Why the trip? My love was on a business trip and I was bored, so with nothing else to do but pack me saddlebags, bike repair stuff in one and the other for cloths etc I set forth from Sydney on a cold September morning. O I forgot, a quick Google to get my bearings and an A4 hand drawing of the route.

First destination “Dubbo”, Dubbo is the next biggest town after the Blue Mountains and has quite a high altitude so the first stage was cold, actually very cold. On arriving, I parked myself in a motel, had a bite to eat and a couple of beers. The next morning and keen to get going, I discovered the Rocket had iced over, not ever experiencing this before I tried starting it! After calling the NRMA as the battery eventually went flat and bunging the man a bribe, I was off again but this time a little bit worried!!

Moving on and trying to make up for lost time, I forgot to fill up the tank so after riding half an hour in the bush decided to turn around back to Dubbo for fuel. I filled up the tank, bought a Jerry can and also filled that up, off again. After passing the point I turned around at I discovered a petrol station 5 minutes later. OK a plan needed, fill the tank up, reset the trip meter after each petrol stop and pay attention.

Now I was in the bush, large flat plains of beautiful nothingness, working with the plan of not having a plan and not riding after 6pm, my destinations where really unknown. A great plan understood by all bikers worldwide! Just cruising at 90/100k by 5pm I arrived at a place called” Wilcannia”, Wilcannia can only be best described as a ghost town full of Abo’s, wanted whites and thinkers as there isn’t much else to do. I filled the tank up, reset the trip meter and booked myself into the Motel around the back, I then went in search for ye old village pub. You wouldn’t think Wilcannia would have a Golf club but it has, no grass not for 9 years now but the beers are cold. With two bouncers at the door and wondering Abo’s colleting their grog for the night, all was good. After a feed and more beer I walked back to my Motel. I later found out that not even lorry drivers stop at Wilcannia as mugging and motel intrusions are common place, must have been me leather jacket that scared them off or the beers I bought for the locals sharing a yarn or two.

The next morning I was off again heading towards rain, rain! Whilst thinking to myself being absolutely freezing and getting wetter, a lot of outback people at the moment would be rejoicing. I wasn’t the irony of it all! After having breakfast at Broken Hill I decided to take a deviation to Silverton. Silverton is an old ghost town and the location for the film Mad Max. I have always been a big Mad Max fan, riding over those hills where once the road warrior stood was great. I had Images of Kawasaki’s ridden by punks pulling wheelies; they all came flooding back to me. Whist in a nostalgic day dream I was passed by three off roaders all with Top Gear stickers, “I’m going to be on TV” I thought! One of the cars had a taped up broken window, “must have stopped at Wilcannia” I thought. After a little beer next to the repo V8 car of the film I was off again to a pub called the Wilmington Hotel recommended to me by a local. Another great night talking to the locals and some great advice, as the next day it was straight up to dry centre.

The next day with a little hang over I set forth into the wilderness, the Stuart highway is basically one long Roman road built around 50bc and has since been sealed. Riding becomes different; I rode dead in the middle because the wind gusts are unpredictable. Riding at 100k with a sudden side on gust often left me in fear as the Rocket would career too close to the edge of the road. When the wind was constant I would ride for hours at a strange angle. Road kill is also a big problem, not the carcass it’s self but the large Australian Eagles that feed on them. Hitting a 15kg bird at 100k would have meant disaster for me and trip over. The smell off rotten flesh was another experience, let alone passing large road trains with drivers whose intentions are to further crush Kangaroos with the effect for me of being sprayed with bone fragments. Overtaking road trains in gusty conditions required total concentration as when you overtook the wind would stop and you would find yourself finishing the manoeuvre, severely buffeted, even closer to the edge of the road and compensating by leaning at a funny angle. My reaction was just to lay on the tank, go rigid and hold on. You have to remember road trains go fast! I didn’t meet any bikers going in my direction but plenty going the over way and with the customary wave or helmet bow we all knew we were doing and had done something special. Waving is a constant thing on the Stuart highway, every car, lorry or biker would always wave or thumbs up. The weather had now changed, it was dry and around 35 degrees and the mornings were colder. I stopped occasionally for a pee, fluid intake and durry “Roll your own cigarette” that was, if it didn’t blow away with the wind.

Every 50k the scenery would change with different shades of green foliage and tan/orange sands. I also found that my vision would change, it was like riding with my eyes focused far ahead and even with ear plugs I would be slightly death for an hour after a ride. To correct these medical body symptoms I discovered beer as a good remedy.

Cooper Pedy, an opal mining community and my stop over for the night. On arriving I was shocked to see so many Abo’s just sitting around and wondering about, they all looked fuzzy aired and true blacks. The women were fat, smelly and unwashed and the men skinny like vagrants. A constant barrage in their native tongues could be heard as they would have shouting conversations across large distances. I suppose we would do the same if we didn’t live in cities! On parking the Rocket on and at the entrance of a hotel I was met by the manager who greeted me with “No trumpys allowed” and I replied “not even for a pohm?” All was good and I booked in for the night. After a total unpack of the saddle bays, I once again set forth in search for ye old village pub. After buying a beer and having a durry I noticed the outside smoking area was totally fenced in with an 8 foot wire fence. Having a beer in Australia is very different to the UK; you can have conversations with complete strangers within seconds of sitting down. You can have five tables with one punter sitting at each and all start sharing stories without moving. Always remembering you could be talking to a millionaire or a vagrant as no one is dressed accordingly especially in the outback. If you don’t act like a prick you’re accepted straight away. Within no time I was chatting to a group of miners some of which were aboriginal, all of them had great stories about life and to put it mildly lived lives to the full. One aboriginal chap Scot was interesting, Scot had 8 kids from about 9 women and made me laugh when he told me this story. Being known in the village as being a bit of a womaniser, he quite fancied the young women who lived opposite him and having a Rottweiler at the time would take a morning leak in the front garden just wearing y-fronts. Know to the Police, Scot who didn’t care anyway would ensure his manhood would be vigorously shaken after the leak in the direction of the young women as they left for work. When the Police finally caught him in the act they were too scared to arrest him because of the Rottweiler, Scot continued to have a leak and gave his manhood a longer and more vigorous shake in their direction with a one figure hand solute “We will get you in town” the Policemen warned.

After having a meal with the manager and the usual Friday night follow the crowd pub crawl, I retired for the last stage of my journey, Ayres Rock.

A very interesting day that I will remember for the rest of my life; the ride started as normal but this day it was very windy. After about an hour into the journey doing about 100k I noticed a very large Australian eagle standing on a road kill next to the road. It was on my near side and I had an off roader about 30m behind me and coming towards me was a car pulling a caravan. Usually birds fly away from the traffic but this time the eagle decided to take off at 2oclock and in a direction that eventually I would collide with. In total ore of this beautiful animal I just watched it in slow motion like an old Lancaster bomber trying to take off with a heavy load. That’s big I thought, that’s really big I thought. By the time of impact it was just above my front lights, I could do nothing as I was boxed in. I closed my eyes, put my helmet on the tank and braised myself for impact. No impact, I looked up and just above me the eagle was finally flying away. The sports screen on the Rocket must have given it the extra lift it needed. I punched the air and shouted yes with excitement, what a memory.

Further in the journey oncoming traffic began to flash me, what’s going on I thought! About an hour later the horizon ahead began to change in colour and wind had picked up. A sand storm, great and after jumping off the bike for a few pics I continued into the obis. At this stage it was just 65k gusts travelling across the highway whipping up the orange sand. I reduced my speed and continued riding and by the time I got to the Northern Territory boarder the sand storm had passed.

Unknown to me, that was just the little one and the next storm I hit was a 1 in 75 year sand storm.

If you ever get the chance to travel across a desert, get yourself a pair of swimming goggles. With my only eye protection being a full face helmet and a contact lens wearer, fine sand particles crunch in your mouth and penetrate your eyes.

This next storm started like other but by the time I released it was big, I had no choice but to continue into it. The wind increased to about 100k, the Rocket was at a dangerous angle and spinner flex was hitting the side of the bike. I reduced my speed to 40k and then began to think. I could only see 6m ahead of me and 6m behind. I could just see the side of the road and had just the white lines to follow; the wind noise was frightening and I was enclosed in an Orange sand bubble and I could not pull over. What if I hit a road kill, what if I’m hit from behind, what if the Rocket stalls, I’m in mortal danger. I’m now doing 40k and have 65k to travel, that will take me over an hour and a half, shit. My right eye had become dry and the left eye is just constantly streaming. For the first time in my life I really prayed for help “protect me from behind”. Within minutes a Brits camper van pulled up behind me and travelled at my speed. Shortly after, an off roader pulled up behind the campervan. I could only see their lights and was grateful they saw me as I thought they were planning to overtake the campervan and thus hitting me. I was counting down each kilometre, checking my watch and counting the minutes too safety and just praying that nothing had or will go terribly wrong. After what seemed a life time the visibility got better and I began to ride faster. By the time I got to the road house the wind and storm had died down to manageable level. I parked the bike, walked in to the bar still wearing my helmet. Went up to the bar man and tried to get the helmet off, it had got stuck with the grit that had in penetrated it flip front release button. When I finally got the helmet off I asked the barman for the toilet so I could get my contact lenses out,” It’s outside mate”!

The next day I was at Ayers Rock; the only way to appreciate this work wonder is to ride there. My journey had been accomplished and I had only to make it back safely. The journey back was quicker and my last stop over was great! I got chatting to the owner of the Great Western Hotel and we chatted to 6.30am in the morning. I got up at 12am and rode for 11 hours across the Blue Mountains and back to Sydney. The Blue Mountains had black ice on the roads at the time but fortunately I didn’t full off. Got home at 11pm kissed my love and put the Rocket in the garage.

The Triumph had not suffered at all, a bit squeaky mind and the gear box is now great.