Bunbury - Busselton - on Day 4

Thursday 24 November 1977. I was a bit irritable when I came down to breakfast in the old high-ceilinged hotel dining room, still there. I scowled at the yobs who were still carrying on as they crowded together to wolf their breakfast. Breakfast was nice anyway.

I finally got going a little after 9 o’clock, but took a bit of time to go and visit a part of the town that had sentimental value for me, due to events that had occurred in 1962, 15 years before (yeah, all right, it was October 14 1962 and I was with a girl for the first time). When I actually started to head out of town my map wasn’t much help so I made the assumption that the road along the coast, Ocean Drive, would get me out of town and heading towards Busselton. In fact I should have left Bunbury by the same road by which I came in, then turned right at the sign to take the Bussell highway. Now it is possible to get through to the main Bussell highway by following Ocean Drive to the south and getting into Washington Avenue. I am not sure that it was not possible then too, but I don’t think so. I believe the extension to Ocean Drive and the new roads down there are more recent. On this occasion I came to a dead end somewhere near Hay Park, didn’t know where I was, had to knock on someone’s door.

It was one of those new houses on a big block and the woman who answered my knock, clutching a baby, was very thin and small and pale, as though worn away by the effort of paying for the house. She wasn’t at all put off by a sweaty cyclist banging on the door, she was friendly and concerned for my plight and advised me that the only way, from there, to get to the Bussell Highway was to cross the park. I thanked her and carried the bike over the bumpy tussocky grass - it wasn’t a smooth lawn.

I set the bike down on Bussell Highway and began the grind towards Busselton.

Showers came and went and I tried to shelter under trees which weren’t much good for that. I found it hard to make progress and seemed to be stopping to shelter or buy a drink every 5 kilometres or so. The map showed a place called Stratham, 16 km south of Bunbury, and that turned out to be a place where one could buy petrol and a drink and find a toilet. There was an outdoor area with tables and chairs and lattice-work, which looked like a place that might have been a summer escape for the young set in years gone by.

I struggled on and came to a windy corner at which I was almost stopped by the fresh southerly. I was 1 kilometre outside Capel and the sign said that I had come less than half way to Busselton - inaccurately as it turned out. I went down the dip, over the bridge and up the slope to the centre of town, such as it was, and came to a merciful stop at Colroy’s tearooms, still there, still with its pleasant memory of that first visit, almost unchanged since then until 2000 at least. Now it has been rebuilt and re-named Colroy’s Country Kitchen.

I locked up the bike and went inside and ordered a proper lunch. I was served at the table in the dining room and had coffee and sausage and bacon and egg and bread with Worcestershire sauce. I read something I had brought with me. My stop at Capel lasted two and a half hours, way over the usual today, when I never have a meal while riding and try to keep the rest stops down to 10 minutes.

I felt restored and encouraged when I got going again. At that time the main Bussell Highway ran right through Capel - now there is a bypass and you will miss the town completely unless you know where you are and watch for the sign.

I proceeded, counting down the km to Busselton in 5’s as I passed the 5km posts. I crossed the Abba river, whose name was topical then. The map showed a place called Ludlow, which I assumed would be a drink shop like Stratham, but there was nothing there.

At last I turned north for the last km or so into Busselton and the wind was behind me. I reached the junction of Queen Street, the main street, and rode up it towards the beach. I passed a clock that said 4 pm, again. I passed the Vasse hotel, hoping to find something closer to the beach, and there it was at last, the Esplanade Hotel.

I have stayed there many times since 1977 and remember the gladness that I felt on first arriving after my arduous trip, finding a friendly reception and a cheap room overlooking the sea. I booked in and locked the bike under the fire escape at the back and plodded towards the sea.

This was about 4 months before Cyclone Alby destroyed a section of the famous old Busselton Jetty, which I don’t think I had ever seen before. I say, I don’t think, because in 1962 I was in the family car being driven around the SW but I was so zonked out on medication that I slept through much of the tour, which I know included Busselton and Yallingup. I was most impressed by this long structure and a sign explained that it had been built to serve the growing timber industry in 1860. At that time a broad wide section started directly from the end of the main street, Queen Street, and was directly in line with it, so that at night there was a continuous straight line of lights from the Bussell highway up through the town and 2 km out to sea. Some distance from shore the Queen Street section met the rail section coming at an angle from the shore further east. That section was in darkness at night.

In April 1978, Cyclone Alby destroyed this section from Queen Street to the junction, leaving only the part of the jetty that carried the rail line - stronger, presumably. Now the angled part that carries the rail line to the shore is the main jetty, and is properly lit. The rail line went almost to the end of the jetty so it survived Alby to its original length, though with some damage so that the years brought more rapid deterioration. Fortunately it was saved. More of that elsewhere.

I had a lovely swim on this most pleasant beach, looking at the pine trees and being glad to have achieved this place on my humble bike. I had only been able to ride a bike for 5 years so the freedom was new to me. Then I toddled back to the hotel, across the grass, through the weeping gum trees and past the tennis courts, to the hotel. On subsequent visits I always take this traditional walk and swim and it has not changed too much over the years.

I had a nice hot shower and washed my clothes and hung them up somewhere. On subsequent visits I always had a shower in the same recess and remembered the deep pleasure of that first time.

I forget what I had for dinner that night, maybe just ate in the hotel. There was no TV. I had an early night and slept better than I had for years, and better than I have since.

Charles A Pierce