not stop. It is an ugly looking place but has a tram service as noted by the tram tracks in the road and the 50 tons of tram edging ever closer to the car. Traffic was slow but kept moving and it didn’t take too long to reach the city centre and out hotel.

We walked about the City and headed to Federation Square where a large TV was showing the cricket. All the artificial grass was occupied by people watching the cricket and enjoying the sunshine. The square really works well as a communal public open space and meeting spot. Heavily criticised when developed, but time has proved those short-sighted people wrong (as it always tends to). Although it was a lovely warm afternoon we headed back to the hotel to pick up a jumper before heading to Lygon Street for tea, as Melbourne has a reputation for turning cold when you least expect it. We selected café Corretto in Lygon Street for a pizza and realised it was the same restaurant we ate at last time we came to Melbourne. We sat at a footpath table so we could watch people promenading the street, and this is one of the things that I do love about Melbourne, it is European in attitude and Australian in quality. Oh and they serve espresso!!

Having perused what felt like every shop in Melbourne it was time to hit the road and start the long drive back to WA. Traffic in Melbourne was pretty good mid-morning and the only delays we experienced were at traffic signals, although this was due to other traffic and not the whimsy that occurs in Perth. In no time at all we were heading west on the Western Highway (well what else would it be called?) towards Ballarat. We decided to stop for coffee at the Beechworth Bakery in Ballarat and a quick walk around the town. I had obviously experienced too much of Melbourne as I asked for an espresso and received a blank look. Realising my mistake I quickly revised my order to a short black. Ballarat is an uninteresting town but has a lot of potential to be something quite nice.

By evening we had ventured from Victoria into South Australia and passed over the Murray River at Murray Bend. The river looked empty and rather dried up and I commented that I could understand people’s anguish here, until we passed over the flood plain and saw the river! The bridge is 400 metres long of which 350 metres bridges a flood plain which was pretty dry and segregated from the river by a levy. The river looked quite full and flowing, which betrays the doom and gloom reporting that is received in the west. It was getting late and a bed for the night was required. I was pretty hopeful to get up to the Barossa region, but it was a good hour’s drive and knowing that most kitchens close by 8:00pm, we didn’t want to push our luck. We ventured through many small towns but none had accommodation until we reached Mount Pleasant, a small village with two pubs and a smattering of shops. The pub provided accommodation in cabins and served food (until 8:00pm). With a cold beer and a glass of wine for my Leanny, we sat on the verandah watching the village life, waiting for schnitzels, as it was schnitzel night at the pub. Surprisingly the food was excellent and perfectly cooked.

The town of Angaston was only a further 40km up the road, but took a little longer than expected as the scenery was rather lovely and we just had to stop at the lookout. As we had a whole day we decided that a few wineries should be sought out and their wares imbibed. Surprisingly the wineries we visited were very quiet, with us often being the only people there. The Barossa is certainly not feral like the Margaret River is just after Christmas!

It was hot during our stay in the Barossa, but got hotter as we ventured north and west towards the Nullarbor. The temperature hit the mid-forties with over fifty in some areas. Thankfully the car has air-conditioning. Crossing the Nullarbor, the mercury hit 530, far too hot to be outside, so with more fuel in the car we headed west. Two days later we arrived in Kalgoorlie, famous for the mines and the skimpy bars on the main street. We were lucky to have a blast at the mine while we were there, but it was below the viewing platform so my video is just camera shake with a dumb running commentary from the kid standing next to me.

Back in Perth, we had a rather strange occurrence in Mount Lawley one evening when we decided to have fish and chips, that Aussie favourite. Sitting munching our food, two odd looking blokes walked in and approached the counter. We didn’t hear the start of the conversation with the young chap behind the counter, but our ears pricked up as the customer starter berating the young man that he should call him “sir” not “buddy”. The young man was rather perplexed as he replied “sorry mate”. Well that set the customer right off and he went into a barrage of explaining correct forms of address and how he didn’t like being called Mate. “I am not your mate” he claimed “Mate is not a proper way to talk to people”. Well, the young man wasn’t going to give into to Mr Stupid’s ranting and tried to stand his ground. “Get me the Manager” the customer demanded. The manager duly appeared and the customer explained his position in a loud manner. The Manager was not impressed and suggested the customer should leave. On his way to the door he stopped to address those sitting in the restaurant, suggesting we shouldn’t come back here as they are rude and vile people. Leanny commented that this was a fish and chip shop “mate” and what did he expect. The customer got into what I can only describe as a gay hissy fit and told Leanne “you stink of fish”, not surprising as we were in a fish shop! Not having the balls or the intelligence to say anything else he half ran into the street and disappeared. Within two minutes the cops rocked up. They scrutinised the patrons and headed to the serving counter with that confident swagger of an impending arrest. The young man behind the counter looked at them enquiringly. “Two fish and chips please mate”. I wanted to tell them that mate was not an acceptable form of address, but then who can tell the mood of two hungry cops??

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Photos

Nullarbor Signs
This one had not been shot at.

Noorseman Roundabout
A rather excellent piece of public art for not quite the middle of nowhere

EEEKKKKK!!!
The sign was enough for me to keep the door shut!

Mad Mick
Our friend Mick on his motorbike. Nerves of steel to cross the Nullarbor.

There's Nothing Like a Coldy
A cooling beer in South Australia

The Big Galah
Australia's obsession with big things

The Big Koala
This would scare children

Comments

[Laura]

loved it!
Hey guys, loved your blog on your latest aussie adventures. It was rather brave to drive the Nullarbor then turn around and drive back again. Have you two got too much time on your hands or something? When do you leave for your next adventure? eagerly awaiting your next blog..... Laura x x x