After Port Macquarie we decided to take the smaller coastal roads north rather than just use the main highway. This led to a rather random, but very pleasant overnight stop at Wooli.

The grey clouds disappeared as we neared the coast, leaving us bathed in sunshine so we went for a walk on the beach. Wooli occupies a bay stretching far away to north and south; the waves pound the golden sand and there were few people to be seen. It would be a wonderful spot to spend a few days, especially for people with young families.

The next scheduled stop was to be the famous Byron Bay, but along the way we stopped for lunch at a nice holiday town called Lennox Head. Once again there was a beautiful beach, though this time with surfers doing their thing.

Our chosen route proved to be most fortunate, because Byron Bay has the worst traffic we have yet encountered in Australia - and that includes the main cities such as Sydney and Melbourne. The main route in is from the north and every day we were there, the road was choked solid from about 9am until 6pm. Coming from the south, it was a breeze.

Byron Bay is famous for its beaches and its surfing and over the years has become a near-compulsory stop for young backpackers heading up and down the east coast. Admittedly we were in the peak time of the year, but Byron was full to the brim with the information centre displaying a notice stating "All backpacker accommodation full".

It was also no surprise to find that most of the campsites were filling their boots by hiking prices to well over the $40 mark for two people - a horrendous sum. We found a cheaper option on the edge of town which was decidedly scruffy, but its location at least helped keep us fit with the long walk in and out.

Wandering around Byron - named by Captain Cook not for the then unborn poet, by the way, but for his famous seafaring grandfather - is entertainment in itself. Hundreds, no seemingly thousands, of bright young things clad only in fashionable board shorts or bikinis wander around the town among the many cafes, shops and bars. There also lurks a significant minority of older hippy types, most of whom seem to have arrived in Byron in their youth and decided to stay in a bid not to grow old. As well as their wrinkles, they are distinguished by their dreadlocks and tattoos.

Not being into surfing or nowadays even sunning ourselves on the beach, we decided to enter into the Byron spirit by spending an afternoon in one of the beachside bars doing nothing more than people-watching. We think we proved ourselves Byron-worthy by then moving on to the town's only microbrewery where we had a pleasant dinner and sampled their excellent liquid refreshment. Walking back to the camp seemed a long, long way after all that.

One of the many good things about a trip like ours is the opportunity to do or see new things and so it proved in Byron because the rodeo was in town for a night. Neither of us had been to anything similar, so this was a 'must-do' for us.

The event was staged at the local Aussie rules football ground and there was a bar and food as well as post-rodeo entertainment laid on. The crowd seemed quite healthy with more than 2,000 people there in our estimation. Quite a few were tourists like us but most were locals, who put up good-naturedly with the cheesy announcer and his unfunny 'comedy' sidekick. Everyone, however, was enthused by the prospect of seeing the cowboys ride wildly aboard 'bucking broncos' and massive, mean-spirited bulls. Or try to.

I say that because not many of the cowboys seemed able to sit on their beasts for the required eight seconds. In the first round of the bronco event just a solitary rider managed to record a score, the others being dumped on the ground in more or less unceremonious fashion by their specially-bred mounts. The slightly embarrassed announcer noted that if no-one else managed it, then the lone hero would also take home the prize money allocated for second, third and fourth.

The next event was the first round of the open bull-riding and the cowboys fared even worse with not one of them managing the eight seconds of mayhem. I'm not being critical because to try to sit on a wildly bucking and twisting 1,000kg animal with horns at one end and flailing hooves at the other requires a special kind of skill and courage. Or just simple madness.

After all this uncomfortable failure, it was a relief to watch the cowgirls take the ring. Not for horse or bull riding, but for a horse race around three large yellow barrels. It sounds quite tame, but the girls fairly flung their mounts around the tight turns and across the finishing line at a breakneck gallop. The winner was a 14-year-old still officially competing in the junior section as well as with the adults.

After a break there was a bull-riding event for novices and it was notable that there were more competitors at this level than those solely eligible for the more prestigious open event. The reason was not hard to discern when one of the riders was thrown off and promptly 'stepped' on by the bull. Even with a special protective jacket, the poor guy lay prostrate for some time, being attended to by the first aiders, before being stretchered off for more serious treatment. Through the evening it was apparent that several competitors picked themselves off the sand limping, or clutching a limb or two. It is simply a very dangerous sport with a high casualty rate.

When the bronco riders returned for the second round, the now slightly desperate announcer was trying to whip up some enthusiasm from the crowd. To everyone's relief, two cowboys rode their horses for the minimum time, though neither could match the score - half based on their riding skill, half on the bucking ability of the horse - of the first round leader.

That led to the final event, the second round of the open bull 'riding' (or not) competition. The tension grew as rider after rider was thrown off almost instantaneously by their hugely muscled mounts. With just three men left, the poor announcer was almost hysterical. His mental state cannot have been improved when the third-to-last cowboy suddenly decided after much delay and heaving and kicking from the bull in his pen that he was having none of it. Given that these guys must have cojones the size of the bulls, there must have been something about the way his ride was behaving that the cowboy really, really didn't like.

But with just two riders left and people wondering what would happen to the prize money, one brave man stepped up. Or to be more precise, sat down and hung on for dear life for the required eight seconds. Yee-ha, we had a winner! Ok, there was one last competitor, but his effort was as short-lived as the others so the sole scorer went home with all the dosh.

And good luck to him, we thought. What a lunatic way to make a living.

Richard