David Whitley tackles New South Wales’ equivalent of the Sahara atop his not-so-trusty quad bike.

Oh dear. The smooth, sweeping dunes appear to have turned into little bumpy ridges, and the bike clatters over the top like a drunk walking a tightrope. I’m unquestionably going a bit too fast and as one ridge turns into a vegetation-covered mound, the inevitable occurs. The trusty steed careers away from beneath me, still going at full pelt towards the horizon as I tumble away at 45 degrees. P-tooh… there’s nothing like a mouthful of sand to curb the more hoonish instincts.

Leaping up, meerkat-like, it quickly becomes apparent that major embarrassment has been avoided. Those in front aren’t looking behind, and the stragglers at the tail have their view obscured by the sandy peak in front of them. It’s all OK. No-one saw, and thus it didn’t happen. The narrow escape acts as a little reminder that quad bikes are not quite the failsafe fairground ride that it’s forgivable to imagine them to be. In truth, the little chuggers that we’re taken out on haven’t got all that much grunt, but still enough to bring on a nasty injury if they’re totally misused.

Far more humiliating than falling off, however, is not being able to make it up the hills. Stockton Bight is a large step above the usual beach. Stretched out for 32km between Stockton and Anna Bay,  a couple of hours north of Sydney, it is the largest moving sand mass in the Southern Hemisphere. Because the sands are moving small amounts inland every year, some seriously steep dunes have been created and the effect is an almost-Saharan landscape. Albeit one traversed by four-wheel drive vehicles and quad bikes rather than stoic adventurers on camel-back.

Big dune and little bike is an occasionally dicey combination. To get up the steeper inclines, a bit of a run-up and substantial momentum from having whizzed down the previous one are required. But, despite having gone at full pelt over the last stretch, my bike simply won’t go those extra yards over the crest at one point. That extra pie for lunch was probably a bad idea. Glenn, the guide, displays masterly diplomacy when explaining the problem. “Ah yes. This is a brand new bike, mate. The tyre pressure’s probably a bit too high.”

The tour, which weaves through extraordinary desert valleys as well as over windblown peaks, starts off on a different vehicle altogether. A big, bouncy 4WD safari truck is used to give a taster and take the willing victims to their mounts for the afternoon. After a bobbing, bumping ride along the beach, a coned-off practice area emerges. This is the initial playground in which utter novices can get to grips with the bikes. It’s astonishingly simple, really. One button turns them on, the accelerator induces RSI in the right thumb due to it needing constant compression and the steering and brakes are similar to those on a pushbike. Then just lean into the corners, and off you go.
It’s not long before the initially timid are haring down the steepest part of the practice run, doing doughnuts and taking on tight corners with that thumb jammed down as hard as possible.

It’s a tour in a very loose sense of the word. There’s no requisite to follow in the lead bike’s tyre tracks, just in vaguely the same direction. Glenn takes a suggested route, but the more confident riders happily veer way off the racing line to take on virgin territory and mix things up a bit. At the occasional stops for the pack to catch up, there are brief lessons on history and culture. The area was given back to its Aboriginal owners in 2007, then leased back, but there are still many significant sites (or middens) within the dunes. There’s also a large military history, which is unsurprising given the nearby Williamstown air base. During the Second World War, the beach was thought to be the most likely Japanese landing spot for a planned assault on Sydney.

It was heavily fortified, and had such a staggering troop deployment along its length that the Japanese thought better of it. A couple of submarines managed to make a reconnaissance mission, and quickly scurried away again afterwards, firing on Newcastle’s Fort Scratchley as a diversion. Eventually, we come across a rather surprising settlement. Amongst the dunes are a few scruffy-looking, corrugated iron shacks (albeit ones with satellite dishes adorning the sides). It comes as no surprise to learn that the ramshackle town was used as a key location in Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome.

The story of Tin City’s four remaining residents is a hilarious tale of stubborn resistance. On numerous occasions, the council has tried to get rid of the ‘eyesore’ and created a series of rules to make life as difficult as possible. Each time, the remaining shack-dwellers have managed to circumvent, using all manner of ingenuity to make running repairs. And long may they continue to be a pain in the backside. The return journey is less convoluted, but no less fun. It’s time to go along the packed sands of the beach, following in 4WD tracks as fast as possible. And without taking out the innocent fishermen who look a little unnerved as we pass. They wouldn’t be so jittery if they’d seen their tormentors face down in the sand about half-an-hour previously…

More photos here