Day 20 – Dry Lakes, Tight-Ropes, and Coffee Catastrophes: Norseman Awaits
Today’s ride was short, just a little over two hours to Norseman, the official gateway to the mighty Nullarbor. With a late checkout, we enjoyed a rare sleep-in, a leisurely breakfast, and still had time to poke around Kalgoorlie one last time before escaping.
First attempted stop: Questa Casa, grandly marketed as “Australia’s Oldest Brothel.” Still active until very recently, it now runs daily tours telling stories of the sex workers who lived and worked here — a no-frills glimpse into Kalgoorlie’s risqué gold rush history. The building’s white corrugated iron frontage and the famous “starting stalls” look as if nothing’s changed in a hundred years. Sadly, we were too early. Tours start at 3 PM, and apparently the world’s oldest profession also keeps banker’s hours.
Next up: the Museum of the Goldfields. The ticket guy at the entrance was so enthusiastic he could have been on commission for each adjective. Inside, we found everything from gleaming gold nuggets to stories of tough-as-nails prospectors who traded comfort for the chance to strike it rich. There were even recreated cottages that made it painfully clear how lucky we are to live with electricity, plumbing, and air-conditioning.
Onwards to the KCGM Super Pit Lookout. After last night’s earthquakes, we knew mining activity was nearby, but we didn’t expect to find the earth’s largest bite mark sitting practically in the town’s backyard. The pit is so huge that dump trucks the size of houses look like matchbox toys. Watching them crawl around the terraced roads was hypnotic — like a giant, industrial ant farm with explosions.
Leaving Kalgoorlie, our first rest stop was Red Hill Lookout. Only problem: my petrol gauge looked more like a countdown timer. Do we turn back? A quick Google search claimed the BP near Red Hill had no premium, but BP’s website is about as trustworthy as a politician’s campaign promise. Luckily, the pump had 98 after all, so no need to break out the octane booster. With the tank full, we climbed to the lookout and gazed at Lake Lefroy — or rather, the giant salt pan pretending to be a lake. It only fills with water after proper heavy rain, so most of the time it’s more “desert chic” than “lakeside view.”
Ten minutes later, hunger struck. Cue the Widgie Tavern in Widgiemooltha. Expectations were low, and they were… let’s say… partially met. When I ordered a double espresso, the girl asked, “Medium or Large?” Medium? Large? It’s supposed to be double, not bucket. I asked for small. What I got was coffee-flavoured dishwater. Noune’s sandwich, on the other hand, was apparently edible, and the Coke — to their eternal credit — tasted exactly like Coke.
From there, the ride to Norseman was mercifully uneventful — until the final stretch. Just before entering the town, the road cut across Lake Cowan, another vast, empty salt lake. Riding in a perfectly straight line across a perfectly flat, bone-dry “lake” was unexpectedly unsettling. It felt less like a road and more like a tightrope suspended in nothingness. I had to take a deep breath, consciously lighten the grip on the bars, and accelerate just enough to make it to the other side before my brain convinced me I was about to topple off into… well, more flatness. Creepy.
At the motel, I went to lube the chain only to find I was completely out of lubricant. Crisis number two! Luckily, the petrol station next door had stock — otherwise tomorrow would’ve been a very squeaky Nullarbor.
Dinner was at the motel restaurant, which was so tiny that the “bar” area looked like a broom closet with a cash register. No whisky to be found, so I consoled myself with a beer. At least the lamb shank was surprisingly excellent — proving once again that in outback dining, the food is often better than the décor.
And that’s Day 20 wrapped. Tomorrow we head onto the mighty Nullarbor — endless road, endless sky, and hopefully not endless petrol worries. Assuming, of course, I’ve recovered from the psychological torture of riding a straight white line over an empty lake without falling off the edge of the earth.
