In my late teens and early twenties, I did innumerable road-trips up and down the east-coast of Australia in a little red 1974 Honda Civic hatchback. In my late twenties I road-tripped from North America, through Mexico, and into Guatemala in a fuck-off old 1974? GMC Chevy van. In my early 30s I took a year and a half to drive across Australia in a bronze, Mazda 929 station-wagon. In my early 40s, I’m riding around Thailand and Indonesia on a little moto (day-tripping more than road-tripping).

I was riding around yesterday in search of waterfalls and the beach thinking  about how I don’t see myself as particularly well-traveled or adventurous, yet I’ve done all these crazy-arse road-trips, and so many of them have been on my own. So much of my life is connected by road-trips in search of  a body of water; when I lived in a roadhouse in the middle of the Northern Territory I’d drive 300km to the hot springs ‘up the road’ on my days off.

Yesterday, I went back to Vibhavadi Waterfall and then drove around for a few hours looking for a beach to swim at. I don’t often give it much thought, but all day, I was so grateful that I never wanted/had children. I’m so pleased with the way my life is at the moment, and I’m so  appreciative of my freedom. I thank past me, who, at 17, 18, 19, started road-tripping. She (meeeeee) totally normalised getting out on the road, taking things in, and exploring for the sake of exploring.


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