Melbourne to Adelaide – 16/4/08 to 1/5/08 – 1,200km

Wednesday 16th April, 2008 – Melbourne to Aireys Inlet – 133km

After a 6-week break I was finally leaving Melbourne, and for the first time since my initial departure from Sydney on 30th September, 2007 (coincidentally, the 800th anniversary of the birth of Rumi – 13th century Sufi mystic) the enormity of my journey made its presence known. For there would be no more trips home, no more WWOOFing (Willing Workers on Organic Farms - www.wwoofing.com), no more homes to be used as a base for exploring the surrounding area. My adventure had really begun and I was truly on my way North, venturing into hitherto unknown territory. The previous 6 months seemed nothing more than a prelude to something much greater. Today also marked the return of my omnipresent travelling companion: that overwhelming sense of freedom, not only to go where I wish but, more importantly, to be who I want to be. I felt as though I had been reborn, and that the person I was up until this moment was irrelevant; all that mattered was who I would become. I was excited too, for while I was in Sydney, my bike had been fitted with 8-speed internal hub gears. I would no longer have to endure punishing, 2-hour long, out-of-the-saddle climbs, or periods of alternating between spinning at 120rpm followed by lengthy freewheeling, waiting for my speed to drop so I can start pedalling again. I would be able to pedal seated now, all day long. However, my gear had increased somewhat, in both volume and weight, due to my acquisition of warm clothes (ones that I really should have had in freezing Tasmania!) and my inability to resist buying cheap yet interesting books from Vinnies. I had 8 in total – way too many – so I would have to do a lot of reading in order to lighten my load.

Although I hadn’t ridden in 6 weeks I felt good: healthy, fit and strong. I wound my way West, making good use of Melbourne’s bike paths, until I inevitably ended up on the freeway to Geelong. I didn’t mind though, as I had to cover 130km today, and the freeway is the fasted, most direct route. I find Geelong a little depressing. It’s a factory city, and I felt like I was riding through a Dicken’s novel. There was no reason for me to linger though, so I quickly continued through Torquay, replete with gaudy surf-brand mega-stores, and on to Aireys Inlet. I arrived just as the sun disappeared and my energy was beginning to fade. I had arranged to stay with a friend, Holly, so I was able to enjoy company and a shower, both of which are luxuries for the free-camping, cycling tourist. Plus, I got to spend the night in my own ‘magic bus’ a la Into the Wild - a cosy caravan residing indefinitely on the lawn. I was exhausted and fell asleep feeling spoilt.

Thursday 17th April, 2008 – Aireys Inlet to Wye River – 40km

My muscles were ridiculously tired, so I was never going to ride far today. I spent a lazy morning – and most of the day – hanging out with Holly: wandering around down at the beach and talking shit. It seems we have both, each in our own way, left the world: I’m riding a bicycle to India and she’s enjoying the simple life in a sleepy, sea-side town. Neither of us has a real job, or intends on finding one. It’s amazing how easy it is to fill and entire day without doing anything ‘productive’, and yet the outcome, at the end of the day, is a feeling of great satisfaction. It really makes me wonder what we are all working towards.

Eventually I found the energy to depart and cruised the meagre 40km to Wye River. On the way I met an American girl, Sarah, who was cycling to Warrnambool. She was then going to get the train back to Melbourne before continuing by bicycle to Sydney. She only had $400 left so she would have to find work in Sydney, a thought that I found quite depressing. This made me realise just how fortunate I was to have been able to have saved up sufficient funds to spend the next few years on the road without needing to look for work. And this made my quiet, little campsite for the evening all the more pleasant. The surrounding peace put me in a somewhat contemplative mood and I started thinking about my search for meaning. A while ago I decided that as long as you’re still looking for something you can never find it. At the moment, I am searching for some kind of meaning in life and, based on this theory, I won’t be able to find it. But that’s OK as long as I enjoy the search. The problem is: How do I achieve this?

Friday 18th April, 2008 – Wye River to Cape Otway – 65km

There is a quote by Confucius: ‘He who seeks only coarse food to eat, water to drink and a bent arm for a pillow, will without looking for it find happiness to boot.’ I kind of like it, and even believe that it just may be true. However, it is not easy to follow. I do drink a lot of water, but I also supplement this bland intake with coffee and hot milo, especially when it’s cold. I sleep with a bent arm for a pillow – two in fact! – but in a dry tent and on a comfy sleeping mat. In relation to modern living in the affluent West, and with regard to these two points, I would consider myself an adherent to the words of Confucius. But as far as eating coarse food is concerned, it is here that I may fail. My base diet is OK, quite good even: muesli, fruit, nuts, salad or peanut butter-and-honey sandwiches on wholemeal bread, beans, tofu, veggies. But I wonder for how long I can hold out before delving into the realms of processed food: chocolate, biscuits, lollies, and almost anything from a bakery. It takes a remarkable amount of restraint, particularly when riding all day long which results in huge energy needs. I’ll keep you informed on how I am progressing.

I was now well and truly into the ‘Great Ocean Road’ and spent most of the day gazing at the never-ending cliffs along which the road snakes its way. It’s a lovely, scenic road but, as spectacular as it is, I thought it would be better, and I carried with me a perpetual feeling of mild disappointment. It seems I’m yet to master the skill of travelling without expectations or at least converting disappointment to joy when my expectations aren’t met (’The feeling of joy when sudden disappointment comes’ in the words of Rumi). I’d better fix this before I reach the Himalayas cause I reckon they are going to be fabulous! And I don’t want to be let down by them, for what else is there.

Saturday 19th April, 2008 – Cape Otway to Gibsons Steps – 85km

I used the last of my water on my muesli (to mix up powdered milk) so had to ride the 40km to Lavers Hill without drinking anything. I thought this would be OK – just 2 hours – but, as the name suggests, Lavers Hill is on top of a hill and I spent the next 3 hours grinding away with only occasional respite. Brad (my mate in Melbourne with whom I stayed) had warned me about the Otway Ranges but I didn’t take his warning seriously. How could I, now that I had gears? Yes, gears are good, great even, but then don’t flatten hills and they don’t turn you into a camel. So as I devoured one of my favourite lunches – hot chips with lots of tomato sauce – apart from visualising a frowning Confucius I reassessed my opinion of the Himalayas and the Karakoram. I now suspect that they both may be a little challenging.

I arrived late in the afternoon at Gibsons Steps where a group of five surfers were enjoying a healthy left, with the Twelve Apostles watching over them benignly. With limestone sea cliffs reaching straight up out of the Southern Ocean for a hundred metres or so, it surely must be one of the most majestic surf spots in the world. And I suddenly wished I was down in the water with them. But instead, I wandered down to check out the Twelve Apostles. The set-up reeked of tourism: concrete paths, metal hand-rails and ‘bus parking area’ signs. There was even a squat dunny! although I am not sure for which nationality it is provided. And as I ambled along the pathway, trying to find that 12th apostle, which has apparently fallen into the sea, I found it difficult to fully appreciate the grandeur and splendour of nature amidst such a contrived scenario. It was as if I was being told ‘This is spectacular. You will marvel at its beauty. And then you will leave.’ It made me feel like going hiking, where I could immerse myself in nature, become part of it, and not just view it as if it were being held captive by us humans.

I took a shitty campsite next to the visitors’ information board and for the third night in a row went to sleep without having a wash, feeling dirty, sticky and clammy. It was most unpleasant, and I found myself day-dreaming about all those tourists who have enough money to afford staying in caravan parks or backpackers, where hot showers abound. Such places have other advantages too: one needn’t worry about finding a place to camp, and there’s also plenty of other people to mingle with. As I spend most of my time alone at the moment, I find myself sometimes craving social interaction. But then I quickly recall previous conversations: they’re often full of perfunctory remarks and are uninteresting, the same questions and answers repeated relentlessly. They’re not real conversations, but merely an excuse to avoid our own company. And with this consoling thought, I returned to the peace of solitude.

Sunday 20th April, 2008 – Gibsons Steps to Port Campbell – 25km

I bumped into a German cyclist today who was spending a few months cycling around Australia. Not only was he staying in backpackers each night, but he also had a nice set-up: Tubus racks and Ortlieb panniers. These are far superior than my Deuter/Topeak/Tioga gear and I was initially envious. But then he told me that he hadn’t had a holiday in several years and that upon his return to Germany he would also be resuming work. I then realised that travel always involves compromise and that, if I had a full-time job and was willing to tour for only 2 or 3 months rather than 2 or 3 years, I too could enjoy a similar level of luxury. But would it be worth it? No way. When we parted, I rode away content in the knowledge that I was free.

The Twelve Apostles is a stunning coastline but, as I have mentioned, its beauty is difficult to enjoy. My favourite thing about tourist sites is meeting other tourists. Pretenses seem to be dropped and this opens everyone up to each other. People from all over Australia, the world even, are brought together. Little pockets of friendliness are created, and everyone seems to be content and happy. I met a guy who’s son is currently travelling overland from London to Sydney (quite a co-incidence as I am currently reading a book about just such a journey), and he seemed really proud of what his son was doing. I couldn’t tell if the glint in his eyes was due to a wistful memory of his youth or his living vicariously through his son. I guess it makes no difference – he seemed happy. There was another couple, from Western Australia, who had rented a house for the night and invited me to stay there with them. They were very friendly and I took them up on their offer. They said they were both teachers, Anne and Mark, and were enjoying one of their many holidays. But talking to them confirmed my belief that they needed them, for the jobs of teachers are becoming increasingly more stressful due to the government’s insistence on expanding the curriculum on a seemingly infinite scale, in a world bound by a finite amount of time. It made me question my faint, underlying desire to become a maths teacher. I just don’t think it would be worth it. I remember also a conversation with Anne about simple living, and how it is the only way forward. It was refreshing to converse with people not caught up in the modern world, which purports to offer all the solutions, but which provides none. I had an enjoyable evening which resulted in my reflecting on reasons for travel. Rather than just observing natural beauty, it’s about meeting other people and learning about who they are, how they live, and what they think about the world. And hopefully, through trying to understand them, I will be able to understand myself.

Monday 21st April, 2008 – Port Campbell to Hawkesdale – 121km

This morning was freezing. Shortly after I set off I had to stop to put on gloves and booties, both things which I had not yet had to use. However, much to my dismay, after only a few minutes I had to climb up a hill in the sun, and I found myself very shortly stopping to remove all the warm gear that I had only just put on! I had found Port Campbell a very pleasant looking town. Small enough to be friendly yet sufficiently large that one wouldn’t get bored: there was always something or someone to look at. In contrast to this, I found the township of Petersborough (an hours ride or so to the West) dull and unflattering. The buildings lacked character and, although it was slightly larger than Port Campbell, it appeared void of human habitation. The difference was startling and I am yet to figure out why such disparity exists. What makes a town warm and friendly, cosy, likeable? And how do they spring up in hte first place?

Just when I needed a place to camp I came across a ‘Recreation Area’ sign, which I followed to a pleasant spot by an oval. As I was cooking up dinner a car drove over towards me. Initially I thought ‘Ooh, I guess I’m not allowed to camp here’, but Maxine, who popped out from the car, indicated otherwise. Furthermore, she said I should stay down the road where there’s a BBQ, and even showers (only cold ones though); it seemed I could stay wherever I pleased. She was very friendly and we kept chatting for a while. Eventually she offered me a shower at her place, just two doors up. I am still amazed at the generosity shown towards complete strangers in these small towns, and I wonder if it is in search of kind acts like this that I travel. I’m glad I did get to have a hot shower, cause even though I was pretty dirty I don’t think I could’ve braved the cold ones!

Today I came to the conclusion that one way of measuring how well your life is going is to analyse the things that cause you stress and anxiety. My current concerns are pretty trivial and include things such as: ‘Should I put a handful of sultanas in with my mixed nuts or shouldn’t I?’ and ‘Should I buy figs and apricots or figs, apricots and dates?’ These don’t rate very highly in the realm of potential difficulties, so I figure my life must be pretty good. I do have other concerns such as: where I’ll stay each night and where I’ll be able to have a wash; how well my tent will perform in strong winds; and will my sleeping bag be warm enough? However, as these problems can only be dealt with when, or if, they arise they aren’t really of immediate concern. So I’ve decided that at the moment, life is fine indeed.

Tuesday 22nd April, 2008 – Hawkesdale to Dunkeld – 65km

There are those days when you go for a swim in the ocean and you think it’s going to be warm, but as you float around out the back, you keep coming across ubiquitous cold patches that continually sneak up on you. My sleeping bag is a bit like the ocean: it used to be warm – 20 years ago – but there’s not much down left in it now, particularly in the top baffle. In fact, I often have to use my fleece as a blanket to compensate for lack of down in this area. And I have to shake all the down to the top just to bring it back up to a semblance of the warmth it used to provide. Furthermore, ever since I washed it years ago, it just hasn’t been the same. The down lives in little clumps, aimlessly drifting through the bag, leaving huge cold spots in its wake, where all the heat generated by my body rushes out into the frigid, evening air, never to return. Some nights, I have to sleep in full thermals and a fleece vest, and if it’s really cold, tie the bag to my therm-a-rest just to ensure that all the down stays on top. This isn’t overly comfortable, but at least it keeps me warm. Oh, I’ve also figured out that the warmest way to sleep is on your stomach, followed by on your side (like a foetus) and finally on your back. But you should try curling up like a foetus when your sleeping bag is tied down!

While I was in Sydney I attended another 10-day Vipassana meditation course, and resolved to continue meditation practice for 2 hours a day. This is a significant proportion of the waking day and, coupled with trying to cycling vast distances, doesn’t leave much time for the more mundane activities like: setting up and pulling down my camp; cooking and eating; or even reading and writing. Luckily, I’ve figured out how to solve this problem of insufficient time: I just have to dispel my pre-conceived idea of riding 120km a day and accept the more realistic goal of 80-100km a day. If I can accept this, there will be plenty of time for tending to all my daily needs. Of course, it does result in my taking longer to get to where I’m going; but, as long as I’m not intent on arriving, what does it matter? Hence, the challenge lies in convincing oneself that is is in fact all about the journey…

Cycle touring is just one giant lesson in patience and persistence. In patience because everything is a hassle and takes a long time. Things break, things don’t work as you want them to or think they should, and just as you fix one problem another arises. It’s a lesson in persistence because you have to deal with all this crap and just giving up has never fixed anything. And sometimes it’s the tiniest things that result in the greatest problems. For example, this morning my spoon broke (piece of fancy, plastic shit!). Fortunately, the guy at the take-away shop was kind enough to give me one, but I spent all morning wondering how I was going to eat if I couldn’t find a spoon somewhere on the way to my next campsite. Sounds silly, I know, but these are the sorts of trivialities that plague my mind on the road. All difficulties, no matter how small or large, must be overcome. One must forget about the future and focus on the task at hand. This is the only way forward.

When travelling by bicycle, the sphere of my world is compressed and reduced till it encompasses only me, my bike and my gear. Everything else is transient and doesn’t affect me on a long-term basis. However, the ever-present vicissitudes of life are not reduced, they are merely different, so they seem to occupy a greater proportion of my time – I ruminate on them constantly. They become more tangible and seem more important yet, at the same time, insurmountable, to the extent that sometimes I feel as though I cannot overcome them. And this is most disheartening, for they must be overcome. The challenge is ongoing.

Recently, I have spent much time thinking about the following quote: ‘Be generous. Travel lightly. All in life is a gift. What you don’t need, give away.’ And I’ve come to the conclusion that I am not travelling light enough. Not only does this result in more gruelling, rigorous climbs due to the extra weight, but also means that it takes longer to pack each day and is harder to fit everything into the panniers – a constant mental burden. Therefore, I resolved today to give some things away. And in the moment of commitment to reducing my luggage, I suddenly felt more free, like a lead cloak had just been lifted from my shoulders. The first thing to off-load would be my hairbrush, but this could only be done if I cut my hair. Fortunately, there was a hairdresser in the very next town and so the hair is short once again. I should have done this long ago – it feels so much better. It’s just like the guy at ‘The Arts Factory’ in Byron said, about cutting off his dreads: ‘They were oppressive.’ Less oppression for me, of course, yet still enough to make a difference. I’m sure I rode much faster all afternoon!

In the afternoon I wound my way into the Grampions National Park. The road was quiet, with only the occasional passing vehicle. The peaks harsh and jagged, steep and impressive, all connected to one another like the spine of a stegosaurus. But the thick haze which hung about in the cool, evening air made it difficult to see the mountains far off in the distance. I pulled off the road into a little clearing and set up camp as the shadows lengthened and the sun went to sleep. It was ridiculously peaceful.

Wednesday 23rd April, 2008 – Dunkeld to Borough Huts – 48km

As I read ‘The Wrong Way Home’ by Peter Moore (travelling overland from London to Sydney), I have feelings of envy towards his trip: staying in homes and hotels, meeting lots of travellers, always interacting with others in the world. I ride alone, all day long, then camp alone. Everything I do, I do alone. And sometimes I get lonely. But I am comforted by the words of a wise Indonesian man. When I was in Indonesia, I spent a lot of time with this man, who I called Paman (which means ‘uncle’ in Indonesian). He once said to me, when I was a little confused about life, ‘Sometimes you are the pigeon and sometimes you are the statue.’ I took this as meaning that although there are times when you will be participating in life, there will also be times when you are just observing. Or, more loosely, that life will always be full of opposites, that everything is a duality. I found this advice quite helpful. By heeding this advice, rather than endure each day, I cherish each moment I get to spend alone now, in quiet solitude. For I know that soon I will not be able to find such peace, that such opportunities will be taken from me, just as sure as ‘Castles made of sand, fall in the sea, eventually.’

I didn’t ride far today, choosing instead to stop early, and set up camp by a little creek. The sun was still shining down on the watering hole so I was able to wash in warmth, even though the water was a little chilly. There’s nothing quite like basking in the sun after an icy dip. The sun’s rays seem intensified and powerful, able to penetrate deep into all the cold spots in my body. How sweet it would be to be cold-blooded and enjoy this ritual on a daily basis.

I was beginning to slip away from my Confucian diet of coarse foods, in two areas: snacking on dates when I’m not hungry; and eating Milo straight, as I wait for the water to boil. I don’t need to do either, and I know that both are ultimately detrimental to my mental well-being, but the temptation is strong and my body craves the sugar. It’s a constant battle but one that must be won. So I resolved to stop doing both of these things. And the funny thing is, that once I decided this, I was no longer tempted, and all cravings ceased to exist. It really is amazing just how strong and powerful our minds are. If only we could learn how to harness such forces.

Thursday 24th April, 2008 – Rest day at Borough Huts – 38km (loop via Halls Gap)

In order to maintain enthusiasm while cycle touring I find it necessary to spend two nights in the same place every week or so. The main reason for this is so that I don’t have to pack up all my gear in the morning and set up camp in the evening; it has very little to do with resting the body. So I went on a scenic ride that took me via the main township in the Grampians – Halls Gap – and onwards to a lookout – The Pinnacle. Although the walk to The Pinnacle was somewhat uninteresting, it was pleasant and relaxing, and the view from the top was rather scenic. But it was a little too close to civilisation for my liking and I didn’t linger long. Not feeling the need to ‘conquer’ the mountain, I avoided the actual summit, and returned back to camp. I had a lovely 8-10km long descent, most of which was on a one-way road, something one seldom finds. Any descent, not just a long, steep, windy one seems to make one forget all the hard work that was required to get to the top. And it is always worth it. As I hooked into the tight corners I thought wistfully of the days when I would fly down Bobbin Head on my road bike, only braking for two of the many corners, trusting my bike and my ability, knowing the limits of both. And although on this occasion I was far from any limits, the feeling was equally as good. It was a fine way to finish off my rest day.

Friday 25th April, 2008 – Borough Huts to Wartook Valley – 46km

Today I was able to off-load a few things: hairbrush, mozzie repellent and some leather water-proofing stuff. I figured backpackers would benefit most from such items so I gave them to the lady who ran the hostel near Halls Gap. She seemed most appreciative, and I was pleased to have finally begun the process of reducing what I am carrying. It was only a small step, but how else can one begin? All I had to do now was read all my books!

I climbed up out of Halls Gap (about 10km) and finally arrived at the Reeds Lookout car-park. It was full of vehicles and tourists were scattered everywhere. There were metal balustrades protruding from every cliff and an antenna perched up on the hill. It wasn’t the sort of place I like to visit. So I quickly started walking to The Balconies. They look pretty special in the postcards but in real life they are nothing more than a couple of fingers of rock, sticking out horizontally. I ventured off the path to find a spot free of metal and people, and ensconced myself in a little rock pocket down on the cliff face. I stared out over the valley below, wishing that I was down there amongst it, rather than up here by the roadside. Such thoughts reinforced what I had known for a long time: that I can’t do these short walks that lead to popular lookouts; I need to venture deep into the scenery, with a pack, gear and food, and spend at least one night out there in the bush. Anything short of this surely prevents one from truly appreciating all that nature has to offer. And so I continued back to my camp, thinking that there would be so much that I would miss out on during this trip just because I have chosen to make it a cycling odyssey and not a bushwalking one.

I had heard that it was likely to rain over the next few days and that the temperature was going to plummet. There was even talk of snow in the Grampians. So I was relieved to descend into a warm valley, where I knew I would sleep snuggly, without needing to tie my sleeping bag to my therm-a-rest!

Saturday 26th April, 2008 – Wartook Valley to Mt Arapiles – 83km

Today I rode into the town of Natimuk, which is the gateway to Mt Arapiles. This is probably the most famous rock climbing place in all of Australia, and although I did a bit of climbing when I was younger, I never made it to Arapiles. And now that I am here, well, I don’t climb anymore. It is a mighty impressive rock – a massive chunk of granite sticking out of the ground. I imagine this is what Uluru might look like, only a little smoother and a different colour. It seems there is still a lot of climbing going on here; the campground was full of groups of young climbers. There was even an annual climbing film festival on in town, which sounded like it could have been pretty good. And although I was rather tempted, I chose to pass, preferring a quiet night under the steady gaze of Arapiles (and I wasn’t that keen on either setting up camp in the dark or on a long, cold ride from camp to town).

Sunday 27th April, 2008 – Mt Arapiles to Frances – 94km

Today was a day for random thoughts. Here are a few of them:

The land here is vast and vacant; there are fences everywhere. How many kilometres, I wonder? And why? Do we really need to fence it off? To delineate ‘ours’ from ‘theirs’? After all, we don’t actually own any of it; it belongs to earth, to the universe. It’s a great expense too, I’m sure, and requires much effort and use of resources. All I can think is ‘What a waste.’

I stopped at a place called Goroke for lunch. It is an absolute ghost town. I only saw three people the whole time I was there: a man and what looked like his son disappeared into the pub (which looked closed), and another guy appeared from a curtained off shop front. The general store was even shut! The scary thing about it though is that the town is marked on my map by a yellow dot, which means that it is supposedly the largest town between Natimuk and Bordertown. I can’t even imagine what the smaller towns will be like.

I think that planes and cars have taken a lot of the romance out of travel. It’s no longer a big adventure; everything’s too easily organised. You get to where you’re going far too quickly and there are no challenges left. Unless, that is, you choose an alternative means of transport, such as a bicycle. However, the downside of this is that you have to use roads so you can’t escape the noise of cars. An even slower way of travel is by foot, but tracks have been turned into roads, and walking on roads is monotonous and uninteresting. I think this is the appeal of the Himalayas, or any other mountainous region where there are no roads. It’s like stepping back in time to a world that no longer exists in the affluent West. And when you put in the effort and walk to somewhere isolated, everyone you meet has had to do the same. Sometimes I feel ripped off when I spend a few hours, or even days, riding to a particular place only to be greeted by a clean, well-dressed figure stepping out of a car! Sea kayaking too could offer the same benefits as walking, allowing one to penetrate quiet, peaceful environments, beyond the reach of the noise pollution of modern-day living.

Today I crossed the border into South Australia. The vision I had in my mind was that of a vast, arid land. But as I turned into the road that would lead me across the border, I was greeted by a strong head-wind; a dark, dirty cloud obscured the sun; it suddenly became quite cold; and it began to rain. And as I rode through the first town, Frances, everything was still and silent. It was an eerie experience. That evening, I gazed up at the sky and was immediately struck the brightness and number of stars. They seemed to cast a faint glow over the entire landscape. It was a great contrast to the night sky of Sydney. Although I must say that the stars at North Curl Curl aren’t that bad, and I recall many an evening where I lay spread out in the middle of the road – drunk of course – starring up into the heavens. I guess I should be grateful for not ever getting run over!

Monday 28th April, 2008 – Frances to Keith – 105km

In ‘Boxing with Shadows’ Brian Johnston talks about how there are only one million cars in China. Now, for a population of a billion, this equates to only one car for every thousand people. The population of Australia is only approximately 20 million people, so if our ratio of cars to people were the same as that of China’s then there would only be 20 thousand cars on the road. That’s not very many – traffic would be almost non-existent. And it would surely make it much easier for me to find my idyllic place to live, where there are no cars (and you don’t have to lock your house – in fact you don’t even have locks!). He also says that there is only one bicycle for every 10 people. Although this is possibly due to the fact that some people can’t afford one, but he does mention that there is a waiting list for a new bike. The factories just can’t produce enough! And this makes me realise just how lucky I am to be able to spend the next few years riding around the world. It’s absolutely ridiculous. I am not rich; I just saved up a bit of money. Of course, I don’t have a mortgage or a family to support but, even so, I am amazed that it is possible. I have no restraints: economical, social or cultural. I really am free. To be who I want to be. To be me. And the only thing stopping me is my lack of confidence, of knowing who I am. I think that’s why I began this journey: to find out who I am.

I have been meditating each day, and although I should be either concentrating on my breath or feeling sensations on my body, my mind seems to be doing a considerable amount of wandering. There are three recurring themes, which happen to be the same three things that I recall thinking about during the 10-day Vipassana course: trepidation regarding this trip, finding a girl to settle down with, and what work I will do in the future. And although the second two are far from solved, I am beginning to think less and less about the first one. In fact, I would say that my feelings of trepidation have all but vanished. I am not worrying about things anymore; I am starting to enjoy myself, knowing that everything will work out as it needs to. I am no longer agonising over the distant future, instead I am amble to focus more and more on a future that is more imminent – not quite the present but pretty close to it. And as long as the purpose of my meditating is to help me to live in the moment and not just to become a good meditator, then I guess this could be construed as progress.

Tuesday 29th April, 2008 – Keith to Coomandook – 95km

I am now on the main highway to Adelaide. I would normally choose not to use a road like this but there really aren’t any alternatives. It is a straight, busy, noisy stretch. The traffic – predominantly large trucks – is seemingly endless, a constant companion that brings with it nothing but torment. Furthermore, I am forever tantalised by the smooth road surface on which these trucks travel. I ride on the shoulder (for safety reasons) and although it is nice and wide, the surface is rough and bumpy. It’s about as ‘dead’ a road as I have ever come across. And this looks like going on for days and days, all the way to Adelaide. I know it is beginning to get to me, too, for I am not as calm as I would like to be. I found trying to buy a phonecard – and then use it – a little frustrating. It seems they don’t sell cards anymore; they have been superceded by ‘virtual cards’ which are nothing more than a receipt containing information: numbers to dial, card no., etc., just like an international phone card, but without the card. It took me a while to accept this and stop wishing for something that I could no longer have – just a normal phone card! Still, the day wasn’t all bad. As I was riding along this horrible road, I glanced upon a cassette. Instantly my mind was filled with all the possibilities of what it may be: Zeppelin, Hendrix, Nick Drake, The Doors… Please don’t be some modern R & B crap or teenage pop. When I went back to pick it up I couldn’t help but grin. AC/DC – Back In Black. Bloody fantastic! All I need now is a tape deck to play it on, and I don’t like my chances of finding one of those by the roadside.

Wednesday 30th April, 2008 – Coomandook to Murray Bridge – 77km

I have decided that my overseas mode of travel is definitely going to be ‘map and phrasebook’ rather than ‘guidebook’. I don’t even want to look at one. For when you learn from a book there is less need to learn from people, and this results in less human interaction. Furthermore, when you read about a country you formulate certain expectations regarding it. You create a picture of how you think it will be: the landscape, the people, the religion, the language, the culture, the food, the customs, everything. So then, as you travel through the country, either your expectations are not met, resulting in your not enjoying the experience; or, your preconceived ideas about the place cloud your ability to observe, and you don’t really see the place at all. All you see is what already exists in your mind. And if this is the case, then why even bother travelling at all? I’ll tell you why. Because travel has very little to do with seeing the world; its purpose is to allow us to see ourselves. With each experience, the mirror that resides in our being, that reflects or transforms the physical world into the spiritual world, becomes a little more polished, and the image of who we are is revealed with further clarity, building on the extant foundation that is the sum total of our memory of the past.

Thursday 1st May, 2008 – Murray Bridge to Adelaide – 71km

One of the things I’ve mentioned previously, one of the worst things about being on the road on a bicycle (and doing it on the cheap) is not being able to have a shower – or wash at least – each night, so I go to bed feeling dirty most nights. Now, this is most exaggerated when the days are hot and the evenings are cold; I sweat during the day and all this filth comes out of my pores, then in the evening I start to feel clammy. Furthermore, because it is cold, I have to put on lots of clothes and get into my sleeping bag. It’s quite unpleasant. If it were hot all evening it wouldn’t be too bad, or even if it were cool in the day-time and I wasn’t sweating quite as much. So for the first few days out of melbourne I really did have the worst conditions for this. But now it’s OK, and I’m not sure whether it’s because I am just getting used to it or if the weather is more accomodating – probably a combination of the two. And as I go for long periods without washing it just becomes normal, and I forget what it’s like to be clean. I find this a little scary, but it is much more pleasant than always wanting something that I don’t have.

Meditation this morning went quite well, at least now that I have finished I feel quite good. I think I’ve turned the handle of the second door (in the 2 door model) and am peeking out through a thin crack; I’m looking out from the tunnel of darkness, and the future seems bright. I feel more sanguine now than I ever have. And I wonder if it is due to the meditation that I have been practicing. Maybe that’s what one finds in the tunnel – meditation. And it’s the answer – the key – to leaving the darkness behind, and walking through the second door into the next phase of life.

After spending the last 3 or 4 days on the main road, which is predominately flat and straight (not to mention the everpresent headwind) it was quite a relief to finally be riding through undulating, windy terrain. And although the hills were steep and I was working hard – often in 1st or 2nd gear – I was rewarded for my efforts with a little respite from the monotony and boredom of the last few days. But then I came into Adelaide. I couldn’t believe how busy it was. There was so much traffic I felt like I was back in Sydney (it turns out I was on probably the busiest road in all of Adelaide). Fortunately, I had a place to stay (with Geoff and Suzanne) and, shortly after Geoff had come to meet me on the main road, I had been whisked away to a quiet haven where I could spend the next few days resting and enjoying the pleasant company of my hosts.