The CrossingCentral Western time
Forty-Five Minutes From Cocklebiddy
A misty start outside Caiguna led to ten kangaroos, a strange little time-zone shift and a lone tree that deserved its own joke. Rain followed me towards Cocklebiddy, where dinner properly delivered.
I started Day 30 beside the Caiguna sign in the dark, wearing the yellow beanie that had already become part of the HAA uniform.
Cocklebiddy was 65 kilometres away.
We were not going to cover all of that on foot in one day, but it was now the next real place ahead of us. After the 90 Mile Straight and a night at Caiguna, we had moved into the next stretch of the Eyre Highway. Still remote. Still exposed. Still long enough that a roadhouse sign could feel like a major update.
The morning was cool and misty. That was useful walking weather, but it also made the place feel different. Softer at first, then bigger as the light came up and the country opened around us.
Early on, I passed the Central Western Time Zone sign.
That was a practical reminder. Heading east meant the working day was starting to shift around us: sunrise, sunset, clocks, borders, the shape of each day. It was also another form of progress. You can measure a walk like this in kilometres, road signs, towns, state borders, and apparently in 45-minute jumps on a sign in the dark.
At the time I did the obvious thing and made a jet lag joke.
I also saw ten kangaroos hop across the highway that morning, which was a decent return before breakfast. Out there, small things became worth noticing. A few minutes later I posted, “I spy with my little eye, something beginning with T.”
That was the lone tree in the distance.
That probably says enough about the Nullarbor scale (or perhaps my state of mind). A single tree in the distance could become a post of its own.
The plan for the day had been to finish about 15 kilometres short of Cocklebiddy. That would let us drive forward to the roadhouse for the night, and deploy our usual routine, but the time-zone shift changed the available day more than we had allowed for.
We lost 45 minutes on the clock, and finished about 20-21 kilometres short instead.
It was not a disaster. It was just a reminder that the practical details mattered. A 45-minute change is not much in normal life, but on HAA it could change where the walking stopped, when the darkness arrived, and how much of the plan had to be absorbed by the next day.
By the time the walking stopped, another 46.2 kilometres had been locked away.
Then we drove forward to Cocklebiddy for the night, with rain coming in and the day turning properly wintry.
Before leaving Perth, my running friend Scott had warned me about his own less-than-ideal food experience at Cocklebiddy. I had carried that little story with me, which meant I arrived slightly wary of what dinner might involve.
My experience was very different.
The roast dinner was genuinely excellent, and the circumstances only made it better: cold weather, long day, remote roadhouse, tired body, warm plate, proper vegetables, gravy, the works. Then came the sticky date pudding, which was exactly the right sort of finish.
That night I posted that we had made it to Cocklebiddy, and that I was feeling a little proud of the efforts of the three HAAmigos.
My feet hadn’t reached Cocklebiddy yet, so we would return to the marked point in the morning. For now, the three of us were indoors with roast dinner and sticky date pudding.
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