Day 10 – Esperance to Albany: Iron Butts, Pies, and Six-Language Karaoke
What a relief — Noune woke up chirpy again! Yesterday’s fever was gone (not entirely, but enough to declare victory), thanks to Dr. Greg’s miracle meds.
Esperance itself? Loved it. A quiet seaside town with a romantic name — “hope” in Latin. But let’s clear up a myth: people told me beforehand that Esperance is like the Great Ocean Road. Excuse me? Not even close. Yes, Esperance is beautiful, but the Great Ocean Road is a twisting, turning masterpiece of cliffs and ocean views, constantly changing like a theatre backdrop. Esperance, by comparison, is much calmer, flatter, and… let’s just say less dramatic. Beautiful, yes. Comparable, no.
Today’s plan: the big one. Esperance to Albany. Just over five hours of riding — our longest day yet. And we already know that two hours is the limit before our bums start screaming for mercy. No wonder the Americans call their endurance riders “Iron Butt.” By the end of today, I think we earned at least the bronze butt medal.
We filled up in Esperance and aimed for Ravensthorpe. About five minutes in, a 4WD overtook us. Perfect! A moving wildlife shield. I tucked in behind him, and suddenly the ride turned from boring to entertaining. Overtaking traffic together, matching speed, slowing down in sync — it felt like a perfectly choreographed dance routine. I even resisted the temptation to stop for a quick stretch, just so I wouldn’t lose my new road buddy. We ended up at the same petrol station in Ravensthorpe, but the real prize there was the legendary pies at Ravy Country Kitchen. Worth every kilometre.
Next stop: Jerramungup, just an hour away. Another refill, another coffee — this time from a general store that sold everything: petrol, food, clothing, souvenirs… probably tractor parts too. Despite the multitasking, their double espresso hit the spot.
From there, only two more hours to Albany, but boredom can creep in on long stretches. My solution? Road karaoke. I sang songs in six languages: Armenian, Russian, English, Spanish, French, and Georgian. (Okay, “Georgian” is a stretch — I only know one line: “Chito, grito, chito margarito da…” and then it was just la la la for the rest. Don’t ask what it means. Doesn’t matter. Still beautiful.)
One more short break, and finally we rolled into Albany. What a difference a few hotel stars make. The Hilton beats the Balladonia Roadhouse by a mile — and yet they cost about the same. Not that I’m complaining. Out there in the desert, the Balladonia crew are doing miracles in tough conditions. But let’s be honest: it’s nice to swap a $1/5-minute shower for a 24-hour bar.
Speaking of which: drinks at said bar (no “sorry mate, no doubles” rules), a fantastic pork belly dinner, a stroll on the pier, and then books and bed. A big day done, and tomorrow — Margaret River awaits!
Oh, and just before I forget: as we got closer to Albany, the scenery finally started delivering. Mountains appeared in the distance. After days of endless flatness, it felt like someone turned the “landscape” dial up a notch.
