The Lakes and Ocean Hotel

17th April: I'm in the Lakes and Oceans Hotel warm and comfortable after the long walk to Forster. Around the lakes through the bush and again with the deserted beaches. Rest Tommorrow.

Letter : With a 38km distance between me and Forster, (pronounced 'Foster' by the locals with any ohter pronunciation punishable by a good frowning upon), I set out to take down this barrier piece by piece.

Sometimes blokes yell at me from passing cars, this time along the Great Lakes Way a fella leaned right out the window to let me know what was on his mind. I'm not sure of the spelling but it was something like, "Malasuasameur, fwa plad!". The rest was just mumbles in the distance as the car sped off, perhaps he was explaining his disapproval of my method of transport or maybe my lifestyle choices, but his argument muffled as if in some mental stupor. H e could have easily been explaining how he had just thrown money at me and it had landed inthe bushes behind me. Either way it seemed like a waste of breath.

Dingoes have a way of walking which seems like a weary wander at first. At a second glance they're very light on their feet, gliding effortlessly over sand dunes. I hope that's how I look as I waltz the beaches, steep bush trails and highway roadsides, although I'm sure the weary wander is probably the lasting impression I leave.

Walking into a town, I've previously mentioned has a particular sense of arrival. Perhaps it's like rolling out your own red carpet, making the most grand entrance possible.

The locals here tend to be a mixture of those who'd prefer what they consider familiar and those who have a broader range of what they deem within their ken. They all seem to be curious to see how I fit into their categories. Some have a genuine desire to discover something new. Towns that have a frequent bombardment of 'rubber-neck' tourists tend to have more distinctive types. I just like a friendly town.

18th April : I took the luxury of a shower and a half days rest. It's a loud and clear message the body gives when its time to rest. The road's long but flat so its Taree tommorrow.
Being resourceful has become second nature. Keep the show on the road and do what you have to. It's a rhythm and momentum that makes me feel like a mere passenger.

Letter : This morning I awoke to the rustling bushes of a red fox. It was no more than a point of interest to this animal that a hairy faced human had woken up on his patch. I was on a headland overlooking a sleepy Sunday morning in Forster, near the bay, looking out over the beach and onto the calm ocean.

Niggling aches and pains, itches and irritations are a certain sign that the body is due for a rest. Sometimes I feel as tough as an old boot and other times as fragile as fine china. After several days of dancing around headlands my body is feeling the pinch, lusting for a roof and creature comforts that are just not available to me. At least half a day's rest should bring me back to my jolly fighting fitness.

I helped a bird free itself from its entanglement in a palm branch before having a shower at a Tuncurry Beach changeroom. Taree is probably my next major town but I'm not in any great hurry to get heaps closer today.

Swaggie.

19th April : There's an extra blanket of rolling mist over my resting bag'o'bones in Criko this evening, a cushy mattress of grass beneath. Taree is not an eccentric's way of describing a tall wooded plant and Cundletown is not a town where you get hugs. Passing homes at dinnertime made me feel lonely, tired and despondent.

Letter : Upon leaving Tuncurry I was well aware of my aches and pains, and how they were tiring me, affecting my regular buoyant moods. It's at times like these when I ponder why I'm so difficult to satisfy, that I review my reasons for walking. It's a conscious revival of my motivation. I have to remind myself that if the aches and pains grind me to a standstill, and if I don't move from this place I'll die. At least I can still urge myself onwards, even in an off mood.

Packing a wet swag and knowing the burden will be carried all day to the point where it comes time to lay down with wet blankets again is de-motivating, but with Taree in my sights it's a burden I accept to bear.

Taree is a place which appears welcoming, the streets are clean and the country town feel hangs in the air. As I was handing a digital camera in to the lost and found, there was a couple arguing about some 'A.V.O' broken, as if it meant the world could never be the same again. As they carried on like bickering toddlers, their two young children sat and cried at the hopelessness of the situation. I hope their parents grow to see the wisdom of their offspring.

As I left Taree I talked with a woman who described it as the most wickedly gossiping town she'd lived in. I've often wondered why others care about what others think and say about them. Yes, it can affect the opportunities available to you but I'd argue that if this was the case, then your opportunities are with other people in a different town. It's something to rejoice rather than cause frustration in my opinion.

Shopping in Coles makes me think that money can get me anything and solve any problem. Shopping in Coles makes me forget that my money could work for me by spending it on local produce with local businesses who I'm more likely to trust. Shopping at Coles makes me think that having enough money can buy me freedom. I wonder why the fresh air outside makes me feel hungover and regretful.

That night I flew back out onto the Pacific highway, tearing up the swaggie lane with bits of concrete road surface flying about the place with every tread. When it came time to camp i jumped a fence into a paddock, a more cushioning bedding than most mattresses. It's rained on me again.

Swaggie