A Thing or Two

A Thing or Two

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Hey kid, come on over here and wipe away those tears. Let me tell you a thing or two about a thing or two, so you don’t go wasting any more time on fools and folly.

Judgin’ by the way you go runnin’ on down the road after love over and over I’d be guessin’ someone told you that you weren’t worth much. More than once, I’d say, looking at the state of you. I’m supposing you keep headin’ on back out there because you believed ’em.
Kid, if he’s runnin’ you are never gonna catch him. Why not save your legs some miles and sit here a while? Take in the view.

The Long Road

The Long Road

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My father is 74 years old and has become a bit of an internet sensation. And rightly so, for he is currently riding a pushbike from Freemantle, Western Australia to Sydney via Adelaide and the Great Ocean Road in an unsupported ultra road race called the Indian Pacific Wheel Race. A 5,500km odyssey to test even the youngest and fittest bucks.

To give my international friends some context that’s the equivalent of pedaling your way from somewhere offshore in the Bay of Biscal, across France, to somewhere in the Black Sea past Romania – via Bosnia, Macedonia AND Bulgaria. OR, roughly 2000 kilometres more than the Tour de France. He camps on the open arid plains, picks up meat pies for nutrition along the way (and a chocolate milk for the daily halfway mark) and rolls on. You can follow him on Facebook at Back Road Bicycle Adventures. This is my interpretation of one of his many photographs from the ride.

I told a friend about it yesterday and he replied “That’s mental”. After a few moments staring in to space, envisioning the feat, he said, “like fully PROPER mental”. You would probably agree, but I know better. I know he is out there with my sister. She is in his heart and if he closes his eyes she is there next to him. They rode together, she is from where the wild things are. She lives now in the rustle of breeze through trees, the warmth of the sun on your face, mountain views, star filled silent night skies, in streams and in waterfalls. This is why I camp so often, climb hills, splash through lakes and fall into waterfalls. This is why a 74 year old man is riding his bike 5,500km around the bottom of this beautiful land. To have his daughter by his side again, the wind at their back as they ride in to the setting sun. If your daughter’s spirit lived on the open road, and for just a moment, death did not stand between you – wouldn’t you want to be out there too?

It is not mental, it is love. 

Wild Things

Wild Things

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Climb to the top of a hill with a friend, giggle until you burst, watch the sun set and a full moon rise, sleep under the stars, live out of an esky, savour the bitter taste of instant coffee boiled on a billy in the mornings, let the wallabies join you, watch the sun rise, go somewhere there’s no reception, sit by a campfire. Simplify life for a bit. Take a break.

In Circles

In Circles

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My thoughts have been turning a great detail lately to where home is. In these musings and ponderings I have come to the conclusion that the home my heart feels is irrelevant to its bricks and mortar location.

The places I live are where my son and I move in circles with around each other within comfortable silence. The place there is no need to constantly validate the strength of our relationship through incessant speech. I am never as silent, and as peaceful in silence, as when I am with my boy. It is having a house that others use as sanctuary – a place they are drawn to when trouble strikes. It is preparing them food, hugging them, and telling them that it will be OK even when I’m not entirely sure it will be. It is the friends I visit when the same trouble strikes me, and the people who hold me, feed me and tell me it will be OK, even when they’re not sure it will be.

Home, I am beginning to understand, is the people I love who love me back so fiercely that I have moments when tears well and flow over in gratitude.