It was the 1st August 1999, the start of a new month and the start of 3 months holiday for me - oh the joys of being a public servant. My plan was simple, ride across to Port Hedland in WA from Cairns with a couple of mates. Then send them home and continue home all the way round Oz on my own. Well simple if you say it quickly enough and ignore any practical details.

My mount for this little jaunt was to be my faithful old ‘85 GPZ 900 R - resplendent with the worlds worst home paintjob, missing a substantial amount of fairing, a 7 inch "bull-light" nailed to the front and 139,000km on the clock. In theory the Old Dog should have been extremely reliable as I travel 150km round trip on her each day - a lot of trips in the dark, hence the extra lighting.

Joining me for the first part of the trip were Pogo and his dad, the Old Bugger. Pogo was riding his unkillable GSX1100 and the Old Bugger was dreaming of being Henry Fonda in Easy Rider on his 1100 Viagra - sorry Virago.

To try and keep the costs of the adventure down we were all fully loaded up with camping gear and for the Old Bugger and I we also had to carry extra fuel for the longer legs.

We were lucky enough to be able to start the trip with a ride up the best section of road in the country - the Gillies Range. For those of you who haven’t been fortunate enough to experience it’s wonders the Gillies is something like 250 corners in 19kms - a worthy start to any trip. From the top of the Gillies we headed west across the Atherton Tablelands then out towards the bottom of the Gulf. Just outside Normanton we followed the Old Buggers directions to a bush camp by the Norman River - trouble was the old sod had forgotten that last time he visited the camp he had been in his ‘Cruiser - not fully loaded road bike. We all survived the soft sand and rocks and decided that proper campsites were the go from then on.

Day 2 had us heading south through the beautiful Gulf country down towards Mt Isa. I find that the second and third days of a big trip are the worst for the bum - ache piles up upon ache. But this time I was having too much fun - just the freedom of having escaped from the normal world. True, that for most of this trip there would be very few corners and the scenery would change very slowly and I would only speak to people for a couple of minutes every couple of hours at fuel stops, but to me that is the best thing about big bike trips - nothing to do but ride, day after day.

The roads through the Gulf country aren’t the best but the traffic is very sparse and there is usually plenty of time to get out the way of the road trains. Mind you sometimes getting the caravaners to look in their mirrors to let a bike past on the bitumen can be a real drama. We hit the main east west highway, The Barkly, at Cloncurry and turned east towards the Isa and a free night on a mates Veranda.

On the run into Isa my speedo failed and a quick strip down at the local bike shop (thanks for the use of the jacks and blocks lads) it turned out to be the drive - about as rare has rocking horse shit out west - so it was onward with no speedo - just to really help with the long trip a head. Oh well, I would have to look for one in the next major city on my route - Perth !!!!!!

Whilst in the Isa Pogo and I had to carry out some vital improvements to our helmets - two days of heading west had taught us that riding into the sun for the entire arvo is very tiring - so it was off to the discount store for a roll of 2" tape and economy sun strips were born - a useful tip for anyone heading west.

Day 3 had us heading flat out for the State line - complete with obligatory photo on the border. The road out from Camooweal was nothing short of an embarrassment to Qld (apparently it has now be improved). Once safely in the unrestricted Territory it was play time - but with many hours in the saddle and many more to come it was surprising how quickly we settled back down to our usual cruising mode.

Just to give an idea of how good and empty the NT roads are, I managed to set myself a new record. I’m one of those lazy buggers who loves cruise control and after crossing the border I managed to set the cruise and get 140km to the next fuel with no manual input to the bike at all - just open space and great roads.

The Old Bugger had to refuel the Viagra on a couple of these sections as it only has a fuel range of around 180 km. We followed the Barkly until it’s end at Three Ways then turned north on the Stuart for a night at the Renner Springs roadhouse - a fine little roadhouse with bar, rooms and a campsite. We pulled in fairly early in the day, set up camp and watched the other travellers pull. The Old Bugger was suffering with a bad cold but I have to admit that he never once moaned about the riding - but he looked like death come the end of the day and retired very early.

As darkness closed in the sound of distance thunder proved to be a chapter of the Harley Owners Group pulling in on route to their yearly pilgrimage the HOG gathering - this year in Darwin. Now normally I don’t have anything against Harleys - I like to see as many people as possible on two wheels - but some of this dudes were wankers from hell. As the evening wore on in the bar, Pogo and I got plenty of amusement from watching a couple them parading around wearing just about every conceivable Harley branded item - I can just imagine them walking into the shop and say "I’ll take one of everything please". These well dressed bad arses looked for all the world to be a lawyer and real estate salesman on their yearly ego trip. Oh well it takes all sorts. "Sorry fellows we can’t talk to you - you don’t have a Hog".

Day 4 dawned to the sound of thunder again - well to the lawyers ears it may have been thunder to me it sounded like the asthmatic coughing of boat anchor left on choke while he paraded around marshalling his flock. When I eventually crawled out of my tent I was confronted with the spectacle of all the Hogs parked in a precise formation out front the roadhouse. Then on mass they all boarded and rumbled off on the Hwy to awe of a coach load of tourists - as I said it takes all sorts.

We eventually hit the road about an hour after the Hogs - I had only planned a short day with an afternoon in the warmth of Matraranka’s thermal pools. All being from the Tropical North we really appreciated the gorgeous clear blue skies and temps in the mid 20’s. After a couple of hours I came across a roadhouse full of Hogs so passed on by as fast as I could, giving them my own version of thunder - sixteen of Mr Kawasaki’s best valves bouncing out through a race can - now that’s what I call music.

We rolled up at Mataranka and choose our site amongst the assorted caravans, coasters and utes. As we parked we were eyed with trepidation by our fellow campers - I mean we were bikers after all ! Well when the Old grey haired Bugger took his helmet off it was a bit like that breakfast cereal ad on telly a couple of years ago where grey haired Old Buggers are very socially acceptable. Now the Old Bugger can talk underwater and was instantly engaged by our neighbour but was left speechless after only one sentence when the fellow from down south said "you must be from Queensland - eh" The poor Old Bugger the look on his face as priceless - I don’t think I heard him say "eh" for the next week - eh.

Mataranka was a good rest - the resort is set up for travellers who want to soak in the thermal pools, drink a cold beer, see some bloke try to sing and then go to bed happy - well it would have been impolite not to enjoy it so we did.

Day 5 started with a quick blast up the Stuart Hwy to Katherine then right onto the Victoria Hwy . Heading down through the Victoria River area was the most spectacular scenery of the entire trip, mountains, escarpments, brilliant bitumen and gentle winding, nature even threw in a bush fire for us. I would have like to have more time to stop and enjoy the views but the idea of the trip was get to WA quickly so it was ever onwards. Once again border photos were down at the WA/NT border then on to Dodgy Dale’s, Pogo’s mad mate in Kununurra.

Dale welcomed us to his place, having come out to meet us on his XR 600, and let us dump our junk all over the place then loaded us into his ute for a tour of the sights, swimming holes, etc. Then it was off to the shops for the nights food. As we pulled up at the shops a group of very weary looking dirt bike riders pull up next to us to ask for directions. Well one thing lead to another as only they can with bike riders and they ended up buying supplies for a monster party and all of us crashed at Dales place. It turned out that there were madder us and had been travelling mostly cross country from Wagga for about 6 weeks and were now looking to head to Darwin then home. There was riding a real mixture - a couple of big road trails (Dominator type) right through to a KTM enduro. Needless to say a good night was had by all and we left early the next morning - I heard they all stayed on a couple of days enjoying Dales hospitality.

Day 6 lead us through some of the less picturesque settlements in WA, but once again with nothing to do all day but ride it was still a most enjoyable day - the Old Bugger still plodding along on the Viagra. Pogo and I playing silly buggers slip streaming each other on cruise control - once the cruises are set just about the same it is amazing how much difference rider position or slip streaming can make to the bikes speed - a good way to pass a couple of hours on the open road anyway.

We camped overnight at the Fitzroy River Resort just on the eastern side of town - it is a decent campsite with 4 star resort attached. It was on the road in that we first met the mad Italian - he and a partner were travelling across the top on a couple of vintage scooters - I think his was 1947 and hers was a modern 1960 version. We met him broken down at the side of the road with no apparent belongings or spares - but he said he didn’t need help as he had travelled most of the world on the scooter and he had all the spares he needed. Well we must have passed him about another half dozen times during the rest of the trip and I have recently seen a Trans-Nullarbor trip advertised for vintage bikes and I’m sure it must be the same fellow - so he must have made it.

Day 7 was another short one - a mere 400 km hop into Broome. Now Broome is one of my favourite ever towns - something to do with the atmosphere, the weather and the beach. Pogo had phoned ahead and got his brother Gook to fire up his CBR 1000 and persuade his non-bike riding girlfriend to sit on the back for 750 km ride up from Pt Hedland. The poor girls butt may never recover. Well the others must have agreed with my opinion of Broome as we spent the weekend there.

After a couple of days relaxing the others headed on to Pt Hedland (something about jobs to go to !) But it wasn’t enough for me - I needed another day of doing nothing - I headed down on my own the next day. I had to use my Jerry can on the 290 km leg to the famous Sandfire roadhouse - the Old Dog expiring after about 260 km. I hooked up with a guy on a R1100 RT beemer and I was quite impressed with the modern barn doors turn of speed.

So we had reached the decision point of the trip - should I press on all the way around Oz or head back with the others. We spent a week in Pt Hedland for an oil change and a rest then I decided that onward was the way for me and off I went alone.

My target for my first night was a place called Coral Bay - not really a town yet but the best beach in the world (well I reckon). I rolled into to Coral Bay and gazed at the sea knowing I had made it, all the way Across the Top - the Old Dog had done well - as reliable as ever.

I stayed a couple of days in the sun at Coral by and then decided to head done the Side. If I had known what the next hour would bring I would have stayed put. I did the right thing waited till after sun up before heading off south. It was fairly chilly and there were still patches of sea fog around as I joined the Hwy to Perth. With the fog around I was cruising along nice as steady and came over a rise into a particularly thick big of fog. I started to slow up only to see Skippy appear from the right hand-side of the road. Now I didn’t actually see him wearing a Rising Sun bandanna or hear him shout "Banzai" but I’m sure that was his sole intention, ‘cos the silly bugger hopped straight into my right-hand front fork knocking me straight over on some of the most abrasive bitumen I have ever fallen (and I’ve fallen on quite a bit of it !!!!).

I came to a dazed halt in the middle of the road some 35m down the track with a very dead Skippy sleeping off to the side of the road nearby - As he had travelled so far I can only assume that he had got himself stuck between the front fork and fairing as we slid along. I picked my self up and was amazed to find everything on my body still worked to one degree or another - but as usual the bike was lying blocking the road, just over a rise, so I tried to pick it - no luck - too sore and too much luggage. So I had to unload the old girl where she lay then pick her up and put her off the road.

As I started to take stock of the damage I realised how lucky I was. The visor was smashed off my Shoei with the appropriate grind marks down the side of the helmet. My RJ’s Viking jacket with it’s body armour was ripped to bits in quite a few places but then that is what is for. My heavy duty gloves were scrapped but my fingers weren’t. My arse and legs were very sore but my leather pants were only ripped on one knee. My Alpinestar Motocross boots were very scuffed and one toe cap was missing but I could still walk. All in it was a great testament to my riding gear (although from the list above you would have to question my fashion sense). Then I noticed that I was covered from head to toe in petrol - my Jerry can had opened as I slid along the road soaking me - talk about lucky - I will never carry a Jerry on a bike again.

So there I was 210 km north of the Carnarvon the nearest town the Old Dog had both forks bent, one clip-on snapped, both pegs on one side gone, even more of the fairing missing and worst of all a hole ground through the right-hand engine cover. So I did the natural thing - I reached for my camera. I would have dearly loved to pick Skippy up and put him on the bike wearing my helmet and jacket if he wanted it that much he was welcome to it - but the pain was increasing and I decided that I couldn’t ignore the blood dripping out from my right sleeve for any longer. So I dug my 1st aid kit out to the remains of my Gearsack, laid it all out, took a deep breath and took the jacket off. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been and I had only removed a patch of skin about the size of 50 cent piece - the bone inside seemed nice and white still - but it was bleeding well and I figured if I was to last it was patching time - it is amazing what you can do with a 1st aid kit an one working arm. The RJ’s jacket had done very well - I believe the armour just wore through at the end of slid - hence why the injury was treatable.

The next problem was how to get to hospital. The road wasn’t exactly busy - during the next hour and half I had a couple of heated conversations with Europeans in campervans who thought I wanted to mug them with my one good arm. Eventually I stood in front of the next car along thinking that if they ran me down I would get stuck under the car and eventually they would have to stop.

As luck would have it I stopped a very kind couple but hesitant couple from Victoria who I persuaded to load up this dishevelled, bloodstained biker and the remains of his luggage and take to the nearest hospital - that was another 2 hrs away. By the time I was delivered to the great staff at the Carnarvon hospital just about every part of my ached real bad. The nurses showed me the back of my leather pants and you could nearly see through them - but at least my butt had all it’s skin left - the pants were dumped having done their job. After 4 hrs of rest and checking I was released into the world wondering what to do next.

Then came the worst pain - telling my wife and getting home - the bike was worthless and uninsured and I was very sore a long way from home and had nowhere long term to stay with no tools. So I decided to leave the bike where it was (having told the local coppers so as not to start a search for the rider) and fly home. Talk about an expensive trip home - 12 hrs on a coach to Perth for $150 then $903 for a short notice one-way air ticket to Cairns.

So as you can I see I made it Across the Top and Fell Off the Side but at least the plane took me all the way around Oz.

For the number crunchers this is what it cost:

Bike mileage 5674kms

Fuel cost $368.65 Ave 15.39km per litre

The worst thing was that although I did get to do the round trip - I was home before the others who did the return trip with no dramas at all.

See you around sometime

Pom