Months ago, when I set out from Sydney, my friend Brad told me that that there was a beer and a ‘milk crate with my name on it’ waiting for me in his shed in Darwin. I said I’d see him soon; I was looking forward to catching up with a mate, hanging out in the shed talking rubbish over tools and cars and motorbikes while Beastie shipped to East Timor.
A milk crate with my name on it.
Six months later than expected, I’ve arrived. I found the milk crate with my name on it.
Beastie should hit the docks in East Timor today. I’ll fly to Dili on Monday, the day after my 30th birthday, to retrieve her from Customs and ride into the next level of unknown.
There have been some unexpected trials and tribulations on the way to Darwin, and I haven’t written about all of them yet. You might have noticed that my last blog post had Beastie refusing to start in the bed of the Gregory River, up near the Gulf of Carpentaria. That’s a long way – and a few adventures – away from the Darwin docks where I find myself now.
Sometimes I find it difficult to write about the hard times while they’re going on, because I don’t know how it’s going to turn out: should I panic? should I not panic? is now really a good time to be writing my blog, or should I be trying to save my arse…?
Suffice it to say, there are a few good stories about how I fell off the radar in remote Queensland for a couple of months; and no doubt plenty more crazy shit to come.
Catch you in Timor.