Morning Choices and the First Climb
At 7 a.m., I woke to a cool morning air and began preparing for an 8 a.m. departure. My water supply was down to only 250ml. I hesitated—should I drink it or use it to boil noodles for breakfast? In the end, I divided it: half for cooking, half saved in my bottle. With this small but important decision made, I packed up quickly.
The first climb of the day took about ten minutes, my legs straining against the slope. At the top, the cold wind met me, and the wide open sky washed my mind clear.
Connections in Bermagui
Arriving in Bermagui, I first stopped at the hardware store, Mitre10, where I picked up bolts to repair my trailer. Yesterday’s advice from a stranger had already carried me one step further on my journey.
Next, I paused at a bakery called Honorbread. A man outside greeted me, and as we talked, he generously offered me bread and a long black coffee. The warm bread, filled with mushrooms, felt like it sank into every part of my body.
Before leaving, he surprised me by saying, “I’ll be taking a boat out tomorrow. If the timing works, would you like to join?” His invitation left me curious—what new landscapes might still be waiting?
Inside the bakery, a staff member handed me a full bag of bread. Holding it, I felt an unexpected relief. On the road, bread is more than food—it is security, a lifeline.
Unexpected Gifts
Later, I met a woman cyclist and shared a short conversation. Soon after, someone else approached me, saying, “I’ve heard about you from a friend.” They offered me spare bottles and tubes, another small kindness that would carry me further.
The man I had spoken to earlier then invited me to his farm. From his well-tended fields, he gave me organic soil and seeds to take along. Neighbors from a nearby kindergarten also stopped to chat. What I thought would be a ten-minute visit turned into three hours filled with generosity and connection.
A Close Call and Narooma’s Quiet Welcome
I finally departed at 1:30 p.m., heading into the hills. After the hardest climb, I rode into the golden light of evening. On the second downhill, I hit a dangerous moment. A hole appeared suddenly in the road. As I braked and swerved, my tires slipped on loose gravel, the handlebars jolted violently, and a car sped by just a meter away. I escaped by the narrowest margin. My heart raced, and I reminded myself that a moment’s carelessness could end everything.
By the time I reached Narooma, night was falling. The host I was meant to stay with wasn’t home, but a message and food had been left waiting for me. Even in an empty house, I felt embraced by a quiet reassurance.
