Morning Repair and a Small Miracle
The morning air was sharp and cold as it slipped into my tent, waking me gently. The campsite I had found deep in the forest last night was almost too quiet, the kind of silence that makes you listen to your own heartbeat. Yet what lingered most in my mind was not the silence, but my worry about the bicycle repair. Since yesterday evening, the thought had been pressing on me.
I unloaded the trailer and carefully checked the damaged part. My hands trembled slightly as I leaned down, almost praying. To my surprise, there was no fragment jammed in the screw hole. What should have broken under the weight had miraculously come loose without damage. Relief surged through me—I even clenched a silent fist in victory. I whispered thanks to the little screw that had endured so much.
To be sure, I rode 100 meters with the trailer behind me. No vibration, no strange sound. My shoulders dropped, and I finally breathed deeply again. The day had already begun with a gift.
Downhill Roads and the Apple Seller
The road to Cann River was mostly downhill. The pedals turned easily, and the cold morning wind brushed sharply across my face. In the rearview mirror, I could see the trailer swaying lightly, carrying the flowers I had chosen to bring along on this journey. Their presence gave a curious sense of company.
The scent of the forest filled my lungs as I rode. When I entered the small town, the first voice that reached me was from a kind-looking man. “Would you like to buy some apples?” he said with a warm smile. Without hesitation, I found myself opening my wallet. The apples carried a sweet, tart fragrance, and as I bit into one, it felt as though time in the town slowed around me.
A Park, a Plug, and a Pause
In the town park, I filled my bottles with water. Then I noticed something small but precious: an outdoor electrical socket. My heart leapt. I connected my phone and battery pack, then sank onto a bench. For an hour and a half, I sat in simple peace.
Birdsong, the laughter of children, the distant rumble of trucks passing along the highway—these sounds blended into a kind of traveling symphony. It was as if the world had offered me music for free, reminding me that even waiting can be a gift.
Climbing Toward 300 Meters
The road toward Genoa rose steadily, climbing toward 300 meters. The slope was steep, and soon my breath turned into visible white clouds in the cold air. My thighs burned, but compared with the brutal climbs of the day before, this seemed manageable. One pedal stroke at a time, I pushed upward. Less than an hour later, I reached the summit.
From there, the descent came quickly. The trailer swayed with the momentum, the flowers shifting slightly as the road fell away beneath us. The scenery streamed past like an unrolled ribbon, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy the speed without worry.
Camping in Silence
Just before reaching Genoa, I came across a small rest area tucked among the trees. It was quiet, hidden, and safe, and I decided to make it tonight’s camp. There was no human presence, no Wi-Fi signal—only the soft murmur of the forest.
Dinner was simple: canned mackerel and oatmeal. Though plain, the warmth of the food seeped into my cold body, soothing me. As night fell, frogs began their chorus from the depths of the forest. Their layered calls filled the silence until my mind felt blissfully empty.
Tomorrow, only 30 kilometers remain until Genoa, and then the border with New South Wales will be within reach. A new state, new scenery, and new encounters await. Crawling into my sleeping bag, I whispered softly, “I’m looking forward to it.” The fatigue of the day and the stillness of the night pulled me down into a deep and steady sleep.
### Hiro | World Bike Traveler | Twitter, Instagram, TikTok | LinktreeView hirotheworld’s Linktree to discover and stream music from top platforms like YouTube, Spotify here. Your next favorite track is just a click away!
