Pemberton to Bridgetown 1998

Pemberton to Bridgetown, day 6, Saturday 17 October 1998. This loomed as the second challenge day of the trip, though more so than Day 1. I thought that if I made Bridgetown on this day it would get progressively easier and I would get home all right. I left the motel at 8:19 and the odometer read 6502 as I reached the Vasse Highway and turned right. Winds were fresh W with a bit of NW before a squall but gradually going SW.

Bridgetown Main Street

I have ridden along this stretch of road, let me see, five times. I thought it had been more. There were some showers but nothing too bad until I reached the well-remembered junction with South Western Highway , 6519, and found somewhere to shelter while I had my drink and a shower moved through. I remembered stopping at this junction for the first time for a rest stop in 1975, when I rode that small 20 inch folding bike from Manjimup to Pemberton and back.

The next 15 km to Manjimup passed without any breakdown but I was feeling a bit tired and sore. The wind was helpful but the moderate hills seemed hard, as they had for the first 19 km from Pemberton. I reached Manjimup at 6534 and started to look for a bike shop. A man in the automotive shop shook his head glumly when I asked if he sold bike pedals. He suggested I try Toyworld. Of course there was nothing of the sort in Toyworld. That is the attitude of a lot of people to bikes.

I sheltered for a while as another shower moved over. The wind was strong and cold. I heard on the news later that Manjimup had the State’s lowest maximum temperature that day, 14. I tried the hardware shop and was told to try the sports store, across the road and up a bit. I remembered what he meant – I had passed it on my walk around town on Tuesday but had not thought of needing it. I went there, and yes, they had pedals. He came out and looked at my bike, was quite sure he knew the size (there are two different sizes of screw-in; mine is the larger) and sold me some cheap light plastic pedals for $14.50.

That done, I felt entitled to ask if I could borrow his socket wrench. It was the kind of not too specialised country store where in addition to a range of sporting goods and bike parts they service bikes, so yes! there was a socket wrench I could borrow.

He said that once the nut was loose it was ‘stuffed’ and tried to sell me a new nut, but I said that I only needed to tighten it up to get home and would rather wait until then for a full repair. He said all right, if that’s what I wanted to do.

So I got the big spanner out of my bag, banged the chain-ring assembly firmly onto the axle, tightened the nut, banged and tightened a couple more times until I couldn’t tighten any more. Then I cleaned the wrench, put the new pedals in their Sports locker bag into my back pack and left Manjimup at 6535.

Having the chain-ring tight on the crankshaft and the new pedals in my back pack, to be fitted whenever I needed, made a lot of difference to my morale. I felt more relaxed and energised for the rest of the day’s ride and of the trip. The crisis that had loomed in Pemberton was now over and it would be plain sailing back home.

I rushed out of Manjimup (6535 now) with the cold wind mainly at my back, went under the wooden welcoming arch M-A-N-J-I-M-U-P, passed the Br 35 sign and felt good. Just as I reached the shed (6538) where I had sheltered on Tuesday, a squall rolled across from the west and I sheltered in that shed again, having my drink break there.

THE SMALL MIRACLE OF MERSEA ROAD

I was 15 km out of Manjimup at 6550 where the road bends more northerly so that a westerly wind is not so much help, when the biggest rain squall yet or since moved in. It was at the junction with Mersea Road, a gravel track. Right there was an enclosed shed, its back facing SW, with enough room for me and my bike and no leaks. I ran to it and kept dry and had another box of drink as torrential rain fell, then hail.

The hailstones bounced as they hit the ground, creating a beautiful display like thousands of little white-headed plants being agitated by the wind. The ground became white with hail, like snow. The air turned very cold. It was hard to believe this was mid-spring in a warm, dry country. Water rushed down the gravel track, wearing its cracks and gullies a little deeper.

At last the downpour stopped, the sky lightened and I was able to come out and get going again.

Unfortunately this small miracle was mocked by a heavy shower that hit me as I approached Bridgetown, with nowhere to shelter. It only takes a few minutes to get wet through. But at least the bike was spared the Mersea Road shower. I and my clothes and bags can easily get dry and the luggage is well stowed in numerous plastic bags, but water in the bearings is not so easy to counter. I did make two more rain stops between Mersea Road and Bridgetown, trying to shelter by some trees, but the shelter was not effective and it was better to keep going.

Finally I crossed the bridge and rode up the main street in Bridgetown to where the Freemasons hotel loomed on its corner. I was glad to see it. I was over the hump now. I stopped at a shop, the only one open, to get some drinks and food for breakfast. All-day Saturday trading does not happen in most country towns. Then I went on to the hotel, where I stopped at 6571, 1:19 pm and went in to claim my room.

I was struck by the contrast between Manjimup and Bridgetown – maybe it was just because it was after country Saturday shop-closing time by the time I got to Bridgetown, but Manjimup, quite a large town, seemed much more lively. It had the most vitality of any town that I passed through – I had difficulty getting across the main street during my search for the bike shop.

I was allowed to take the bike upstairs and put it in the room, Unit 4 ($45 including breakfast), which was the same capacious unit that I had had on the way to Rocky Gully in 1996. The double bed was still there, but the two single beds had been replaced by an up-and-down bunk.

Then I went down to get some lunch to take back into my room. Rain was coming down again and pouring out of the gutters and pipes on the old hotel. I sat on that big wooden seat under shelter in Steere Street and looked at the same scene as I had on Tuesday, in a different mood, this time of relief and satisfaction rather than of apprehension and pessimism.

Later, after the usual rest, laundry, shower, I made some phone calls, including booking the Donnybrook Motel, and went for a walk up and down the town. I had the radio to listen to Mark Taylor approaching a record cricket score in faraway Pakistan.

I walked up to the old train station, long since devoid of travellers and now a heritage site and environment centre. Where Steere Street crosses the railway track I looked down the track towards the station and it seemed to me that in that short distance there was a pronounced dip in the line. A long freight train came by just then. It took several minutes to pass and I could see the roofs of the wagons dipping as well as the train passed over that part of the track.

I bought an early dinner of chicken and chips and settled down for a good night of television. The hotel provided a broad sheltered upstairs verandah with a clothes line and pegs where I was able to hang my clothes and the sodden back pack.

I didn’t sleep very well, I kept waking up. The hotel opposite, the only one with any night-life going on, discharged its customers between ten and eleven and they spent some hours after that screaming at each other in the dark, cold, otherwise empty and silent street. But this didn’t bother me – it was easily blocked out. I just couldn’t settle.

Reading at Bridgetown: 6571. Day’s ride: 70 km. Aggregate: 354. Km/day: 59. kph to Bridgetown: 14.

Pemberton to Bridgetown 1998

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