When friends and family ask me why I am heading off next month, to live and travel on the road, I refer them to this quote by G.K. Chesterton:
The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one’s own country as a foreign land.
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My yearning to hit the road again was severely hampered for nearly a decade with a mysterious ailment which would flare up intermittently and cause bizarre swelling of various joints and the need for several ambulance trips, extended stays in hospital and time flying by as morphine dripped into my veins, and drains leaked pus from the currently afflicted joint.
Blood specialists, orthopaedic surgeons, and other medicos were baffled, and all the many x-rays revealed were old battle scars from a life more hectic and active in my younger days.
Not a pretty vision and my rabbit pal, shown above, sort of sums up the Dorian Gray aspect of it all.
The rabbit was given to me by a maiden aunt the day I was born [a long time ago]. It was skillfully made out of war-issue stockings and stuffed with pure wool straight off the sheep’s back.
Apparently, according to family, the rabbit and I were inseparable for about seven years — literally — and I guess that’s where a lot of the wear and tear came from. About 10 years ago my mother found him again and mailed him over from Africa. He’s sat on a shelf in my office ever since.
Today I like to think I don’t look as battered as my rabbit pal on the exterior, even though some days I feel just like he looks. Be interesting to see how we cope with life on the road.
The last attack was just on two years ago [after getting them about 2-3 times a year, so that's a big breakthrough] and I am now ready to get on with my next adventure.
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More than 20 years ago I travelled the length and breadth of Australia to research three books.
I travelled on commercial airlines, light planes and helicopters, in hire cars, battered outback Toyotas and Land Rovers, by camel and horse, on cross country skis, by hot air balloon, motorboats and yachts, on bicycle, in sea kayaks, canoes and rafts. And on foot — one memorable trip alone was a 23-day walk in South West Tasmania.
In one 18-month period I spent 268 nights in my beloved North Face VE24 tent [shown above in company with Bluey, my 1975 Kombi]. Together we survived blizzards in the Snowy Ranges, torrential rain in the tropics, and idyllic days on the banks of lazy rivers.
The dome tent and I survived mosquito and sandfly invasions on Hinchinbrook Island thanks to our ‘no-see-um’ mesh, and waves of leeches in various swampy campsites in Tasmania and Queensland courtesy of our sturdy rainfly and mesh. At other times, snakes, frogs and toads also tried to enter the high tech haven.
These extended trips also taught me plenty about surviving with minimal possessions.
I am about to embark on another extended adventure, again to research a couple of books, but this time I’m taking my ‘home’ — a 1985 Coaster bus — with me.
The long-surviving tent will come along too, but this time to cater for overnight visitors.
Let the journey begin.
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