At work before I went on leave, I had been discussing with a workmate the idea of taking a bike ride into the country, and he had mentioned that Meelup Beach would a nice place to cycle to. That idea stuck and I made it my eventual aim.

I left home at 9.40 on a warm humid morning. I had a 28 inch heavy steel bike with a 3 speed hub gear and back pedal brake, a basket in front with a bottle of water in it, and a bike radio clipped onto the handlebars. I hadn't done any special maintenance on the bike - at that time if there was nothing broke, I didn't fix it.

I rode down the Stirling Highway, over the old Fremantle Traffic Bridge and started up the hill past the old Asylum, now a museum. I was only about 7km from home but as I strained to get up this hill into a humid headwind I nearly decided to abort the ride. Anyhow I kept going, got over the hill and proceeded down Hampton Road.

I turned left into Rockingham Road, went past the Davilak oval and on through Spearwood. I was stopping every 5km or so whenever I saw a shop where I could buy a drink. At that time the main road to Mandurah was not as it is now, Ennis Avenue - it was what is now known as the Old Mandurah Road. I stopped some way down this and dragged the bike up a hill into a quite classy place where they were kind enough to let me in and let me sit at a table and have a drink and a rest. I also stopped at a shop on the eastern shore of Lake Coolongup and bought another drink.

By the time I reached the bridge that goes over the railway tracks north of Rockingham the November southerly was quite strong and I was exposed to it and struggling. I laboured on and the kilometres to Mandurah gradually came down, 25, 20, 15. I remember on the last approach to Mandurah, hearing the 4 o'clock pips on the tinny radio. I remember the roofs of houses peeping over a rise to my right as the pips went. They still used the pips for a time signal on the ABC in those days. At that time there was no Mandurah bypass road and the main road went right on into the old centre of town, over the old bridge and onto what was then called the Old Coast Road. None of it was a dual carriageway, and it was all two-way, trucks and all.

I arrived at the old centre of town, near the old bridge and the Brighton Hotel and the tackle shop, some time after 4 pm. It had taken me nearly 7 hours to do a journey that I have since done in less than 3, albeit going the other way with the sea breeze at my back. In 1994 I did the home to Brighton Hotel run in 3 hours and 37 minutes with a rare northerly tailwind.

I had made no hotel booking and had had no idea what the town offered for a hotel. I don't think I had been to Mandurah before. But right there was the Brighton Hotel, so I went in and asked if they had a room. They did, and my disorderly appearance wasn't a problem.

I got into my room, which was on the first floor, on a corner overlooking the main road. Trucks ground and thundered by. There was a sort of balcony in the form of an upstairs concrete verandah with iron rails, running along so that it was common to all the rooms. This was accessible through a French window. There was a wash-basin and the usual few items of furniture. At that time the old-fashioned type of hotel room was dominant - en-suites were less common, except in some motels.

I changed into my bathers and trotted across the road for a swim. I swam next to the old jetty, which is still there, though there are some board-walks as well now. I had only a vague idea of Mandurah and thought I was swimming in the ocean, only in some sort of inlet. I didn't know how enclosed it was, and it was to be years before I would discover the nice ocean beach at the end of Stewart Street about a kilometre to the north.

To get into the water the concrete bank was formed into steps at this point. I swam for a while then dived under water. The water was rather murky. I was swimming around in a curve when I noticed a large fish, about a metre long, with a fin on its back swimming around after me in a playful manner. I panicked and rushed to the surface, yelling 'Help!' The boys fishing off the jetty looked at me strangely. I got out of the water but there was no fin breaking the surface and no-one seemed to be aware of anything untoward. Later I realised it must have been a dolphin. At that time I didn't know there were dolphins at Mandurah.

Back in the hotel I had a shower in the shared bathroom and washed my clothes. I had a long-sleeved shirt with two pockets and a pair of cotton trousers which got heavy when wet and took ages to dry. I festooned the wet clothes around the room and the front verandah and put on the spare long trousers and a T-shirt. In those early rides I wore rubber thongs, and wore them all evening as well. I rode hundreds of kilometres in rubber thongs. But foot discomfort isn't something I remember about those early rides. Maybe because other things were so terrible.

I went down to the outdoor bar and dining area and ordered a counter meal. There was a pleasant atmosphere on a muggy evening with plenty of customers and popular music playing. Afterwards I walked onto the old bridge and back, then went back to my room. I may have attempted to watch TV but I can't remember. In those days any TV might have been a broken-down black and white one with only one channel, in the common guest lounge.

I thought I would sleep well after such a day but at that time I was unaware of dehydration, never before having pushed myself hard enough for it to be a problem. So with that, the heavy traffic, the mosquitoes and the warm humidity I had little sleep.

After a fitful night I went down to the dining room which didn't change much in the next 20 years or so until the hotel closed. It had big sash windows with shrubs pressing against them, and wallpaper on the walls and the ceiling. There were quite a few other guests. There were several different cereals that you could help yourself to, also toast and tea and coffee, and they came in and took my order for a cooked breakfast as well. It all seemed quite sumptuous, and I always enjoyed it every time I went back to that hotel.

Afterwards I had a shower and prepared to get away. I paid and retrieved my bike from under the fire escape where I had left it. I left the hotel some time after ten in the morning of what was obviously going to be a hot day. I turned left at the old bridge (noting the sign that said 'Bunbury 100km', and thinking, I would never be able to do that) and headed down the Pinjarra Road.

I reached Pinjarra after 19 km and was already very hot and uncomfortable. I pulled the bike into the public toilet and refilled my water bottle and had a long drink and a splash. I wet my towelling hat, which I was to wear on all rides until the early 90's when helmets became compulsory.

While I was there a man came into the toilet and said 'What's this? The Pinjarra express? Ha Ha Ha!' We had a brief discussion about my adventure.

I hadn't been to Pinjarra for years and that was only a brief drive-through with the family and I had no memory of the place. I noted the old hotel, near the bridge, for future reference. I bought a drink in the town and proceeded down the main road and out of town.

The day became very hot, but with that there was a north-easterly blowing, a tail-wind, though I didn't take much account of such things in those days. My water-bottle bouncing around in the basket became very hot, almost too hot to drink comfortably. I passed a man walking along the road through open country with a back-pack. We waved at each other.

My inadequate map seemed to show a town called Coolup on the way, but I never passed through it. It was actually a bit off the main road and was only a small locality. I kept going to Waroona, by which time I was very sore and stiff. I stopped at a shop and bought a drink, and found it hard to get going again afterwards - I was stiff and sore and could hardly get on the bike or sit on the saddle. But I kept on. I noted another old hotel on the main road on my way out of town.

Once again the map seemed to show a town called Yarloop further down the road, but that too was some way off the main road and I never passed through it.

At last I got close to Harvey, but couldn't ride any more and walked the bike down the dip and over the bridge until I came to the turn-off. I was unaware that Harvey too was off the main road. I mounted up again and rode the last kilometre into town. The old Harvey Hotel, still there but since damaged by fire and repaired and tarted up, was a welcome sight. I went in and got a room. I didn't note the time but it was late afternoon.

The hotel was old and gloomy with a smell of stale plumbing and cooking, of fags and pesticides. The floorboards creaked. I had a shower and washed my riding clothes and put on my T-shirt and thongs. I must have been very dehydrated but didn't take sufficient account of that and didn't drink enough water. There was a lawn beside the hotel building, inside a fence, where I locked my bike and hung my wet clothes on the rotary hoist.

There was time for a look around the town, though I didn't feel like going much beyond the immediate area. On the other side of the tracks, facing the hotel, was the Harvey Guesthouse, a ramshackle timber building with an iron roof. I could have stayed there but naturally prefer a proper hotel if one is available. Next time I visited Harvey the Guesthouse had been demolished. For a long time nothing was built on the site with its weeds and sealed-off utility pipes poking out of the ground. Now there is a nice modern housing development.

On the other corner was the Harvey Post Office. I didn't know how to make STD calls in those days so I just sent a postcard to Janet. The Post Office is now located in the newsagency in Uduc Road and the building has been put to other uses, the latest being a bridal shop. Now that business has closed down and the building is derelict.

Next to the hotel was a farm machinery business with an area of gravel in front of it. This has been paved over but the business is still there.

Dinner was served in the ornate creaky old hotel dining room, and several other guests were there. I was served a huge pork steak. There was plenty of iced water on the sideboard and I felt thirsty and drank plenty of it.

I watched a bit of TV in the guest lounge. It seemed that Perth had had its hottest November day on record - 42 degrees. I didn't sleep well again - I was troubled by mosquitoes but managed to find some Mortein in a cupboard. I was hot and sore and restless.

There was a thunderstorm in the night and the sound of rain on the iron roof was comforting.

The morning was mild and windy and showery. The gravel area in front of the farm machinery business had puddles. I had a nice hotel breakfast then paid and got everything together and set off with painful stiffness on the less than 50 kilometre journey to Bunbury. It was a bit earlier than the previous two days. Through the discomfort and tiredness I was excited to think I was going to be cycling into Bunbury, having never been there except by train or in someone's car.

I passed through Wokalup, 5km down the road. There was a big old hotel, now only a tavern, and Peter's dairy. A goods train rumbled along the railway track and big trucks came and went from the dairy.

Showers came and went and there were a few places to stop and shelter and have a drink. I reached Brunswick and stopped for a while to sit by the river with my sore feet in the water.

I passed a familiar landmark, White Rocks, a farm which ran up to the scarp, where a big limestone outcrop was plainly visible from road and rail.

The road was quite easy, running right beside the railway line for a long way. I wasn't familiar with the approach to Bunbury from this direction but just followed the main road beside the railway until I came to the centre of town. There, opposite the railway station, was the Rose Hotel, so I got a room there. I locked my bike under the fire escape at the back, where the car-park and liquor outlet were. At the top of that was a door where I could go in and out to my upstairs room.

I changed into my bathers and trudged up Wellington Street to the beach. The swim was refreshing and soothing but the salt water stung sore parts of me. The weather was mild and windy and that beach at Bunbury is rougher than Cottesloe.

Another problem that had begun to develop was toothache. This was about 4 years after I had last been to a dentist, and 2 years before Janet persuaded me to go to hers, which I did and have never regretted it. It is silly not to go to the dentist for 6 years but it happens a lot, some people never go at all, even though they should. So, I had these episodes of toothache, and one troubled me on this evening in Bunbury. I don't remember it subsequently during the ride so it must have passed.

I had a hot shower and washed my clothes, I forget where I hung them, maybe on the upstairs verandah.

I had a Chinese dinner at a restaurant in the main street, still there, some changes of name and ownership later.

I watched a bit of TV in the guest lounge which let onto a spacious upstairs verandah overlooking the main intersection in central Bunbury. It was noisy because I needed the doors open.

I had the worst night of the trip - the toothache was troublesome, though I had bought some analgesics, but the worst thing was a gang of yobs who had booked into the hotel and spent most of the night, after the bars closed, banging in and out of their rooms slamming doors and running up and down the corridor and shouting.

I was a bit irritable when I came down to breakfast in the old high-ceilinged hotel dining room, still there. I scowled at the yobs who were still carrying on as they crowded together to wolf their breakfast. Breakfast was nice anyway.

I finally got going a little after 9 o'clock, but took a bit of time to go and visit a part of the town that had sentimental value for me, due to events that had occurred in 1962, 15 years before (yeah, all right, it was October 14 1962 and I was with a girl for the first time). When I actually started to head out of town my map wasn't much help so I made the assumption that the road along the coast, Ocean Drive, would get me out of town and heading towards Busselton. In fact I should have left Bunbury by the same road by which I came in, then turned right at the sign to take the Bussell highway. Now it is possible to get through to the main Bussell highway by following Ocean Drive to the south and getting into Washington Avenue. I am not sure that it was not possible then too, but I don't think so. I believe the extension to Ocean Drive and the new roads down there are more recent. On this occasion I came to a dead end somewhere near Hay Park, didn't know where I was, had to knock on someone's door.

It was one of those new houses on a big block and the woman who answered my knock, clutching a baby, was very thin and small and pale, as though worn away by the effort of paying for the house. She wasn't at all put off by a sweaty cyclist banging on the door, she was friendly and concerned for my plight and advised me that the only way, from there, to get to the Bussell Highway was to cross the park. I thanked her and carried the bike over the bumpy tussocky grass - it wasn't a smooth lawn.

I set the bike down on Bussell Highway and began the grind towards Busselton.

Showers came and went and I tried to shelter under trees which weren't much good for that. I found it hard to make progress and seemed to be stopping to shelter or buy a drink every 5 kilometres or so. The map showed a place called Stratham, 16 km south of Bunbury, and that turned out to be a place where one could buy petrol and a drink and find a toilet. There was an outdoor area with tables and chairs and lattice-work, which looked like a place that might have been a summer escape for the young set in years gone by.

I struggled on and came to a windy corner at which I was almost stopped by the fresh southerly. I was 1 kilometre outside Capel and the sign said that I had come less than half way to Busselton - inaccurately as it turned out. I went down the dip, over the bridge and up the slope to the centre of town, such as it was, and came to a merciful stop at Colroy's tearooms, still there, still with its pleasant memory of that first visit, almost unchanged since then until 2000 at least. Now it has been rebuilt and re-named Colroy's Country Kitchen.

I locked up the bike and went inside and ordered a proper lunch. I was served at the table in the dining room and had coffee and sausage and bacon and egg and bread with Worcestershire sauce. I read something I had brought with me. My stop at Capel lasted two and a half hours, way over the usual today, when I never have a meal while riding and try to keep the rest stops down to 10 minutes.

I felt restored and encouraged when I got going again. At that time the main Bussell Highway ran right through Capel - now there is a bypass and you will miss the town completely unless you know where you are and watch for the sign.

I proceeded, counting down the km to Busselton in 5's as I passed the 5km posts. I crossed the Abba river, whose name was topical then. The map showed a place called Ludlow, which I assumed would be a drink shop like Stratham, but there was nothing there.

At last I turned north for the last km or so into Busselton and the wind was behind me. I reached the junction of Queen Street, the main street, and rode up it towards the beach. I passed a clock that said 4 pm, again. I passed the Vasse hotel, hoping to find something closer to the beach, and there it was at last, the Esplanade Hotel.

I have stayed there many times since 1977 and remember the gladness that I felt on first arriving after my arduous trip, finding a friendly reception and a cheap room overlooking the sea. I booked in and locked the bike under the fire escape at the back and plodded towards the sea.

This was about 4 months before Cyclone Alby destroyed a section of the famous old Busselton Jetty, which I don't think I had ever seen before. I say, I don't think, because in 1962 I was in the family car being driven around the SW but I was so zonked out on medication that I slept through much of the tour, which I know included Busselton and Yallingup. I was most impressed by this long structure and a sign explained that it had been built to serve the growing timber industry in 1860. At that time a broad wide section started directly from the end of the main street, Queen Street, and was directly in line with it, so that at night there was a continuous straight line of lights from the Bussell highway up through the town and 2 km out to sea. Some distance from shore the Queen Street section met the rail section coming at an angle from the shore further east. That section was in darkness at night.

In April 1978, Cyclone Alby destroyed this section from Queen Street to the junction, leaving only the part of the jetty that carried the rail line - stronger, presumably. Now the angled part that carries the rail line to the shore is the main jetty, and is properly lit. The rail line went almost to the end of the jetty so it survived Alby to its original length, though with some damage so that the years brought more rapid deterioration. Fortunately it was saved. More of that elsewhere.

I had a lovely swim on this most pleasant beach, looking at the pine trees and being glad to have achieved this place on my humble bike. I had only been able to ride a bike for 5 years so the freedom was new to me. Then I toddled back to the hotel, across the grass, through the weeping gum trees and past the tennis courts, to the hotel. On subsequent visits I always take this traditional walk and swim and it has not changed too much over the years.

I had a nice hot shower and washed my clothes and hung them up somewhere. On subsequent visits I always had a shower in the same recess and remembered the deep pleasure of that first time.

I forget what I had for dinner that night, maybe just ate in the hotel. There was no TV. I had an early night and slept better than I had for years, and better than I have since.

The day was sunny and mild with a light southerly. I had slept without waking for about 10 hours (I can't do that any more!) and felt heaps better. I had ordered my breakfast for 8 am - this was 1977, they still brought brekky up on a tray to your room. A knock on the door woke me up and I got up and got the tray from the floor outside the door. This was also the time before I started buying cakes and pies the day before to have breakfast in bed, saving time, energy and money. I think I started doing that in 1987.

Having decided what to do with the day I went down and booked my room for another night. They said, sure, no problem. I left most of my stuff in the room and just took essentials in the back pack.

This was the day to achieve my objective, Meelup Beach. I found my way to the Bussell Highway and set off for Dunsborough. The road was flat and the wind was not a problem. At that time Busselton had not spread so far along the shore in both directions, and the Vasse Store near the junction with Caves Road still marked a distinct locality. It is still there but has been modernised and absorbed into Greater Busselton.

I reached Dunsborough, which in those days was a small village with a famous bakery, a petrol station, a couple of other shops and no hotel or motel. I had a snack from the bakery then consulted my inadequate maps and some local signs to find my way to Meelup. There was a steep climb up the rough little road as it was then, Naturaliste Terrace, which just ran straight from Caves Road, through what there was of Dunsborough and on to the Cape. I never actually went all the way to the Cape until 2000!

About 4km from Dunsborough I found the turn-off and the sign saying Meelup Beach Road. I had a downhill run, then a climb, then a steep curving downhill run to the beach. It was enchanting. The forest came right down to the water's edge and there was just a bit of lawn and a small car park and a green-painted brick ablutions block.

The beach faces north-east so it was sheltered from the prevailing southerlies, it was in a bay so that it was not at all rough. The water was amazingly clear. I had a delightful swim and lay around for a while afterwards.

I was a bit worried about getting back up the curving hill that had brought me to the beach. I worried more about such things in those days and my heavy old bike had only a three-speed hub gear and the easiest gear was not all that easy. Also I was well out of the zone of the comfortable and familiar. The day was warm and I got a bit hot and bothered as I trudged up the hill, being unable to pedal. Eventually I got to the top and was able to ride downhill for a while, welcoming the breeze that was starting to freshen from the south-west. Then I had to struggle uphill towards the junction with Naturaliste Terrace.

At last I was able to turn and run easily downhill to Dunsborough. The breeze was at my back as I went straight through and turned for Busselton.

It was about 3 pm by now and the road was cheerful with school buses and other traffic. I had had a nice day and I felt good.

I reached Queen Street and turned north, then into Marine Terrace to the Hotel.

I had another swim at the beach, then a hot shower and a change of clothes. Now it was time to look for somewhere to eat. I don't know how I became aware of the Golden Barn, I must have just happened upon it. I had a lovely dinner and the ambience of the place was great, lots of young people having parties.

After that it was time to take the walk on the jetty. I walked straight up Queen Street and onto the jetty. The night was cool, with clouds and brief showers coming across the bay. My walk went on and on. The jetty was in better repair in those days and I could get right to the end. I passed the junction with the railway jetty, which came in at an angle, and the jetty became wider and stronger now that the railway track was there. It was obviously long disused, rusty with decayed sleepers and broken sections. A shower swept across just as I passed a strange little shelter with hooks, obviously something to do with the railway in years past. As I walked further out into the bay I could see the lights of Dunsborough to the West, Capel to the north-east and, further north, a bigger distant glow from Bunbury. Way up to the north I fancied I could see the huge glow from the Perth metropolitan area. To the west also, the Cape Naturaliste lighthouse swept its beam around at regular intervals.

I came to the end of the jetty. It was a wide area partly fenced, I say partly because some of it had broken, and it was quite dark now so I had to be careful. There was clunking from some loose timbers. The light was on a small tower on top of a raised platform, which could be reached by a ladder. The light went on and off with a loud clicking. I climbed the ladder and the light was very bright at close range, so I couldn't se anything. I carefully came down again and walked in a leisurely way back to the mainland. I had the cool wind in my face now.

I slept well again and enjoyed another breakfast delivered to my room. I left Busselton by the same way as I had come in, not knowing at that time about the other way through Wonnerup.

The road wasn't hard, the wind was favourable and the day was mild, but as I pedalled on I decided I couldn't face going back home the way I had come, and at that time I had never ridden even close to 100 km in one day, and believed that the 100 km from Bunbury to Mandurah, up the old coast road, was just not feasible. It probably wouldn't have been on that heavy bike. Even in 1979, there was nothing for 50km between Australind and Lake Clifton and I don't think there was any accommodation at Lake Clifton in those days. I had no accommodation guide anyway. So I conceived the idea of just putting the whole thing on the Australind express from Bunbury and riding back to Perth by train.

I stopped at Colroy's again, just for a quick drink this time. I reached Bunbury in plenty of time to catch the train. Until 1984 the Bunbury train station was right in the centre of town, opposite the Rose Hotel. I bought my ticket and paid for the bike and saw it safely taken into the luggage room. I left my bag with most of the luggage there too. I went into the toilet to change into my bathers and I remember a spent .22 cartridge case sitting on the window-sill. Then I took a towel and trudged up Wellington Street to the beach, and had a soothing swim.

Afterwards I changed back into warm clothes, had a pie or something from a little shop on the platform and waited for the train to roll in. Before it left I peered into the luggage compartment and was reassured by the sight of my old bike hanging from the hooks.

During the slow journey back to Perth - it took three and a half hours in those days - I looked out of the window and felt guilty as I saw the grass being bent by a fresh south-westerly wind that would have blown me home. The train stopped at Yarloop, about a kilometre from the main road, so I had never seen the town on the way down.

At last the train reached Perth and I humped bike and luggage to the appropriate platform and caught the train back to Cottesloe. The backs of my hands were quite brown and wrinkled from long days in the riding position. I had the old buffalo handlebars on that bike, not the racing drops I was to have on all subsequent bikes.

It was not late and I managed to contact Janet and Lesley who were on their way to a folk concert in Fremantle. I arranged to meet them there. They had saved me a seat and as I approached them I made a gesture of strain, like holding out my hands as though they were stiff from riding a bike for six days. They weren't very impressed. Didn't think it was such a big deal. I had been through a life-changing experience and here I was in this normal world with happy young people looking forward to their concert. The hard struggles, the discomforts, the endless roads stretching before me, were all in a private universe in my head and nothing to do with the world around me.