14/09/2026
2 mates, spreading the word of the Infamous Black Dog
Give them a like and follow
Open conversations without judgement
Irlvnt Industries was built on this idea
Safe travels lads 🍻
⚔️ THE SAGA OF CAIRNS — THE GODS THREW EVERYTHING AT US 🍺
And so the saga continued…
We battled the heat of the tropics, dodged potholes deep enough to swallow a horse, and took on mammoth road trains that clearly believed the blacktop belonged exclusively to them.
Apparently, nobody had told them that a pack of Black Dogs was coming through.
The gods were testing us.
First, they sent bugs. Not a few bugs. Not your friendly little “oops, there’s one on my visor” bugs. Millions of the bastards. Enough to turn a perfectly good helmet visor into pumpkin soup and provide us with several days’ worth of unexpected protein.
Then came the dust.
Then the heat.
Then potholes that appeared to have their own postcodes.
And finally, when the gods realised none of that had stopped us, they looked down from Valhalla and said:
“RIGHTO, BOYS… RELEASE THE BLOODY OCEAN.”
And down it came.
Rain.
Not normal rain. Tropical, biblical, end-of-days rain.
There was more water coming out of the sky than Moses ever thought possible. At one point we were fairly certain Noah went past us in the opposite direction towing a caravan.
But onward we rode.
A pack of Black Dogs in full flight.
We took on road trains that considered the highway their personal kingdom. Great steel beasts thundered past us throwing walls of water high enough to wash the bugs off the bikes, our helmets and possibly several sins from our past.
Actually, there was one positive…
AT LEAST THERE WERE NO MORE BUGS.
And for the first time in thousands of kilometres, the bloody bikes were clean.
We were wet.
We were hot.
Then wet and cold.
Then somehow hot and wet again.
Nobody knows how that works.
But we kept riding.
A band of brothers with one glorious objective burning brightly in our minds.
CAIRNS.
And more importantly…
A COLD ###X BITTER. 🍺
Through rain, road trains and tropical chaos we finally rolled triumphantly into Cairns like two slightly damp Vikings returning from battle.
There would be no sightseeing.
No unpacking.
No shower.
STRAIGHT TO THE BAR.
We marched proudly to the counter, victorious warriors ready to claim the golden nectar we'd ridden halfway across Australia to find.
“Two ###X Bitters, thanks.”
The response came back:
“Sorry mate, we don't sell ###X here.”
…………
Silence.
After everything we'd endured, THIS was how the gods chose to break us.
Bugs hadn't done it.
Road trains hadn't done it.
Heat hadn't done it.
Monsoonal rain hadn't done it.
But a pub in Cairns without ###X Bitter?
ODIN, YOU CRUEL BASTARD.
So we did what any hardened Australian motorcycle adventurer would do.
We ordered the local brew.
We sat there pulling the remaining bugs from between our teeth and washing them down with cold amber fluid.
No cocktails. No little umbrellas. No fruit floating in the glass.
We still had standards.
Our Cairns adventure then led us to Amy and the A-Team at AMX Cairns, where we spent up big, wandered the aisles like children who'd been given somebody else's credit card, and generally made ourselves difficult to remove.
Then Amy delivered news worthy of the ancient Viking sagas.
She leaned in and revealed that a pub just down the road had ###X Bitter.
The Holy Grail existed.
THE RED BERET.
We mounted our steeds.
Well… motorcycles. But after everything we'd been through, they were now officially Viking steeds.
We cruised into the Red Beret, strode towards the bar and there, shining magnificently from amongst the b**r taps, was the prize.
###X BITTER.
Angels sang.
Valkyries descended.
Odin smiled.
Possibly.
Two glasses were poured.
We raised them high.
TO THE BLACK DOGS.
TO GOOD MATES.
TO THE ROAD.
TO CAIRNS.
AND TO ODIN!
And we drank.
At almost exactly that moment, something miraculous happened.
The rain stopped.
Clearly the gods had finally accepted defeat.
We had endured their bugs, survived their heat, negotiated their horse-swallowing potholes, stared down their road trains and ridden through enough water to qualify the BMW as a small marine vessel.
They had thrown everything at us.
And we were still bloody standing.
So we struck a deal with the gods.
From this day forward, they would keep their spirits high, Odin would keep the taps flowing, and whenever A Long Way To Go took to the road, there would be NO MORE MONSOONS.
Is that completely true?
Absolutely not.
But after a couple of ###X Bitters, they sounded very sincere about it.
And so ended another chapter of A Long Way To Go.
Two riders.
A pack of Black Dogs.
Thousands of kilometres.
Millions of dead bugs.
Several terrifying road trains.
One biblical tropical downpour.
And finally…
TWO VERY COLD ###X BITTERS. 🍺🍺
⚔️ SKÅL!
From Tropical Seas to the Southern Ocean.
The saga continues…
