No longer will I reach for Nivea sunscreen in the passenger door of the Toyota Prius and use its sleek tinted windows to smear it over the bridge of my nose and through the cracks in my ears.
No longer will I sit cross legged in the dark blue light of my tent and stuff my travel pillow into my torn up Mickey Mouse sleeping bag full of clothes.
No longer will I pull the Velcro straps of my shoes over in a light, autonomous manner.
No longer will I imitate animal noises as we pass farms and laugh as Matt’s deep voice bellows in perfect replication.
No longer will I refer to the boys as ‘ghoul’ or ‘ghoulface’ or anything as ‘ghoulish’
No longer will I feel the hard gravel under my tender backside as we wait in silent darkness for our DreamPot to cook our pasta.
No longer will I put songs on repeat in an effort to remember my friends and family.
No longer will I swap my front and back drink bottles after twenty kilometres.
No longer will I salivate over stale bread, avocado, boiled egg and tuna while the heavy sun beats down on our backs.
No longer will I dream about the ocean.
No longer will I laugh at Anthony’s numb, droopy face as his eyes struggle to focus with the early morning light.
No longer will I let an aniseed ball slowly dissolve in my mouth over exactly five kilometres.
No longer will I try and balance my bike and trailer against obscure objects only to walk away and hear a ‘crash’.
No longer will I lean over my handlebars with a forced smile and stare down the barrel of a giant lens.
No longer will I sit with an instant coffee staring at an illuminated laptop screen and listen to the boys snoring next to me.
No longer will I reach for Primera la Luna and Luego El Sol, our faithful watercans, and tip water into my bottles.
No longer will I hand green post cards to inquisitive strangers.
No longer will I pedal next to Anthony’s window talking about girls and sipping Coca Cola to stay awake.
No longer will I feel at ease with Mereki by my side, knowing no matter what went wrong we would fix it.
No longer will I let me beard grow to Ned Kelly proportions and laugh at my own reflection.
No longer will I stare at our bible, Camps, the book of maps and lose myself in the towns and distances.
No longer will I dip my fingers into paw paw cream.
No longer will I laugh at Mereki’s mango story, despite having heard it a hundred times.
No longer will I accept praise from strangers for being inspirational but never truly believing it.
No longer will I string up my hammock and be thankful for the hand size shadow covering my face from the blistering sun.
No longer will I sign my autograph for school children, all the time wondering the worth of ink on paper to an impressionable youth.
No longer will I see Matt disappear into the distance, guessing exactly what song just came into his ears.
No longer will I look behind me habitually as my thoughts turn again toward Anthony’s mental tolerance.
No longer will I pour the contents of my wandering brain onto the keyboard of this laptop, into the collection of journal entries on the website, and into the hearts and minds of loved ones and strangers.
It’s all a bit sad really.
Quote of the Day
“So Tommy. Why MyPOWER?” – Mereki
“ (laughing) Are you serious?” – Tom
NB. Conversation took place on a pristine, white sand beach in Nelsons Bay
TG
tom@mypower.org.au