The Road to Norseman
March 27. From Esperance, I cycled toward Norseman, the official gateway to the Nullarbor Plain.
The distance is about 200 kilometers. My plan was simple: ride 100 kilometers each day for two days. Fortunately, this section had fewer climbs than usual, making the ride smoother than expected.
The road stretched endlessly ahead. I kept pedaling quietly, my thoughts shifting inward as the wheels carried me closer to the point where the real challenge would begin.
Stocking Up for Survival
Finally, I arrived in Norseman.
Here, there was only one task—stocking up on supplies.
Beyond this town, there would be no supermarkets for the next 1,200 kilometers. Only small roadhouses stood along the way. Any mistake in preparation could mean putting my life at risk.
I bought food, water, and even milk. But the milk wasn’t for drinking—it was for the container. Once emptied and cleaned, it would serve as an extra water tank.
On this road, even the smallest choices could turn into survival tools.
An Unexpected Meeting
That night, I camped at a free campsite on the edge of town.
There I met another traveler—a man driving in the opposite direction, heading toward Perth and then Indonesia. He was about to follow the same road I had just completed.
We quickly found common ground, swapping information and stories about the paths ahead. Under the quiet night sky, with only our maps and voices, two strangers became companions, if only for an evening.
Trouble Strikes
But the night wasn’t without its challenges.
My smartphone suddenly died.
I tried everything to restart it, but nothing worked. Panic flickered inside me. Losing a phone just before crossing the Nullarbor—a place with almost no services—was not part of the plan.
There was no choice but to accept it. Repairs would only be possible in Adelaide, thousands of kilometers away. Until then, I would have to ride without my main device.
I pulled out an old backup phone, capable of only the most basic navigation. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
A small part of me still hoped the phone might spring back to life someday. But as I lay in my tent that night, I told myself: “This is the reality. Accept it, and keep moving.”
Tomorrow, the Nullarbor Plain awaited.
