Part 0.3 My First Adventure

Our adventure continues upon completion of the project. I always hated watching the sun come up in the morning when you finish a night shift. It’s like the final nail in the coffin when you know you’re not sleeping that night. You see, it’s not as simple as just going to bed and sleeping. Your body clock is shot to pieces, AND it’s daytime. The best I’ve ever slept after a night shift is 6 hours. It’s 6 am, and I’ve worked for 12 hours already. Usually, it’s four or five. There was not going to be any sleep today. That’s for sure.

I arrived back at the hotel and sat on the end of the bed. Staring off into the abyss, halfway between a dream and reality. Fortunately, a known cure for tiredness is a steaming hot shower. After cleaning off the filth, I jumped in the truck and headed back to Sydney. How long will this take Google? 5 hours and 32 minutes. Not including traffic and fuel stops. Fuck…

My first stop was the companies office. There is nothing better than being awake for 19 hours, then going into somewhere and talking with a bunch of bright-eyed and bushy-tailed office workers. They’re good people, but after a night shift, the only conversation you want to have is your pillow as you beat it into a comfortable submission. Next stop, the factory. Which is, of course, another 45 mins away. This event was reasonably painlessly. Then the REAL adventure began.

Catching a cab to Tims’ house was a good reminder of how tired I was and how desperately I wanted to sleep. Nothing like some adrenaline-fuelled excitement of buying a world travelling motorbike to keep the eyelids open. The transaction didn’t go quite as smoothly as I had planned. Tims’ transaction went smoothly. Then it was time to register the bike in my name. My first hurdle at the traffic office was when I needed proof of my address. We (Tim and I) knew that I could transfer the bike straight over. However, being a Victorian and the bike registered in NSW meant I had to prove that the bike would be “garaged” in NSW. To be fair, I knew this to be a complete lie. But I was still full of indignation when they asked me to “prove” via a bank statement of electricity bill. Neither of which I had.

Alas, after reading “The Barefoot Investor” by Scott Pape (a book I HIGHLY recommend. It teaches about money, but told by a mate), I’d changed banks to ING (as per book recommendations). The problem was that this bank was online, and I couldn’t get a bank statement with a new address on it even if I wanted to. Captain Improvise to the rescue!!!

I found a bank nearby and explained my predicament. I was reassured of two things: 1. I could open a bank account straight away. 2. They could print out a statement with my “residential address”. 2 hours and a lot of running later. It was done.

By now, it’s 2 pm. I’ve been awake for almost 20 hours, and I want to make the border of NSW and Victoria by nightfall. A 10-hour ride away. Still fueled by pure adrenaline at this point. I hopped on, started her up, and was off. Fortunately (Is this a theme that I will be saying “fortunately” a lot??? Probably), Tim sold me the bike with the coolest helmet known to man. A matte black motocross lid with skulls and flames decal all over it. If I was going to fall off, at least I would look fully sick doing it. Unfortunately, the helmet was old, and the foam padding was almost gone. The result was a slight pressure on my forehead. And like all good water torture techniques. The trick wasn’t the immediate pain but the slow build-up into excruciating torture. Lucky for me, I wasn’t in 1632 Japan, so I could just lift the helmet off the pressure point when it started to become too much.

The ride was truly magical. After all the pain and heartbreak, excitement and joy, it was finally happening. I finally had a motorbike. It’s was basically all talk up to that point. There is much to say about having a tangible thing as proof that you’re not full of shit. The bike ran like a dream. She would quite happily thump away at 100kms, which I did for a good few hours.

Stopping at a busy highway restaurant for a break. And some much-needed caffeine, I was genuinely stuck with awe over how beautiful the Australian country is. Sitting on top of a hill overlooking Sydney. It was incredible. I was also blown away by how little old I was actually doing something. Sitting here in my flat. 3 years later. I’m a little jealous of the childish awe of my emotions back then. I love the man I’ve become, and I still feel incredible when I travel. But it just doesn’t have the same kind of excitement as eating ice cream for the first time. Or watching your favourite cartoon when you were a kid. Know what I mean?