A solo journey on a small bike, told slowly.
I found gold in Sofala.
Razorback Ridge, a sketchy river crossing, Crown land beside the Turon — and a first pan that did not come up empty.
Three and a half hours from Sydney on backcountry roads. Fifth visit to a town the government once tried to keep quiet about. The bike came through the mud better than the rider did.
Shorter pieces from the road.
Sombering
Day thirteen of a thirty-day fast. A hundred and seventy kilometres from Stacey’s Bridge through Omeo to Mount Hotham. A flipped car at the historic-site sign, and a strap wound through the spokes. The thin line between a small mistake and ending the trip.
Not working, and the brain catching up
Day four out of Sydney. Two meanings. I’m not working — and the brain isn’t working the corporate way. A camp note from Stacey’s Bridge on Wheeler Creek.
Coromandel motorcycle ride
Three hundred and fifty kilometres around the peninsula. The 309 Road gravel, the SH25 perimeter, the DOC camps, and the corner where Hunter and I went down.
The visual side.
I’m Robin. I ride a Royal Enfield Himalayan 450 out of Pahi.
I’m in the slow process of leaving — first New Zealand, then the world. This site is the long version of where I’m going and what I’m learning along the way. The bike is called Hunter, and so far he listens better than most people I know.
More about this project