We fly into Perth, but stay in a motel a few miles from the city; it’s much cheaper, it gives us space to re-assemble the bikes, and navigating cities is always a pain, so we avoid them as much as possible. The second of those is key here, since we could only find boxes that were very small, and as a result the bikes have been broken down more than usual. The night we arrive we take a walk to get food and our bearings, and even though it’s dark and deserted, for me being back in Australia is like seeing a long lost friend that you’ve thought about a lot recently, and dearly missed.

Somehow I’ve managed to arrive in here sandwiched between a Lions tour and an Ashes series, but won’t actually be here for any of it, because I am that incompetent. We don’t even get to see any Aussie Rules because we can’t make the nearest game before the end of the season.

We’ve had some time off the bikes, so we spend the first few days doodling around to the north of Perth on trails, shaking off the cobwebs and getting back into the swing of things. We’ve arrived at the tail end of winter, and as such we knew we’d have some changeable weather, but the severity of it puts paid to a couple of things we wanted to do. We’re itching to get going properly though, and don’t want to spend any more time hanging around for things to improve. The weather to the north should get better sooner, but there is more we want to see to the south, so we head that way.

When we set off properly, we take a route through the city itself. Our reasons to avoid staying in the city were sound, but it’s nice to see it and it feels like we’re putting down the official marker for the start of this journey.

We have a tough long day into the strong winds. But we are now sweating from the honest toil of it, and not from the putrid humidity we’ve left behind.

A chap at a supermarket stops for a chat, and reminds us of one of the reasons I love Australia. People are forthcoming, warm and interested. And they know their land and love it. He accurately discusses the wind direction in the coming days, the condition of the roads, and knows about every small rise and camping spot on the road ahead.

We arrive at our camp for the evening dog tired, but it’s the tiredness of hard work, and is entirely satisfying.

Before it gets dark, I mention to Richard about taking precautions with our shoes at night, as we don’t want to wake up needing to leave the tent and get a nasty surprise if a creature has crawled in. He scoffs that it’s too cold and we’re too near civilisation for any of that, but later I notice that he’s stuffed socks in his shoes before turning in.

The next day, the pristine bike path winds though a wildlife park, and looking into the deep woods as we go by everything is so alien to me, and yet so right. The sky in Australia is the vivid blue of child’s drawings, or of dreams. And coming from the polluted haze of south east Asia, the freshness of the air and the brightness of everything is like entering a world that’s been upgraded to ultra HD.

As we ride on endless perfect bike paths along the coast, it looks as though there is massive investment going on in Western Australia. A string of towns from Mandurah to Busselton look like they have been built brand new from the ground up, with immaculate parks, piers, and cycle infrastructure. It is all very pretty and the bike lanes are great for us, but after a couple of days of it, it is also nice to get out in the sticks a bit and see the wild.

When we do, I am attacked by a duck. I get a little too close to her ducklings, and even though I apologise and move off, she chases me and then flies at my head.

Our route takes us through farmland, then on roads through deep forests carpeted with white arum lilies. We find a beautiful wild campsite, tucked away off the beaten path. We are joined by the first of many Twenty Eight Parrots, with their stunning green plumage and cheeky dispositions. One casually walks into the tent and picks up a pack of burger buns, and that is after running over to me and biting my toe.

The following day we take an old coast road, superseded years ago by a newer highway but not yet in disuse. It’s a beautiful, quite road along a gorgeous piece of coastline, and culminates in a detour along a 50 metre long pier.

There’s a huge storm forecast for the night and following day, so we make a decision to rent a cabin for a couple of nights in a caravan park, instead of sleeping in the tent. The walls of the cabin shake as the storm hits, and we’re glad for the extra shelter and the heating.

At our next stop there’s a flooded entrance to a campsite, but it’s another out of the way spot, packed with towering red gum and eucalyptus trees and more parrots, so it’s worth the wet feet.

There is a small spider in the toilet block, guarding the hand dryer. I’m suspicious; everything here is so massive that I’m genuinely concerned it will be 3 inches larger (and in the toilet cubicle I go in) tomorrow morning. The only wildlife here that is normal size are seagulls.

Back on the road, and it’s onto a highway running through a national forest. It’s an overcast day, riding through a tunnel of enormous rare truart trees towering over us. The rain comes and goes. More storms are forecast, the wind is either persistent and strong or in sweeping, bike-wobbling gusts, and it’s always in the backs of our minds.

We join a main highway, and though the shoulder is large and we feel safe enough, the constant roar of the traffic and a vicious headwind make for a tiring day. At camp I’m innocuously driving a tent peg into the stubborn ground, when I feel a disc in my lower back pop. I’m well armed and well versed in this happening over the years, but manoeuvring in a tent is an added problem, and until the handfuls of painkillers kick in, I’m worried that I won’t be able to bend enough to get inside, or be able to lift myself to get up.

It’s a rough night, but with some desperate stretches and more mouthfuls of painkillers I’m able to get back on the road. The position on the bike, once I’m sitting on it and get going, has always been fine. But getting off the bike means a lot of pain, and even after a short day I can barely stand.

We have been meandering our way south-ish, indirectly, hampered severely by the weather and now by my back, but we eventually make it to the far south west corner of the state. We’re not all-in on what path we take after this, but we’re in a region with lots to see. We’re now in a part of the country famous for its beer and wine, so Richard can be in his element, and I can continue my love letter to Australia.

A playlist for the ride: