When you finally know who you are, only then will you have something that can never be taken from you.

Only by paying attention to the present can we open the doors to the past and the future. And as the moment in time upon which one focuses becomes smaller, the distance one can travel – in terms of time -  away from that moment increases.

29 K’an/The Abysmal (Water) with a moving line in the 4th and 5th, which gave rise to:

40 Hsieh/Deliverance

It is extremely difficult to interpret, but I came up with the following:

29 K’an: 4th line - In times of danger I must be sincere and have the honest intention of mutual help. I must always begin with what is lucid and proceed from that point. 5th line – Danger will come if I am too ambitous. When this happens I must take the path of least resistance and try to get out of danger rather than attempt to accomplish something great.

40 Hsieh: 1st line – I should complete my own urgent tasks and then help others. 2nd line – In order to be of service to others I must be self-aware and serious, and act with dignity. It is important not to relinquish myself. 3rd line – If there are 3 people, one will have to go. A close bond is only possible between 2 people. When I am lonely, I will find a companion who complements me. 6th line – That perserverance will allow me to accomplish my task, and that many will benefit from this.

It is pretty weird shit, so if anyone has any knowledge or experience with this book please help me…

I have always thought that what’s good for the economy is bad for the environment, and vice-versa. This means that if we are to prevent the occurrence of an ecological disaster then we must adapt to living in a society whose economic growth is much less than that which we’ve recently been experiencing here in Australia - not an easy task. The problem is that we love spending, for it seems to be the only means by which we can achieve some level of happiness. This happiness is fleeting of course, but this doesn’t seem to stop us. We spend more, thinking that the more we spend the happier we’ll be. It doesn’t work though, and we end up miserable. This is known as affluenza, a nasty epidemic that is destroying our lives. However, it doesn’t have to be this way. If we all trade in our complex lives for more simple ones, I reckon we’ll all be able to live in harmony, not only with each other and the environment, but also with ourselves. This is merely ancient wisdom that we need to recall and put into practice. It is, in a way, the reason for my embarking on this journey. Yes, it is hard, but when was the last time you achieved something without putting in any effort? Never. So, to quote the words of Henry David Thoreau, “Simplify! Simplify! Simplify!” I do believe it is the answer.

Monday 5th May, 2008 - Tarlee to Spalding – 105km

My least favourite chore is packing up each morning. But, doing something you dislike is not necessarily a bad thing, for Coleman Barks (eminent translator of the works of Rumi) wrote, “Anything you do everyday can open into the deepest spiritual place, which is freedom.” Now, if this is true, and I’m pretty sure that it is, then my “chore” is a blessing in disguise and a most valuable tool, as long as I approach it with the right attitude. This, combined with my Confucian diet and my meditation practice must surely lead me closer to – or at least in the direction of – that place which I will call contentment (happiness, peace, etc). I say “closer to” because just as one can never reach the end of a rainbow to retrieve that elusive pot of gold, I suspect that my destination will remain forever out of reach. Fortunately, I didn’t set out with any intention of arriving, only to progress.

I spend lots of time day-dreaming about the possibilities of travel – where I could go and where I’ll end up. It’s a pleasant way to pass time, but I often wonder if thinking of travel is more enjoyable than travel itself. For while travelling one must endure the many trevails of the road, which are often forgotten when we recall trips from the past or romanticise about those of the future. On the contrary, “armchair travel” requires no more hardship than getting off your arse to boil the kettle, and maybe pop some toast in the toaster. Unfortunately, I can only enjoy the day-dream if I think it will, one day, be realised. As soon as I think the experience will forever remain in my mind the dream is shattered. If only I could master the art of fantasising about a future that I know will never eventuate, then I could save much time, energy and effort. I somehow don’t think this will ever happen though.

Tuesday 6th May, 2008 - Spalding to Orroroo – 99km

Wednesday 7th May, 2008 - Orroroo to Hawker – 104km

The further I travel into the outback, the more I enjoy each day of this journey. For as long as I have sufficient food and water, no harm will come to me; I needn’t be afraid of anything. And as I travel away from civilisation, I feel that I am leaving behind the distractions that have plagued me for so many years. I am gradually freeing myself. I know I am headed in the right direction.

Normally, as I ride along, the air is continually rushing past my ears, resulting in constant noise. Unless I turn my head to the side, that is. But today everything was silent. There was no movement around me, no wind. It was very peaceful, much like when one is hot air ballooning. So as I looked down at my speedo and saw that I was rolling along at 28km/h I figured there must be a tailwind of about that speed too. It was fantastic; the miles passed effortlessly. But the funny thing is, it’s on these tailwind days, when I needn’t put in much effort, that I have the desire to do so. I’m pretty sure the high speed encourages me to go even faster. If only I could save this enthusiasm for those days during which the presence of a strong, gusty headwind turns every pedal stroke into a gruelling physical and mental effort.

My surroundings are starting to become more and more uniform; buildings are disappearing and being replaced by endless fields. They are so much more expansive than I had ever imagined and reach the horizon no matter which direction I look. And, due to the flatness of the land, this is a bloody long way. They look as though they’ve been ploughed fairly recently – deep brown in colour and neatly raked like a Japanese ”pebble” garden. They bring tranquility to the landscape, and also to me.

I eventually arrived at a tiny, little town called Carrieton. Although it appeared deserted, there is apparently much that one can do here, as indicated by the following notice on the information board: “We have lots of ways to keep fit. Unique 9-hole golf course surrounds the town. There are tennis courts, a cricket oval, a swimming pool, a rifle shooting range, and an airstrip.” My question is, “How the hell does one “keep fit” at a rifle shooting range or an airstrip?” No doubt, this is a question that will vex the minds of man far into the future.

Thursday 8th May, 2008 - Hawker to Bunyeroo Gorge (Flinders Ranges NP) – 92km

It took ages to ride to Wilpena, and I’m not sure if it was because there was a headwind or if it was just that the road was all uphill. Either way, I didn’t mind, for the mountains that surrounded me were spectacular. The spiky peaks and ridges that rose up on my left were particularly impressive and I spent so much time looking in their direction that I started to get pains in my neck! People had said the Flinders Ranges were beautiful; they were right.

Just as I was about to head off from Wilpena – the main town in the Flinders Ranges NP – and ride to my campsite, I met Margaret and John. They were an interesting couple – rare fruit growers. I didn’t even recognise any of the names of the fruit they had brought with them. They seemed to know a lot about food and nutrition, and it was in this direction towards which the conversation gravitated. They were healthy eaters, and equally as adamant about the evils of sugar as I am. But what I found most intrigueing was John’s cancer tip: eat lost of apricot kernels. He swears by it and reckons it’s a natural radiotherapy. We talked for so long that by the time I pulled myself away to leave I wasn’t sure whether or not I’d have enough time to make it to Bunyeroo Gorge.

I thought it was only 18km, but soon after setting off I passed a sign that indicated it was 28km, and in fact, it was 32km! It was a lovely, winding road with fantastic sunset views of the mountains, and I loved every minute of it… until it got dark. I then found myself riding though the gorge – the most rocky and bumpy section of the entire road. I cursed my foolishness at not leaving earlier, or at least spending the night at Wilpena. Will I never learn? Eventually I arrived, well after dark, to incredulous remarks from a Danish couple. They were pretty funny, and it took ages to set up camp dut to an abundance of talking and laughing with them.

Friday 9th May, 2008 - Rest day (1) at Bunyeroo Gorge

Today was very lazy. I just hung out, mainly talking to Jim and Marilyn, a couple who were camped nearby. It took a while, but eventually they revealed themselves as devout Christians. So, the conversation inevitably ended up being a religious one. Even though I am not religious, I quite enjoy talking about religion. Probably thanks to the time I spent in Indonesia and the many all night long discussions on Islam, plus my recent interest in Buddhism. However, there is something unnerving about statments like “I know it’s the truth”, which deeply religious people often utter when talking of their beliefs. Why can’t they just say “I believe it’s the truth”? It seems that followers of all religions know what the truth is, only all the truths are all different. It has to be the worlds greatest paradox – so many contradicting truths all existing at the same time! I guess the truth doesn’t really matter. What’s more important is how a person’s beliefs affect their behaviour, and in the case Jim and Marilyn, well, they seemed to be doing some good in the world, e.g. teaching in Aboriginal communities, and arranging the distribution of bicycles to villages in Africa. It made me think about what good I am doing, what contribution I am making to the world or to others. And the answer? Very little. I know I am still working on my own happiness, and I don’t think that I am quite yet ready to start being altruistic. Maybe one day, but not yet. However, although I am not doing a lot of good I am not doing much evil either, so maybe my contribution is a neutral one. I don’t think I am contributing much to the destruction of the environment though. I base this on the fact that I am not spending much money; the less you spend, the less damage you do. It’s only a by-product of my journey, but it is a positive one.

Saturday 10th May, 2008 - Rest day (2) at Bunyeroo Gorge – 25km

I had a great plan today: mountain bike to Aroona (a trailhead about 30km away) along the Heysen Trail (walking trail), replenish my dwindling water supplies, then cruise back to camp along the dirt road. It started off OK. The track was smooth and flat, and after a brief “dry creek” section, it turned into an amazing single-track that climbed its way upwards, sufficiently steep and long to cause profuse sweating and puffing on my part. But then, when the signs indicated that I should follow the creek, things went terribly awry. It was the worst, the worst, track I’ve ever ridden on. It was impossible to ride, and after many frustrating attempts – including a fall which resulted in my chain coming off – I was reduced to pushing my way through the sandy, gravelly bottom of the dry creek bed. This went on for an eternity, until I eventually decided that the most sensible course of action would be to head straight for a road and back to camp. Although I no longer knew where the track was, I had spotted Yanyama Hut, which I knew was situated adjacent the road. I had to go over many hills to reach the hut, but at least I wasn’t lost. It was worth the effort too, for in the hut I found water and a half full rainwater tank. I drank copious amounts, realising that I was far more dehydrated than I thought. I was even able to have a wash!

On my way back to camp I had a mechanical issue and had to push. My guess is that when the chain came off, it loosened the lock-nut that secures the rear cog. This meant that as I pedalled, the cog would spin but not the wheel! Luckily, it was nothing major and I soon had it fixed once I had arrived back at camp. It was a good little test for me: to see whether or not my meditation is having any effect. I remained calm and equanimous, even at the possibility that the damage was major and I wouldn’t be able to fix it myself. So, I guess meditation does work! It’s the only problem I’ve had so far and if it’s the worst thing that happens on my trip I’ll be a happy man.

I couldn’t be arsed walking up the gorge and opted for a nap instead. After all, it was my rest day and I had already put myself through enough.

Sunday 11th May, 2008 - Bunyeroo Gorge to Beltana Roadhouse – 96km

I’ve just had 2 rest days and the best thing about this is that I actually want to get back on the bike (I even enjoyed riding on the dirt road!). It’s a feeling that I don’t get that often. However, I still did not enjoy packing up all my gear this morning, even though I tried to use it as a tool to make me to that “deepest spiritual place”. Maybe I’m just not meditating enough!

The road wound down through Brachina Gorge, which was really dry and rocky. There were high cliffs – not that steep though – on either side, comprising layers of rock that are over 500 million years old. “Yeah, sure, that’s pretty old”, I thought “but they’re not overly attractive.” I definately wouldn’t be rushing to tell people “Oh, you simply must drive down through that Brachina Gorge.” Maybe they would be more amazing if I had time to observe them properly, rather than focusing on the road, trying to avoid all the loose debris strewn over its surface.

Eventually I popped out from the gorge and also from the Flinders Ranges NP. The road was now straight, flat and smooth, and quickly led me away from the mountains. The further I rode the more beautiful the mountains became – especially the range that extends Northwards, beyond the Flinders Ranges NP – and I found myself constantly looking back to marvel at the astonishing patterns and shapes that the features of the mountains create. They are without doubt the most stunning mountains I’ve ever seen, despite not being very high. What I liked so much about them is how sharply and distinctly they rise out from the otherwise flat, featureless plain; just a thin, delicate line hundreds of kilometres long.

A few kilometres before I reached Parachilna I spotted a guy on the side of the road fiddling with his 2 packs, which were loaded onto a trolley that he was pulling. This crazy Dutchman’s name was Piet and he was walking from Port Augusta to Karumba – all the way from the Great Australian Bight to the Gulf of Carpentaria – over 2 months. I walked along with him for a while trying to fathom the enormity of his adventure. I thought I’d be doing it tough with 200km of dirt road separating towns – and water - on the Oodnadatta Track. But his daily mileage was only half – or even a third – of mine, not to mention the fact that his route took him along the Birdsville Track where distances between towns far exceed 200km. My encounter with Piet put things in a new perspective, and I no longer considered my mode of travel to be slow.

By late afternoon I had arrived at the Beltana roadhouse - my first one. So I questioned the lady working there about just what a roadhouse is and if this is typical of what I can expect to find on my travels through the centre of Australia. When she said it was, I wondered how I would survive long days in the saddle eating frozen loaves of bread, the only food she sold that formed part of my usual menu.

Monday 12th May, 2008 - Beltana Roadhouse to Farina Creek – ??km

After riding for a rew hours I arrived at Leight Creek. It’s an oasis in the middle of nowhere, quite large too. I guess this is because they have an airport. Or is the airport there because it’s large? Anyway, there’s a school, as well as a shopping centre with everything you need: post office, hairdressers, cafe, digital photo studio, craft shop, and even a real supermarket (well, a Foodland at least). I was particularly interested in the latter. After filling up my basket with the usual supplies, including lots of fresh fruit and veggies, I thought I’d get something sweet for the road. However, due to my vegan tendencies, this proved to be a challenging task, for it seems that all the tasty stuff contains animal products: fruit cake – egg, biscuits – milk solids, chocolate – milk solids, lollies – gelatine. I ended up buying apricot and almond pieces. Full of sugar? Yes. But free of the souls of animals. It was at this point that I realised just how good for my health adopting a vegan diet has been. And now, when anyone complains to me about not being able to lose weight, I simply tell them, “You’ve got 2 choices: go cycle touring, or become a vegan” More often than not they scoff at both, cringeing in horror.

The next town I came to was a little smaller. It came into view as I crested a hill and I remember thinking to myself, “Is that Lyndhurst? Na, can’t be. It might be. It bloody well is.” It was tiny, comprising just a roadhouse, hotel, plus a few sheds and houses. If this is typical of the outback then I’m not going to come across much over the next couple of thousand kilometres. This is the town located at the Southern end of the Strzelecki Track, and as I rode past it I noticed a sign that read “Next services Innamincka 473km”. Fuck that’s a long way! There’s only 200km between towns on the Oodnadatta Track. Luckily, I’m not planning on heading to Queensland (which is where this track leads). Imagine how much water I’d have to carry!

Just after leaving Lyndhurst the lovely sealed road came to an end. From this point onwards, for the next 700km, the road would be unsealed. It was OK to start with, a smooth section of clay, baked hard and crusty by the relentless sun, and I rode fast, just as if I were on bitumen. I would be happy if it were like this all the way to the Stuart Highway, but as the lady at the roadhouse said, “The further you go, the worse the road gets.”, I had my doubts.

Tuesday 13th May, 2008 - Farina Creek to Marree - 52km

It was a short, easy ride to Marree and I was soon having a shower, doing my washing, and trying to figure out what I could buy that needed to be refrigerated, just so I could make use of the facilities while they were available. Considering I’d only be in town for a night, not a lot.

Yesterday, I’d bought a couple of 4L water containers – one to put in each of my rear panniers – and one of them already had a hole in it! Cheap crap, what a waste of money! So I went searching for some 5L bladders, but just like in Leight Creek, I could only get 10L ones. I was a little reluctant to put 10L of water in one pannier and none in the other, but I didn’t really have any choice. And so began the difficulties of carrying sufficient water. I would be plagued by this problem for every one of the 600km of dirt road that I was just about to begin riding.

Wednesday 14th May, 2008 – Marree to Screech Owl Creek – 77km

Last night I continued rading “Seven Years In Tibet” by Heinrich Harrer. The conditions which they – the author and Peter Aufschnaiter – endured are absolutely astonishing. When I consider the conditions under which I am undertaking my journey, I realise they are quite luxurious, and there is never any reason for me to complain. I also realised – acknowledged – for the first time that my life is actually better than that of most Tibetans. The reason for this is that I can delve into their world of spiritualality without leaving the comfort and security of mine, and even if I did, I know I can always return. We, in the West, really do have the best of both worlds, provided one has the strength and determination to pursue their dreams.

Today I gave away the last two items that I thought needed to go: a book and my tiny Bialetti. The Bialetti was particularly difficult to let go of as it was a travelling present from my mate Wooz. But I had to pass it on in order to continue my process of simplification. It is now in the hands of Irene at Marree. It’s lucky I’ve been able to slowly reduce my baggage as I am now carrying with me a 10L bladder of water, which sits in one of my rear panniers – I left Marree with 12L, more than sufficient for a 2-day ride, even though it continues to get hotter and drier and I drank more water today than on any other day so far. I even almost had to put cream on my arms, it was that hot! And along with the heat come the flies. They are extremely annoying. Although I use a fly veil, the only way to fully escape their eternal torment is to get inside my tent. And I wonder if it’s the same flies that keep hassling me as I ride or if they are territorial, taking it in turns to be a nuisance.

There was a nice tailwind today and the road is in impeccable condition – one of the best dirt roads I’ve ever seen. My average speed was probably around 20km/h, but I’ll never know ’cause after a couple of hours of riding a stone was flicked up and cut the computer wire that leads to the rear sensor – the one on the wheel that tells me my speed. So once again, just as on the way to Melbourne, I don’t know how far or fast I am riding.

It’s only 200km between towns on the Oodnadatta Track and with this great dirt road it really doesn’t seem to be much of a challenge at all. So as I rode along today I contemplated the possibility of riding the Tanami, which connects Alice Springs to Halls Creek. however, upon looking at the map, I see that for the last few hundred kilometres the unsealed main road becomes an unsealed other road and finally turns into a vehicular track. It doesn’t look good and I won’t be going that way.

There’s an informative mural just near the general store in Marree that highlights the problems with drawing water from the Great Artesian Basin to feed the mines at Roxby Downs. Makes me wonder about just what the hell we are doing. Here’s the final word on the matter:

‘STATEMENT FROM THE INTERNATIONAL CONFERENCE OF NON-GOVERNMENTAL ORGANISATIONS FOR INDIGENOUS PEOPLES AND THE LAND 15-18 SEPTEMBER 1981′

IF THE TRANSNATIONAL AND COLONIALIST GOVERNMENT CONTINUE TO DEFY THE NATURAL ORDER OF THINGS IN THEIR QUEST FOR MATERIAL WEALTH, MOTHER EARTH WILL RETALIATE, THE WHOLE ENVIRONMENT WILL RETALIATE AND THE ABUSERS WILL BE ELIMINATED. THINGS COME BACK FULL CIRCLE, BACK TO WHERE THEY STARTED. THIS IS THE PROPHECY OF ALL INDIGENOUS PEOPLES

And here’s a new minor dilemma of mine. Recently, due to unavailability of any other flavours, I’ve been buying beef or chicken instant noodles. Now, being a vegetarian, I throw away the flavour sachet. But, I have come to think that it is the buying of the noodles that contributes to the suffering of animals, not the actual eating of them. So, does this mean that I have to choose something else, like pasta?

Thursday 15th May, 2008 - Screech Owl Creek to Coward Springs – 57km

I left a little earlier this morning in an attempt to avoid the heat – it worked quite well. However, the wind quickly picked up and unlike yesterday, today’s wind was a headwind. Thanks to that horrible relationship – Drag is proportional to Velocity squared – it only takes the slightest headwind to cause a dramatic drop in speed, and in order to make decent progress one must put in much more effort than normal. It’s quite demoralising. But, at least it’s a good opportunity to focus on riding and forget about how much progress one is making. And it keeps the flies away!

I stopped at Lake Eyre South; it’s dry at the moment and looks like a large salt bed, which of course it is. It fills up during the wetter periods, and in fact floods are common. They even had to move the Old Ghan Railway as it kept getting washed away! While I was reading about the lake 4WD’s kept pulling up and out would jump clean, well-dressed individuals; the guys were often clean shaven and I even caught a wiff of perfume or aftershave. While I was battling headwinds and struggling under the weight of the extra water I carried, these folks casually traversed the country, their expeditions seemingly little more challenging than going to the supermarket or popping down the road for a cup of coffee, and I wondered what they were getting out of their trips.

I had heard (from Bevan in Adelaide – the guy who I had a beer with and who has ridden from Adelaide to Darwin – that the campground at Coward Springs is really nice, so that’s where I stayed. It’s a lovely place, with lots of shady, sheltered spots. There are showers (hot ones if you want to light the fire and keep it going for 1/2 hour) and toilets that don’t even smell, all of which is built from old railway sleepers. They’ve even thought about the little details: there’s running water with soap and, this is my favourite, soft toilet paper like you have at home, in two styles: dolphins, or starfish and sea horses!

There are bores and springs all along the Oodnadatta Track and the spring at Coward Springs is a delightful piece of work, a warm-ish spa  (about 29 deg. C) in the middle of nowhere. It’s a little square pool into which water perpetually flows. It too is made from old sleepers and is even surrounded by a cosy sitting area, replete with greenery. Actually, the whole area is a wetlands and an important habitat for many species. Unfortunately, this includes mozzies, and the little bastards descended upon me in huge swarms once the sun had gone down. So it’s flies by day and mozzies by night, a rather crap combination if you ask me. I did have a pleasant surprise upon arrival though – two guys from Adelaide, Clark and Scott, greeted me with a cold beer, which went down an absolute treat.

Today was really hot and I sweated a lot. Also, the sun was intense and shone down relentlessly upon me. And all of my sweat, all the salt that came out of my body was baked hard onto my skin by the sun, forming a crispy, white crust. And now, it’s slowly coming off. It’s covering my tent, my fleece, my sleeping bag. It is a small price to pay, however, for the freedom I am currently enjoying. Heinrich Harrer new about this freedom. In “Seven Years In Tibet” he writes of “[Preferring] hardship and danger to the most comfortable quarters behind barbed wire.” Now, I’m not really suffering from any hardships or danger, and my comfortable quarters wouldn’t be behind barbed wire, they’d be in a home in Sydney; but, the barbed wire would be the job that I’d need to maintain a certain level of comfort, and enmeshed within this job plenty of stress and not much time. The barbed wire out here is nothing but a scar on the vast landscape, a reminder of the past, of more productive times.

Friday 16th May, 2008 - Coward Springs to William Creek – 73km

Today was fucked. I didn’t enjoy it at all. It was my worst day on the road so far. It started out OK. I returned from looking at some ruins to hear the guy next door playing Don McLean’s “Vincent” on his guitar; they gave me some apples and some mandarins; and I rode off into a very gentle breeze. However, that gentle breeze quickly became strong and gusty – always blowing against me – and my speed soon dropped to 12km/h, 10km/h, 8km/h! One 10km stretch took me 1 hour 15 minutes! I found myself silently muttering, “This is fucked. This is fucked. This is fucked.” And when I needed more of a release I’d yell out “Fuck off wind!” I totally lost my composure. As the day wore on the road got worse, and soon it was covered with rocks and sand. I was forever switching from one wheel track to another, looking for the best surface. But just as the waves a little way up the beach always look better than the ones you’re surfing, my new track was often worse than the one I’d left. Eventually, I just accepted whatever lay ahead of me. Each pedal stroke seemed to drain me of energy and I had to stop constantly to eat. And then, when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, something really gave me the shits. I had been saving my last two slices of bread so I could enjoy a peanut butter sandwich, but when I stopped to make it I couldn’t find the bread. I searched the left pannier, then the right one, then the left one again. No bread. “Where the fuck is it?”, I yelled. “What’s going on?” Then I realised what had happened. In the morning, a bird had swooped down and nicked some of my food. At the time I thought it was a pack of noodles so I didn’t really care that much. But, it wasn’t noodles it had taken; it was the last of my bread! Fucking bastards! This torturous, dirt road saga continued for 8 hours. Then, just before William Creek came into sight, the corrugations began. The entire road was covered with them; there was no escape. Every bump sent a jolt of searing discomfort through my body as I slowly limped into town. I couldn’t believe how long it had taken, or that I had spent most of the day in second or third gear – gears usually reserved for steep hills, not flat, desert stretches. At least I met some nice people on the way: one gave me an orange, and another took my photo and promised to send it to me. Someone even bought me a beer in the William Creek Hotel. As I showered, I felt as though I was cleansing myself of the days trevails, and I looked forward to a well-earnt rest day.

During the evening the wind continued to blow, whipping up all the surrounding dust and depositing most of it in my tent. Everything was covered with a layer of filth; it seemed there was nowhere that the dust could not penetrate. And although I am still heading deeper into the desert, I am already looking forward to leaving it.

Saturday 17th May, 2008 – Rest day at William Creek

Yesterday, as I was riding along a particularly dusty stretch of road, and when my morale was at its lowest for the day, a car pulled up beside me and I couldn’t help but vent my frustration. The couple had done some cycle touring and the guy remarked that people don’t know their own minds until they do something like this. I have to agree. Spending so much time alone – and particularly if battling through adverse conditions – allows one to penetrate deeper into their conscious. My friend Jac had mentioned this to me after she had spent five weeks walking the Camino in spain, during which time she found places in her mind that she didn’t know existed, places that were quite scary. I too had had similar experiences: firstly, during a 2-week solo hike, and then while on a 10-day meditation course where one’s attention is constantly turned inwards. This ride is similar, only of a longer duration. These experiences are often pretty emotional, one becomes vulnerable, particularly to one’s own judging mind, and I suspect it is this vulnerability that allows one to penetrate deeper into the hidden abysses that are revealed.

There’s not much in William Creek; just a pub. There’s not even a general store. I couldn’t even get a loaf of bread! But, despite this, my day off was great. I meditated, wrote, read, napped and finally repaired the hole in my pannier – the one due to a tin of baked beans that wore its way through over the course of 100km of bumpy, dirt road on the West coast of Tasmania. During the day, I wandered over to the hotel to get some water, only to discover that I had to buy it! Luckily, the bar was full of 4WD-ers, one of whom I had met in Wilpena, and between these generous folk Ii ended up with nearly 11L – more than enough to last me till Oodnadatta. As far as water is concerned, William Creek is the opposite of Sydney. In Sydney, you can drink as much as you like and it costs almost nothing, but you have to conserve water when showering; here, you can shower for as long as you like (using bore water), but it costs almost $1 a litre for drinking water!

In the early evening, I went back over to the pub and, just as I had done yesterday, handed over $21 for camp fees, a bowl of chips and a beer. It’s $1 over my daily budget but usually I don’t pay to camp and I don’t drink. Besides, the cost of my other two meals – muesli and packet soup with red lentils – probably wouldn’t have even come to $2. After one day I was pretty much William Creek-ed out and decided I’d leave tomorrow, irrespective of the weather.

Sunday 18th May, 2008 - William Creek to Peake Ruins – 118km

In an attempt to beat the wind I left early, but it didn’t work, and I began to think that today would be a repeat of the gruelling ride into William Creek. Fortunately, the road swung northwards and the wind was soon blowing from behind. By midday, I’d already covered 50km, and it looked as though I’d be able to get to Oodnadatta in two days. However, the road quickly became a sandy desert, strewn with rocks, and I was in danger of losing my voice from too much cursing. Cycle touring and sand – that fine desert dust – don’t mix, especially with 1.6″ tyres (I would generally use 2″ or wider tyres for mountain biking). I’d deflated them a little bit but not enough; I didn’t want to increase the likelihood of getting a pinch flat, or even the dreaded “snakebite”, a double pinch flat. I almost came down on many occasions, as the rear wheel fish-tailed and the front one bit hard into the soft sand. I often had great difficulty controlling the direction of the bike and when the sand became too deep, too soft, I was reduced to pushing. There was a particularly bad stretch that must have been about 1/2km long, a section of road that was lower than usual and acted as a hollow into which the sand was blown. Pushing a fully loaded bike is hard, frustrating work. To prevent your leg from continually hitting the rear pannier you have to lean the bike over more than usual, which results in the wheels wanting to slide out away from you. To counter this, and to keep the bike going straight, you have to turn the front wheel a bit. This acts a little like a grader – or a snow plough – pushing sand to the side as you slowly move forwards. Highly inefficient, as you can well imagine. The only saving grace was the tailwind. In good Buddhist fashion I kept thinking, “This too will pass.” and finally it did. I was soon flying down a smooth, hard dirt road.

I passed a lot of cars today, and was offered plenty of water. But there were two in particular who stocked me up with all sorts of goodies: an OP Bundy and coke, lots of tins of baked beans, mini Mars bars, tinned fruit, nuts, half a load bread, dip and biscuits. They saved me from the monotony of soup, lentils and noodles – for both lunch and dinner – for the next couple of days. There was another car, on their way back home to Lyndhurst from the Oodnadatta Races that were on yesterday. They’d be there tonight; it took me six days to cover the same ground. The guy driving spoke quickly but I knew what he was talking about. However, as for the chick in the passenger seat, well, I didn’t understand a bloody word she said. Although she may have muttered, “You’re fuckin’ crazy mate.” The two kids sat in the back with big grins on their faces the whole time.

Monday 19th May, 2008 - Peake Ruins to Oodnadatta - 84km

I’m glad I pushed on yesterday so I wouldn’t have to travel as far today, cause it was one of the worst roads I’ve ever been on! It was another day of constant cursing. The three evils of the unsealed road returned: sand, rocks and corrugations. The last one in particular made itself well known with a near continuous presence for the last 30km into Oodnadatta. I’m not sure if it was due to the poor road or the fact that I’ve been on unsealed roads for a week now, but things were really starting to get to me – all I wanted was to ride on asphalt. I did, however, become inspired to formulate a theory on how the Oodnadatta Track was constructed. It began as a nice, smooth road. Then they brought in the roadworks team, well, three of them in fact. All members are peak-hour drivers from Sydney; this ensures a healthy amount of animosity towards cyclists, and is a stroke of genius on behalf of the person in charge. The first team gouges out deep grooves in all four wheel tracks, ensuring there’s no escape from the constant body jarring that results from riding over corrugations. The second team throws a layer of desert dust over the entire surface of the road. And the third team scatters rocks as a final covering. They’re quite talented too, disguising many of the “soft” sections, so there’s no time to prepare for the loss of control that inevitably occurs. The road is now ready for foolish cyclists, like me, who choose the more challenging inland route North, rather than the mundane yet trouble-free Stuart Highway. But now that I’m in Oodnadatta, I only have another two more days of hell left before I’ll be spat out onto the magic black carpet that connects Port Augusta and Darwin.

Oodnadatta’s just like all the other outback towns – lots of dirt, no grass – only much larger. There’s even two general stores, so I can finally delve back into the realms of fresh fruit and veg! People actually live out here – about 180, I think – but I have no idea why. The flies alone are enough to keep me away and the summer heat must surely be intolerable. Maybe they don’t know any better, or perhaps, for some inexplicable reason, they just love it. The main street resembles a country airstrip, expect there are buildings running down either side; they look as though they’ve been constructed from materials salvaged from the metal recycling station of the local tip. The ubiquitous rough corrugated iron fences only serve to reinforce this appearance. The other unusual thing about this town is that everyone – in the Pink Roadhouse at least – seems to be in a hurry. I’m rather perplexed by this as there’s not really anything to do here.

Tuesday 20th May, 2008 - Oodnadatta to Gooralikianna Creek - 79km

There was a period today when the road was smooth enough for me to admire my surroundings. It’s a funny place, this desert. Most of it is just how I had expected a desert to look: sandy, rocky and barren; a carpet of earthy hues; some gentle hills; and the odd bit of scrub. But all this openness is punctuated by regular swathes of greenery that wind their way through the land, following dry creek beds that must occasionally irrigate this parched land. It’s quite a sight. The potential peacefulness and tranquility is astonishing. Unfortunately, the flies continue to rob me of the possibility of experiencing this potential - little bloody usurpers! The bastards just never leave me alone. I can’t even enjoy my lunch, and I am reminded of my time in Tasmania when I was tormented in a similar, yet possibly even more aggressive, manner by the everpresent march – or horse – flies.

After another hard day I found myself pushing my way through what could only be described as a gravel pit. I sink in deep and can barely continue even in 1st gear. I’ve got no control over my direction and more often than not I have to walk. But at least I don’t get sand in my shoes! The “pit” was interminable, and deep too. Not only was it the most difficult “creek” crossing I’d come across, it was also the longest. So I stopped half way and pitched my tent; i’d had a gut full. It was a full-moon evening so just as the sun disappeared I was greeted by the soft, silver light only the moon can provide. There was no wind either, and this combination made for the most peaceful evening. It was probably the quietest place I’ve ever been, too quiet even to meditate (if that is possible), and I spent a long time gazing out across the desert wondering if the silent ringing in my ears could get any louder.

Wednesday 21st May, 2008 - Gooralikianna Creek to Cadney Roadhouse – 100km

I’d been told that the road from Oodnadatta to Cadney was no worse than that from William Creek to Oodnadatta. Well, how wrong some people are. The road is fucked. It’s an endless sea of corrugations stretching off into the distance, just like a solid winter groundswell at Bells Beach. There’s rarely any respite from the suffering they inflict, and they are at time so large, so harsh that I feel I may as well just walk. How does one deal with this? Well, I just endure the torment, with the knowledge that as long as I don’t give up, as long as I just keep riding, I’ll eventually reach the Stuart Highway. And what respite there is comes in the form of sand or gravel, which makes for equally if not more arduous progress. When I hit a sandy section – sometimes many kilometres long – I usually have to drop back into 2nd gear. It feels like I’m dragging a heavy weight behind me, connected to my bicycle by a long ocky strap.

It was on one of these tough sections that Jim and Irene pulled over and offered me a cold beverage; it was the tastiest can of diet coke I’ve ever had! They were going to give me a massive tin of peaches too, but I told them, “Hold on to it for me. I’ll get it from you when I make it to Cadney. I’ll be there before dark.” Up until now I wasn’t sure whether or not I could make it, but now, lured by such a reward, I dug deep into my reserves of strength and pushed on. At the 30km-to-go mark, while I was fuelling up with an apricot jam sandwich, a car pulled over and the driver told me that the rest of the road to Cadney is both hard and smooth. I now knew that I would make it. Even so, I put my last 8 jelly beans in my pocket, so I could eat them without stopping, and rode like I was racing in the final time-trial of the Tour de France. I reached the Stuart Highway just before sunset, and as I passed over the final cattle grid, the one that separates the dirt from the tar, an overwhelming feeling of relief and gratitude welled up inside me. It had been a hard 8 days that tested me in many ways, and I thought to myself, ”I never want to ride that bloody road again.”

I picked up my tinned peaches, pitched my tent on grass – yes, real grass, had a lovely hot shower, then retreated to the roadhouse for my favourite – hot chips and a cold beer. Unhealthy and expensive? Yes, but well earnt.

I’d spent the last few days cursing the flies that perpetually invade my space and cause me constant anguish. However, it wasn’t until today that I began to lose my tenacious grip on sanity. I wear a fly veil, but without a broad-brimmed hat it tends to hang in folds, making it difficult to see, and it sometimes even sticks to my face. Well, today I couldn’t handle it anymore and started yelling at it, “Fuck off fly veil! Piss off!” I don’t think it understood; nothing changed. So I returned to abusing the flies, which were equally despndent.

Thursday 22nd May, 2008 - Rest day at Cadney Roadhouse

I always love rest days but this one was my favourite so far, simply because I needed it so much. However, I was kept busy all day long with activities: meditating, stretching, writing. Plus extra chores too: clothes washing, washing my tent and cleaning my bike – all of which were positively filthy. While others came and went, using the washing machine, I toiled away at the laundry tub. My clothes get so dirty that returning them to even a semblance of their original state is a bit of an ordeal: 2 rinses, 2 washes, and 2 more rinses. Twice the effort normally required. And my tent still blends in with the desert landscape, even though I rinsed it 3 times!

Towards the end of the day I even had a swim. The pool was already in the shade and one of the roadhouse staff had said that the water temperature was only 16 deg. C – just like the ocean in Sydney during winter – but I couldn’t resist making use of the facilities while I could. I created a bit of a spectacle; all the staff gathered round to watch, the look on their faces a strange combination of eager anticipation and incredulity. I guess they only swim in summer. I stayed in just long enough to get that mild, numb sensation all over my body, knowing this would make my hot shower all the more enjoyable. I squeezed in some TV too – the afternoon news. Unfortunately it was Channel 7, so after only 10 or 15 minutes the substance of the stories had degenerated to the point where I couldn’t bear to watch even another minute. If only they had ABC or SBS, I may have learnt something.

Having just spent about 3 weeks camping in dirt I was eager to utilise the grass as best I could, so I went for a barefoot stroll. I didn’t get far though as it was full of these little thorny things that made for unpleasant frollicking. Reluctantly, I was forced to return to the thongs, displeased with my attempted commune with nature.

Friday 23nd May, 2008 - Cadney Roadhouse to 20km North of Marla – 100km

By now I was becoming quite adept at carrying only sufficient food to make it to the next shop. But there was no general store at Cadney so my supplies were the lowest they’d ever been. This, combined with my successful “simplification campaign” and the fact that it was only another 80km to the next water, made for eacy packing with the result that my panniers were only about 3/4 full. It was the easiest packing up effort ever!

It was a real pleasure getting on the bike this morning. My tyres were full of air again, and I rolled down the highway at speeds unknown to me for the past 8 days. As I no longer had to focus on the obstacles of the road – corrugation, rocks, dust – my mind was once again free to wander and my eyes to survey my surroundings. Visually, nothing had really changed, except the path that cut its way through this uninhabited desert was now a little more conspicuous. I also had the company of The Ghan, the new one, with trains on it, not just a pair of old steel rails. Road trains had now made an appearance, and there were more caravans, less 4WD’s. I truly felt I was back on the tourist route when I passed a sign in English, Japanese and some other language that I couldn’t decipher – maybe German. I got less waves than on the Oodnadatta Track and noone stopped to offer me food or even to see how I was going. It was like returning froma friendly country community to the cold isolation of a large city.

At these lattitudes, at this time of year, the sun carves a fairly low arc across the Northern sky, so as I ride perpetually Westward, it remains on my right hand side. This results in a condition similar to “truckies arm”. As their right arm becomes markedly more tanned than their left, so it is with my entire body. But it doesn’t stop there. As I spend all day with my fingers curled around the handlebars, they remain white from the 1st joint to the tip, while the rest of each hand is dark. When I take off my shirt it looks as though I’m still wearing one, so marked and sharp is the difference between tanned and untanned. I don’t quite look like a professional cyclist yet, but I am getting close.

Saturday 24th May, 2008 - 20km North of Marla to Marryat Rest Area – 100km

Not a lot happened today; the road seemed neverending and I didn’t talk to – or even meet - anyone. Until, that is, I pulled into the rest area. There was a handful of caravans and campervans already set up, and everyone was just milling around; they were all oldies (and I don’t use the term pejoratively). It wasn’t long before I was brought a bottle of water to drink and was involved in a conversation about pushies. I camped between the information boards and a fire, which had been set by Billy and Leslie, the pushbike-water couple. I immediately liked Leslie but it took me a little while to figure Billy out. Initially, he seemed overly opinionated and intolerant of others. For example, he put some music on – fairly loudly – and someone came over to ask him to turn it down a bit. He did oblige, but after the person had left, Billy winged to me about not even being able to play music out here; he was clearly not impressed. However, after getting to know him a lilttle better, I think it’s just another case of an old man becoming more and more bitter and set in his ways with each year that passes, of an inability to accept change. He appears unable to comprehend that not everyone is just like himself. But he had a good heart and they treated me kindly, and were in a way campground hosts; everyone enjoyed their fire as well as the nuts and chocolate they shared. There were lots of people sitting round the fire that night and I spent most of the evening talking with a Swiss couple who had stopped working – for the time being – and spent most of their time travelling in a campervan, either in Switzerland or abroad. They spoke pretty good English but, like so many foreighers, had some difficulty understanding Australians. There was one word in particular that they didn’t know the meaning of. “What does ‘yama’ mean?”, they asked. Well, none of us knew what they were talking about. I told them it’s Japanese for mountain, but of course this wasn’t much help. Then it clicked: ‘yama’ is how we pronounce ‘Yeah, mate’. The others seemed to think it made sense, and we all burst out laughing at how slack and lazy our speech had become. Now that I think about it, I reckon it’s amazing that people understand us at all.

The lure of the fire is always strong and, even though I was knackered, I stayed up way too late enjoying its heat and becoming mesmerised by the rhythmic flickering of its flames. So too did everyone else, and although I enjoyed having a bit of a chat, I would have liked to have spent some time at the fire alone. But I guess I’ll have to build my own fire if I want that experience.

Sunday 25th May, 2008 - Marryat Rest Area to 30km North of Kulgera – 90km

I was spoiled this morning: Leslie made me a cup of coffee and Billy had got the fire going so I could make toast. Oh, how I miss toast! It’s one of those little things that so many of us take for granted.

Billy and Leslie often take turns riding and driving, and this morning, Billy decided he’d ride with me for a while. It was a refreshing change for me and I enjoyed having someone to talk to. Not to mention having a wheel to sit on! Sitting in behind someone means that you only need to put in about 70 or 80% of the usual effort, even though you travel at the same speed. Although he’s well into his 70′s, because he’s on a road bike our speeds were fairly compatible and we quickly covered 30km. Leslie was waiting at the milestone with the kettle on and had also prepared some other little goodies for snacks; I felt like I was being mothered. But I was soon off again on my lonely road North, headed to Kulgera.

I crossed the border and for my first time ever entered the Northern Territory. I took a cheesy photo of a couple in front of the sign, then posed for one myself. I didn’t feel any different as I rode into my “new” state; I guess I just don’t have an affinity with political boundaries.

I had been hoping to get some fresh veggies at Kulgera but there’s nothing there except a roadhouse selling the usual assortment of unhealthy crap: chips, lollies, chocolates, softdrinks, etc. So apart from not being able to make salad sandwiches for lunch, I would have to eat Deb, peas and red lentils for dinner. I think I need new emergency rations cause these are becoming rather unappetising. The problem with the roadhouse is that you never know exactly what you’ll be able to buy – nothing at Kulgera yet there was a mini supermarket at Marla, and nothing on my map to differentiate between the two places. However, I am quickly learning that they can’t be relied on for the type of food I need. I can understand why. There aren’t many cyclists out here, just a lot of trucks, cars and caravans, the drivers of which generally just want a take-away meal or a snack. And those who want to prepare a nutritional feast simply delve into their fridges and freezers, just as if they were at home.

Monday 26th May, 2008 - 30km North of Kulgera to Rest Area at Finke River – 120km

I ride for about 5-6 hours a day, everyday, and that makes for an immense amount of thinking time. Initially, I experienced extended periods of deep contemplation, but as I slowly worked through each of my thoughts my mind started to become a little clearer. It was as if I were filing away all my problems and neuroses, one by one, in a place that I may never again visit. And now, just a couple of days away from Alice Springs, I find that there is not much left to ruminate on. I’m all thought out. My mind is no longer cluttered. This brings an extra dimension of freedom into my life. It makes it easier to focus on what I am doing at any given moment, and also to accept whatever happens with gratitude, confident that each of my experiences is exactly what I need and will lead me in the right direction.

There is generally a roadhouse every 100 or 200km and even though they don’t sell much, I still look forward to them as they break up my day and provide temporary relief from the monotony of the Stuart Highway. Usually there are some people to chat with and a comfy table in the shade where I can enjoy the rare experience of eating in a fly-less environment. If I only had one wish, I would not ask for a packet of Tim-Tams that never runs out, no, that would be pure folly. I would prefer to me surrounded by an invisible forcefield that keeps out all flies. This would be an immense improvement to my quality of life. In addition to roadhouses, the highway is littered with rest areas, many of which have drinking water – not bore water – and some even provide toilets. Like the roadhouse, they are a good place to meet people, and for me, well, they’re about the closest thing to a general store in a part of Australia devoid of places to buy groceries. This is because the grey nomads are continually offering me food and drink. My favourite so far came from a couple of couples heading North for some Barramundi fishing. I pulled into the rest area thinking thinking I’d have to sustain myself on a few peanut butter sandwiches. However, as I approached the only table in the shade I realised this would not be the case. I was greeted with warm laughter and soon had a cold beer in my hand – a Melbourne Bitter too, one of my preferred beers. As we exchanged details of our respective trips I was made a sandwich – with fresh salad! – and was even given 4 pieces of fruit as they departed. Then I was invited over for coffee by a retired couple cruising round in a “Coaster”. He used to be a professional cyclist in Tasmania – about 50 years ago – so we had plenty to talk about. Such occurrences are typical of my experiences on the Stuart Highway.

That evening, I decided to sleep just on my plastic sheet so I wouldn’t have to bother with my tent. By about 8.30pm, myself and everyone else had retired for the evening and were either asleep or being very quiet. Then a rowdy bunch of inconsiderate backpackers arrived. They made an immense amount of noise and, despite a polite request by a French lady to keep it down as there are people who are trying to sleep, continued to do so for many hours. As they chose to plonk themselves down right next to me I had to bear the full brunt of their selfishness. I tried to be patient and tolerant, thinking to myself, “I was once like them.” But it wasn’t easy, particularly when, at about midnight, they threw a couple of cigarette lighters into the fire. I couldn’t believe how loud the bang was when they finally explded. I hadn’t heard anything like it since they banned firecracker night a couple of decades ago.

Although I didn’t get much sleep I woke up feeling well-rested and happy. Was this a reward for my restrained behaviour? I wonder. I even resisted the temptation to fire up my little MSR stove that sounds like a 747 taking off.

Tuesday 27th May, 2008 - Rest Area at Finke River to 40km South of Alice Springs – 90km

There are some days when not a lot happens; this was one of those days. I rode at a relaxed pace, taking my time whenever I stopped to eat, particularly at Elliots Well, where I somehow managed to find a spot that was in the sun but void of flies. I continued my attempt at learning Mandarin which, being my first foray into the realm of tones, i.e. a tonal language, is proving to be quite a challenge. I am yet to figure out why they chose tones -5 of them – rather than just utilising more sounds, as any sensible language would. And it appears absolutely impossible to differentiate between: ‘sh’ and ‘x’, and ‘j’ and ‘zh’. I once picked up a Lonely Planet Japanese Phrasebook and found the pronunciation guide to be anything but accurrate. So why should the Mandarin one be any better? No wonder I’m having trouble! I am relying on the fact that as long as I arrive in China with a basic understanding of the fundamentals, then my pronunciation will eventually fix itself. Besides, I’m sure to make a few people laugh, and maybe even pry apart that gloomy, Communist sky, and allow some rays of joy and hope to penetrate their lives.

Wednesday 28th May, 2008 - 40km South of Alice Springs to Alice Springs – 40km

Yesterday, I experienced a new feeling. It was unfamiliar to me and I’m still not sure where it came from or what it was. But, I think I may have just passed through the second door. If this is true, then it is very exciting, for I’ve been in that dark tunnel for a long time now – at least 3-4 years. It was a feeling of overwhelming relief, an almost instantaneous release of all the tensions – in the mind that is – that have slowly been building up over the years. At last I feel as though I am making progress. Not because I’m meditating all day long, which of course I am not, but because I’m finally starting to deal with issues rather than put them aside for later. Either that or I’m lieing to myself, and if the latter is true then I’m in real trouble.

I decided that while in Alice Springs I’d stay at a backpackers. Besides being a level of comfort and luxury that I was yet to treat myself to, I thought it would be nice to be around different people for a while. The first one I passed looked fine and I would have just stayed there, but I felt like I had to inspect the others, even though the lady at reception told me, “This is the best. You’ll be back.” and the younger, more nubile girl concurred by giving me a “She knows what she’s talking about.” glance. I rode through town, passing 2 potential places on my way: the first had shut down – potential instantly removed, and the second was so sleepy i thought that if I stayed there I wouldn’t have the energy to get out of bed each morning. There was a third but I didn’t bother to go searching for it. I must be less proud than I used to be as I easily endured the “I told you so.” as I checked in.

The most exciting thing about Alice Springs for me was the prospect of eating real food again. So, even before showering – and I had just gone 6 days without a wash – I visited the supermarket. I was in there for ages and bought heaps of food; everything I needed to satisfy all the cravings I’d been having: fresh veggies, baguettes, veggie patties, real soy milk, soy ice-cream, chocolate, the list goes on. The only problem was that I knew I’d be leaving in a few days time and I would once again be on the “roadhouse/general store” diet. So how could I enjoy all this food without being a glutton? Luckily, I needed to fatten up a bit, so I almost felt obliged to over indulge.

As I was enjoying my delicious salad baguette in the sun, a guy wandered over to me and muttered, “I’ve seen that before.” He was referring to my tattoo, and promptly shoved his arm in front of me to reveal a large tattoo on the inside of this forearm – the Led Zeppelin symbols! I couldn’t believe it. When I was 22, and had just returned from my snowboarding season in Canada, I asked my friend Sarah, “Do you think I’ll ever stop liking Led Zeppelin?” Her reply was enough to make me rush out and get the 4 symbols – the ones that are the title of their fourth album – tattooed on my arm. I had always assumed there were others who had done something similar but was yet to meet them. And now, 10 years later, it finally happened. I wonder how many more there are.

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.