The heat is so intense after 10 o’clock that I’ve decided to get up earlier. I set the alarm for 3 AM, and it hurts to wake up and get out to start cycling. But that’s how it is when you’re crazy enough to plan a bike trip through the Australian inferno in the middle of summer. So much for “thorough planning.”
I spend an hour getting myself out with the bike. It’s dark, and I also notice that it’s about 40 minutes darker in the morning here than further east. It’s as if the sun has given up on this place too. I turn on my lights and start pedaling. The only advantage of getting up so early is the beautiful sunrise with all its colors. Another day where nature tries to bribe me into continuing this madness.
From Griffith to Hay: The Wildlife Welcome Committee
Griffith, the city I’m leaving, is known for its vineyards and Italian immigrants who have transformed it into an oasis of food and wine in the middle of nowhere. Not that I got to enjoy any of it – everything was closed when I arrived, and I had to move on before anything opened. The story of my life on this trip.
It was in Griffith that I also discovered I had forgotten the adapter for my charger for power outlets. Of all things to forget in a country where the power outlets are completely different! All I had with me was a simple, worn adapter that looked like it should have been retired long ago. Each motel became a new challenge – finding a power outlet that the adapter actually fit into, and saying a silent prayer that my phone would charge enough for the next stage.
On the stretch towards Hay, I’m escorted by Australia’s unofficial welcome committee: kangaroos and emus running along the road. A kangaroo suddenly jumps out in front of me, stops, and looks at me as if I’m an alien intruder on its territory. “G’day, mate,” I say, while it stares at me with a look that clearly communicates: “What idiot cycles in this heat?”A flock of emus runs parallel to me for a few minutes. The tall birds keep the same pace as me – an ego-crushing reminder that even birds without flying abilities are faster than an exhausted Norwegian on a bicycle. One of them turns its head and looks at me, and I could have sworn it whispered to the others: “Look at that strange creature – two wheels, zero sense.”
Hay: The Town Google Maps Hid
I arrive at Hay, a small town with a big history. Hay was once an important port on the Murrumbidgee River and even had its own shipyard in the 1870s. Now it’s best known for its prison museum and as a stop for confused cyclists.
Google Maps clearly Hay: The Town Google Maps Hid
doesn’t want me to find the hotel. I try all roads, but no – not from the three sides I attempt. Technology has sided with the heat in an attempt to break me. Eventually I find it anyway. Yet another proof that stubbornness is my only real skill.
The trip went quite well; I arrived fairly early, before noon. The heat after 8 o’clock tipped over 33 degrees. That’s Celsius, not Fahrenheit. In Fahrenheit, it would be… no, I can’t even be bothered to calculate that number. Let’s just say the asphalt started waving at me.
I get to talk a bit with the staff from the hotel. They come from India, specifically the Punjab region where temperatures of 45 degrees are a normal summer day. They look at me – a sunburned Scandinavian – with a mixture of pity and fascination. “You’re cycling? In this heat? Voluntarily?” They laugh and offer me extra water, probably because they fear my brain is already cooked. They also allow me to charge my phone at reception – my poor adapter had given up its life after several days of abuse.
Hay is known as “the capital of the flat city,” and when you look out over the landscape, you understand why. It’s said that if your dog runs away from home here, you can still see it running three days later – that’s how flat it is. The town has about 2,500 inhabitants, two grocery stores (which fortunately were open when I was there), an impressive war museum, and a historic prison yard that is now a museum.I had plenty of time in Hay, arrived early so it was possible to look around the city a bit. The town was small with two grocery stores that were open that day. I bought some snacks and went back to the motel to relax, which means staring at the ceiling and asking myself what I’m actually doing.
Concerns on the Road: Tires in Distress
One thing that strikes me on this trip: there are no bicycle shops, and I’m starting to worry about the tires on my bike. The heat is taking its toll, and it’s noticeable that the tires are beginning to wear out. They’re Pirelli P0 Race 35mm that I brought with me from Italy. The bike arrived two days before I was supposed to leave, so there was no time to put other tires on it. In addition, no stores were open in Sydney between Christmas and New Year’s. I have 230ml of tubeless sealant with me, and I’m hoping for the best. “Optimism” – the travel insurance company’s greatest enemy.
Balranald: The Puncture That Waited for Me
The tires hold up the next day on the trip to Balranald, until I get a small nail in the tire – 300 meters from the hotel in said town. That must be a world record in bad luck, or perhaps the universe’s sense of humor.
Balranald is a historic town on the Murrumbidgee River, which was once an important trade route. The town has only about 1,200 inhabitants but is proud of its rich history and its military memorial honoring the local soldiers who participated in the First and Second World Wars. They have an impressive memorial in the town center, with the names of all local soldiers who served.
The town also has an ecosystem that is home to the endangered Southern Bell Frog, which has made Balranald an important area for conservation. Not that I got to see any frogs – I was too busy staring dejectedly at my punctured tire.
The day was quite hot, and I got a lot of headwind that day – as if nature felt that heat alone wasn’t enough of a challenge. I check into a motel. They have a very decent standard everywhere, for being motels in small Australian towns. Another evening with the charger dilemma: which device deserves power the most? The phone wins again – I need Google Maps to find my way onward after all.
I go out into town, buy a huge ice cream, and ask people about the road to Mildura. They say it’s nice, but there might be a lot of traffic. “Nice” in Australian terminology apparently means “flat hell without shade in 48-degree heat.”
Plan for Hell Day: Early Start, Late Regret
I think: “Okay, I’ll start tomorrow and drive as fast as I can.” The forecast says 48 degrees next day, so I’ll have to get up early anyway. A temperature forecast that could make Satan seek air conditioning.
I’m struggling to keep air in the tires, filling them with tubeless fluid, and it helps – temporarily. Just like my optimism.
The next day I start at 4 in the morning, tired and worn out. I can feel in my legs that this is quite tough. “Tough” is an understatement. It’s as if my legs have started a general strike without informing the rest of the body.
48 degrees: When the Asphalt Waves
Some kind souls give me some cold water along the way. It’s a Saturday, but there isn’t much traffic – not at all, compared to what I’m used to in Europe. Even the cars have more sense than me.
The water in my water bottle is so warm that it hurts a little to get it in my mouth, but it’s a luxury and feels good. Even more luxurious when a Chinese couple slow down their SUV and give me a bottle of cold water. I pour the warm water over myself and drink the cold. It feels good. These are moments that make me believe in humanity again, even though I’ve long lost faith in my own judgment.
I see the police at a parking lot; they’re dealing with people from abroad. I hear them checking their stay in Australia. I’m going to relax a bit here and eat my lunch. A car comes and stops next to me, and a woman gives me a bag of food. That’s kind, just as kind as a few days ago when a man from India stopped and gave me 10 dollars so I could buy myself coffee. Which I did. But I decline some cans she wants to give me – it would be too heavy. Weight is the enemy when cycling, although dehydration is a worse enemy. Priorities are not my strong suit in 48-degree heat.
The weather forecast is correct: 48 degrees. It’s hell. I have one more mile to go to the hotel after crossing the border to a new state. “Welcome to Victoria,” says the sign on the bridge. Mildura is approaching. I am completely exhausted.
Mildura: Where My Sense of Direction Went to Die
I spend almost an hour finding the hotel, which should have been very easy. But either I or the GPS goes bananas and heads in the wrong direction. I get a little irritated at myself because I’m wasting so much time on it. It’s as if my brain has melted in the heat and now has the consistency of soft serve ice cream.
Mildura is actually quite a large city with over 30,000 inhabitants, situated by the mighty Murray River and known as an important agricultural area especially for grapes, citrus fruits, and almonds. The city has a rich cultural life and a mix of historic buildings and modern facilities. It’s also a popular tourist destination due to its pleasant climate (pleasant? HA!) and proximity to national parks.
Finally I find the hotel, and after a while I decide to book two nights. A rest day can do good, let me breathe a little and think about what to do next. Whether I should go to Adelaide and finish there, or if I should continue. The first thing I ask the receptionist is: “Do you happen to have an adapter for European outlets?” The answer is fortunately yes, and I feel like I’ve won the lottery.
I had the thought of quitting. I was aware that it would be tough, but I thought I would handle it better. That was the desperation I felt on that hot Saturday.
Reflection: The Work of a Madman
After a shower and two liters of water, I start thinking more clearly. Maybe this wasn’t the most well-thought-out plan – cycling through the Australian wasteland in the middle of summer, with minimal preparation and a bike that arrived at the last minute. But then again, the best stories never come from well-planned trips where everything goes according to plan.
As I lie on the bed letting the air conditioning blow ice-cold air on my sunburned body, I come to a conclusion: I am either the bravest or the dumbest cyclist who has ever crossed New South Wales. Probably the latter. But I made it here. And that’s something.
I look at my worn tires, think about the 48 degrees, the kangaroos that laughed at me, and the kind lady who gave me food. Australia has shown me its worst and its best. And oddly enough – I’m looking forward to the next stage. It must be heatstroke.
