Cape York: Taking on the Challenge of the Last Frontier

When the offer of a six-day trip with Cape York Motorcycle Adventures landed in my inbox, I gave no thought to the fact I had not ridden serious off-road since the Altai Mountains in Kazakhstan way back in 1997. In a nanosecond, I hit reply: “Yes, count me in.” The deal was I would ride with Anita Eley from Brisbane, who had won the trip as an Adventure Rider magazine subscriber prize. I’d report on the experience and hopefully my story would encourage more women to book a six-day bucket-list trip with Cape York Motorcycle Adventures.

I was to learn that only about five percent of their riders are women and very few do the tough tracks: CREB, Coach Road, Starcke, Frenchmen’s and the Old Telegraph. During the ride in late August, when I asked one of our ride leaders, he gave it some thought: “A few months ago. With her husband. She came off about 40 times and was bruised all over.” He added there are always three or four riders, sometimes more, on every trip, who opt out of riding the tough tracks and instead ride the Peninsula Development Road (PDR) with the support truck. “Those tracks are not for everyone. For some riders just getting to the Tip, even on the PDR, is enough of a challenge,” he added.

Those tough tracks, and especially the Old Telegraph Track, are the main drawcards and why Cape York is so popular with dirt-bike riders the world over and plenty of 4WD drivers as well. Testing skills to the limit, riders tackle deep sandy tracks that go on and on for kilometres; ride over hidden ruts covered in bulldust; negotiate, for some at speed, washouts, sharp rocks and tree roots that puncture tubes with frequent regularity, plus numerous creek crossings, some with crocs, and where many a bike has been drowned… and then de-watered to ride another day. For the unprepared, the easy option to these seriously tough tracks is riding the choking red dust and bone-rattling corrugations of the PDR.

There are a few cruisy tracks that wind pleasantly through rainforest on day one and day six, but if you’re relegated to the PDR through lack of skill and/or injury, your Cape York adventure will be a much tamer kind of challenge. You will still be riding through ancient rainforest, woodland, open savannah, and negotiate a few creek crossings in one of the remotest and most scenic places in Australia that really is a last frontier.

The offer from Cape York Motorcycle Adventures came in mid-2023. The ride was booked for late August 2024. Plenty of time to work on my dirt riding skills, I reasoned, and so other priorities like family, my day job in communications and my various side hustles took over. It wasn’t until about three months before the trip, I watched a few YouTube videos and immediately knew I was out of my dirt bike riding depth and “leg length” as I’d be riding the GasGas 350 with a seat height of 960mm (pretty normal for dirt bikes). To get the most out of this six-day bucket-list ride, something had to be done. Otherwise, I would at worst, “crash and burn” or at least, hold up the team as I repeatedly dropped my bike every time the going got tough. I added strength and stretch training to my weekly Pilates workouts and borrowed a mate’s 1991 Suzuki RMX 250 2-stroke.

I had hoped my beloved 1991 Yamaha TT600 would be ready by this time so I could fully embrace the dirt trails near my home in the Yarra Ranges, but sourcing parts for its rebuild continues to prove difficult.

Was I prepared for Cape York? Did I realise how tough it would be? F__k no. Without a high level of dirt bike skills for the kilometres of sand and bulldust, deep ruts and washouts, and creek crossings: disaster was inevitable.

Day 1: Cairns to Lions Den

At Cape York Motorcycle Adventures HQ on the outskirts of Cairns, our group of 15 were allocated bikes. All, except myself, were on the GasGas 350 with two lowered ones offered to Anita and me. As Anita has a KTM 350 and rides the tracks near her home in Brisbane, she chose the lowered GasGas. A much lower Suzuki DR200 was also on offer and after testing both, I opted for the DR200. Even on the lowered GasGas, I was still on tippy toes not having the body weight to push down the suspension. I aptly named her The Little Pig and by the end of that first day and some steep rocky climbs, she was quickly renamed the Gutless Little Pig.

Good thing, most of the 1200 km ride to Cape York is flat other than a few steep climbs out of some gnarly creek crossings. With my feet comfortably on the ground, I figured there would be less chance of dropping her on uneven ground and while underpowered, this ride to the “Tip” was not a race for me. I already knew I would be a back runner. I reasoned I didn’t need the power, superior suspension and clearance of the GasGas as I’d just dawdle along at a nice safe pace, and hopefully avoid a crash. But, there is no dawdling, no time to smell the gum trees, while on an organised tour of Cape York to reach the Tip in six days.

With ride leaders Jordan and Scotty, we headed up the Kuranda Range, turning off at Black Mountain Road, where it soon turned to a narrow track of red dirt that wound pleasantly through thick rainforest and across a few shallow creeks until we popped out at the top of the Mossman Range. Descending on tarmac into Mossman and after burgers at a local cafe, we took the ferry across the Daintree River and rode through the ancient Wet Tropics World Heritage Daintree Rainforest.

It was a nice way to ease into our first day and I looked forward to some slightly harder going when we reached the Bloomfield Track. Having lived in Mossman for a year back in 2000, I knew this track well and was relieved the red clay would be dry on this day. But the Bloomfield has been tamed with concrete on all the narrow hilly sections, which was probably a good thing for me on the Gutless Little Pig. We couldn’t take the CREB track from Daintree Village to Wujul as the Daintree River crossing was still closed. Even though this was late August, the opening of tracks is dependent on rainfall and clearing after the wet season. Given a choice, end September/early October would be the pick of a ride to Cape York. Creek crossings are low, tracks are dry, yes there’s dust (there’s always dust, choking dust), and it can be hot. However, the humidity or build-up to the summer wet season has not really started. But weather can be unpredictable and an unseasonal downpour can soon make creeks impassable.

We took a detour after Wujul Wujul to follow a track to Lions Den Pub and our first night’s camp. After riding some hilly sections we dropped down to a normally easily passable creek crossing, but a recent downpour left it fast-flowing.

Cape York Motorcycle Adventures have been offering guided tours to Cape York since 1991 when founder Roy Kunda, after his first ride to the Tip, wanted to share the adventure with other riders. Over the years, he’s mapped out multitudes of tracks so if one is impassable, there’s always an alternative. Son Jordan Kunda, one of our ride leaders, thankfully, was quick to turn us around although there was a brief discussion about walking the bikes across. I could just see myself slipping on the rocks and being washed downstream to end up as croc bait.

The idea of taking us on these back tracks was to gauge our riding ability, which would determine who would ride the tougher tracks to the Tip or be relegated to ride with the support truck on the PDR. Our 15 riders were made up of four groups of mates and “man could they all ride.” Two groups were from New Zealand including a father and son, who was a former NZ motocross champion. For dad Lance, this was his ninth ride with Cape York Motorcycle Adventures.

“Why do you keep coming back?” I’d asked. “It’s a tough ride and I love the wide open spaces. There’s nothing like this in NZ,” he replied. Another Kiwi, a farmer, told me he’d never ridden a dirt bike. But he’d ridden farm bikes like the DR200 all his life, which explained his pretty high level of skill. Riding Cape York is very popular with the Kiwis and there’s always a group on most rides, I was told.

There was also a group of mates from southern Queensland and another group from Victoria. All were experienced dirt bike riders. As kids, I imagined they were riding motocross before they could walk. It was a similar story for myself, first learning to ride a Honda Z50 when home was an outback sheep station.

After any brief stop during those six days, the boys would take off in a cloud of dust testing their skills against each other as they vied for second place behind the ride leader—and out of the dust. That left three of us to bring up the rear: Anita, myself, and Andrew, also from Victoria. Like me, this Cape York trip was also his first time back on a dirt bike after many years.

All was going well until we turned onto the aptly named Powerline Track, which was a narrow rutted track of steep ascents and descents covered in loose rocks. Anita took a tumble and while she could still ride, the engine burns on one leg and an injured knee on the other ended her dream to ride the tough tracks to the Tip. Anita had also been riding dirt bikes since she was a kid and as well as her KTM350 for the dirt, she also rides a BMW S1000 RR sports bike.

Soon after Anita’s tumble, in a bid to save myself going over a steep edge, I also dropped the DR200 when the front tyre slipped on a rock. “What tyre pressures am I running,” I asked Scotty, who was riding as sweep. “22 psi. Stops getting so many punctures,” he replied. I pushed him to drop the pressure as I wasn’t riding hard like the boys, who had the skill to go with it. We compromised on 18 psi. I suddenly had much more control and less rear tyre spin as the Little Pig did its best to climb the steep hills.

We reached Lions Den pub and campground late afternoon where the support truck with crew Russ and Adam had already set up camp chairs and the bar was open; a huge esky filled with ice and cold beers. For our first night we were glamping it in safari tents and had a pub dinner.

Day 2: Starcke Track (Cooktown, Lake Field National Park, Laura) to Kalpowar Campsite

After a stretch of tarmac and a stop at Cooktown for photos at the lighthouse, we turned off at Battle Camp Road towards Starcke Track, a 124km track of sand, bulldust and washouts. Jordan and Scotty had quickly assessed that myself and Andrew were not up to it. “You’ll wear yourselves out for the rest of the trip,” they advised. Disappointed, I watched longingly as the boys rode off in a cloud of dust like the flag had been dropped to start the Finke. Yes, I was out of my league and would never be able to keep up. Andrew and I rode on with the support truck following for the “boring stretch,” while Anita wisely rested her injuries in the truck with her bike loaded on the trailer.

Our ride was a combination of tarmac and corrugated dirt with a brief stop at the Laura Homestead. It was here we came across two riders on the last leg of their three-week ride to Cape York. They were originally a group of four with two of their mates cutting their trip short to get back for work. These two guys were on their way back to Cairns and I got chatting one rider on a KTM500 with a long-range tank and packed with the bare minimum of gear including a fishing rod—a must for Cape York. These guys knew what they were doing. They’d shipped their bikes and gear from Melbourne to Cairns for $1700 return. Riding as a group they could help each other out when bikes had to be carried across the deeper creek crossings.

We reached Kalpowar Crossing campsite in Lakefield National Park around 4pm and by the time I’d set up my stretcher tent and had a shower, the boys were blasting across the Normanby River causeway scattering the crocs. They’d made good time of the Starcke and even got in a spot of barra fishing (rods supplied), before dinner of campfire-cooked spag bol.

While the boys shared stories of conquering the Starcke, said to be one of the hardest tracks Cape York has to offer—it’s six hours of riding sand—I felt my inadequacies as a dirt bike rider and seriously doubted I would ever regain my skills from the past. That was until a group of four rode into our camp including two girls each on Husaberg FE570s.

I later got chatting. Gemma, at just over five foot, had only been riding a motorcycle for three years. She started on a 125cc, then a 250cc before taking the huge leap to the very high Husaberg. The boys were also in awe saying the girls even passed a few of them on the Starcke. Elsa, not much taller than Gemma, had also only been riding for a few years and it all started when she wanted to join her dad on a ride to Cape York. She bought a KLX 250, rode it around a paddock for a few months and then got her motorcycle licence.

Unbelievably, three months later they left Cairns for a five-week ride to Cape York and back. This was her second trip: a group of family and friends, which included a few 4WDs as support—leaving the girls free of gear to enjoy the tracks.

Day 3: Kalpowar to Archer River

Day three was the “boring” day for all of us with only a few short side tracks to take away the monotony of the PDR, which included a few stretches of tarmac and a lot of dust and corrugations. Today is all about clocking up the kilometres to get to where the fun begins’ we were told. The monotony was broken at lunch when we stopped at a billabong, the landscape reminding me so much of Kakadu where I lived for nine years and often rode the bush tracks to reach the gorge swimming holes back in the 1980s. After refueling from the support truck, it was back on the PDR until Coen and a beer at the Ex “SEX” Change Hotel.

Camp that night was another 65 km of corrugations before heading down a 3 km track to the sandy banks of a spring-fed creek with a secluded swimming hole where we cooled off in crystal clear waters—minus the crocs, we were assured. Russ cooked up another feast: chicken curry.

There was a brief early morning downpour which soaked through the top of most of the stretcher tents. Mine was spared as I’d tied the guy ropes to nearby trees to hang my washing. I’d woken to toss my nearly dry washing underneath the tent. I had two quick-dry sports T-shirts, which I rotated by rinsing at the end of each day. This meant the wicking fabric dried overnight. It also worked with my thin long socks, but with so many creek crossings, socks don’t stay dry for long as motocross boots act as gumboots once filled with water.

Day 4: Frenchmans Track (Archer River to Bramwell Junction Roadhouse)

I’d found my groove on the dirt by Day 4. And with all the steep hills behind us, “The Little Pig” was holding her own with the boys on the GasGas 350s. When we started the 53 km Frenchman’s Track mid-morning, I was even keeping up and felt I was no longer pissing off whoever was the sweep. But both Jordan and Scotty always reassured me there was no rush. However, I was fully aware I was not a paying customer and didn’t want to spoil it for those who were.

Any turn-offs and gnarly washouts were flagged using the rally system with a rider having to wait for me and the sweep.

Frenchman’s Track starts off as a fairly easy-flowing confidence-building track that winds through sparse woodland, but is dangerously deceptive as you’re lulled into a false sense of “I like this, let’s open the throttle!” Then out of the blue, the track dropped into a huge washout which, I was later told, had claimed a few riders in the past.

I was its latest victim, and in a bid to save myself, I tried to power out but this particular manoeuvre was beyond the DR200’s capabilities. I went splat—literally, on my chest. Fortunately, my motocross armour saved me from some serious broken bones. I stood up with a few bruises and a very weak left upper arm, which I later found out had a hairline fracture.

After dusting off the “Little Pig,” it was a much slower ride until we reached the Pascoe River. The boys carried the bikes across and there was no way I could ride up the steep gnarly exit with its bare rocks the size of small boulders. Scotty, swearing and cursing the DR200, got her up. I advised this would be a slow ride for me, slower than before, but it was also a ride of many stops for the boys as amongst 13 riders, there were 12 punctures. The boys had been riding hard over the sharp rocks and exposed tree roots. Scotty and Jordan, having swapped out more tubes on dirt bikes than you and I have had hot dinners, had each one changed and inflated with a battery pack compressor in record time.

After the Pascoe River, the track turned to sand, with a few more creek crossings including the Wenlock River and a swamp. This is where I dropped and drowned the DR when I couldn’t keep it between the deep ruts invisible under the dirty water. Scotty quickly de-watered The Little Pig by standing her on the back wheel, draining the carburettor a few times, and cleaning out the airbox.

Once at the Bramwell Junction Roadhouse and our camp that night, the oil was drained, which fortunately was not milky—so any water had steamed out the exhaust: no damage done. I thanked Scotty for picking up the DR the numerous times I’d dropped her in the sand on that last stretch of Frenchman’s, and I thanked Anita for setting up my stretcher tent, a task I too would have struggled with.

Later, as we enjoyed thick juicy steaks perfectly cooked by Russ, and Jordan’s guitar playing and singing (he’s not only a talented dirt-bike rider but also a talented musician), I was glad I’d packed a good supply of codeine and Panadol.

Day 5: Old Telegraph Track – Bramwell Junction Roadhouse to Fruit Bat Falls and Punsand Bay

It was very obvious the next morning that with my bruised weak left arm and sore ribs I was not capable of riding the two sections of the 105 km Old Telegraph Track—a narrow track of sand, ruts, washouts, rocky sections, a stick bridge, several deep creek crossings and the infamous Gunshot Creek drop.

The guys made good time of the southern section of the Old Tele and arrived at noon for lunch and a refreshing swim at the stunning Fruit Bat Falls in the Jardine National Park. I’d hoped to ride the northern 35 km section of the Old Tele before the 80 km run of dust and deep corrugations on the PDR to the Jardine Ferry.

“It’s mostly sand and there’s a few deep creek crossings,” I was told. With my bruised and weak arm, I knew I was beat and agreed. Besides, the last ferry across the Jardine River to reach Punsand Bay, was 5pm. Missing it would mean spending the night with the mozzies, no camping gear, no food, and no cold beer. I would certainly not be the sweep’s favourite person.

After crossing the Jardine River, it was another 70 km ride on the PDR—mostly corrugations and dust, but some tarmac—to Punsand Bay Resort, where we were booked into beachfront bungalows for the last night of our Cape York adventure. Before dinner of local-caught mackerel, our group enjoyed beers overlooking the palm-fringed beach and blue waters of the Arafura Sea.

We weren’t quite at the Tip (Pajinka) yet. That was a 30 km ride which we would do tomorrow on Day 6 before our afternoon flight from Bamaga to Cairns.

Day 6: Punsand Bay to Pajinka ‘The Tip’ – Bamaga flight to Cairns

After stopping at the Croc Tent to buy “I’ve Reached The Tip” souvenirs, the last 15 km to Pajinka was a narrow one-lane track of red dirt that wound through sub-tropical rainforest. It was the sort of flowing dirt riding I love, but the shadows hid a few potholes and this track to the Tip was also popular with 4WDs.

After a 600-metre scramble over rocks, we’d made it to Australia’s northernmost point. We were at the sign and with the Torres Strait Islands in the background, took our group photos. While the boys relished their achievement—the challenge and testing their next-level dirt-bike riding skills on Cape York’s tough tracks—it was not the same for me. I had not really made it.

That achievement comes from the challenge, the ultimate accomplishment of riding the tracks to reach the Tip. But then, everyone’s idea of a challenge is different.

From Bamaga, it was a short flight back to Cairns where we all said our goodbyes, and a few of the guys told me they would be back. Lance was already planning to book his tenth six-day bucket list ride with Cape York Motorcycle Adventures.

“You’ve got to ride the tracks,” he said.

Would I be back? Yes, because this adventure ride has not quite been ticked off my bucket-list. But would I do another organised tour?