September 8, 2015
The final scene: Surfers Paradise
We woke up early on the eighth of September and quickly packed up the tent before we could be spotted. As I folded up the tent poles and collected the pegs with birds singing their morning chorus and the first light of day flitting through the trees I reflected on the fact that it would be the last time that I would be doing this for a long while. It was such a strange feeling. I'd become so used to this - it had, after all, been my routine for more than two years.
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Before continuing to cycle, Dea and I sat by the beach and ate breakfast. An inquisitive bird came to see what we were doing and we fed him some scraps. It was an example of the little things that I was going to miss about life on the road. And as we resumed our ride, now along cycle paths near to the sea, through nice neighbourhoods with expensive houses, the nostalgia continued. All morning my mind drifted, thinking back over the places that I'd been in the past two years. I reminisced about solar-boat rides in Hamburg, and riding over Norwegian mountain passes, I thought of the morning that I woke up in Austria to find the world covered in snow, I remembered the endless offerings of tea in Turkey, and how strange it had been to go from Europe to Asia. I thought of Armenia and Iran, the arduous roads of Central Asia, the dash across the Turkmen desert and Mongolia, I thought of Mongolia, of the accident – the lowest point of the journey. At that moment Australia had felt so very far away. This morning had felt so far away. A dream that I would never reach. But somehow here I was.
My reverie of memories was only interrupted when Dea was suddenly attacked by a magpie. These had swooped on us often over the past weeks, for Australian magpies are not like European magpies, and they defend their territory ferociously against anyone wearing a bicycle helmet. This latest incident was the scariest, however, for the bird actually made contact with Dea's face and left a little scratch on her nose. Fortunately it was not serious - what a shame it would have been to come so close to our finish line and lose it all.
I looked at Dea riding along and smiled. How miraculous it had been that she had come into my life, helping me along through the difficult race across China, and providing the ultimate prize at the end of it. No finer movie script could have been written. It was her support that had driven me onwards from that low point in Mongolia, across the impossibility of China and on to South East Asia and finally Australia. And her resemblance to my old imaginary girlfriend that I used to cycle with remained a source of constant amazement and confusion for me. I could only conclude that I must have literally dreamed her into life.
As we arrived into Gold Coast we stopped for one last time to make grilled-cheese sandwiches on one of the free barbeques and for the first time we spotted the skyscrapers of Surfers Paradise on the horizon. We were almost at our ultimate destination and as I looked around at the inhabitants of the city that I was about to call home I thought back on what an extraordinary variety of people that I'd encountered since Paris. From the incredible, hospitable friendliness of the Iranians to the strange, confused stares of the Chinese I had seen it all. I'd met rude people and nasty people, but the overwhelming majority had been so fundamentally good and had shown me such incredible kindness. I'd been welcomed in everywhere, from Soviet tower blocks to Mongolian yurts. And I thought about the other travellers that I'd met. I thought about Tom, for example, and I wondered how he was getting along on the other side of the country. I thought about Suzy and Dino, and Gayle and John and Gabor, and then I thought about my bicycle and what a miracle it had been that it had made it. I considered congratulating it, but my talking bicycle had been strangely quiet since Dea had joined me. In fact all of my talking paraphernalia had been silent since I'd had the company of another real human being to talk with. To be honest it was probably a good thing for my mental state that these days I just conversed with real people. And, sometimes, cuddly toys.
The final kilometres drifted by on bicycle paths beside golden beaches and before we knew it we were coming into Surfers Paradise. A boy on a bicycle said thank-you to me for giving way to him, then we spied an old man whistling as he fed a bird in the palm of his hand. This was not the place we had feared we might find at all. Many people had warned us about the tackiness and debauchery of Surfers Paradise, but these first impressions were good. And soon we were smack bang in the middle of it all, standing beneath the towering skyscrapers and looking out at the smooth tourist-speckled beach. Youths skateboarded past on the esplanade, others tossed a volleyball over a net nearby and the street that we needed to turn down was marked by a big poster of two women in bikinis. We had arrived.
We followed the street to Down Under Hostels where we checked in and met Coco, the Frenchman who I had previously been in contact with about work. The company ran two businesses, and beneath the hostel we were shown into a garage in which resided twenty black pedicabs. I looked at them excitedly. Phase One of my long journey around the world, Get to Australia, was finally complete. Now Phase Two, Work in Australia, could begin. The pedicabs gleamed. I couldn't wait to get out on one and start earning more travel points.
Work would begin in a couple of days. That evening Dea and I strolled down to the beach and tried to take in the enormity of the change that had overcome us. No longer was I a carefree wanderer. Now I was about to enter the real world, with normal things to worry about - like going to work, having a stable relationship, an apartment with rent and bills to pay. Oh, and the small matter of trying to figure out how to cross the Pacific Ocean without flying.
It was dusk and with the bright lights of the skyscrapers contrasting the dark night skies there was just one more thing to be done. Dea took my hand and said some soothing words, and we walked out together, across the soft sand and into the surf. The waves lapped against our ankles and despite the voice in my head screaming “SHARK!!!” I wasn't really scared. I was too busy getting lost looking into beautiful blue eyes. The Pacific Ocean was washing over my feet and my girl was in my arms - my journey across the eastern hemisphere was officially at an end.
“Dea say something profound!” I said, holding her tight, “This is the final scene of the movie!”
But nothing needed to be said. We had made it, together, and this was the end of the road. There was nowhere left to cycle. Ahead there was only ocean.
“I guess we're going to need to learn to sail.”
Yowzer, talk about leaving things open for a sequel!
Alright, that's it! Roll credits...
Today's ride: 57 km (35 miles)
Total: 47,294 km (29,370 miles)
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