The cycling infrastructure in Australia is incredible. We have a few miles one day on a very busy highway, and it stands out because it’s one of the only times we’ve had to ride on a road at all up to this point, let alone a busy one. Aussies always ask us about how we find the roads, and it’s one thing they are really unnecessarily negative about. Mostly there is a large enough shoulder for us, so even though it’s arse-clenching when the huge lorries scream passed, we haven’t felt unsafe from the traffic really.

My back is a bigger problem, it’s painful all day every day, and although it gets better to a point, it won’t ease off past that and just isn’t healing completely. It says a lot about Australia that I’m still loving every minute despite the pain. But although this country has been wonderful, there is something missing. And then just like that, the world is complete: We turn off the highway, along a dirt road, and through pastureland where we ride beside fields of hundreds of wild kangaroos.

We pull in at the next town to find a bakery so I can get my pie fix, and a guy comes over for a natter. He saw us at the beginning of the day leaving the campsite (up a big hill,) and I am puffed up with pride when he tells us he can’t believe how far we’ve ridden today. He gives us lots of pointers for things to see in the area to the south – detailed descriptions of where to camp, where we can leave the bikes safely, the best places for coffee. Then gives us his number “if you ever need anything here.” I get the impression he sincerely means this.

Our hopes for several sightseeing stops so far have been dashed by the heavy rains, so we are determined to do something touristy off the bikes. We hone in on some limestone caves in the south west. We make a dash for it after a couple of days of storms and manage to find shelter for each downpour, but we have massive side winds to contend with, which makes it feel dangerous in the traffic on the undulating roads.

We’ve swung inland somewhat, so the scenery has changed more to bush and forest. As we approach our destination we enter a Naturaliste National Park, which makes me worry that everyone is going to be nude.

The cave we visit is stunning, if very deep, steep and narrow. Like everything else in Australia, it’s just that much more impressive than its counterparts elsewhere. It’s like being in another, magical, underground world. We take a bush walk on our way back to camp. The wildflowers are famous in this part of Australia at this time of year and it’s nice to see them more up close than we can on bikes. We pick up the pace somewhat though after hearing snakes in the undergrowth.

It’s a long day up next, the undulations are getting bigger and the landscape more forested and remote. Our destination is a farm stay, where we can camp on the land. We see kangaroos in the shadows of the trees up close, until a ute speeds passed and scares them away. Then some emus in a field next to us – it’s the first time I’ve seen them outside of a zoo. They chase each other with their ridiculous gait, and try as I might I can’t keep pace on the road beside them.

The last part of the day is on a dirt track, which gets rougher and muddier the further we go. We disturb a few giant black cockatoos, another thing I hadn’t seen in the wild until now. We come upon a section of the track that’s completely flooded, so we have to walk round into the bush to get passed it. I bite my tongue rather than mention snakes to Richard.

We’re tired after a big ride, and the farm is fantastic so we decide to stay a couple of nights. It gets very cold in the evenings and into the night, so we are usually bundled up in the tent just after dusk. I’m always off out to the amenities late at night, but this time as I open the tent door, I worry Richard by loudly exclaiming “Oh my God.” I reassure him that everything is alright, no snakes, it’s just that the sight of the sky out here in the sticks is like nothing I’ve ever seen. The stars are so unbelievably bright, it’s almost overwhelming. I forget everything and just stand looking up at them for while, before nearly falling down a gully because my eyes are not on the ground.

Yesterday we loved the fact that many of the animals are completely free range and wandering around the camp, but chickens in particular are not so charming at 5am. It does encourage us to get up and about early, and walk down into some paddocks where we’d been promised emus. At first they’re way out in the fields, but one slowly wanders over and spends a long time observing us up close, and vice versa, before getting bored.

The farmer offers to drive us into the nearest town in case we need anything, since the farm is in the middle of nowhere. He also offers to take us to feed the emus so we can get up close, but that has already happened. A couple also camping there offer to pick us up some shopping when they drive to town. We spend the rest of the day answering the call to feeding time for the various animals.

We’d planned near this point to pick up the Munda Biddi trail. It’s an off-road mountain bike trail running from near Perth all the way to the south coast. Our bikes aren’t suitable for really riding it, but there are sections in this area which cross paved roads and are supposed to be hard-packed gravel which we could cope with in stints. The flooding we experienced getting to the farm puts us off though. We don’t have a set up that can cope if the trail is really muddy and soft.

Instead we have a day on the asphalt, but it’s a huge one, undulating like a roller coaster and with more climbing that we’ve done in a long time. It’s also quite remote. There’s a quaint, stuck-in-time general store a few miles on the way out, but otherwise there’s nothing whatsoever on the way.

At first we’re riding through rolling farmland, and there’s a few cars passing. But once we cross the last junction, it’s out into classic bush scenery. Grass trees, gum trees, and the red earth I love so much. It’s a day of life-affirming hard work, and there’s nowhere else I want to be.

As the day winds on, the cross winds pick up and become the worst I’ve ever experienced. Fortunately the road has little traffic because the gusts take hold of the bikes and sweep us around, particularly when we pick up speed on the downhill sections. It’s nerve wracking, and gets so bad in the late afternoon that it’s dangerous even without traffic.

We arrive at a campsite in a small, pretty town, but can’t help being disappointed. The site is just mud and sand and full of mosquitoes. There’s a lot of rain forecast so we know to expect a quagmire. We make our way to a pub for dinner to keep our spirits up.

There is a lot more rain than we’d anticipated, and it keeps us trapped for three days. We spend some time in a cafe, but mostly we are sat miserably at the camp kitchen. It’s covered, and the back section has three sides to it, but it’s not indoors. We got some washing and drying done early on, so at least there’s that.

The water runs in torrents though the channels dug into the dirt for that purpose, and on into the river below. On the second night the rain is so heavy I’m anxious about the tent flooding, and barely get any sleep. The deep puddles get nearly to the door, but the site at least has good drainage, so when the rain stops for a couple of hours in the morning, the water recedes quickly. We made an excellent decision in pitching the tent; almost any other spot and we would not have been so lucky. We were expecting strong winds – they get up to 120km an hour on the coast, and should have reached at least 60km where we are. But the campsite is surrounded by dense, tall, ancient trees and they seem to act fully as a barrier. In the night we can hear the wind like rolling thunder in the distance, but it never reaches us. It’s an eerie experience, but one we’re grateful for.

While we haven’t flooded, the rain has still played havoc. The heavy rain on the dirt site has sprayed mud and water underneath the outer shell of the tent and into our inner sleeping sanctum.

It’s really cold. The days have mostly been warm here, but now we’re sitting wrapped up in layers culminating in down jackets. Someone offers us a heater for the tent to help us at night, but we can’t take the risk of fire. The same lady offers another sheltered place to sit, and for the bikes to go.

Later on, we meet one half of a couple of other cyclists. They have made the smart and enviable decision to rent a caravan rather than pitch up. We’re invited over after dinner, and sitting in the warmth with a mug of hot chocolate, we can talk road conditions, camping options and cycling, which is usually too boring for anyone else to listen to. They are experienced bike tourers, and have flown out here from near Melbourne to ride the Munda Biddi – the trail we decided to avoid. They’ve got halfway, but the conditions are too bad to carry on, so they’re getting a bus to their next destination and having a re-think. It reaffirms our decision to stick to the roads, as does a walk the following day where we see first hand the state of the track, which is deep mud and sand, punctuated with tree roots, and not something we could have ridden.

We have too much stuff to get a bus, so that temptation is not available, but the following day we also have a re-think. We’re at a literal crossroads, where if we carry on east it’s one road, so we go fully committed or would have to turn round and ride the same road back. It gets more remote soon. There’ll be either one or none places to buy food each day. The weather and my back pain lead us to take the cautious way out. We can’t afford to get trapped again by those things. All these excuses lead us to decide to do a loop back up to Perth instead.

There is a 1% chance of rain according to the forecast for the following day. When we wake up it’s raining. As soon as it stops we’re like a pair of whirlwinds getting everything packed up. I’m deeply pissed off packing away a wet and muddy inner tent. It starts raining again as soon as I’ve finished.

We have a big ride to do and I take nutrition seriously, so before setting off we visit a bakery and have a steak pie for breakfast.

I hadn’t expected it to be this cold during the day, so I didn’t wash any warm clothes after we arrived here. I have to wear my pyjama leggings under some shorts to keep warm because I don’t have anything else. As we’re getting on the bikes, a man walks passed and jokes that we should have brought wetsuits and that today is about to turn very cold. I don’t know how Australians are so in touch with the weather and what it’s going to do, but they are always right. You would expect, based on stereotypes, that it is what British people should be experts at. We manage to duck and cover in wooded areas each time the rain comes, but it is absolutely freezing. There’s a huge section in this area with massive damage from forest fires, but the land always seems to bounce back.

We have a tailwind heading north, which makes turning round feel much better. Eventually we arrive at a nice sheltered campsite and have warmer, drier weather. We are able to clean and dry our camping gear and clothes in stages over a couple of days.

We learn that Western Australia has had its wettest winter in 30 years and the coldest in 50 years. Many people have commented how unusually cold and wet it is this late in the year. We knew we took a risk coming here at the end of the winter, but it looks like we’ve also been really unlucky. It’s really got us down at points, being trapped in the tent or in one place due to the rain.

A couple of days later and the weather has well and truly turned. It’s getting hot during the day and warm enough at night to not need thermals. It’s not hot enough for me to ever not want a hot pie though. These stops are always good for attracting conversations, and with one of the better ones (mince and onion) a cyclist walks over to give us some intel on a place up the coast where he saw humpback whales from the shore a couple of days before.

That afternoon we see a signpost for the small beach the cyclist mentioned. It’s a bit of a detour, but if we can’t ride a few miles for the chance to see whales in the wild, then what would be the point of doing this. The beach is beautiful, even though we see no whales, and we also detour to a nature reserve and historic site. The tailwind means we can still do this and put in a good day’s distance north.

We’re a day out from Perth now, and we take roads rather than bike paths, to try and go a different way than the one we came. It’s not the best decision through an industrial and lorry-ridden wasteland, but we peel off onto a nature trail towards the end, and get to see a sea eagle. The trail is flooded, but just shallow enough for us to pass.

While my back is slowly getting better, Richard’s knee has begun playing up. I do wonder if it’s an excuse to go somewhere that we won’t be camping, but I’ll never know, and unless we go somewhere else in Australia he’s going to get his way regardless.

We park ourselves up at a motel not far from the airport in Perth, because it’s near a couple of bike shops. We hadn’t realised the weekend was a public holiday, so when one is closed and the other has no boxes, we’re a bit stuck. Until we go looking in the bins round the back of the closed shop, and find a couple of pristine boxes sitting in a Grundon. It’s not often we get them for free. At the motel we meet a guy flying back to New Zealand, who came here to ride the Munda Biddi trail. Like the couple we met from Geelong, he only completed half of it before giving it up as a bad job. He’s a mountain biker, but found it tough and wasn’t able to do the speed or distances he’s used to because of the conditions. He also confirms that parts were really narrow, and we wouldn’t have got through with full panniers. Like us, he got his bike box from the bin.

I’ve got mixed feelings on leaving Australia. It’s been really frustrating. We haven’t done the route across the south that we set out to do. I think we were right to change it, but it still feels like a missed opportunity. I wish we’d come here just a few weeks later. And I don’t know if we’ll be back here again. A couple of weeks ago that thought would have choked me up and had me railing against it. At that point I’d rather be told I’d never go home again than never return to Australia. But life on the road means always looking forward, and even when I’ve been in places I’ve loved, I’ve still always eventually wanted to leave and see if there are any more of those places ahead. It’s turned out no different here, so while it is sad to go, it feels like it’s time. It’s a special place, and while people from lots of nations claim that theirs is God’s own country, Australians are the only ones who are right.

A playlist for the ride: