The CrossingToward Bordertown
Keith Means Business
Keith gave us breakfast, people, jokes and far more of an experience than I expected. Then the Dukes Highway called me back through showers and a rainbow before we drove on to sleep at Bordertown.
Day 70 started cold enough to make the high-vis jacket feel less like visibility gear and more like survival equipment.
Keith and Bordertown were the next names in front of me. The distances were still big, but the country felt different from the Nullarbor: grain silos, roadside stops, long signs, and the quiet satisfaction of watching the Bordertown and Melbourne numbers shrink. The previous night had been another unpowered roadside stop, so the plan was simple enough: finish about 16 km short of Bordertown, drive forward to the caravan park, then come back to the marked finish point in the morning.
The first sign I photographed said Lucerne Seed Capital of Australia. I had apparently not wandered into Canberra, which felt worth clarifying at that hour of the morning. That was the mood the morning gave me: cold, a little ridiculous, and already looking for small things to make the kilometres less blank.
Then Keith appeared.
I am not sure Keith ever had a fair chance to be just another town. Weeks into walking across Australia, a place called Keith was already funny to me before I got there. If you grew up in the UK around the same time as me, the name carried a whole Swap Shop, Cheggers Plays Pop echo. This is probably not a sensible reason for a town to become memorable, but HAA did not tend to operate on sensible reasons!
The morning leaned into it beautifully. Keith wasn’t content to be a funny name on the map: an historic church, a memorial, a Land Rover on a pole, a monorail, a fountain, a playground, a pony club, golf and more. “Keith Means Business” felt like a statement of fact. Five kilometres out, even the safety sign joined in: Drowsy Drivers Die. Subtlety wasn’t the theme.
Keith was funny. Then the Andy Caldecott memorial gave the town depth. I stood there thinking about a local rider whose name carried weight far beyond the town limits, and the day briefly shifted from joke mode into something quieter. That happened a lot during those weeks. A place would catch me with some odd little sign or roadside landmark, then immediately remind me that real people, real grief, real pride, and real history were sitting underneath the easy laugh.
And then Keith committed fully to the bit: a Land Rover on a pole.
Other towns have giant fruit, animals or bottles. Keith had a Land Rover on a pole, and honestly, fair play. The Viterra silos kept South Australia on brand too.
By late morning I was out the other side, past the farewell sign and back into the long work of the day. Bordertown and Melbourne were getting closer, though one distance sign managed to make Bordertown two kilometres closer and Melbourne five kilometres closer, which seemed mathematically suspicious enough to post about. Strange things were afoot.
After Keith, the day became highway shoulder, track, weather and people. I met Mick, a Kiwi who had lived out of his car and travelled for years. Moving slowly gave us time to talk about the Nullarbor and the peace he found in the wilderness. He said, “the wilderness is where you find God”. I’m not religious, but I understood him.
The weather had its turn too. A sudden shower came through with hail, and I had to shelter for a few minutes. The discomfort was obvious. The better question was whether I could treat the pause as a chance to stand still and watch the rainbow afterwards. Some days I managed that reframe better than others. Day 70 gave me the rainbow, so I will give myself the credit.
Week 10 ended with another 57.6 km and a total of 3,123.4. Bordertown gave us power and showers, followed by a USANA shake and spicy quinoa and vegetables from The Fleurieu Pantry.
The laundry was less glorious. The showers were great, but the drying facilities were not, which left the crew dealing with wet washing late into the night. This was also HAA: a big adventure held together by logistics that were sometimes heroic and sometimes just damp.
I could pretend the main memory from day 70 is the kilometre total or being one day from Victoria, but it is not. The abiding memory is Keith becoming a whole thing: a town name, a running joke, a real place, a Land Rover on a pole, a memorial, a set of signs, and 57.6 km of very serious nonsense.
That is why, to me, 24th July will always be commemorated as “Keith Day”.
Videos From The Day
Road safety and logistics on Day 70
A Day 70 vlog answering Facebook page questions about the practical logistics of the crossing: road safety, awareness, and the difference between highway walking and trail sections.
Open on YouTubeImages From The Day
