So how did I graduate from weekend trail rides as a teenager on an RMX 250 or DT 175 to a long outback road trip? In hindsight I realise how much of a mammoth task this really is, I guess you have to do it to learn though and learn I would. I read as much as I could about motor bike touring and the roads I wanted to travel on. Meanwhile Jackie set about buying some lightweight and compact camping gear and tickets to the Byron Bay Blues and Roots Festival that we'd see on route.

I was a student at Uni at the time and didn't have a hell of a lot of money. Still, I thought it better to buy a simple Japanese bike anyway, then at least I'd have a chance of fixing it if it broke. Break a BM on the Birdsville track and you'll be waiting for the next empty ute heading to Adelaide. Anyway, I got a Honda NX650 for $4,500 in the trading post (he wanted $5000 but I told him he was dreamin'). It was in pretty good condition but unregistered so I had to get that sorted first. Then I dropped the oil, changed the filters, cleaned the strainers, fitted new sprockets and chain (fiddled with the ratios a bit) did some repairs and small mods and she was a goer. For the trip I packed all my tools in the tank bag to try to keep a bit of weight forward. This worked pretty well. Amongst the tools I had spare tubes (more on that later) patches, pump, CO2 canisters, valve tool, pressure gauge spare chain links, chain breaker, sockets (8-14mm), spanners (8-14mm), long nose pliers, some epoxy, some araldite, electrical and duct tape, WD40, tyre levers, spare globe for head light and tail light, and I think that was about it. The OEM tool kit was also complete in its little case. Also in the tank bag I kept some of the heavier camping gear like the stove and frypan. On the back we had a tent, two sleeping mats, one stuff bag with our sleeping bags in it, one stuff bag with a change of clothes and a small backpack with a camera, some CDs and soap and stuff. Oh yeah, and, in saddlebags I had 10L of Fuel and 10L of water.

And we were off! We left Sydney on our planned departure morning after I finished putting the bike back together the night before. We had two days to get to Byron. We rode up the freeway that morning and went the back way to Armidale through the Barrington Tops, which was an awesome ride. I can't tell you how elated I was to be on a motorbike on my way to Uluru, I had to keep reminding myself that it was real. We stayed in a hotel in Armidale that night (my experience of Armidale puts it amongst the coldest places on earth and we'd packed for the outback so I wasn't keen to camp). The next day we arrived in Byron in the afternoon and secured our camp. The Festival was fantastic. Saw Ben Harper, Midnight Oil, Taj Mahal, an Up and Coming John Butler Trio and tonnes of other great musicians. Too bad the town was so packed.

When we packed up and left Byron the real adventure started. We bypassed any further civilisation and headed north, skirted Brisbane then straight out past Tawoomba to Roma where we camped on a stock route that night. It was great to be in the middle of nowhere, I felt a bit like I was reliving some Australian history, travelling the country with the barest of minimums.

Lesson 1: In the morning we couldn't find the key. 40 minutes of searching failed to up root it. I think it must have fallen out of my pocket, got kicked into the fire and been melted and blackened because we searched the place so scrupulously, that's the only explanation I can come up with. To this day I still half expect it to turn up in the lining of my jacket or something. Not to worry, I thought, I had it hot-wired in two minutes with the billy handle and we were on our way again. And then we stopped for fuel. Then I remembered the importance of a key - had to get the bloody fuel cap off. Four hours later we were on the road again with a butchered fuel cap key barrel but a tank full of fuel. The lesson? Well, firstly Dommi's are bloody easy to hotwire so always lock it up if youšre in the city, and if a thief does ride away with it, hešs only going to get to the bottom of the tank before some major surgery to get that cap off. But, the main lesson is ALWAYS carry a spare key with you on long trip and have one on a hook safe at home. I had neither and it cost me $300 to replace fuel cap, ignition barrel and helmet lock.

Our next camp was outside of Quilpie. We'd well and truly hit the flat country now and the soil was getting really red. I was like a pig in mud, I just loved every minute of it.

The next leg was from Windorah to Birdsville. There was a funny experience in Windorah though first. I pulled up at the pump to fill up and the storekeeper was standing behind and open counter. "What's that you've got there mate? A motorbike?" "Yeah" I replied, a bit confused. Surely he's seen a motorbike before. Anyway, I filled up, had a bit of yarn to him about the heat and what not then went over to pay. He asked how much fuel I got. I told him the amount, $17 odd dollars. Then I handed him a $20 note and he feels it then asks, "What's that, a fifty mate?" And it suddenly dawned on me, he was blind! I told him it was a twenty and was on my way amazed. I hope he got a bit of help running the place because he sure was blind.

Windorah to Birdsville is 388km without a fuel stop. Time to test the range a bit. Most of the way is dirt too, along the developmental road, which turned out to be one of the roughest public roads I've ever ridden on. The gravel was thick and the wheel ruts up to a foot deep. There were dunes as well. I had a close call over the crest of one dune. Came over the top at about 80 clicks and three steers made a dash for the other side of the road. I had to make a split second decision, try to gun it around in front of them, or go into damage control and just slow down as much as possible before hitting one (stopping was never going to happen on that gravel). I gunned it and very thankfully I made it around them. It was a very close shave though. Too close.

When we arrived at the Birdsville Hotel with five litres in the tank, setting sun and our bums so sore we were dreading the next 1000 odd kms of dirt over the Birdsville and Oodnadatta tracks. A few beers in the bar, a shower and an excellent meal from the Bistro put our minds at rest though. The Birdsville Hotel is great pub.

The next day we hit the Birdsville Track and it was a piece of cake. Just like the barman said it'd be. I think I hardly slowed below 110km/h the whole way except for the roadhouse half way and a few good photos. We made it to Marree in such good time we tried to push on to William Creek, 200 odd kms up the Oodnadatta Track. The Oodnadatta was a little rougher than the Birdsville and about 50kms down the road I hit a wind blown cattle grid a little too hard and destroyed my first tube.

Lesson 2. I pulled the wheel off the bike after propping it on a big rock. Then got out one of my spare tubes, laid it on the tire and couldn't believe what I was looking at. Being a trail rider from way back, I had just assumed that just about every trail bike ever made had 18" back wheels, so I just didn't even think about it when I bought my spare tubes, 18". Not the Dommi though apparently, it has a 17" rear wheel. Bugger. Anyway, after pinching the 18" tube about five times trying to get it into the 17" wheel we retreated back to Marree on the back of a ute. We had to deal with the 18" tubes though, the nearest place selling 17" tubes was Alice. I soon go the hang of it though, using levers, and getting an 18" tube in a 17" Tire and on the rim without pinching it. We headed off about midday the next day. We had two flats on the way to William Creek, one where the tube rubbed a hole in itself, and one nail (would you believe?). We crawled into William Creek that night after a testing day. I'm sure that if we had been married the divorce papers would have been signed on that road between Marree and William Creek. At least we could have a good laugh about it at the bar that night. I have to admit though, the hardship was my own fault, and that brings me to the lesson. Always check the diameter and width of your tire before you head out to buy spare tubes.

We made it to Oodnadatta without another flat the next morning. Then lesson 3. As I was filling up, the angle of the cement, combined with the extra loading on the springs as the fuel went into the tank, combined with a slight gust of wind blew the bike over. That would have been OK but my Helmet was hanging on the bars (another trial riding habit). The fuel spilled out of the tank and into the helmet. Petrol and foam don't mix. The petrol started eating the inside of my helmet. I managed to save it from too much damage by quickly applying the hose and some soap. The impact had broken the visor as well. I was gutted at myself. A $400 helmet all but wrecked and again it was my own fault. So I learned that lesson the hard way, never hang your helmet on the bars.

I taped the visor to the helmet and we finally made it to Uluru after another two flats. It was a triumph, and I was high on petrol fumes from my helmet! We treated ourselves to a nice hotel that night. We'd endured some pretty rough campsites up to then. The Rock was good. Kings Canyon was better though, less tourist ridden and just as spectacular. I don't think there's a photo of Uluru you can take that somebody else hasn't already taken!

The next job was getting to Alice for new tubes (and a new tire was on the agenda too). Another couple of flats and I finally destroyed my last tube 166km from Alice. That day I even tried running the spare 21" front tube in the rear, it got us another 30kms! We hid the bike in a bush and hitched into Alice with some nice English ladies, carefully taking note of the odometer reading. I sent Jackie to the Flying Doctor Museum and I went to the bike shop where I got some 17" MX tubes and a new rear tyre. As I was paying I noticed a trucky inspecting a road train over the road. I left the bike store with my new gear and headed over to the trucky.

"G'day mate, don't spose you're headed south are you?"
"Yeah mate, all the way to Adelaide."
"Great, can you give us a lift down towards Erldunda?"
"Yeah, no worries mate, what's your name?"
"Richard, how 'bout you?" I shook hands with him.
"Just call me Chester."
"No worries Chester, you can call me Haynesy."
"Yeah, no worries Haynsey, that's cool mate, I've got a shit real name too!"

And that was Chester. We got a lift down with him, he was bloody amusing all the way. Even Jackie liked him despite the fact he was even more rough around the edges than I was.

That day we got on the road again at about 2pm. We were really keen to get past Erldunda so made a dash to Marla Bore. Shortly after driving past Erldunda we passed Chester having a sleep. Lesson 4. Just because you're in the Simpson Desert, doesn't mean it wont rain, and rain hard. We got absolutely pissed on as soon as we crossed the border into South Australia. And it didn't let up. At one stage I pulled over and thought we'd have to make camp, the rain was just so hard, he sun had gone down and whenever we passed a road train I couldn't see a thing for a good 200m for the spray. Just then, as we were talking about it, Chester drove past and sounded his horn. We just smiled at each other and pulled out behind him. I followed those tail-lights all the way to Marla Bore. Before we relaxed I filled up with fuel. It took 17L, and the bike has a 17L tank, I'm so glad we didn't have to pull up and refill out of the jerry in that weather. It would have been a nightmare.

We allowed ourselves another hotel room that night. The rain didn't let up either. The rest of the trip was pretty non-eventful. We were running a bit behind schedule so we had to do 1400km on our last day which was an effort. Should have done another 200km just to grab that 1000 mile iron bum status, and on a trail bike with a passenger, that would have been pretty epic. Tell you what though, 1400km was enough, that beer at the Molong Pub with Dad and a few mates was sweet. We put the bike on the back of the ute for the 30km trip back to home!

The biggest lesson from it was that the Dommi was the best choice. Išve heard of a lot of other rally type bikes giving people grief in places you donšt want grief. My bike had nearly 60,000kms on the clock when we started and it didnšt miss a beat. The only problems were my own fault, and none of those stopped us. But hey, I would love to try one of those KTM Adventurers.

Oh yeah, and although I thankfully didn't need it I probably should have taken a spare clutch cable as well. They do sometimes break and you'd be pretty hard up if you were out there and one did.