Today Is The Day
I woke with the full weight of what I was about to do in my head. A wet Canning River parkrun got me out of bed, surrounded me with people I cared about and sent me walking east.

Walking days and rest days together: Perth to Brisbane as one continuous story.
The Crossing
Walk days and rest days stay together, but the full route now has smaller geographic chapters so it is easier to follow the movement from Perth toward Brisbane.
The start at Canning River parkrun, familiar Perth paths turning serious, the Kep Track, Northam, and the first real navigation problems.
I woke with the full weight of what I was about to do in my head. A wet Canning River parkrun got me out of bed, surrounded me with people I cared about and sent me walking east.
The first full day brought rain, the Kep Track and our first proper navigation problem. Local runners, map screenshots and the crew somehow got me through to Northam.
Leaving the tracks for the Great Eastern Highway changed the feel of everything. The sky opened up, the trucks got loud and my nerves arrived before the flies did.
The daily rhythm taking shape through Wheatbelt towns, sore feet, support stops, improvised rest days, and the first sense of how big the repeat effort would be.
On the fourth morning I stepped beyond anything the Bunbury rehearsal had tested. The highway was calmer, the crew walked beside me and the three HAAmigos began to find a rhythm.
Merredin was waiting at the end of 56.4 kilometres, but first came a cold Wheatbelt morning, long trains, blisters, coffee stops and a GPS that wasn't helping.
Our first rest day began with the small matter of walking another 13.9 kilometres into Merredin. After that there were hot showers, clean clothes, good food and finally a chance to put my feet up.
We left Merredin with fresh legs, a leaking campervan and 48.9 kilometres to cover. Somewhere between Burracoppin and the Rabbit-Proof Fence, the simple daily routine became complicated again.
The flies were relentless, the sky was enormous and the campervan problem wasn't going away. After another 48.6 kilometres east, we drove into Southern Cross to swap vans.
In HAA terms, a rest day meant walking into Southern Cross before I could stop. The Railway Tavern, a donated massage and dinner with the team made the place feel like a genuine pause.
The push through Coolgardie into Kalgoorlie, the first major milestone, local support, parkrun, repairs, hospitality, and a proper reset.
We left Southern Cross with new fly nets, slightly newer feet and Kalgoorlie 226 kilometres away. Rivendell was still a long way east, but it had finally appeared on a sign.
A planned day became 60.3 kilometres and carried the total beyond 500. We finished off the road with barely any signal, no power and just enough routine to make the night work.
The first powerless night left us cold, but there were another 49.9 kilometres to walk towards Bullabulling. Changing colours, heavy trucks and the first offer of a lift kept the day from feeling ordinary.
Coolgardie, the ten per cent mark and a surprise meeting with Grant Wholey all arrived in the same day. For the first time, Kalgoorlie felt close enough to touch.
After nearly two weeks on foot, I walked into Kalgoorlie with local parkrunners beside me. It felt like a finish line, even though Brisbane was still thousands of kilometres away.
Kalgoorlie gave us a proper parkrunday and the chance to let the first big milestone sink in. The day ran from coffee and the mobile heart to the Super Pit and an evening with the Kalgoorlie Kangas.
Our last day in Kalgoorlie was properly slow: a sports massage for me, an RFDS visit for Ben and Ols, and more work on the campervan problem. Tomorrow the walking would start again.
Kambalda, Widgiemooltha, Lake Cowan, Norseman, vehicle changes, supplies, foot care, and the last pause before the Eyre Highway.
Nigel and Allison joined me for the walk out of Kalgoorlie, and kindness kept appearing all the way to Kambalda. Muffins, dinner and a donated hotel room made a hard return to the route much softer.
About 54 kilometres beyond Kambalda left me shattered and my feet properly sore. Bree, Ols and Ben helped me through, and there was spag bol waiting when the walking finally stopped.
An early start and the pipeline tracks carried me to within about 21 kilometres of Norseman. Nothing dramatic happened; we were simply getting better at doing this every day.
Lake Cowan led me into Norseman and a first sign for Adelaide sent a shiver through me. Then the campervan needed rescuing, because even the big days on HAA refused to stay tidy.
Norseman gave us one day to sort my feet, restock and move into campervan number three. Beyond town was the Eyre Highway, and the Nullarbor was no longer an idea on the map.
The long remote stretch across the Nullarbor: distance, repetition, exposure, small kindnesses, and the scale of HAA becoming unavoidable.
I left Norseman at 5.15am and took my first steps along the Eyre Highway. The bitumen was kinder to my feet, the country felt wilder and dinner was finished before the evening disappeared.
Cold and fog followed me east for another 46.1 kilometres. A familiar Perth Glory face and a night at Fraser Range Station gave the new Eyre Highway routine a bit of warmth.
The cold walk out of Fraser Range became 51.2 kilometres of hills, kangaroos and some downhill run-walking. Best of all, I finished exactly where we could stop for the night.
Somewhere on the cold walk into Balladonia, the total passed 1,000 kilometres. The roadhouse brought patchy communications, a dose of reality and the wonderfully odd story of Skylab.
The last Amazeballs carried me out of Balladonia and onto the western end of the 90 Mile Straight. Ahead was 146.6 kilometres of highway that seemed to have forgotten how to bend.
A major truck crash broke the stillness of the 90 Mile Straight, thankfully without anyone being hurt. Later, Glenn Carter and the Ride With No Limits crew turned up with company, water and emergency chocolate.
The 90 Mile Straight did exactly what its name promised. I walked 56.6 kilometres beneath a huge sky, trying not to think too hard about a flat line that still had no visible end.
After four days and three unpowered nights, the highway finally bent. Caiguna gave us a daylight finish, power and the sort of roadhouse feed I had been thinking about for miles.
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 met Thomas, a German cyclist, around sunrise and reached Cocklebiddy after 20.9 kilometres. My body was asking for a break, so for once I listened and stopped for the day.
The half-day rest had cleared my head, so I stepped back onto the Eyre Highway and split the distance to Madura over two days. Winter skies and dead roos made sure the beauty didn't get too romantic.
The climb near Madura Pass hid its reward until the last moment: a huge view I hadn't expected at all. I reached Madura Roadhouse as the light disappeared.
Dropping from Madura Pass put me into a lower, greener-looking Nullarbor and a hard headwind. Motorists stopped, cookies arrived and a rest-area dinner waited after 52.5 kilometres.
I set out in the cold aiming for 55 kilometres and stopped at marathon distance instead. Christian and Brigette said hello along the way, and Mundrabilla Roadhouse gave Week 5 a comfortable finish.
Les and Pat Hood saw me walking in the winter dark outside Mundrabilla and stopped to make sure I was all right. That simple roadside check-in stayed with me through the wind and the kilometres that followed.
The final full day in Western Australia was cold, windy and unexpectedly social. By the time we climbed through Eucla Pass, Ols had taken his last WA steps and the border was waiting for all three of us.
After 37 days in Western Australia, we stopped near the border for one last cuppa. Then Ben, Ols and I crossed into South Australia together and kept walking.
My first full day in South Australia was wet, empty and fifty kilometres long. A roadside chat with Craig from highway maintenance was the bright spot in a day built mostly from one foot after the other.
A friend had told me there was one Nullarbor lookout we couldn't miss. Nearly fifty kilometres still had to be walked, but the detour made the edge-of-the-world promise feel completely real.
I still hadn't reached the actual treeless plain, but the country was already colder, wider and more austere. In all that stark emptiness, generous people kept appearing.
After weeks of false alarms, this was the actual treeless plain. It was cold, exposed and 54.4 kilometres long, with a late start and a later finish.
The trees returned, then South Australia surprised me with hills. Friendly horns helped, but it was still a cold and difficult 56-kilometre push towards Nundroo.
A 53.5-kilometre day to Nundroo was held together by all the unglamorous bits: cold clothes before dawn, crew-made breakfast, checkpoint cuppas, foot care, laundry and rubbish.
Bitter fog followed me through fifty kilometres of South Australian farm country. Geoff and Lyn appeared with fresh fruit, and Ceduna began to feel like a place we might actually reach.
Police lights appeared through the fog before sunrise, but it was only a friendly check. Later came lunch in Penong, actual street lights and the strange thought that our last Nullarbor night was almost here.
Truckies called encouragement as I walked the final 47.1 kilometres into Ceduna. The Eyre Highway still continued, but the long stretch from Norseman was done.
Ceduna felt almost metropolitan after the Nullarbor. With no scheduled kilometres, we could rest, shop, plan and enjoy the kindness waiting at the foreshore caravan park.
Ceduna, Kimba, the Mid North, Adelaide and beyond, with towns, supporters, recovery windows, and another shift in the shape of the walk.
I left Ceduna by moonlight and found South Australia surprisingly empty again. After 55.5 kilometres of pipeline and farm country, there were bangers and mash in the van at Puntabie.
Fifty days after leaving Canning River parkrun, I walked 57.2 kilometres through South Australian wheat country. My feet complained after the Ceduna break, so Ben and Ols kept me company for most of it.
The pipeline track felt strangely familiar as I walked through Poochera and past a giant ant. An earlier finish at Minnipa left Ols free to experiment with tuna pasta and ham.
A cheeky 48.5 kilometres counted as a shorter day by this point. My feet were tired, the Hokas were worn and the campervan evening revolved around laundry and a gloriously mixed dinner.
Green farmland made South Australia look oddly English, but the Adelaide deadline kept me moving. By the rest area east of Koongawa, another 58.7 kilometres had gone.
Kimba had a Big Galah and a sign saying I was halfway across Australia. My left foot was sore and our distance figures needed attention, but it was still a moment worth standing beside.
My left foot was sore but manageable, which was enough to keep the Adelaide push alive for another 56.8 kilometres. Iron Knob was getting close, and so were the jokes.
The country beyond Iron Knob looked like a mirror image of places I thought we'd left behind. Ben found the perfect interval track, my foot held together and Port Augusta was less than a day away.
Rain and wind followed me along a quiet back road into Port Augusta. The Eyre Highway stretch ended after 38.4 kilometres, with enough daylight left to see where I had arrived.
Turning south from Port Augusta made Adelaide feel real, even as the temperature dropped. Simone stopped for a roadside chat, and the HAA virtual event began beyond the campervan.
Adelaide was finally close enough to count down and fresh Hokas were waiting ahead. Between Baroota and Crystal Brook, the pipeline and a farm full of gnomes supplied the jokes.
The worst weather so far soaked my shoes and forced repeated changes into dry gear. After 54.3 cold kilometres, we spent the night at Snowtown and waited for the inevitable questions.
Cold wind and rain followed me past Lochiel's pink lake and its own Nessie. Jitter Bean pies helped, and by night Adelaide was less than 100 kilometres away.
The walk towards Two Wells brought Dublin jokes, roadside encouragement and growing media interest from Adelaide. Bec Kuss arriving with pizza was the rescue I really needed.
The alarm went at 3.43am and the crew didn't. After a sleepy start, roadside media calls and a countdown measured in parkruns, I reached Torrens and the first capital city since Perth.
There was no progress towards Brisbane, but Adelaide gave me exactly the reset I needed. Torrens parkrun, fresh shoes, a replacement watch and my first haircut in two months made it a very full rest day.
Adelaide turned into Christmas in July, complete with sweet treats, donated meals and a pizza fundraiser at McLaren Flat. One last visit with Ols' family passed far too quickly.
Adelaide stopped being a finish line the moment I started climbing into the hills. Melbourne appeared on the signs, Somerset appeared in the landscape and 50.2 kilometres put me properly back into the daily rhythm.
A green frog made from tyres was the harmless oddity of the day. The narrow Swanport Bridge supplied the adrenaline, and donated lamb korma made the finish at Westbrook Park much better.
The Dukes Highway carried me past the Tailem Bend ferry and on towards Kiki. Trish arrived with sunscreen, while Merrick and Megan appeared about 3,000 kilometres after seeing me leave Canning River parkrun.
Freezing kilometres through Coonalpyn, Culburra and Tintinara left me swinging between disbelief and wondering what on earth I was doing. The Victorian border was now about 100 kilometres away.
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.
The move through Victoria, Melbourne and toward Albury-Wodonga, where the landscape, weather, people, and logistics changed the feel of the walk again.
At 3.33pm I walked out of South Australia and into Victoria. Jack's roadside donation and 2,000 Facebook likes came with me, while Melbourne suddenly felt much closer.
Melbourne was 402 kilometres away, or only 80 parkruns in HAA language. Karen and Katie chatted from horseback along the way, and Dorothy gave us a generous welcome at Nhill Caravan Park.
Victoria kept changing the weather as I walked through Dimboola towards Horsham. A Rainbow sign, a roadside photographer and a phone interview made it a busier day than the kilometres suggested.
The little bubble I had been living in disappeared when the total passed 3,000 kilometres. Around that moment came cold fog, parkrun maths, roadside comedy and generous help from Shev, Rylan and Melissa.
A Giant Koala loomed out of the dark before Shev joined me through Stawell. Ararat supplied the jokes, the media interest and a finish close enough to make tomorrow feel straightforward.
Ararat finally gave me the Dobie joke I had been waiting for. Hot chocolate and roadside kindness followed, and by the finish beyond Beaufort both Ballarat and Melbourne felt close.
John, Michelle and Jo helped turn the walk into Ballarat into a shared arrival. Later, an offer of a St Kilda apartment nearly tipped me over before the big Melbourne weekend had even begun.
Albert Melbourne parkrun made no progress towards Brisbane, but it was a HAA morning I won't forget. Media, the Heart Foundation, new friends and a lap of the lake were followed by the MCG and a warm St Kilda apartment.
A Melbourne rest day brought breakfast with Kirby's family, sightseeing and an unfortunate tram-ticket incident for Ben. Then the mood changed: we had serious planning to do before driving back to Ballarat.
The Melbourne mini-break ended in five-degree Ballarat, with cold wind and rain waiting on the Old Melbourne Road. A wonderfully small-world meeting with Claudine broke up the walk to Bacchus Marsh.
Suburban Melbourne offered a roadside coffee, a tiny version of Perth-to-Brisbane and twelve kilometres beside Jo. By nightfall the sign finally said City of Melbourne, even if Albert Park was still seven kilometres away.
The morning I was meant to walk officially into Melbourne, I overslept. Ben and Ols rescued the timetable, the Heart Foundation visit still went ahead, and donated treatment got me ready for the final session.
The direct walking route into Kinglake looked sensible on Apple Maps. It delivered serious climbing, a beautiful wet forest and, by dark, a fence where the exit should have been.
After the Kinglake detour, I was tired, sore and had another 7 kilometres to make up. I stayed on proper roads through Flagpole Hill and Yea and finished at Kanumbra after 63.2 kilometres.
It was parkrunday with no parkrun for me, but the Great Victorian Rail Trail gave me foggy tracks, deep green hills, a Lord of the Rings joke, and two parkrunners appearing in front of us.
I had been looking forward to Glenrowan from the moment I realised the route would take us through Ned Kelly country. The catch was that Day 86 took 56.9 km to get there, so I arrived after dark. Such is life.
The border crossing into New South Wales, the Albury-Wodonga support wave, illness, media attention, and the first Hume Highway days north of the Murray.
I crossed from Victoria into New South Wales on a day full of Albury-Wodonga support, media interest, and one very sensible early finish. I was getting sick, Quest Albury was just around the corner, and Deb somehow turned the night into a family dinner.