Bicycle Tours in South Western Australia:

Armadale - Yealering - Midland

11 days, 586 km [map]

The aim of this trip was originally to visit Kulin, not because there is anything special there but because I have never been there and it has always been just out of reach, round the corner, a bit further down the track, but never on my way to or from anywhere on previous rides. As the title implies, another wimp-out occurred and I ended up visiting Yealering again.

I took my digital camera on this trip so it is the best-recorded trip ever. I took 48 pictures, but about a dozen of them were of orchids, reflecting my particular interest.

DAY 1, Armadale - Pinjarra

MONDAY 13 OCTOBER 2003

I rode down to Cottesloe station to get the train, only to have a thought when I got there: Did I pack the pump? A swift check revealed that in fact the pump was not there. Amazing that I should have thought of so much else but forgotten to put the pump in the bag! So I had to go back for it and get the later train. So the ride was to start 15 minutes later than planned.

The ride began at 10:58, 831 as I left Armadale station and headed up William Street to the South-western Highway. There was a strong south-westerly headwind and some showers, but the road is not too hilly and there were hundreds of big trucks going my way. The point about that is that each truck carried a shock wave ahead of it, giving me a push when it passed. If you have 20 trucks per kilometre passing you at 100 kph, then that’s a tailwind, never mind what the weather is doing. But there were not always that many and most of the day I felt as though I were going uphill, and got a bit tired towards the end.

The rain was not too heavy, just persistent, coming and going. I stopped for a rest at Serpentine, 849, then rested again at 863, then reached North Dandalup roadhouse at 874 and tried to book the Pinjarra motel. I had left it so late because I had had a thought that I might try to reach Dwellingup in one day, having done Dwellingup to Armadale twice, in 1989 and 1994. North Dandalup was where the decision would have to be made, and it was clear to me when I got there that it was wiser just to go to Pinjarra and take the extra day. No-one answered the ‘phone, there was just an answering machine, though it was the middle of the day. I had a drink at the roadhouse and rested there for a while, under cover, because dark and threatening clouds were moving in. Why get wet if I could avoid it? But there wasn’t much rain so I got going again. A bit further down the road a heavy shower did in fact move across the paddocks and I found a thick bush to shelter under. It passed after a few minutes but left the roads wet and splashy, so I got sprayed by passing trucks for a while.

Towards Pinjarra I saw a flock of those black cockatoos with startling red tail feathers, wheeling and screeching among the trees.

I reached Pinjarra at 890, 2:58. I kept going down towards the motel at 891. I went in (there was no pack of snarling dogs barring my way this time) and asked if they had any units, they said yes. I told them I had tried to book; they explained that one person was away at the time and the other one must have been making the beds.

The unit, No. 6, $60, was nice but they don’t include light breakfast any more. There was a digital clock radio and a microwave oven. I dumped everything and cycled back up the road to book the Dwellingup motel and shop for the usual box drinks, biscuits and breakfast food. I didn’t notice until later that night that along with the pump, I had forgotten to bring toothpaste.

The pool is still there at the motel, just as nice, and the palm trees have grown a bit since I first stayed there in 1991. After a rest I enjoyed a refreshing swim, to the surprise of other guests on this cold day. I did my laundry and there was a line with pegs where I could hang it. After my shower I discovered that along with the pump and the toothpaste I had forgotten to bring a comb.

There was a Thai-Chinese restaurant next to the motel so I got a takeaway of Pad Thai and fish with corn sauce. Then I settled down to watch TV, including the new series of ‘South Park’.

Reading at Pinjarra, end of day: 893 km. Day's ride: 62 km. Speed to Pinjarra: 15 kph.

DAY 2, Pinjarra - Dwellingup

TUESDAY 14 OCTOBER

I left Pinjarra Motel at 9:58 and rode up the SW highway to take a right turn up the Dwellingup road. The morning was cool with some sun, there was a westerly wind which was helpful all the way. The lady at the motel had asked me where I was going that day, I said Dwellingup, she said, ooh, it’s all uphill. But I knew that it wasn’t, just some of it, and I was prepared and would get off and walk if it got too hard.

I had a rest at 908 after 15km of gradually rising but not too difficult road. I was beside a pleasant scene of a hillside with rocks and trees and I took an analogue picture. The real climbing began at 910 and continued for most of the next 4km. I got off and walked the bike for much of this. I arrived in Dwellingup at 11:45, 918. I got to the hotel and claimed my unit - they didn’t mind me being early. After a rest I had a swim in the pool, which was full and looked clean, but someone came out to warn me that it hadn’t been used or maintained all winter and I should be aware of this. Then I showered and changed and hung my washing out on the rotary hoist beyond the pool.

Since the day’s ride had so far been so short, I had planned to do some more riding around this area, also to make up for my laziness in 1999 when I had not pursued a trail when I had time and good weather. However, on this day, dark clouds and strong winds came in with frequent showers, so I put on my raincoat and tramped around the forest and town instead. I will ride in the rain if I must but not if it can be avoided. I didn’t want to get the recently cleaned and oiled bike wet this early in the ride. The public ‘phone in the centre of town was not working; a message said ‘free calls only’, so I had to ask at the shop and go some way up the Boddington road past the sports ground to use the other ‘phone and book the Boddington motel for the next day, and telephone friends.

My search for orchids in the forest along River Road was rewarded by abundance. I thought at the time that I had found five different kinds, including a subtle one not fully open, which I didn’t photograph because it was too dark. I took pictures of the other four, including a fancy white one. This last later turned out to be a trigger plant, and one of the others might not have been an orchid. But there were many yellow cowslip orchids and two different kinds of purple ones, one with a yellow ‘tongue’. There was a subtle one still closed up with dull green and red colouring, rather like the mystery Greenbushes orchid of 2002. I didn’t take a picture because the light was too bad and the flash is too strong at closer than a couple of metres.

I walked along the tracks to the old station. Earlier, I had heard what sounded like the hooter of the Etmilyn forest tram, but my information said that it ran only once a day, at 11 am. The information at the station said that there was a trip at 2 pm also. I could have been on it had I known.

I bought toothpaste at the shop along with the usual drinks and food for breakfast.

There was no smoking allowed in the units and there was a smoke detector to enforce this. This is common in motels these days and of course one can’t disagree with it. Later on when I was relaxing in my unit watching TV I sat in the bathroom door, with the bathroom fan on, to have my smoke while still able to see the TV.

The hotel was not doing meals that evening so I bought chicken and chips at the roadhouse-café on the Boddington Road.

Reading at Dwellingup, end of day: 918 km. Day: 25 km. Cumulative 87 km, 43.5 km/day. Speed Pinjarra to Dwellingup: 14 kph.

DAY 3, Dwellingup - Boddington

WEDNESDAY 15 OCTOBER

I set off for Boddington on a cool sunny morning with no wind, but a helpful south-westerly was to arise as I proceeded.

The road was quite hilly, up and down through tall forest. I had only taken it once before, in the other direction, in 1999. I didn’t have a contour map of this region so didn’t know if the trend was downhill or uphill on this or the other occasion. I saw a big spider orchid beside the road as I rode along. I rested at 938 and 955 and arrived in Boddington at 971, 11:51. I felt as though I had done a good day’s work though the distance was only 52 km. Those hills take it out of you and you don’t get it back.

In 1999 I had been disappointed to arrive in Boddington and discover that there was a nice new motel not listed n the 1999 guide, after I had already booked into the old hotel, which was listed. This time I had booked into the new motel. It was nice, run by two young women. There was breakfast included in the $60 price, cereal and toast in the unit (No. 2), and a microwave oven. There was a line to hang my daily washing.

After my rest I tried to book the Williams motel, which I knew was nice, with a pool. I stayed there in 1999. But the man said they were all booked out. He suggested that I could ring up about staying in a CALM hut in the Dryandra national park. He gave me the number. He was sympathetic to the needs of cyclists. I thanked him and said I would pursue that option if I couldn’t get into the Williams Hotel either.

I rang the Williams Hotel and asked if they had a unit. They did and booked one for me. So that seemed to be all right.

I took a walk along the Hotham river. This time I walked over the bridge and discovered that on the other side (I don’t mean the other end) of it a lot of large dead or near-dead trees were sticking up out of the water. I took a picture. This suggested that the river on that side was dry some of the time, or had been dry all the time until recently. So the long broad stretch of water that is visible from the town, if you don’t walk onto the bridge, is probably dammed by a weir to make this broad peaceful water body. This would be like the Torrens ’river’ in Adelaide, which looks like a wide deep river but which is just a rectangular pond dammed at both ends. This is probably why you don’t hear about the Hotham River as a major WA river, because it isn’t. Just a large pond with a seasonal swamp at one end and a trickle at the other. Maybe I should wait until I see more of it because it looks quite long on the map.

At this end of the bridge I found the Crossman Road, which I would be taking the next morning.

I walked back the other way and found the walk trail again, past the caravan park and the equestrian area. This time I got as far as the sports ground and recreation area. I heard the shouts of children and saw that there was a playground with swings, ladders and playful structures. In front of this was a bike-jumping facility. I had never seen one of these before and I now know what Christopher is talking about when he goes to the Balga Jumps, and why it is important to him to have a bike on which he can do jumps. I now understand the reason for the long and sorry saga of wrecked bikes, bald tyres, punctured tubes that has engaged my efforts over the years. It was all of concrete with a large bowl at one end and a series of ramps and jumps. When the boys in the playground saw me looking at this, they got on their bikes and put on an entertaining display for me, of which I took a picture. They waved and said hello to me as they flew (almost literally) by.

After that I walked back, bought some milk and a tray of Lebanese cakes at the shop and looked for a place to get dinner. The pizza shop where I had bought a nice if too-large pizza in 1999 was all closed and boarded up – it looked as though there had been a fire. I peered through the dirty windows and saw the shop that I remembered from 1999, but it was all clogged up with derelict furniture and equipment, stacked from floor to ceiling.

I got my dry washing off the line, then went to the café and got a pepper steak pie and a chicken sausage, which I heated up in the microwave. There was no smoking in this unit either and there was a chair outside the door where people could sit and smoke, but the truck drivers in the next unit kept taking my chair. Anyway I enjoyed a relaxing evening of TV and reading and studying the next day’s route before retiring early.

Reading at Boddington: 971 km. Day’s ride: 53. Aggregate: 140 km. km/day 47. Kph, Dwellingup to Boddington: 17.

DAY 4, Boddington - Williams

THURSDAY 16 OCTOBER

The morning in Boddington was very foggy, thicker than you see fog in Perth, more like a good East Anglia fog in England. I didn’t rush to get going, I didn’t want to ride in fog, there were only another 50-odd km to do today and the road would not be so hard. The winds turned out to be helpful, moderate westerlies all day. The sun soon peeped through the dissipating fog and I left Boddington on a cool morning at 8:58.

I reached Crossman at 984. There seemed to be nothing there but a house until I turned onto the Albany Highway and looked north and saw the roadhouse beyond the house. I remembered stopping there in 2002 on my way back from Tenterden with Liz, when we had cappuccino and looked at the peacocks. I turned south and took my first rest at 989. The country was green and the air was clear, and trees cast shadows across the road. A flock of parrots, black with white tail feathers, wheeled and screeched above me. I took another rest at 1007 and soon after that began a long climb up a big hill. This reached its peak at 1015. I stopped for a minute and looked back, to see a vista of landscape which suggested that I had come up a long way indeed. I resumed riding and had a long descent, reaching 58 kph at one point, free-wheeling. I rode into Williams at 1025, 11:57. I went to the hotel to claim my booking. The man told me that they had put me in a double unit (No. 8), but would only charge me for a single, $50. He took my money over the bar and gave me the key, there was no receipt and no register to fill in. $50 seemed all right until I got into the unit.

The units were a series of wooden huts on a wooden platform accessible by ramps and steps. The unit itself was small and I opened the back door which I assumed would lead to the plumbing. This was correct, but it also led to a kitchen, where I left my bike, and to three other doors marked 3, 4 and 7. It looked as though I would be sharing my plumbing with three other units. I hoped that this was not really the case, or that if it were, then the other units would be unoccupied that night. I was wrong on both counts. The units were to be fully occupied by evening and people tramped around on the other side of my door using the toilets and the shower.

Three of the channels on the TV were tuned to the local ABC station, but there was no colour. The only other channel that had a program was the local WIN station. It had colour but diagonal bands across the screen. It would be a dreary TV night tonight.

There was a good clothes line with pegs, just down the steps in front of my unit, so in addition to the usual washing I took the opportunity to wash my jumper and back pack, and also the bathmat from the shower, which was soggy and dirty. There were waist-high weeds around the clothes line so I had to stomp these down before I could use it.

After my rest and shower and washing I went to the ‘phone and tried to book the next two nights’ accommodation. I booked into the Wickepin Hotel all right, not with a huge rush of pleasure because I had not thought much of it in 1999. Then I tried to get into the Kulin motel, only to find that it was fully booked. There was some big shearing thing going on that weekend. Oh, I said, thank you, and hung up. I would have to think about this.

I walked along the main street of the town, past the ‘shopping centre’ which is just a couple of little shops (in one of which I bought a packet of barley sugar) and a lot of derelict premises, then to the end of the road and onto the path that runs along the river. This was pleasant. I walked along, saw a couple of horses, a foal and presumably its mother. I took a picture. I reached the bridge that carries the highway over the river. Instead of crossing that I walked over the little footbridge that crosses the weir, and took a picture of this.

I walked though a lush garden of roses and other things, reached a dead end and came back, walking back up to the main road into town.

I looked at the historic homestead, which was closed now. The gate was open and I didn’t see anyone so I walked in to get a picture of the old buildings. I was surprised by a young man sitting on the ground with a blanket and some bits and pieces. I hadn’t noticed him. He said ‘can I help you?’ I apologised and asked if I were intruding. He said, no, no problem, go ahead and have a look at the buildings. I took my picture and left.

I had been thinking about the Kulin problem and wondering where I could go instead, or where else there might be to stay in or near Kulin. I went back to my unit and looked at the map and the accommodation guide. I could just go to Yealering after Wickepin, thence to Corrigin, but this would shave about 40 - 50 km off the whole ride and would be another failure. But wait, there was a caravan park at Kulin. I rang them up and they said yes, I could have a caravan, no problem, but they didn’t have any food, there might be a blanket and the shop in Kulin closed at 11:30 am on a Saturday, leaving only the hotel, or something called the woolshed, where one might be able to get a meal. I booked the caravan anyway without much ease of mind.

My washing was dry but the heavy bathmat was still damp. I took it in anyway. Then I went to see what I could get for tea. I ended up with chicken and chips again, but it wasn’t so nice as that at Dwellingup, a bit dry. I had some biscuits and coffee too, and settled down to watch the black-and-white TV and sew a button on my shirt and read my magazines. There was no smoking allowed in these units either and this was said to be in compliance with the Enclosed Workplaces Act. There were chairs outside the units where you could smoke. This was how I got to meet some of my toilet-sharers, two of whom were a nice old married couple travelling around. The others were the usual people who use these motels, road and infrastructure maintenance workers, truck drivers, travelling salespeople.

Reading at Williams: 1025. Day: 54 km. Cumulative 194 km. kpd 48. Speed to Williams: 18 kph.

DAY 5, Williams - Wickepin

FRIDAY 17 OCTOBER

ANOTHER WIMP-OUT

When I awoke I found it hard to get up, I felt unable to manage the next two days, with two 70 kilometre runs. I did get up and get going, but this feeling on first waking up was the seed of the wimp-out to come.

I left the hotel at 8:23 am on a cool sunny morning, with winds westerly to south-westerly, a tailwind. The day became overcast as I went on. I went over the bridge and turned onto the Narrogin road, and took my first rest at 1044, at a concrete bench and seats conveniently set up beside the road. I was not carrying too many drinks – I was going to buy one in Narrogin to have at my second rest. I reached Narrogin at 1057, 10:29, after free-wheeling down the long hill past the hospital and the motel where I had stayed in 1999. I stopped just long enough to buy a bottle of Power Ade and a $10 ‘phone card, then headed for the junction, turned right and climbed up the long hill out of town towards Wickepin.

I had another rest at 1064, at another convenient concrete bench with seats, then a last rest at 1081. Somewhere along the way from Narrogin I had started to come around to the idea of going to Yealering the next day anyway and abandoning Kulin. This idea gradually corroded its way into my mind as my legs seemed to lose strength and my knees and back (diagnosed with arthritis this year) began to hurt. By the time I reached Wickepin (1097, 12:53) it was almost a done deal. It had been only 72 km, the road wasn’t all that hard apart from one or two challenging climbs, and there had been a tailwind all the way, and it was cool, but this was how I felt. It seems that I can’t do the things that I used to. Or maybe I could physically, but not mentally.

I pulled up at the hotel and claimed my room. The place was in better shape than it had been in 1999, though retaining its ramshackle charm, and the proprietors were friendly and helpful. I went to the shop for a pie and drink then settled down for my lunch and a rest.

When I got up the sky had become overcast and a cold wind blew. I had my shower and did the washing, then went to make some ‘phone calls. Someone had glued a 20 cent coin to the steel shelf in the telephone box and I tried to pick it off as I made my calls. I rang up the Yealering Hotel and booked a room for the next day. They told me that the hotel did not open until 3:30 pm on a Saturday and if I arrived earlier I should knock on the door. I certainly would arrive earlier, unless the bike broke and I had to walk – it was only 30km. Then I rang up the Windmill Motel at Corrigin and was able to book a unit for Sunday night. They asked me not to arrive before 2 pm because they were booked out for Saturday and would need plenty of time on Sunday to do all the units. I would worry about that closer to the time.

Then I rang up the Kulin caravan park, to tell them that I would not make Kulin after all the next day. They didn’t mind, they were glad I had rung to tell them a day ahead of time. I expect they had had a better offer.

That done, I rang some of my friends to tell them where I was and chat about the trip. Afterwards there was no need for much shopping because breakfast was included in the room price (Room 1, $27.50, very good value these days) and I had bought six box drinks in Dwellingup and, with an empty plastic bottle to be filled with water, had enough to get me to Corrigin.

Since 1999 the historic Facey homestead, former home of Albert Facey who wrote of his ‘Fortunate Life’, had been moved into the town, carried bodily on a low-loader from the remote country where it had been built. It was now right opposite the hotel and a sign on the locked door said that the key could be obtained from the newsagent for a self-guided tour. I went to the newsagency, remembered from 1999, and asked the lady about this. She charged me $2.50 and said I looked like a trustworthy person, and gave me the key. There was no hurry to return it – the newsagency would not close till six. She told me where the lights were.

I unlocked the door and entered the gloomy house. The day was very grey now and windy and freezing and light rain fell intermittently. I had checked my washing but it was still damp and the wind would mostly dry it unless the rain got too heavy.

I turned on the lights and had an interesting tour of the house. There were just four rooms, a master bedroom, a children’s room, a kitchen-dining room and a front parlour with ornaments, a fireplace and pictures and bits and pieces for occupying long country evenings. I could imagine that the kitchen would have been the centre of this house as the kitchen table today is still the centre of many Australian houses. I took some pictures.

I returned the key and set off on the Yarling Walk, a winding gravel track past various points of interest, with plaques explaining what they were, or explaining what had been there if there was just an empty space. It started and finished near the Facey house. It went past the old police station which included living quarters, a courtroom and cells, past the old Road Board offices and the railway station. Passenger train services ceased in 1960. I remember when on my way to stay with friends in Jerramungup in 1964, passing through Wickepin on the bus. A lively crowd was waiting for the bus in Wickepin, not to catch it but to get mail and parcels, welcome people returning and see people off and just enjoy a social get-together. I told my friends about this and they said yes, Bus Night in ‘Wickets’ was a big event. Jerramungup in those days was a brand new town that had been plonked down in the mallee country. I remembered being startled by the sight of a double row of mercury vapour street lights, quite a novelty anywhere in those days, suddenly appearing in the middle of nowhere, as it seemed. They marked what was to be the main street of the new town.

By this time it was getting very dark and cold and spasms of drizzle blew across the town. I went out the back of the hotel to get my washing in then went around to the bar to see about dinner. Both bars were crowded with cheerful people coming in for their Friday night. You could smoke in the other bar, through the door, and the dining area was non-smoking. The chalk board said that ham steaks were on special at $10, with chips and salad, so I ordered that. The salad was help yourself, from ten different varieties, beetroot, pasta, rice, coleslaw and so on, all nice and fresh and laid out under the lights. The whole area looked much better than in 1999.

The guest lounge was also much better set up than in 1999, not depressing any more, with a recent paint job and the furniture new or fixed, and all nice and clean. The TV was a new colour one that worked. Breakfast stuff was all laid out on the table or in the fridge for the next morning. I could have spent a pleasant evening in here with the TV but I decided to spend the night in the bar with the locals.

I felt happy and relaxed after having made my decision to cut the ride short and make it easier and more manageable.

In the main bar people were playing pool, the rugby was showing on the big screen and people were playing pool, playing the juke-box and smoking and buying rounds of drinks. I chose some tunes for the juke-box myself. Is juke-box still the right term?

During the evening I was chatted up by two women. One of them was the lady in the newsagency who had given me the key to the Facey house. The other one looked rather the same, with curly hair and denim jeans and jacket. I thought they were the same woman, and when the second one started asking me the same questions, what do you do for a job, where do you come from, are you riding around on a bike? Wow, I thought, what’s wrong with this person, is she losing the plot? In fact it was me that was at fault for not being able to tell one from the other. Anyway, one of them told me the story of her life, how her marriage was over and she was happy now, working in a doctor’s office in Narrogin three days a week and driving the school bus for the district every day. She was impressed with the idea of riding a bike from town to town because although she enjoyed riding a bike she said she would be scared to leave the limits of the town and get out into the country.

When her boyfriend saw her talking to me he came over and staked his claim by hugging and kissing her in front of me. This was only three days before I was to be offered seniors’ rates at the Quairading Motel so I was flattered.

After a jolly evening I retired to bed at about 11 pm, since there was no hurry to get going in the morning. I blocked my ears and didn’t hear any more from the still noisy bar or any of the noise which there would have been at about midnight as the people got into their cars and left.

Reading at Wickepin, end of day: 1097. Km for day: 72. Aggregate: 266. Km per day: 53. Kph to Wickepin: 16.

DAY 6, Wickepin - Yealering

SATURDAY 18 OCTOBER

I left Wickepin at 9:26. It was cold but sunny and the wind was a fresh west to south westerly tailwind. It would have been an ideal day to try for Kulin and had I been able to book into the motel, or had it been a different day of the week with the shops open, I might have gone ahead with that original plan.

I headed up the straight road that led to Kulin, climbing as it did so for some way out of Wickepin, then I turned left to head north to Yealering. The wind was still helping me.

I rested at 1114, at another stone bench and seats beside the road. I hope there will be more of these. It was near the turn-off to go to Malyalling Rock. I had plenty of time and only an easy distance to do, so it looked like a good opportunity for a detour and some sightseeing. But the information board said that the distance to the Rock was 13 km. My map seemed to show that it was only a couple of km and it wasn’t large scale enough to make this clear. I went back and looked down the road. It was loose gravel, I couldn’t see more than a km of it and I couldn’t see any rock ahead. I was disinclined to do a round trip of 26 km on loose gravel and resumed my way to Yealering.

I arrived in Yealering at 11:13, 1129. The tiny town was silent and no-one was about. Nothing was open. I thought I would wait until at least noon before knocking at the hotel. I rode around to the lake, right there on the main road, next to the town, and sat on a bench to have a drink and look at the view, and enjoy a bit of sun because the wind was cold now that I had stopped riding. I took a picture.

Eventually I did go and knock on the doors of the hotel, and the windows too, but there was no response. I still hadn’t seen any person since my arrival. I rode around a bit more, had a look at some of the facilities beside the lake, took some pictures. Then I went back to the hotel and this time tried going around the back. The proprietors were there, two young women, and they let me in, showed me my room and the bathroom and the back way out, and the door near my room that led to the broad upstairs verandah, and left me to it. I asked for the key to my room but they said they weren’t any. "There’s no-one here but us and the baby". Well, but what about if the place is ever full? It seemed to be one of those hippy hotels, all men are brothers, property is fascist, blah blah. It was certainly one of those country hotels whose main function is as a family home for the proprietors (see Rocky Gully, 1996), with guests being an intrusion.

The rooms had no numbers either, they were identified by the colour scheme in which they were painted – rather strong colours, yellow, red, blue, purple. Mine was the green room. Each room had an elaborate muslin curtain in the appropriate colour. The beds were huge and heavy, roughly hewn from hard black wood, as was the only other item of furniture, a tall cruciform stand with four hooks and a tiny shelf, and a horseshoe nailed to the top. The bed was too wide for the mattress and the wood was the same colour as the floor, so I bumped into it the first time I came into the room and walked around it. I still had the bruise on my knee when I got back to Perth.

There was also a huge mirror on the wall with a heavy black wooden frame, presumably from the same trendy dinky-di country craftsman. There was no cupboard, no clothes-hangers, no bedside light or table. The whole setup was weird. A hotel designed to appeal to the eccentric aesthetic sense of the proprietors rather than to serve the needs of the guests.

Anyway I had my rest, then went to have a swim in the lake. It was only a short walk around the corner. I saw what appeared to be a wrecked car on the grass beside the lake, but it hadn’t been there before and there were four barefooted young people on the bench next to it so they must have driven it from somewhere.

The swimming area was a section of lake enclosed by an earth dam such as you see on many farms. I remember swimming in one at Bruce Rock in 1957, dodging balls of sheep poo. Stretching out into this pool was a rotten wooden jetty. There was a sign warning people not to swim if the water was above 24deg, not to put their heads under at any time, because of the risk of amoebic meningitis. I had seen this earlier and had asked the lady at the hotel about it. She said not to worry, the water was too salty anyway. She said it was good to swim in the lake, there were no nasties in it.

I waded carefully in through the slippery mud until there was enough depth to launch myself, then swam out to the end of the jetty. I swam a bit further and reached the far wall of the dam, climbed over that and had a brief dip in the lake proper. The water was clear but shallow and full of fine soft green weed. I climbed back over into the pool and swam slowly on my back to the shore. The water was so salty that the experience reminded me of what people say about the Dead Sea in Israel, you can sit in it.

When I got out, one of the young people said "Pretty cold, man!" I agreed, but said it was nice and refreshing anyway.

I went back and had my shower. The bathroom was clean and functional. I needed somewhere to hang my washing and here was no line or pegs. I hung it about the upstairs verandah. There were fairy lights hung around the borders of this and I hung my shirt on the wire. All the wires and lights were heavily festooned with cobwebs. I hung the shorts and backpack over a couple of plastic chairs in the sun. The chairs were dusty and had to be cleaned first. There was a big sign which lights up at night, saying ‘Lake Yealering Hotel’. It always used to be called the Commercial hotel and this name is still listed in the telephone book.

After that I went out and tried to use the telephone to book the Quairading motel, wanting to be two days ahead from now on. The telephone was dead, not a sound, no display on the LCD screen. There was no obvious damage. I went back into the hotel and asked the red-haired girl behind the bar (she didn’t look old enough to be behind the bar) if there was another one in town. She said no, that ‘phone was the only one in town. She didn’t offer me the use of the hotel’s ‘phone. I decided to leave it till later.

I set off back to the lake, took a picture of the road junction. I had noticed on the tourist map that there was supposed to be a Walk Trail starting near the swimming area, and I thought that might be fun. But all that was there was some scrub, no trail. I set off anyway in an easterly direction, up the long, dried-up, deserted golf-course. I started to feel very depressed. This happens to me sometimes and was perhaps triggered by the silence, emptiness and air of decline in this place, also by the eccentricity of the hotel, the uncertainty of getting fed between now and Corrigin, the abandonment of my original objective. Anyway I wandered a long way up the dried yellow grass until I reached the deserted golf clubhouse, which nevertheless had signs of life in the form of a notice to members about rules for the use of the course.

I pushed through weeds to the Corrigin Road and wandered back into town. I took a walk around the wheat silos which are a feature of the town and which can be seen for many kilometres in some directions. I saw a bird with a little tuft of feathers sticking straight up from its head, and an elegant little body and a distinctive way of flying and moving. It seemed to be some kind of parrot or cockatoo but I couldn’t get around to the sunny side of it to see its colouring and get a proper look at it before it flew away.

I went back to the facilities beside the lake and saw the former croquet club. The little clubhouse, like a bus shelter with wooden lattice work, had faded monochrome pictures of women croquet players having their afternoon tea there in the 1940's. It also had a history of the club. It never had grass due to the restricted water supply for the town, so they prepared a flat area of fine gravel, stuck the hoops in and played on that. It went into decline in the 1960's so they boosted membership among men and younger people which enabled it to struggle on until the early 1980's. At this point membership had declined so much that the club went into recess for a year, and, as the text said, 'sadly, it never re-opened'. The hoops were long gone but the clubhouse had been carefully preserved and recently painted. Spectators' seats were still on the edge of the playing area and bore the names of long-dead stalwarts of the club.

I took some more pictures of this quaint little town and of the lake as evening drew on. Now it was time to see about dinner.

I went back into the hotel and asked if I could use the telephone. There was a huge noise from the juke box in the bar, being enjoyed by just one man. The ‘phone was on a long wire and I dragged it into a corner and jammed my fingers into my other ear, then made the call to the Quairading Motel. There hadn’t been a motel when I last stayed there, just the old run-down pub. My booking was successful and I then tried to see the dinner menu, which was on a chalk board high up on the wall in the dark bar. I asked if the light could be turned on and was told that the light didn’t work, but there was a printed version of the menu hanging just next to me. I ordered the Steak Diane with the Nachos for an entrée. The girl went away for a while and came back with the news that there was no Diane sauce, and no corn chips for the nachos. So I ordered the prawn entrée, and was told that there were no prawns either. I eschewed the entrée and just ordered the porterhouse steak. I asked where I would eat this and they suggested right there at the bar, or in a gloomy room next to it with no lights and a lot of clutter. I asked if I could eat in the dining room and they agreed. I paid for my meal and the room at the same time. The room was $40, quite expensive compared to Wickepin or anywhere else where you just get the basic room rather than a unit.

There was just a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling of the dining room. No tables were laid, at least not with dining things. The tables were cluttered with other stuff including children’s toys, which also lay around the floor. The girl hastily threw some cutlery on the table for me. I wished the next morning that I knew where she had found it because I couldn’t find any.

The meal duly arrived. The steak was all right but there was too much gristle. The vegetables were just dried stuff out of a packet. Anyway it filled the spot. I asked for a glass of water and they brought it.

After that I went to the bar for a while. It was quite noisy and busy on this Saturday night. Then I went up to my room for a while to read, then came down at 8:30 to see if the rugby was on. It was, on a big TV screen high above the bar. There was no-one there but the two women who ran the hotel and their boyfriends. The girl behind the bar asked if I wanted a drink. I asked for a lemon, lime and bitters. I was told there was no lemonade, no lime and no bitters. I looked around and saw a bottle of Stone’s green ginger wine, so I ordered a glass of that. The girl said "What?" I said, it's right there on the shelf behind you. She poured me a small glass, then riffled through reams of paper to find out what to charge me. Eventually she said $8. This was way too much, she must have thought it was a liqueur, but I just paid and let it go. Most people would spend more than that in an evening at the bar.

The rugby was good, I had my Walkman radio to listen to the better radio commentary. England were playing South Africa in a qualifying round match in Perth and it was being broadcast live to the country. The other two men in the bar were keen rugby followers and the girls didn't mind, so it was an enjoyable evening.

I went to bed and slept quite well.

Reading at Yealering: 1129. Day’s ride: 32 km. Aggregate: 298. Km/day: 60. Kph to Yealering: 18.

DAY 7, Yealering - Corrigin

SUNDAY 19 OCTOBER

The day was cool and sunny with west to north-westerly winds backing south-westerly. I got up before 8 and the place was silent, no-one stirred in or outside the hotel. I went downstairs and started to get a breakfast. I couldn't find any cutlery anywhere but did locate a couple of teaspoons and made do with them. A cat slept curled up on the kitchen table and a dog wandered quietly in and out. I eventually found some cereal, a couple of crusts of bread in the freezer, a pot of half-used margarine left out of the fridge on one of the dining room tables and a lot of little sachets of jam and marmalade. There was coffee and a kettle. I ate enough, but noticed that the strawberry jam was brown and the marmalade tasted a bit funny. Inspection of all the sachets, including the ones I had eaten, showed that none had a use-by date later than February 2002.

There was still no-one about as I prepared to leave and rode away at 1131, 9:16, eastwards along the Corrigin road. I turned left, north-west, and the wind was not so helpful, but still not opposing. A cross-breeze is actually better in one way, that it keeps the flies off. I took a rest at 1148, then reached the crossroads at Bullaring at 1151. This is another tiny town struggling with oblivion. There was a modern-looking Community Centre with a lot of people outside, just playing and socialising. I took a small detour to look at the town. It was just a short street with a few shops, all closed of course, and some big sheds. I rode out again and exchanged waves with the people at the community centre.

I reached the top of a big hill at 1160, then took another rest at 1166 and reached the road junction at 1167, where I had to turn right for Corrigin. I passed the turnoff to the Quairading road at 1173. After that there was a big climb, then a long run down into Corrigin which I reached at 1180, 12:14. I thought that I would prefer not to have to do that 7 kilometres back to the Quairading road junction the next day, just because I find it better for morale to do only new roads and not to retrace a road taken only the day before. I would study the map to find another way.

I did not remember exactly where the Windmill Motel was. I turned left into the main street, which had just been widened and resurfaced so that there was a lot of loose gravel. I rode carefully up this road and turned right to have a look at the main shopping centre. Nothing was open. I went back to the junction and saw a busy roadhouse eastwards along the main highway. Now I recognised the motel next to it. I rode down there and since it was well before 2 o'clock I decided to have lunch at the roadhouse. It was very busy, people and vehicles coming and going. A sign said that it was open 7 days from early till 9 pm. A variety of meals were served all hours, and there was a shop where you could buy groceries and stuff. This was a bonus, I didn't remember it from last time. I had feared that Corrigin would be quiet and closed up as well. But there was a bit of life in this town.

I had a pie and an orange juice and looked at my map and watched the people coming and going. The map showed that if I turned right immediately after the railway line, on my way out of town, I would reach the Quairading road, with maybe (it was hard to be certain) a few kilometres of unsealed road on the way. To compensate for that I would not have to repeat any of yesterday's route and would maybe ride a few kilometres less, to get to Quairading.

By now it was 1 pm and I decided to try to get into the motel early. Maybe they had done my unit at least.

There were two public telephones between the motel and the roadhouse, and one accepted my phone card. I rang mum to tell her where I was, and left a message. Then I went to the motel and asked if it was too early to get into my unit. They said, no problem, the unit was ready, and the old couple were friendly and welcoming. My unit was No. 5, $65. It was pleasant and the TV worked. I had a nice rest - I felt quite relaxed and happy now. I watched the Sydney cricket test for a while until rain stopped play, then I had my shower and did my washing. There was a rotary hoist and plenty of pegs in the laundry. I had a chat with the man in there still labouring over the sheets.

I had a look around the town. There were plenty of people about and the feeling was quite different from Yealering. I walked past the swimming pool - closed until November the first, like all country pools, but ready and looking nice. I swam there in 1995. The houses looked neat and cared for. I looked at the sports ground, then walked past the tennis club where people were playing. I went back around towards the roadhouse and saw that there was an open-air museum opposite the motel. I walked in and looked at the old agricultural machinery and other artifacts. Then I looked at a lot of old photographs and printed matter and more artifacts in a big dark shed. I had gone in not long before closing time and while I was looking around this shed a man came and started to close the door on me. I moved and he was startled to find someone there. I got out all right. I walked back up into the town and saw the old shire and road board office spruced up and looking really nice in the afternoon sun. I took a picture.

There was a big dam on the western edge of town - I had seen it on my way in. It used to be a water supply and swimming pool. Around its bank and wandering off into the bush was a walk trail with signs telling you about this and that. One called attention to a large silver gum growing on the banks of the dam. I took a picture.

I had a look at the route I might take out of town the next day. It was the road that ran along the eastern side of the dam, Connelly road, and it led to the golf course via a left turn into Dry Well Road and a right into Woglin Road. It was sealed as far as I could see before it turned off to the left. I would be turning right almost as soon as I left town the next day, immediately past the railway crossing.

I went back to the main street and took a picture of the old hotel where I stayed in 1964, then looked at the old railway station. Some local hoons were having fun in their cars roaring up and down the newly widened and resurfaced main street, doing fishtails and doughnuts in the loose gravel.

I took a picture of a big windmill set up in the centre of town and still whirling, though not apparently doing any work. It was a symbol of the town, which used to have about fifty windmills to pump ground water before it got connected to scheme water.

The evening was drawing in so I went back to the roadhouse and got an early dinner of pork with plum sauce and fried rice. The place was still busy and there was a variety of food to choose from. I made a 'phone call to the York Motel (formerly the Avon Motel) to book a unit for Tuesday. Then I settled into my unit to watch Sunday night TV.

Reading at Corrigin: 1181. Day’s ride 50 km. Aggregate: 350. Kpd 50. Kph to Corrigin: 17.

DAY 8, Corrigin - Quairading

MONDAY 20 OCTOBER

I left Corrigin at 8:15 on a sunny, cool morning with a light south-westerly blowing. Another tail-wind. This was to be the luckiest ride ever for tailwinds. Pity I didn't do more with them.

I crossed the railway line and turned right before the dam as planned. The road was sealed until at 1190 the gravel started. It was bikeable, so long as I was careful going down hills. The country was up and down as always. I reached the Quairading road at 1197, so there had been 7 kilometres of gravel and the first signpost I saw suggested that I had saved no distance whatever. The stress of riding on gravel, and the dust gathered by the bike (bad for it), had been all for nothing, except that I had done new roads. Anyway I carried on and took my first rest at 1199.

I was on the long straight stretch of road, about 40 kilometres, and when I reached the top of a hill I could look back and see where I had been half an hour ago, or look forward and see where I would be half an hour hence. There was not much traffic and there was no-one about, just the undulating country and the sky and the birds and me on my bike slowly rolling along. It was a bit overwhelming. At my second rest at 1216 I took a picture of a healthy-looking wheat crop.

I was listening to the cricket commentary. Zimbabwe hadn’t a snowball’s chance in hell but the commentators were trying to figure out scenarios in which they might get a draw or a heroic win. The game fizzled out in the end to its predictable conclusion.

I reached the junction at 1229 and turned westwards along the Old Beverley Road. This does indeed go all the way to Beverley but peters out to a gravel track after meeting the Quairading South Road.

I took another rest at 1233, then turned north to Quairading at 1239. The last hike into Quairading led through salt flats, rather depressing. My topographic maps had shown me that the country fell between Corrigin and Quairading, and this area was the low point. I passed a van which had stopped by the road while the driver stared out across the flats. Maybe he was studying the salinity. He waved at me as I passed, and passed me again later on his way north. I reached another T-junction and turned right to arrive in Quairading at 1249, 12:44.

The town was quiet – I didn’t see anyone about. There was a bit of traffic. I couldn’t see the motel anywhere. I hoped it was not too far out of town. To the east of the main row of shops I found a hardware-farmers’ supplies-workshop place and went in and asked where the motel was. They told me to keep going east, up the road about a kilometre, and I would find it on the left – I couldn’t miss it.

It was nearly a kilometre up the road, but was clearly visible. It was a set of demountable metal cabins plonked onto a gravel lot. You reached your door by going up three metal stairs. I went to reception and the lady was impressed by the fact that I had ridden in from Corrigin. The day was quite warm now. She told me that I might be able to benefit from a special reduced seniors’ rate. I laughed and said that I wasn’t quite there yet. I had Room 3 and the cost was $50.

The room was adequate, there was tea and coffee and biscuits. I decided to go and do my bit of shopping before anything else, so I got on the bike and went back into town and did that. Then I had my rest then showered and hung the washing behind the cabins, on a rotary hoist. There was a bit of grass around this side.

I would need my bike to do the usual tour. I went looking for the Anglican church, which was different from the one we used to know in the 1950’s when my family knew the rector of Quairading and we used to go up here and see them, and I had a holiday there once in 1958 (or 1957?). This new church was built in 1965, as can be seen from the picture of its foundation stone that bears the name of the priest that we knew.

I went to the street where the old church used to stand but there was no trace of it. I couldn’t relate what I saw to my childhood memories of the area around it where I used to play with the other children.

I went back west to the T-junction where I had come in, checked the way to York, and the distance, looked around the park, went back into town and took a picture of the old hotel. I looked around the town a bit more, at the old shire buildings and the war memorial. There wasn’t much else to do so I just went back to the motel and had an early dinner of cold picnic stuff bought earlier. South Park on SBS that night was the grossest ever, worse than the one where they dug up Kyle’s grandmother for Halloween.

Reading at Quairading, end of day: 1257 km. Day’s ride: 76 km. Aggregate: 426 km. Km/day: 53. Kph to Quairading: 15.

DAY 9, Quairading - York

TUESDAY 21 OCTOBER

I left Quairading at 8:00 on a cool sunny morning with light north-easterly to south-easterly winds. Perfect tail-winds again. I took my first rest at 1275, leaned the bike against a tree. As I was taking hold of the bike again I heard a snap as it bumped against the tree. I looked down and saw that a whole section of the right-hand pedal, a white plastic one, had broken away. It had had a bit broken off, and a crack in it, ever since I fitted it as a temporary expedient in 1999 when I was rushing to get the bike together for trials. It never got any worse so I just hadn’t got around to changing it for nearly 10000 kilometres. Now it was broken. I had a spare one in my bag, a better one this year, harvested off the side of the road during trash-and-treasure weekend, a light-weight plastic one with no cracks or breaks. But I tested the old one for riding now, and it wasn’t bad, it was useable, the metal parts were intact and it would do until York, so that I wouldn’t have to unpack everything here beside the road and maybe face a struggle to get the old pedal off, but could do it at more leisure. I rode on.

I came to the fork in the road at 1281, where the left leads to Beverley and the right leads to York. I had taken the left in 1995, but on this occasion I took the right. I had my next rest at 1293, after a brief stop at 1291 to take a picture of the old Greenhills wooden church, standing isolated and neglected next to its graveyard.

I took my last rest at 1311 and not long after that began a steep downward plunge into the valley of the Avon river. The road turned north-west for a few kilometres before the left turn onto the bridge and into the town of York. I pulled up outside the motel at 1329, 12:19. I was welcomed in by the old male proprietor and given Unit 1, $60. He gave me a jug of milk for tea and coffee and breakfast and apologised for the noise he would be making next to my room, because he was doing a big pile of laundry. I assured him it wouldn’t be a problem.

The unit was very nice, with a light breakfast included in the price and a real rose in a vase on the table. This presumably came from the nice rose garden outside the units.

The first job was to change the pedal, now that it was convenient to unpack the bag. The job only took a couple of minutes. I thought of chucking the old one away, then I reflected that it had done nearly 10000 km, the last 54 since it was broken, whereas its apparently sound replacement had no track record. So I kept the old broken pedal as a spare.

I had my rest and shower and there was a rotary hoist on which to hang my washing. It was quite a warm sunny day now and I washed the canvas back pack as well. It gets sweaty and dusty and I would like to wash it after each day’s ride, but weather and drying facilities don’t always permit.

By the time I was ready and had wandered into town, the motor museum, which I have seen twice before in 1999 and 1993 and have always enjoyed, was just closing. It used to close at 4 or 5 pm but now closes at 3. This turned out to be a good thing, because I have after all seen it before, whereas now I got the chance to look at something I hadn’t seen before, which I don’t even remember being open as a tourist attraction – the old courthouse, gaol and police station complex whose construction and law-enforcement functions began in the 1850’s. Most of the original cells are still there, built in 1852. They were used until 1981, which explains the modern-looking graffiti on the walls. The courthouse used from 1876 to 1895 had been carefully restored, and the one used from 1895 until a few years ago was on show. I climbed up into the public gallery, high above the court, and found that the seating (just broad wooden steps) and rail had been designed so that if spectators were sitting down, as they would have been required to do, they could see no-one but the judge. Not the defendant or witnesses or jurors or lawyers, just the judge. They could of course have heard everything, but would have had no opportunity to signal the prisoner or intimidate or distract the other people.

In the 1940’s the cells had been used to house ‘enemy aliens’ and one of these had been a grandmother, Italian by birth but a loyal Australian of many years’ standing, who had been incarcerated for some months. She had passed the time doing cooking and sewing and giving support and comfort to the other women prisoners.

One cell had an iron rail about 10 cm above the ground, with chains and leg irons attached to it. Aboriginal prisoners used to be kept like that in the cells.

I went out the back and saw the old stables and the house where the policeman and his family used to live.

I wandered around York a bit more, saw the town hall and the display that was set up there, which included a scale model of the railway station in its prime. I took some more pictures. Many shops and businesses in the town were closed and their premises vacant. A few years ago York was more of a thriving tourist destination but seems to have declined since then. I took a picture of the large Catholic church which stands in the Catholic quarter of town – there is a convent and school there also. I went to the old railway station which had a sign advertising it as a railway museum, but not only was it closed but it looked as though it hadn’t been open for a long time. It was enclosed by a rough chicken wire fence and weeds grew to waist height around the neglected railway stock.

After going back to the motel I rode 900 metres up into town to see what there was for dinner. I settled for duck in lemon sauce and fly ly from the Chinese takeaway.

Reading at York, end of day: 1331 km. Day’s ride: 74 km. Aggregate: 500 km. Km/day: 56. Speed Quairading to York: 16 kph.

DAY 10, York - Mundaring

WEDNESDAY 22 OCTOBER

I left York at 8:28 on a fine sunny morning which promised a warm day. I headed west up the Great Southern highway, prepared for a long climb which started 6 or 7 km out of York. The wind was light from the east and south-east – perfect again.

I took a rest at 1347, then again at 1363. The road was very up and down. I reached the Lakes roadhouse at 1378, 11:28, and took a long lunch on a curried egg sandwich. It is always at this point that I think of the ride as achieved, over, though there is a bit more to go yet.

I passed through Sawyers’ Valley at 1391 and nearly missed the turn into the Travellers’ Rest Motel because the road past there is now dual carriageway and things looked different from what I remembered. I turned across the road, paused at the median strip, crossed the rest of the road and crunched up the gravel track into the motel area at 1393, 12:38.

The place didn’t look as neat as it had on my previous visits (1993, 1995, 1999). The gravel tracks were sandy and uneven and there were long grass and weeds. I found my way to the owners’ residence and office, a dog barking fiercely through the fence at me as I climbed up onto the verandah and knocked on the door.

The house smelt as houses do when two old people and a dog live there and don’t open windows very often. They were welcoming anyway, and I paid my money and got the key to my unit. I wasn’t given fresh eggs and milk for breakfast as I had been on previous visits. My unit was F – the units now had letters, not numbers. Maybe this was an anti-terrorist measure because everyone knows that the modern European number system that has spread world-wide, was an Arab invention. The unit cost $55.

I had my rest and there was a clothes-line nearby for my washing. Then I ventured across the weedy grounds to the house, where I knew there was a pool. It looked nice, only for a few leaves, so I jumped in. The old man came busily out of the house and said they hadn’t cleaned the pool yet after the winter and he couldn’t guarantee that it was safe to swim in. I thanked him, said that I wouldn’t be long and wouldn’t put my head under. He said I could have a shower at the house if I wanted, but I thanked him and said that I would just go back and have a shower in my unit.

When I was ready I took the camera and set off to hunt for the ‘rare’ orchid. I got over the fence at the back of the motel complex and walked down the track to the ruined gate and climbed over that too, to get into the area where I remembered seeing orchids before. I found one quite quickly, off to the left of the path not far in. Although it was a sunny day and these things are supposed to open whenever there is sunshine, its buds were mostly closed. I was disappointed because it looked quite young and fresh and it seemed that I was just a bit early for the orchids this year and would have to move on the next day and, yet again, miss them in their full glory.

I made a note of the location of this orchid and plunged into the scrub on the other side of the track, and was delighted after a while to find seven or eight orchids, bigger than the other one and with at least some of the flowers open. There were up to a dozen or more buds or flowers on each stem. For a native flower these things are amazingly opulent. I was probably a few days early to see them in full flower but I was certainly not far off the best time and took a few photographs. I wished now as I had at Dwellingup, that I had brought my close-up lens. It weighs little and would have made these pictures much better.

As the afternoon got late I determined to come out the next morning, quite late so that the sun would be well up, in the hope that I would get better photographs after the orchids had had another day to ripen. I didn’t have to check out until 10 am and there would be no rush finishing the ride by running down the hill to Midland.

I rode down the hill to Mundaring to look for something for breakfast and for dinner. The place gets bigger all the time. The shopping centre was very long. I looked around the shops and found some snacks to eat for breakfast and went to buy KFC for dinner. Then I rode back up the hill. To Mundaring and back had been a 5 kilometre round trip.

There was just the usual evening now of relaxation and reading and TV.

Reading at Mundaring, end of day: 1398 km. Day’s ride: 67 km. Aggregate: 567 km. Km/day: 57. Speed York to Mundaring: 15 kph.

DAY 11, Mundaring - Midland

THURSDAY 23 OCTOBER

After a leisurely breakfast in bed watching Rugrats I ventured out with my camera to get some better orchid pictures. All but one of the orchid pictures in the picture section were taken on this morning. I tramped around for a while and found more and better orchids, more fully open. They were most prolific. I seemed to have come here at just about the perfect time. As a bonus, when I finally walked back along the track to the bit of fence where I could climb back into the motel grounds, I passed another orchid that I hadn’t noticed on the way out. But this was a variant! The structure was the same but the petals were purple and pointed instead of blue with rounded ends, and the ‘tongue’ was bright yellow instead of dull mauve.

I was getting ready to leave at about 9:30 when the lady came and unlocked the door and walked in. ‘What’, I said, not meaning to be rude but a bit startled. She was startled too and said she thought I was gone. Not yet, I said, I had been out looking for orchids, but I was nearly ready to go.

I wobbled carefully over the crumbled gravel and rolled out of the motel grounds at 9:40, 1398.5. As I approached the last rise before the steep descent starts, at Bilgoman Road, I spied something blue on my left. I stopped a little further up and came back, and yes, there was a rare blue sun orchid, with about 14 flowers fully or partly open, sticking up bold as you like in the gravel right beside the road! This was about 9 kilometres from the motel, so they must not be confined to that site, but must be all over the area! I moved on, came to the top of the rise (1408) and started the steep descent down the notorious Greenmount Hill. I think I have got a bit more timid with age, so although I didn’t brake for the six and a half kilometres of the descent, I didn’t pedal either, just rolling down and hanging on. Had I pedalled I might have gone faster than the 58 kph I achieved. The winds were favourable, though light.

I felt the road level out beneath the bike in the vicinity of the Darling Range lodge, at 1414, and resumed pedalling into Midland. I reached the station a 10:20, 1417.

The ‘03 ride ended as I dismounted the bike outside Midland train station.

Final reading at end of ride: 1417 km. Km for day: 19. Aggregate: 586. Kpd: 53. Kph to Midland: 28.

Charles A. Pierce 2003

Do you have questions about bicycle touring in Western Australia's SouthWest? You're welcome to ask Charles!

Email Charles

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