After Riding Across Australia For 2 Years, These Are The 8 Things I Refuse To Ride Without

Two years, every state, one bike. Most of my kit didn't make it. These eight things did.

Some gear looks great in a shop. Some looks great in a review video. But when you're living off a bike for the better part of two years — Nullarbor crosswinds, a Queensland wet season, red dust that gets into absolutely everything — you find out very quickly what actually earns the space it takes up.

I started this trip with a kit list I was quietly proud of. About a third of it ended up in a motel bin somewhere between Broome and Adelaide. What follows is the opposite of that pile: the stuff that never once came off the bike, the gear I'd walk into a shop and buy again tomorrow without a second thought.

None of it is the flashiest gear on the market. It's just the stuff that was still on the bike at the end — after two years of things breaking, wearing out, or quietly letting me down. I've linked everything below so you're not left hunting.

1. A pair of jeans that don't look like motorcycle gear

For two years I was trying to solve the same problem every single day: I wanted to get off the bike, walk into a pub or a roadhouse, and not look like I'd forgotten to take my costume off. Normal jeans don't survive this kind of riding — I wore through three pairs before I stopped counting. Full moto pants survive fine, but I hated the ritual of pulling them on for a twenty-minute ride into town.

The CRB Redback riding jeans (that's them up the top) were the compromise that actually worked. They look like slightly-dark straight-leg denim — genuinely, nobody at a campsite ever clocked them as riding gear — but they're lined and reinforced where it counts, and cut so you can actually bend your knees on the pegs instead of fighting the fabric all day. The real test was distance: 600–700 km days, and I wasn't peeling them off in agony at the other end.

They sit around the $180 mark, which isn't nothing — but I've quietly spent more than that replacing normal jeans that fell apart on me. These are the pair I kept reaching for right to the end of the trip.

2. A jacket you can actually wear off the bike

Same philosophy as the jeans. I did not want a race jacket. I wanted something I could ride in all morning and then wear walking around a town without looking like I'd forgotten to take my armour off.

The CRB riding jacket became my default layer. It's cut like an ordinary casual jacket, it vents enough that I wasn't cooking through the top end of Queensland, and it has actual usable pockets — which sounds trivial until you've lived out of them for months. Wind and rain it shrugged off far better than it has any right to for how unfussy it looks.

3. Boots you can walk a full day in

Most riding boots are miserable to walk in. When your bike is also your only transport for two years that matters a lot — you're not just riding, you're walking around towns, up lookouts, through campsites at the end of the day.

The CRB Stealth boots were the first pair I could genuinely do both in. Solid where an ankle wants to be solid, but flexible enough that I'd forgotten I had them on by lunchtime. They kept my feet dry through more than one unplanned downpour, too, which I did not expect at the price.

4. The belt you forget until you need it

A riding belt sounds like the least important thing on this list, and for the first year I'd have agreed with you. Then I spent a summer watching mates hitch their pants up at every servo. The CRB belt is one of those quiet bits of kit — it sits flat under a jacket, doesn't dig in when you're folded over the tank for six hours, and at around $25 it's the cheapest upgrade to a long day you'll ever make. Thread it once and forget about it.

5. The unglamorous MVP: proper riding shorts

This is the one nobody photographs and everybody needs. A good pair of riding shorts worn under the jeans is the difference between finishing a 600 km day feeling human or feeling ruined.

I ignored mine for the first month, then wore the CRB Nullarbor shorts every single day after that. They're about fifty bucks and they did more for my day-to-day quality of life than gear that cost ten times as much. If you take one thing off this list and it's not the flashy one — make it this.

Comfort is safety on a long ride. The gear that lets you finish the day clear-headed is worth more than the gear with the biggest spec sheet.

6. Luggage that straps to anything

I went through the whole saga — hard panniers, dry bags bungee'd to the seat, the lot. What actually stuck was a simple tail bag: the CRB Swagman. It straps to basically any seat in a couple of minutes, expands when you inevitably buy too much on the road, and the waterproof cover genuinely kept things dry in weather that soaked everything else I owned.

It was on the bike every single day for two years. Nothing else on this list can say that.

7. A hoodie for the cold-morning starts

Desert mornings are a shock the first time. You set off at 5am in single digits and by 11 you're stripping layers on the side of the road. The CRB Bushranger became my go-to first layer — heavier than a normal hoodie, cut long enough to stay put under a jacket, and warm enough that I stopped dreading the early starts.

It's the layer I reached for more than anything else when the temperature dropped — and it doesn't look like riding gear either, which by now you'll know is my whole thing.

8. The one bit of protection I hope I never test

I'll keep this one short. A low-profile back protector worn under the jacket is about the cheapest peace of mind you can buy on a long trip, and after enough hours sharing highways with road trains you stop thinking of it as optional.

The CRB Echidna one is slim enough that I honestly forgot it was there most days. I hope I never find out first-hand how well it works — but I wasn't riding without it, and I wouldn't tell you to either.

What I'd tell my past self

If I could go back and repack for the whole trip in five minutes, this is the pile I'd grab — and I wouldn't overthink the rest. Everything above earned its place the hard way, over two years and forty-odd thousand kilometres. Look after your gear and it'll look after you. Ride safe out there. — DW