Highway 1, the Princes Highway, is the scenic way to travel between Sydney and Melbourne, as it follows the coast of South-East Australia, writes Sean Doyle.

Almost as bad as having a party where no one shows up is going bushwalking in a group. Call it a personality disorder on my part - though it's probably just the kind of friends I've got - but the idea of getting away from it all and taking a crowd with you seems about as brainless as heading off across this beautiful, empty country and sticking to the busiest route. The polite response to this is, "Get a life, sad sack!"

Why do new highways intentionally bypass local towns? To save time.  Right, and it saves experience too, because you don't get any. You see nothing along the way, which is great if you're the sort of person who requests an aisle seat on a plane. Ask the locals which they'd prefer - the extra business (the former business) or the bypass.

They have a saying in Rajasthan: "The way to the destination is found from where the camel loses its way." So, Highway One it would be for me, and while I wasn't astride a dromedary, I was still taking bets with all and sundry that I'd definitely get lost. Self-knowledge is a beautiful thing.

Detours beckoned almost immediately. The Phillip Island penguin parade, Venus Bay, and Wilsons Prom - down there I'd get lost for sure, win all my bets, and probably die without collecting. I soldiered on, ever eastward into the sun, past towns whose names dripped romance - Drouin, Moe (nice drop indeed), Sale (founded by dyslectic yachties?).

After an hour or two, road songs started speeding through my brain - songs about finding yourself somewhere out there, about being all gassed up with nowhere to go, about giving your girl the toss in favour of a new car. But I wasn't planning on dumping my girlfriend. She's very discreet - she'd simply said, "There's no need to hurry back, dear." I was also very impressed with the helpful signs Vic Roads have erected along the highway: "Don't Sleep and Drive". OK.

I made for Ninety Mile Beach, a favourite destination for Japanese, who gladly accept that size isn't everything but still love a big fella. It's a truly awesome stretch of sand, sporadically dotted with agoraphobics in therapy, and definitely not the place to jog to the end of the beach and back.

Bairnsdale is a pretty town with a golden history, a gum tree shaped like a canoe, and, to the north, the "Den of Nargun" Aboriginal site. It also heralds the lakes country, where I was headed. Just out of Bruthen is Mt Little Dick. My girlfriend, in her infinite kindness, agrees with the Japanese. (And up the Snowy River valley is Mt Seldom Seen. Really? Must have missed it.)

Lakes Entrance is Victoria's main seaside holiday town east of Melbourne, and gateway to the largest system of waterways in Australia. It used to be a major port for lake and ocean fishing, but that star is waning - there were 450 fishing boats here a few years back, now there are 50. Tourism remains the town's lifeblood, and they aim to please. A mellow feeling, picturesque waterscapes, stately black swans, good restaurants - can't go wrong, really. Still, if having fun in the presence of strangers bothers you try Lake Tyers just up the road.

Mallacoota coastline

The country gets increasingly rugged from here, with national parks on both sides of the highway, accessed from Cann River. South, the Croajingolong Park is about as long as its name, and contains the lovely Point Hicks. Stretch those legs on the Drummer Rainforest Walk (45 minutes return), abutting the spectacular Alfred National Park. Genoa – a fly-speck town - is the jumping-off spot for Mallacoota, one of Victoria's real highlights.

Across the border we march, with more forest than you can poke a walking stick at. The bush and the sea - logging and fishing - opened up the NSW South Coast to white settlement, and they remain the dominant motifs; some of these towns feel a lot like Tasmania. This area has the biggest wombats I've ever seen - shame they were all road kill. Before you reach Eden, veer into Ben Boyd National Park, down to Green Cape and its shimmering lighthouse - truly remote, end-of-the-earth stuff. South of here is Disaster Bay, where many colonial voyagers found a watery grave. Ben Boyd, who settled the area in the 1840s, was a whaler extraordinaire, though he lived by the sword and ended up drowning. See his shot tower, whence whaling signals were blasted, the ruins of Davidson Whaling Station, and Eden's superb Killer Whale Museum. The town still conjures the aroma of whale oil, salt-crusted boots and old sea-dog pipes, and now that the whales are safe, they cavort in Twofold Bay each spring. 

Merimbula is another holiday town with less history but a great surf beach and panoramic headlands. Candelo and Kameruka are lovely little towns, the former hosting a funky monthly market. If you detour east to Tathra, do a spot of fishing from the wharf - but not for sharks - then take the scenic coast road up through Mimosa Rocks National Park to Bermagui, fishing mecca. US western novelist Zane Grey visited in the 1930s and basically invented the game fishing industry in Australia. This is a great town with one of the best pubs on the whole coast - admire the view from its terrace, and check out the old snaps of Zane and friends in the pub restaurant.

Inland and back on the highway is Cobargo, with an alternative scene and justly famous pies. Up the road is Central Tilba, a delightful National Trust-listed historic town and home to the celebrated ABC ("Australia's Best Cheese") factory - sample their blends of cheese, wine and honey, and it's paradise found. Ringed by imposing rocky outcrops and generating a friendly New Age vibe - yoga, meditation, acupuncture, get the picture - Central Tilba is reminiscent of Nimbin (minus the drugs). "Tilba" means "wind" in the local Aboriginal language, and to really feel it in your hair, walk the nearby scenic trail up Mt Dromedary - an easy five hours return.

Near Narooma, NSW

Next stop is Narooma, where you're really thankful that the highway still runs through the coast's towns. The surf beach here is a prodigy – it has surf, multi-coloured rocks, and little pirate nooks at the north end. The jagged Glasshouse Rocks rise from the sea to the south, Montague Island (with its seals and penguins) offshore, a lagoon behind it, and Australia's most spectacular golf course above it. What a one-stop shop!

It's another case of "Hello cow" in Bodalla and Moruya, site of The Air Raid Tavern - as in "Don't worry, love, we're just going for an air raid drill". Potato Point and Tuross Head are gorgeous, and fairly popular beach towns; though if you fancy a beach where the only footsteps are yours and Man Friday's, detour to Congo. The old gold town of Mogo has a recreation of itself as it was last century, an excellent zoo of rare and exotic beasts like red pandas, and some good arts and crafts shops. Then it's just a short hop to Batemans Bay, a holiday town frequently stalked by Canberrians in search of sanity.

Just north of here is Murramarang National Park, with great bush, good hiking, and the top-notch Durras, Pebbly and Depot beaches, where the roos are so friendly, you're right to suspect they might make off with your children. Bawley Point is a surfing legend, Milton is surprisingly interesting, and Jervis Bay is everything - and more - that it's cracked up to be. Watch sea eagles soar past the Ruined Lighthouse.

Kangaroos, Pebbly Beach

Zooming into the home straight, we find gentrified Berry (another classic pub), the eminently drivable Kangaroo Valley, Seven Mile Beach (who's counting?), Kiama and its temperamental Blowhole, the mighty 'Gong, the Royal National Park (the world's oldest) and Sydney, sweet Sydney. Weirdest thing is, the only time I got lost was inside the Killer Whale Museum - what I saw there, turned my brain to custard. So from here on in, all bets are off.