Day 23 — Nullarbor Strikes Back

Did I say Nullarbor was too easy? Or too boring?

Apparently the Nullarbor reads my blog. “Too easy?” it scoffed. “Hold my heat and wind.”

We woke to 33°C at 6 a.m. — honest-to-God 33 degrees — and that was before the day did its best impression of a hairdryer. A fierce northern wind (probably the Simpson Desert’s courtesy call) had rattled our shutters all night, and now it felt like someone had switched on a giant fan determined to roast us. No options: we had to keep moving. Today was a proper ride — over four hours, with five planned stops and a lot of sun.

Breakfast first, since there’s nothing edible between Border Village and Nullarbor Roadhouse. Small comedy moment: last night I’d been handed a dinner knife to use with my steak, and today I got a steak knife for a breakfast of scrambled eggs. It’s not knife scarcity — it’s matching skills on holiday.

We left with a quick photo of a dead crow outside our cabin (probably heat exhaustion — nature’s brutal honesty), then hit the road. The plan split the day into two halves, with scenic rest stops in between. Google Maps, bless its heart, misled me about one of the Bunda Cliffs turnoffs (three kilometres off — hooray), so I trusted it and drove past a perfectly good lookout. Then, as the temperature shot north of 40°C, we abandoned the gravel turnoff for another lookout — no way we were wasting 40 minutes in that oven for yet another cliff photo. A short leg-stretch, an army of flies doing their best to join our picnic, and on to Nullarbor Roadhouse.

Heat + wind = a much harder job riding the bike. Crosswinds make overtaking road trains a contact sport: the truck’s suction and the gusts combine to try and drag you sideways. Exciting in principle, terrifying in practice. Reaching Nullarbor Roadhouse felt like stumbling into a cathedral of air conditioning. We spent a grateful 40 minutes inside, consuming cold liquids like survivors and lubricating both chain and temperament for the next stretch.

And yes — I had my photo taken at Nullarbor Roadhouse with the legends of Aussie rock. I’m officially challenging everyone reading this to name all the rock stars in the picture!

The second half of the day took us through Yalata and Nundroo before Penong. Yalata sits on Mirning Country — a remnant community with deep cultural ties to the coastal Nullarbor and Great Australian Bight. The Mirning people’s connection to these lands and waters is ancient, their stories and songlines holding knowledge of the coastline, whales, and country that predate the highway by millennia. It’s worth remembering these places aren’t just waypoints for travellers; they’re country with living histories.

Nundroo is one of those tiny outback anchors where pastoral history meets Aboriginal connection — once stations and droving routes, now quiet places that remind you how vast this land really is. We stopped, drank more cold drinks, and tried not to think about how much further the sun still wanted to roast us.

At Yalata we met someone even bolder than us — a cyclist doing the whole Australia loop. In the hierarchy of crazy, we are merely enthusiastic; he is committed.

About 15 minutes from Penong, Nullarbor decided to up the stakes. A monstrous gust shoved us across the road to the oncoming lane. No one coming the other way, fortunately, but that was the last straw. I backed off to 120 km/h and rolled into Penong slow and very much alive.

Penong itself is small and proud, known for its windfarm and coastal feel, with Wirangu Country forming the deep human story here. The hotel we found was the cheapest of the trip at $95, and lived up to that price: no bathroom in the room, an air conditioner that blew room-temperature air, and a television showing analogue channels (I half-expected a rabbit-ear antenna to pop up). Still — the essentials were present: cold beer, a plate of fish and chips that actually hit the spot, and a proper bottle of champagne for both of us to toast surviving the day.

Later, under a massive ink-black sky, we took a night stroll to the Penong windmills. By day, they look rustic and industrial — a field of metal giants turning lazily in the desert wind. But at night, under starlight, they were almost otherworldly: huge skeletal shapes creaking and spinning in rhythm with the breeze, their silhouettes cutting across the Milky Way. The air finally cooled, the wind softened, and for the first time that day, the same force that had bullied us all afternoon felt strangely gentle — almost like it was apologizing.

So yes — Nullarbor struck back with heat and wind. We were tested, slightly singed, but intact. Tomorrow? More of the same road, but who knows — maybe the Nullarbor will surprise us with a swimming pool.