I was sitting at my desk at work. It was about six thirty in the morning. I’d been at work every day for too many days straight, and at too many uncivilised hours. I had a lot of lawyering to do. None of it involved rescuing maltreated children or protecting baby harp seals. I’d drunk a lot of coffee.
I reflected that to continue doing this, day after day, might be a suboptimal use of my life. I thought, I need a break, I need to get away, I need to get the hell out of town.
I thought,
riding my motorbike from Sydney to Paris would do the trick.
I thought,
I’m clearly hallucinating from sleep deprivation. That’s nuts.
I thought,
that’ll be dangerous, I’ll need to find someone else to do it with me.
I realised,
no-one else is going to do it with me.
I thought,
fuck it, I’m going anyway.