On the 6th of April 2005, cousins Jamie Mackenzie and Ben Wylson set off on their bikes on a journey which will take them to over 50 countries and to every one of the worlds great continents, all without the use of an aeroplane.
Monday, July 24, 2006: Cash
We are well and truly out of cash. Our worst financial fear of failing to raise the money for the South America leg is a constant torment. Resorting to selling brochures on the streets for food while we were in Brisbane prompted long discussions concerning the grave question of how we are going to raise the money to continue on our journey. As we cut through the east coast bush at the wheel of the 12-seater mini bus with the family lolling around travel-snoozing, we invented some quite potty plans to go into the outback and erect mile upon mile of lonely fence. We've heard it pays well to go into the wilderness and indulge in basic nil-temptation living.
After the family leave, brother Jack, aka 'Old Clanky', will join us for the second time in FWE history. When we're not in the bush Jack can help out on the money- raising front through the forming of a busking band. He can perform tricks in the street pulling in the punters with his tractor beam of slapstick entertainment. Perhaps we can throw in some of the old Valley of Ronnie songs too?
Other than busking we should mention our one other cunning plan; a self--promoting push in which we will give others the chance to invest in our jolly bandwagon. That'll be an on-going project. Money really is our only concern. When we train the bikes north in South America it'll be back to basics, back to being Black Cyclists.
As always, our future is open. Anything could happen.
There are a couple of basic musts: We have to leave ourselves one month to plan the Pacific voyage and fit out the bikes. We have to be out of OZ by mid-November to catch the South American summer.
Wish us luck, readers.
Friday, July 21, 2006: Old Ben Gubb's wooden hut
Photos
Cast your eye toward the gallery to view our latest piccies which include, in one of our new sections 'other', the long-awaited shot of Joe Matthews holding his old heart as his new one beats away nicely. It is remarkable to see. Also in 'other' you will see a picture by the acclaimed journalist and photographer Jacqueline Donchi. Her article entitled 'The Black Cyclists' should be published soon. Visit her website to have a look at more of her work: http://www.jacquelinedonchi.net There are new piccies in the Mongolia, Press, China, Laos, Malaysia, Thailand and Australia sections too.
We are well on the way to sending through to our web editor more ancient analogue, Canon Sure Shot photographs of our hike into the jungle, of our ship, The Princess Mary V and many more.
Over time we will pad out the gallery, gradually painting you a more comprehensive picture of all that has happened to us in our fifteen, actually almost sixteen months on the road.
To backtrack, fill in the gaps and pick up where 'jumping sea sausages left off':
One of the 'Neighbours' guys, a new character, Christian, gave us the keys to his harbour-side apartment in Sydney. With his old flat-mate, kindly Sam the fitness- freak we spent a few lucky days with a view over the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House before we had to leave for one of those Meccas for all pongs, a youth hostel.
Being in Sydney, having travelled over land and sea to get there, seemed to make the place all the more magical. At school we remember working on Sydney geography projects; now we were actually in that far away place of childhood fantasy. The Opera House, Harbour Bay and the bridge cannot fail to move the beholder. We boys who dreamt of Sydney all our lives, looked out over all those mind-blowing monuments to the ingenuity of our species as deserving men, rewarded for all the physical and emotional toil invested in Free Wheels East.
Sitting on a bench at Circular Quay, our belongings spread around us, we trendy tramps received a tinkle from Dichen, whose generosity -although she was not there in person to administer it- extended into New South Wales. She organised dinner for us at Jimmy Licks, a secret restaurant, and insisted we ordered the Oysters. Although the Ugg angel was not there in person, it felt as though she was still with us; we even laid a space for her at the table and raised our glasses to the empty seat. The meal became a ceremonial marker on our FWE timeline, a celebration of all that had passed, a delectable taste of new beginnings as good as the fine food laid out before us.
Back on the road you would expect life to have become simple again: finding a bed, writing our diaries and drawing pictures as our only commitments. However, there have been some exciting developments outside of these basic road simplicities, this time in the world of publishing.
Dichen had mentioned to a friend of hers, Margaret Gee, author of several books and world-renowned literary agent, that we were in town. Promptly scheduling a meeting with this eminent literary figure, we met her and - after interrupting a call to New York- talked through our wishes to make the first year of this adventure into a book. Our urgent need for funds to help FWE sail & roll onward to South America has rather forced a pre-trip-completion push to get published and receive a much-needed advance. To cut a long story short Margaret Gee offered her services as a literary agent. We always wanted to be able to say we have an agent and, oh boy, now we can.
Two days later we held a meeting at Random House Australia -publishers of John Grisham and Dan Brown- who, as I type, are considering a book proposal. Each day begins with an eel-like spring from bed and a dash for news. There has been silence, we have heard nothing yet, but are not disheartened. At this stage we are sure that no news can only be good news. If a book deal is secured, never fear, we will be publishing an entry on this website with a title which will have warranted the rare use of bold, uppercase lettering and plenty of exclamation marks.
From Sydney we journeyed north. Our second re-location had fallen through and with impractical quantities of unnecessary junk, including balls, snorkels, and books, we loaded a hire car as a last ditch resort to get to Brisbane to meet family Wylson and family Mackenzie. As already mentioned in the previous entry, we saw some sea sausages on the way and spent three nights in a row in our hire car -a Nissan Pulsar-doubled over, cold and soaked in condensation. It is worth every second when you get to spend your days on open roads and your evenings looking over beaches with crashing white waves lit by the full moon's peaceful beams.
Please note: your sense of freedom is temporarily swapped with backache and damp claustrophobia when trying to sleep in the not entirely reclinable seats of a Nissan Pulsar.
With just the two of us and a car on a straight sliver of black road stretching on forever, the same C.D in the player just completing its 132nd loop, there comes another state of consciousness. Perhaps it is the drug which fuels our will to continue, a road meditation. That is it: There is nothing in the world but the road and what it passes through. Not to have already visualised your arrival, not to look onward to your destination, is to absorb each and every inch of the road. This simple art of environmental absorption yields the acquisition of what we believe every one of us over-complicated human beings is hunting for. The road will tune you into yourself. Over time it forces the fast to slow down and teaches you a way which prevents that awful practice of missing the moment.
We dropped our silver car back at the depot and went off to find Old Ben Gubb, Jamie's friend who lives high in the hills above Brisbane in the suburb of Toowong with his delightful girlfriend Vic. The house is a Queenslander; a pretty, wooden, veranda-bound building with kookaburras laughing in the trees around it and bush turkeys in the garden using socks fallen from the clothes line to build their towering nest-thrones.
Old Ben Gubb is an artist; the smell of turpentine and oil paint wafts around the building from his basement studio, through the cracks in the floorboards to our noses. As Ben splodges and splurts paint onto his canvases, working day and night for his upcoming exhibition, Vic -who is a fashion designer- spends her days happily snipping away with a large pair of fabric scissors, cutting material on the kitchen table, or sowing on the sofa. She is in the process of turning rags to riches, patching each one of our impressive collection Free Wheels East holes. She even modifies our misfits, 'taking-in' here and 'hemming there.
I'm afraid we ourselves have been attempting to find the motivation to sell our home-made publication, this time on the streets of Brisbane. Playing street Hacky Sack when there is nobody around to sell to helps ease the unpredictable labour of cold selling for cash.
On the 27th we see our loved ones. It's the final countdown...
Thursday, July 13, 2006: Jumping sea sausages
'Its like a big sea sausage' said Ben as yet another whale breached the water and sploshed back down with a crashing splash of white water. Its the breeding season here on the Pacific coast and each year trillions of whales gather to perform and entertain with a carefully rehearsed and choreographed routine for the billions of appreciative people who gather along the shore-line.
During periods of rest from the more 'technical aspects' of the mating season, the whales like to relax and enjoy themselves by leaping out of the water, doing jig's, waving fins and posing for pictures in front of the gawping masses with each display lasting for several hours before they, rather begrudgingly, return to the other 'business' at hand. We fortunately managed to catch the matinee performance
Our Silver Nissan Automatic poked its nose over the cliff like a man about to commit suicide at Beachy Head, as we pressed our faces against the fugged glass to catch a glimpse of the spectacle. Situated just north of Sydney, sandwiched somewhere between Byron Bay and Coffs Harbor, we viewed the dancing beasts as they fox-trotted and waltzed about in the tumbling waves several hundred meters off shore. 'Ooohh, look at that one go' Jamie said, 'oohh, yes it looks just like a Cumberland' said Ben.
We departed Sydney on Wednesday and if all goes to plan, we should arrive in Brisbane in the next few days.
Thursday, July 06, 2006: Great Oceans of Happy Sadness
Our R.V was parked just outside reception at the hire company depot somewhere in the northern Melbourne suburbs. A highly efficient lady, dressed in black, wielding a bunch of keys, zipped around the vehicle, talking fast. She said things like "Turn on the ignition before you use the gas." We scrawled signatures somewhere. The lady disappeared in a whirlwind of efficiency, and there we were in control of a hunk of Mercedes metal complete with shower, cooker, loo, three beds and a C.D. player. The R.V. was shockingly huge, much bigger than you would imagine. It really did seem a comfortable mobile home and it was ours for a mere 1 dollar / day.
Jamie yelled "Yeaaah" as he twizzled the key in the ignition and the engine roared like a monster objecting to its awakening. With a lurch and a screech and a light banging of the head on the window glass, we were off onto the hectic city roads making for Dichen's place. We had a road trip in mind.
Dichen was packed and ready to go, her mauve Ugg boots on, a fluffy Ugg bag slung over her shoulder. In the 'roomy' four-berth camper that bragged dimensions of a sea-faring cruise liner, we drove through the early evening, gouging a line along the 'Princess Freeway' to Tourquey; the 'Gate Way to the Great Ocean Road' - 'The most visually exciting driving experience in the world'.
'Pip!pip!' tooted Jamie on the horn as we sailed airily under the welcome sign that beckoned us onwards. The impossibly tight bends in the Scaletrix road higged and jigged, zigging and zagging left and right as the high-beams fingered a route along the cliff tops in the gathering gloom. 'Fish & Chips anyone?' cried Dichen with a squeal of excitement as Jamie hurtled through another small townlet.
Down by the banks of a muddy river where bull frogs croaked, kangaroos jumped and foxes sneaked, we parked the 'Tank' and sparked a fire in a sawn-off oil drum and there devoured the battered sea article and reshaped potatoes that had been hugged in oily newspaper. No people, no stress or drama; it was what the good Dr had ordered; medicine taken with joy, washed down with a glass of ulcer wine, sneering guitar, snuggle rugs and Alchemist slumber.
The following day as crispy air bit our purple noses, we strode the moist sands of the crashing shore that cowered from the immense power of the bold and beautiful waves of emerald turquoise. An afternoon of blissful awakening that scorched our dreams and filled our stomachs with crispy calamari. Evening fell and with heavy hearts our Mercedes van sluggishly turned tail and began the trail of reflection to our once home; Melbourne.
We bade farewell to the Great Ocean Road, to Melbourne, to our new friends and lastly, of course, to Dichen. Our hearts swelled with gratitude and sad happiness as, from drawn windows, we threw our final waves, turned a corner and disappeared from sight. It was the end of Melbourne, the end of a chapter; it was the end of a cherished era in FWE history and we'll miss it dearly.
For several hours FWE drove in silence, the air punctuated only by the occasional grinding of gears and heavy sighs of pondersome thought. Life on the road: so utterly fantastic and yet so utterly painful.
Sydney has been breached and for a short while will become our surrogate home. Our ride north to Brisbane is booked via a similar R.V. van and on Tuesday the odyssey will continue.
It's swings'n round abouts, folks. No one ever said it would be easy and it isn't. Comfort and familiarity are temptations of sugar and sweetness that one would certainly do well to steer clear from. Home is a million miles away and perhaps sometimes the danger lies in 'replication', but it's a dangerous game to dabble a toe in and ultimately will surely leave a hollow feeling. Positive minds and thoughts of projection should beam fourth; refocused meditation is now called for.
Part and parcel of all things FWE, we embrace the challenge and, as always, will prevail.
Sunday, July 02, 2006: Pastures new
Tomorrow Free Wheels East will leave Melbourne after a stay of over two months. At 10:00am we head off towards Sydney in a camper van owned by a hire company. They pay us to relocate their vehicle. The deal is that we have to deliver their van, intact, within 3 days of leaving. In keeping with our always-in-contact-with-a-part-of-the-earth philosophy, this method of transport is a FWE first. Those who have been on, or are on the backpacker trail know this cost-effective means to a destination as a 'relocation'.
Piles of bags and clothes higgle all over the flat. The place reeks of Mr. Muscle - We want our deposit back. Our bikes and about half of the rest of our things will be left at Dichen's place until we return to Melbourne in some months time. It will be then that we load them for the next FWE cycling leg, the length of South America.
From Sydney we have designs to travel north to Brisbane via Byron Bay, and on the 24th of July, one of the most marvellous things that can happen to two adventuring cousins who have been away from their happy homes for so long will occur. We will -after 16 months of absence- be re-united with those people we love so much, our family. Mums and Dads, brothers and sisters. It chokes us to think of our imminent meeting at the airport.
Media
On Saturday, the professional fashion photographer, Andre, spent an afternoon snapping at us on the streets of the Melbourne suburb, Fitzroy. The photographs will be used generically into the FWE future. They are also tipped to be the pictures used for a magazine article written by Jacqueline Donchi; a publication that is available in the U.S, the U.K and Australia. We will let you know when it is available.
On Friday we were at the Neighbours set again having our photo taken with Dichen. The article comes out tomorrow in The Herald Sun's celebrity 'Eye' section. The Herald Sun is big here, it's the state Newspaper of the Year. The picture features us holding the leggy, horizontal, reclining Dichen in our arms.
Other
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