The cyclist I never met.
Back in 2019/2020 I crossed Australia on my bicycle as part of my Around the World Tour. While I was riding across the Nullarbor people coming from the west who stopped and talked to me told me about another cyclist going in my direction who was about 200 km ahead of me.
I never got to meet that cyclist as he was killed by a truck on Christmas morning.
I wrote a post on a Facebook biking group (not sure which one) about the cyclist I never met. As I was recently editing my Australia videos for my new YouTube channel I was reminded of that day and many subsequent days after, realizing now, as I did then, that nothing is forever.
Below is the post I posted just over four years ago.
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The cyclist I never met.
“There’s another guy about 200k ahead going the same way as you.” This is something I hear quite often from curious people I meet on the road. Riding into the Nullarbor I heard the same thing from a couple of people but this time it was going to be very quite different.
When I was told of the cyclist he was about two days ahead of me and heading in the same direction. The odds of catching up to him would be slim but I never say never. I stop and rest for a day, the other rider does the same. Depending on plans there is always a chance we could meet. And out here in the middle of nowhere running into another cyclist going the same way could be quite refreshing.
On Christmas morning I was eating my breakfast at a gas station contemplating the hundred empty miles that faced me before my next food stop. While staring out the window at the barren abyss that awaited me the cashier put up a sign warning people the road was closed ahead due to a serious accident. I asked where the accident was and looked for the location on my map and plotted the miles. Two hundred kilometers. I knew in my heart it was the cyclist I had heard about from other travelers.
It would be almost a day before I confirmed that it was a cyclist who was killed just past Nullarbor Roadhouse. With no cell service I couldn’t get any information about the crash. I also couldn’t post anything to assure everyone I was okay if they happened to hear the news.
I knew I would soon have to pass the location where the cyclist was killed. Many people along the road for the past day would start to say: “Did you hear…..” before I would interject that yes, I had heard about the cyclist.
I stayed at the campground at the Nullarbor Roadhouse just as the cyclist I never met did on Christmas Eve. The staff at the roadhouse were the last people that saw and talked with him. They were visibly upset and rightfully worried about any cyclist on the road. Now more than ever.
I solemnly accepted their good wishes and warnings to be careful, mounted my bicycle and pedaled west. As I got closer to the scene I looked at everything through the eyes of the cyclist that I would never meet. I saw the same trees he did and looked straight ahead at the vast emptiness split down the middle by a thin ribbon of road pulled straight to the horizon.
What thoughts were going through his head at the time. What thoughts would have been going through mine? The only thing I know is that my thoughts today were vastly different than they would have been on Christmas day.
When I came to the location of the crash, less than eight miles from the roadhouse, I found a less chaotic scene than I expected. I was probably the first cyclist to pass this spot since the crash. I found only some markings on the road from the police and a few articles of food, much like I carried, scattered on the gravel shoulder of the two lane road.
Energy bars and a package of instant mashed potatoes – the exact kind I carried for a few weeks before they become my lunch – lay on the ground.
After some serious introspection I mounted my bike and headed west. Fittingly the next random song that played was Taps. A song I didn’t even realize was on my phone as it rarely, if ever, played in the past.
It made me feel that the cyclist I never met was looking down with an approving smile and a thumbs up – something we cyclists always look forward to seeing as it brings a smile to our face and just a bit more energy to push us closer to our destination.
Behind me is miles of views that first he saw then the opportunity was mine although two days apart. Ahead are views that are for my eyes only. It made me wonder if the cyclist I never met would have enjoyed the open skies and flat desert as much as I am. And then I thought: that is the reason we do what we do. We enjoy the unending emptiness that becomes a part of us as we weave our way both physically and mentally through new territory. If it wasn’t something he enjoyed I doubt we would have shared this road.
Rest well my friend.
by ScottyS12