A Morning of Parting
Before 8 a.m., I woke to the warmth of a house that had already started its day. For breakfast, I was told to help myself to whatever I liked, so I poured honey and milk over a bowl of oats and added the leftover prawns from the night before. It felt like an unlikely feast, rich and comforting, and it gave me strength for what I knew would be one of the hardest days of my journey so far.
Just before I left, my host stepped into the garden, cut a flower, and handed it to me. They knew about the flowers I carry on my trailer, and I felt the gesture carried a wish—that my traveling garden might bloom even brighter. In return, I gave them one of my flowers and a handwritten letter. Surprised, they smiled and said, “This is a treasure.” That smile, that brief but genuine moment of shared gratitude, reminded me why I travel this way.
Facing the Hardest Climb
I had already prepared myself for this day. Everyone had warned me it would be the toughest of my New South Wales journey. Ahead was a climb to 400 meters—not remarkable in numbers, but in gradient, traffic, and the weight of my loaded trailer, it became a true challenge.
The road tilted upward, and almost immediately each pedal stroke felt heavy. Advancing even 50 meters at a time was exhausting. With no cycle lane, I was forced to focus on every sound and vibration, aware of cars passing just behind me. The effort was not only in my legs but in every nerve and every thought, pushing forward as if against a wall.
An hour and a half later, I finally reached the top. My legs trembled, and my lungs burned with the effort. In all the months of riding across Australia, this climb may have been the most brutal moment I had faced.
Relief in the Descent
And then, the road released me. The descent stretched ahead, long and liberating. The strain melted from my body as the wind rushed across my face. My eyes opened wider with each turn, taking in the wide horizon and feeling the weight fall away.
There were still many kilometers before Campbelltown, but I knew I would stop before reaching the city. Entering Sydney would be its own chapter, and I wanted one final pause before crossing that threshold.
The Last Camp Before the City
As the evening settled, I found a small patch of ground near a quiet town and set up my tent. I ate the fruit my host had given me that morning and sat quietly, aware that this might be my last wild camp before Sydney.
The smells of grass, the chill of night air, and the faint smoke from a long-extinguished fire all surrounded me. These small details reminded me why camping, even with its hardships, holds such value. In the shadow of a massive city, this last night outdoors felt sacred.
Tomorrow, Sydney awaits. But as I sat there, I realized that the pride of having reached this point had already become part of me. The city would be a destination, but this climb, this night, and all the miles before them were already my reward.
