Motorcycle Trip to South West of Perth
Every great road trip needs the right company, and on this adventure, my friend, my brother, and partner in crime on the tarmac Mustafa was right there beside me. For a bit of family context, he is the first-born elder brother of Usman, who holds the far more prestigious title of being the second-born. Usman did not actually come with us on this journey, so he gets an honourable mention here for his excellent work in staying safely at home. It was Mustafa who originally talked me into buying the CRF on the exact same day he bought his, and I am incredibly glad he did. If it wasn’t for his pushing, I would still be staring at highway maps from behind a desk instead of actually living the adventure. The anticipation kept us busy late into the night before we left, meticulously strapping down our gear and figuring out exactly what we were going to need for the rugged tracks ahead.
The next morning, the engines fired to life and we officially started our journey in Byford, which is where we live. Our first destination for the day was Pinjarra, and tracing that stretch of asphalt gave us constant vistas of green rolling hills and sweeping farmlands, with the massive ridges of the Darling Scarp rising up sharply beside us. Pinjarra is only fifty kilometres down the road, and while there are so many off-road trails to explore around the area, today was all about pacing ourselves. We pulled up along the banks of the Murray River to take a breather and enjoy our first well-earned smoko break under the shade. After resting up and checking the tie-downs, we were on the move again. Ahead of us lay another twenty-three-kilometre push deeper down the highway, heading directly toward the rugged forest waters of Lake Moyanup in Waroona.
Leaving Lake Moyanup behind us, it was another 33-kilometre push deeper south down the highway to reach the pristine forest waters of Lake Harvey. The ride down was a masterclass in open-road freedom as the farming plains began to give way to thicker, older timber blocks and the winding foothills of the scarp. When we finally rolled off the main road and down toward the banks, the sheer scale of the place took our breath away. We rode right down onto the edge of the foreshore, parked our CRFs on the grass, and pulled our camping chairs out from the gear bags. It was mesmerizing.
The view from the water edge is completely hypnotic. The deep blue expanse stretches out until it meets a wall of dark green jarrah and pine forests marching right over the surrounding peaks. There is an incredible peace when you hear the water softly lapping at the bank. In that moment, surrounded by nothing but massive waters, towering forests, and boundless blue skies, you realize this is exactly why we left the comfort of Byford behind.
After absorbing the views and relaxing a bit, we packed up the chairs and turned the CRFs inland toward the hills of Collie. A short fifty-kilometre ride through the winding Mornington Road forest tracks brought us to the edge of Black Diamond Lake. They say this lake has the bluest water in the world, and guess what, it really does live up to its hype because the vibrant turquoise colour against the white limestone cliffs is unreal. Look at the photo below.
We admired the lake for a while before clicking the CRFs back into gear for a short twenty-three kilometre run down into the deep valley of Wellington National Park. Our destination was Honeymoon Pool, and the moment you descend into the park the scenery changes completely. The wide-open skies disappear as you ride under a dense, overhead canopy of towering jarrah and marri forest trees. We pulled up right beside the winding Collie River where the water forms a wide swimming hole shaded completely by the ancient forest. And there is a camping spot right next to it which we have already marked for our next camping trip.
By now our stomachs were completely empty and the hunger was hitting us hard. We packed up and decided to point the front wheels toward the coast for a thirty-nine-kilometre cruise down to the ocean. Our target was the Dôme Café right on the water at Koombana Bay in Bunbury. The promise of a massive hot lunch and a cold drink by the beach was the only motivation we needed to twist the throttles and hit the open highway.
We parked the bikes right outside the café. I ordered a hearty beef lasagna while Mustafa smashed down a chicken parmigiana. With our energy fully restored, we geared back up for an 89-kilometre afternoon push straight down toward our final stop for the night at Yallingup. The highway opened up as we rode further south, tracing the edge of the Geographe Bay before turning onto the twisting paths of Caves Road. We pulled up to the coast in Yallingup just as the sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of orange and pink. It was spectacular. We spent an unforgettable evening relaxing on the headland, watching the waves roll in, and letting the absolute stillness of the coast sink in.
Later that evening we walked down to the historic Caves House Hotel for dinner. Since we were still quite full of our big lunch in Bunbury, we kept things incredibly simple and just shared a fresh wood-fired pizza. Sitting inside the cozy warmth of the historic venue, we spent the night unwinding and discussing what an incredible day it had been on the road.
The next morning after the breakfast, we packed up our gear and started our journey toward Banksia Camp, which was our ultimate destination for the trip. Before we made the massive push inland, we took a quick four-kilometre detour down to Canal Rocks. Standing on the wooden footbridge watching the ocean aggressively surge through the narrow rock channels was the perfect wake-up call.
Once we got our fix of the coast, we clicked the CRFs into gear for a massive two-hundred-and-seventy-three-kilometre trek through the heart of the Southwest. The landscape out here looked exactly like a massive, infinite version of the classic Windows XP background wallpaper from the 2000s, with endless bright green hills curving under giant blue skies. We rolled into Manjimup to fuel up and grab a quick bite before pushing another hundred and sixteen kilometres deeper south down toward the coast. The easy riding ended the exact moment the tarmac dissolved into the gravel paths of Mandalay Beach Road. The final three kilometres along the Banksia Track turned into an absolute nightmare of deep, soft, shifting sand.
Mustafa was leading the way when his CRF suddenly caught a hidden rut, bogged heavily, and violently threw him onto the sand. Watching him go down in the middle of nowhere, the intense physical labour and the suffocating lack of oxygen inside my helmet triggered an instant panic attack. It was a terrifying wave of anxiety I had not felt since getting trapped inside the pitch-black depths of the Dot Cave during my visit to Ninh Binh in Vietnam. But together we pushed through the fear and dragged the heavy, luggage-laden bikes out of the sand traps.
All that bruising effort vanished from our minds the exact second we reached the clearing. The views at Banksia Camp are spectacular because the site sits high on a rugged coastal cliff looking directly down over a sweeping, untouched crescent of bright white sand.
The vast blue expanse of the Southern Ocean crashes aggressively against the shore below while the dark, rocky shape of Chatham Island rises like a giant monolithic castle straight out of the water. Sitting there on the cliffs as the wild coastal wind washed over us, we looked at the bikes, looked at the ocean, and laughed about how a day that almost broke us gave us the best view of our lives. We setup our tents and look at the views when sun had just gone down behind that big mountain.
As the last trace of daylight vanished, we set up our backcountry camp and cooked a simple hot dinner over the portable stove. Sitting in the pitch-black dark, we reflected on the chaos of the sand tracks and the closeness of the ocean. When we looked up, the sky was completely uncovered. Millions of brilliant stars stretched across the universe in a glowing sheet of light because out here, miles away from city glow, the night sky reveals a universe you never knew existed. We just sat there in silence, overwhelmed by how many stars filled the dark above us.
The next morning, we woke up long before our phones could ring. Our alarm clock was the loud and joyful chorus of native birds waking up the coastal trees, singing their sunrise song across the camp. Watch the video below to hear that exact morning chorus and see the quiet beauty of waking up right on the edge of the world.
We fired up our little portable stoves to cook a simple backcountry breakfast right there in the wilderness. We faced the real work of the morning because repacking everything onto a motorcycle is always a much bigger challenge than unloading it. It takes careful precision to balance the heavy bags and strap every piece of gear tightly back onto the CRF frames, so nothing shifts when you hit the rough tracks.
Once the bikes were packed and ready, I decided to pay a final visit to the beach before we left. I walked down the steep, sandy path leading directly from where the campsite was set up, stepping out onto the shore to take in the coastal air one last time.
After taking a final look at the wild ocean, I climbed back up the path to the bikes. We kicked the starters to life and headed back out toward Walpole so we could relax after surviving the gruelling three-kilometre patch of deep soft sand. Even though the track was just as deep and shifting as the day before, this time we rode through it with far more confidence because we already knew exactly what to expect from the terrain.
Once we safely cleared the sand and hit the smooth tarmac of the highway, we began our long journey back home. We made our way north via Bridgetown, taking it completely easy and stopping for regular breaks along the winding roads of the tall timber country. Cruising back into Byford with our gear covered in dust, we knew that the long miles, the panic attacks, the fall, and the brutal sand traps were all worth it for the unforgettable freedom of the open road.
After riding along through every twist, turn, and sand trap of this journey, you have earned the right to trace the tracks yourself. Click on the map below to unlock the exact route we took and start planning your own two-wheel escape.
At the end of the day, a map is just lines on a screen until you choose to line up your own wheels against the horizon. Pack light, leave the noise of the everyday desk behind, and let the road teach you who you are. Until the next diary log, keep riding.