November 15th

            What a great sleep.  I can officially conquer the world after resting 10 hours last night.  Laura is gone and this makes me sort of sad since she is the only kind of friend I have made in Sydney since I got here.  Oh well, no time for being sad as I get dressed and make my way to Market city for breakfast.  I want to eat a big meal this morning since it will take me about an hour to bike to my meeting with my new boss and I want to have lots of energy to show him that I am ready for whatever tasks he gives me.

It is a little overcast, but doesn’t smell like rain as I walk towards the market.  There is only one spot open for breakfast at 7:30 AM.  I order the all-day “big breakfast”.  This consists of two eggs, ham, sausage, toast and tomatoes.  While ordering I ask one of the locals here how long it takes to get to Eastgardens.  He claims it is near Maroubra and by bike it will take me maybe 45 minutes tops.  The best route, as I’ve already figured out, is Botany Road.  After asking him about the weather he says it won’t rain until after noon so I might have to take the bus or train to get back to my hostel.  I thank him as I finish eating my breakfast and make my way back to my hostel.

The sky is very dark and ominous as I make my way toward Eastgardens.  The local also mentioned the area I’m headed has a great shopping mall.  I’m wearing my red City Sightseeing windbreaker and a pair of jeans. Subsequently I will need to grab some black pants before my meeting to impress my new boss.  Don’t want to make any bad impressions yet with someone I am relying on so much to give me a job.  This ride is fun because I have no idea what kind of areas I am going through and I figure it is a good way to get my bearing of the southern suburbs of Sydney.  School must still be in full effect as all the children are in their uniforms, something I’m glad I didn’t have to wear when I was growing up in Toronto.  Locals are more than happy to give me directions when I can’t figure out how to get to my destination.  They seem to always comment on my “American” accent and I just politely concur with them instead of getting upset.  Some of the areas I go through are very run down and not maintained whatsoever.  Trash and debris is littered all over their lawns and porches.  Many of the people sitting on the porches, watching me as I pass, appear as though they could not rub two dimes together, let alone nickels.  Hard to believe this is a first world country and it reminds me of some of the poorer areas I’ve visited in the United States.  The birds and vegetation in Australia give it a unique as well as tropical vibe that reminds me a lot of Florida.  As I get closer and closer to my target, the houses seem to become larger and appear well maintained almost resembling parts of Ontario such as Barrie or Georgetown.  There is clearly money in these hills.  Finally I find Baker street after asking a local who states, “Mate… you’re on Baker street!”  Serendipity.

My bike is locked on near the west entrance of the mall next to the Library.  Since it’s only just after 9 AM I find Eastgardens mall and see if there is a Westpac bank located within the mall.  I need to open an account there and since all of my drafts can only be deposited there anyways, it seems like a logical choice to do so.  Unfortunately, this specific branch does not open until 9:30 so instead I go to K-Mart and grab some long black pants for $19.  I leave my biked locked up at the mall and walk back over to Baker street.  I need to find 13 Meadow way and my new boss Miles has told me it’s just off of Baker.  This area is very industrial and blue collar.  All the workers here are wearing their dirty fluorescent green work shirts and I have learned that this is a shirt you wear if you are a labourer or city worker or security guard.  There are tons of scrap metal plants around me as well as junkyards. 

I find my address after a few minutes of confusion amongst the mislabelled numbers.  It is still only just before 10 AM so I locate a coffee shop just down the road at 10 Meadow way.  The coffee system here is quite complicated and I still don’t understand how to order and what I just ordered.  All I know is that this is the BEST COFFEE I have ever tasted.  I love Timothy’s private blend, but this is better than that stuff.  It was 3 AUD so it had better be fucking good.  I can see double decker busses now in the parking lot of 13 meadow way and since the doors are locked I make my way to the back of the building since I can see from the reflection in the mirrors that there is movement.  A mechanic asks me in a deep tone what I’m doing and I tell him I am here to talk to Miles.  He’s like you had better see Dale first.  Dale quickly shows me into the office building.

 My heart stops for a brief second as I hold out my hand.  I am greeted by Miles with a smile and a very strong, but not bone breaking handshake.  He tells me he has heard a lot about me.  I don’t know who told him about me since I am the only person who contacted him to get a job here, but ok.  We go upstairs to his office.  There are pictures of employees posted on the walls as well as miniature busses with cut out roofs which have the CSST logos decaled on the side.  There is a massive 18 cylinder engine in the lobby of the building and looks like it is for one of the massive busses that I have just seen out back in the yard.  Miles lets me know quickly that I have a job no matter what and this isn’t an interview.  He also gives me a brief history of himself and the company in an English accent:

“I started City Sighseeing Worlwide when I was 18 years old with colleague named Neil, who runs other businesses now.  My goal at the time was to make this the biggest double decker bus company in the world.  I used to have your exact job in London when there were only 2 companies.  Now there are 11 and ours is the biggest.  You know Grayline in Toronto?  In 1996 I helped a fellow named Lawrence start that company.  Unfortunately as you have noticed here and in your city they just don’t compete.  I have helped setup almost every single location worldwide and could live in any city I want to but I choose to live here because of the weather.  As well my wife is from here and I have three children who all attend private schools in this area.  I don’t do this for the money.  I love to work and enjoy what I do so deeply and with so much passion that I could never do anything else.”

For a moment I almost have to pinch myself.  This is person I have wanted to meet since I first got my BIG IDEA over a year ago.  He is so easy to talk to.  We discuss sales tactics and he quickly shows me how much different it is from in Toronto where I can actually solicit and hand out flyers.  Here I can’t even say the words sightseeing or bus tour, but I can say hello as loud as I want to people and explain the tour on my booklet which has a map laminated to the front and back covers of the book (a learning curve I truly look forward to challenging myself with).

Finally… someone who gets and has truly mastered the art of selling.  Sure my old boss Ben Stewart got it, but he is a selfish egomaniacal tyrant.  None of the managers or owners in Toronto get it (not to put them down but they haven’t read the literature or studied it the way WE have).  They don’t understand that you are in the trenches every day, elbows in the mud, calibrating your energy when the time is right and dealing with rejection as it comes.  Miles is just as enthusiastic about selling as I am, well as I used to be.  I lost my passion this past summer after I broke the company sales record.  Last year it was $5500, held by Barbara and Roland.  This past summer my friend Theo and this guy Cal reset the record at $6700.

At the time I was listening to a self-development audio series by Kevin Trudeau called “You wish is your command”, for the second time around.  Look what I’m about to discuss to some people sounds crazy and if you don’t believe any of it… DON’T!  In this system he discusses how your mind is a transimitter of frequencies and if you really focus strongly enoug on what you want it will come to you.  Your mind is like a radio tuner sending messages into the Universe and what you send out, positive or negative, will come back to you.  Even if you don’t have a logical path or direction or money or any way of seeing what you want, just send out the frequency and it will come back.  Pretty fucking delusional right?  CALL THE PSYCH WARD!  In early 2009 I told started to tell myself I will break the record…I will break the record…I WILL BREAK THE RECORD!  It was all that I thought about for months and once I started selling again I kept getting closer and closer.  When Theo and Cal broke the record on July 12^th I was so upset.  I was like Vegeta in Dragonball Z when he couldn’t turn Super-saiyan whilst Goku and even his son Gohan could.  All alone between a rock and a hard place (if you know DBZ, than you know that Vegeta was literally stuck under a planet).

At this point I stopped caring like Vegeta and stopped being attached to the outcome… but the voice in my head kept telling me BREAK THAT FUCKING RECORD!  On Friday July 17^th I was prospecting the hardest I had ever before and was enjoying the art of selling the most I had ever enjoyed EVER.  Had no involvement in the outcome, but I had full intent to close.  Next thing I know out of nowhere one of the workers I know from the CN tower, Lisa, comes out and tells me that she has a gentleman that wants to buy over 150 tickets.  I was calm as if I knew this was coming.  When I meet this guy, a Dutch guy named Jakob, he tells he is with 300 people from the One day Foundation in the Netherlands and wants 150 tickets.  My response was, “Only 150 for 300 people?”  He takes a minute to make a phone call and in the meantime I decided to call for a shuttle since it’s illegal to sell tickets in the streets.  This guy ends up buying 230 tickets and I sell over $8100 in one day.  Game.  Set.  Matty.

I didn’t impress Miles with this story but will casually drop it at some point.  I’ve told this story a lot since it happened trying to impress people, but have realised recently that I don’t need to impress people anymore…only myself.  I don’t need people to know everything about me.  From now on I just assume every person I meet KNOWS I’m cool.  Self-fulfilling prophecy.  I did however let Miles know that one day I will own a franchise of his company.  His eyes lit up when I told him this.  I didn’t state is as a maybe or it might happen.  I was like I am going to own that shit…POINT BLANK PERIOD.  Miles smiles at me and says, “Do it!  I will help you with get whatever you need when the time comes.  Selling is the most important aspect of this or any business and clearly you know that.  When you get back to Toronto you need to get a bus license.”

Miles is quite a busy man and he has only an hour to spend with me and I am thankful for any time in general.  I start work on the 27^thof November and I will have to give his assistant all my personal information before I start work.  After I finish talking to Miles, my next task is to get back to the mall and open a bank account with Westpac.  It has started spitting rain a little bit at this point while I walk back towards the mall.  I feel like a million dollars right now: unstoppable.  If I were to die right now I wouldn’t care.  For the first time in my entire life I feel like all the bullshit I have had to deal with had a purpose to toughen me up.  Sure I dropped out of university, but it would have just been another trap that society set for me to fall into.  Sure I don’t fit what society typically considers being a “good looking guy”.  And sure I might not be a millionaire.  I’m glad for my shortcomings and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A local man of Indonesian descent, with no teeth, and his wife, with no teeth, smile and nod hello at me a block away from the mall.  Being this at ease clearly makes me more approachable and I take it as a good omen.  At the bank, the teller is extremely helpful and I am treated better than I would usually be at home with TD bank.  I decided after opening my account that I will treat myself to an upscale lunch: a 7 dollar sub from subway and a bottle of coke zero.  It starts pouring rain while I am eating lunch and I can easily tell by all the people entering the mall either rocking some wet clothing or simply carrying a damp umbrella.  I walk around the mall and check out some stores for about an hour until I realise the rain isn’t going to let up.  Am I afraid of a little rain?  What a joke that would be: me a guy who has run door-to-door in storms selling aeration and driveway sealing afraid of getting wet.  While I’m unlocking my bike a one eyed man marks that is it not going to let up and I concur with this now obvious fate.  When he turns his head I notice he only has one eye.  His right eye is discoloured for whatever reason but we have a 15 minute conversation about Canadian vs. Australian weather.  He lets me know that I am brave for attempting to bike in this rain.  I smirk in a very cocky way and slowly make my way home. 

I am getting drenched as I pedal down Botany Road, smiling and laughing to myself about what a weird existence this is.  My jeans are becoming completely soaked and my hands are clammy and wrinkly from the constant precipitation for a moment of clarity and self reflection.  I stop under an awning to rest for a minute and hear a mother ask her son if he stole 10 dollars from her wallet.  He denies it, but you can tell by his demeanour that he is lying.  I used to steal money from my mother growing up and to this day it eats a hole inside of me.  One of the only regrets I have and a strong fact I will always be ashamed of.  I’m listening to the new Celph titled and Buckwild album entitled Nineteen Ninety Now.  Many onlookers from passing cars appear to be frightened and marvel in awe that I am biking in this weather.  They have been brainwashed by society though into believing what they are watching should be terrifying.  It’s like watching a movie from their car and I’m the main character struggling to bike towards my goal: I am in the scene and they are just a passive onlookers munching on their popcorn before the credits roll.  After the film they will forget everything they have seen and go back to their mundane and overly comfortable existence.

As I make my way back to the hostel I grab some chicken wings to cook and I soon realise that my hostel doesn’t have an oven and being the creative person that I am I figure out that I can use a pan.  Takes me a long time too but I’m patient.  After eating the wings and cucumber that I’ve carefully sliced, it’s time for some more reading and writing.  Fatigued from a long day and still on a natural high from meeting Miles, I am stunned that I am even here in Sydney.  It almost doesn’t feel real!  I had this idea just over a year ago to come here , had no idea how it would happen and focused on it so much that it came to fruition.  Just like Kevin Trudeau said… Your Wish is Your Command.  I guess it’s not so farfetched after all huh?

November 14th

Something is poking me and I feel sharp stinging in my neck.  I don’t recall pulling last night.  The poking persists.  I hear a thick Irish accent telling me to, “Git da folk outta me bed!”  It’s the Irishmen Brian.  The Irish are seriously starting to piss me off on this trip.  He is “langered” as his people say and my other roommates are now spectators to what could be a fun situation!  The strong odour of Whiskey on his breath makes me crawl under my sheets.  I decided that if I just ignore him, he will eventually go away.  Besides, he is too low value to even come into my radar.  He starts yelling at some point to which the Welsh girl, Laura, now calls him he is a “bollocks”.  He has now woken up every person in my room except me.  I am under the sheets laughing my ass off at this dumb ass.  He too, like the other Irish last night want M&M’s.  The decision I make at this time is either going to make him leave or stay.  I untuck myself from my sheets, make direct eye contact with him and say in my sexy debonair voice, “My initials are M.M. Come get some baby!”  He stops dead in the middle of some gibberish sentence, calls me a faggot and says Sydney is full of faggots.  This works though as he leaves shortly after.  Laura thanks me and claims he’s usually normal.  It’s still dark so this means that I have only slept 2-3 hours.

Normal wake up ensues at around noon.  Shower time.  Get dressed and head to the Market City in Ultimo.  Reminds me a lot of St. Lawrence market in Toronto, however this market is subdivided into four floors.  Ground floor is clothing and food.  Second floor is mostly women’s clothing.  The third floor is a mix of everything and the top floor is a food court, arcade and the only restroom in the whole place.  There are green exit signs every 10 metres and appears to be exits everywhere.  I use the restroom first on the top floor and there is a homeless man masturbating in the stall next to me.  Not that I was watching him, but I could tell by the slapping sounds, rotten smell and by the dirty old shoes that are hanging out of his stall.  The grumbling noises too were indicators of some sort of pleasure.  DISGUSTING as it gets.  After I nearly vomit I go to the grocery store and grab some bread, nutella, peanut butter, chicken and coke zero.  After paying for my food, the Asian security guard is pointing at me.  He wants to look in my bag and asks if I receive.  I’m like no I give.  The clerk tells me he wants my receipt.  Sure dude, whatever you want.  Everything checks out and I leave shortly after.  A block away from my hostel I realise my white MEC Cortex sunglasses are gone.  Slight anger and frustration builds inside of me.  I must have put them down when the security guard was checking my receipt.  Since every person in the Market City is Asian and can’t understand the English word sunglasses, they keep pointing me to stands where I can buy some.  Those are my favourite pair of shades and I’ve had the pair six months.  Not to mention the fact that I wear them nearly every day.  I decided to not resist it anymore and accept that they’re gone and lost forever.  Hopefully they didn’t end up with the homeless guy.

It’s around 4 PM when I decided to go for another ride.  Maybe I’ll actually make it to Bondi beach today.  That will only happen though if I get the courage to ride on the road and get up to speeds over 15-25 kmph.  Yesterday I went too far east than south and that took me to Double bay and nowhere near the beach, so I figure at some point I’ll make a turn and go east .  I make it to a 6 way intersection and I can see that on this one street, Bourke road, there are bike lanes going north/south.  Sweet.  The bike lanes in Sydney, which locals have told me are all new, are bike only lanes and are indicated by a green hue on the road.  There is no one on this road, no one walking or driving or biking.  I feel an overwhelming sense of presence again.  No past of future exist, only this moment of me riding alone on a Specialized Sirrus sport wearing my pistachio green Louis Garneau helmet, Calvin Klein shorts and a black LRG t shirt with purple and white print that reads “Journey”.  I am making great time as the road is flat and smooth.  I can only shift into first and third gear in the front since my shifter cables are still frayed.  A complete tune up of the entire bike may be required if other problems with the bike arise.

The wind makes the leaves on the palm trees shake slightly, but there is barely head wind.  I see in the distance the first human being I’ve seen in about 15 minutes since turning onto Bourke.  He is wearing a fluorescent green Protec helmet and he is heading towards me very quickly, about a hundred feet away.  I am hugging the narrow left lane tightly and don’t think he sees me.  I check the arrows in the lane to make sure I am on the correct side of the road…indeed I am.  Both myself and this dude are really gunning towards each other.  We are about fifty feet away from each other and I get nervous as I can see he is hugging the road on the same side as I am.  If he doesn’t go into the other lane we are sure to collide in this game of chicken that neither of us is even aware of yet.  In fact he is doesn’t see me whatsoever.  At 15 feet apart my heart is beating rapidly, but I will not change lanes and instead decide  to yell at him while ringing my bell.  I clench my grips, which I feel are slightly loose, and I am so close to the sidewalk that I can’t even see a gap between my front tire and the curb.  My heart stops as were are inches away from one another.  We collide almost head on.

Statistics show that after a car accident, over 95% of drivers will blame the other person in a rage of anger, even when they know they are at fault.  Perhaps this is subconsciously to protect their ego or maybe simply to keep their insurance rates the same.  After the collision I am jostled and thrown off my bike.  I land on my ass and scrape my left ankle slightly.  Magically, I get up and other than the small cut on my ankle, I am fine.  Even my hands have no cuts or bruises and I am shocked.  I can see a black and red Apollo brand mountain bike with front suspension and front disk brake only on the front wheel which is still rotating.  The other rider lies beside it flat on the road.  The first words out of his mouth in a thick Aussie accent are:

“Are you alright mate, that was completely my fault.” 

“I’m fine and you ok?”

“I was enjoying this remote road so much that I didn’t even see you coming.  No one takes Bourke Road southbound on a Sunday.”  This rider has one headphone in his left ear, the other one hanging out blaring ACDC.  He appears to be in his forties and is wearing so much sunscreen that he almost looks albino.  His biker shorts, as well as his wife beater, look like he’s been wearing them for since the nineties.  He smilingly asks, 

“How is your ride mate?”  I examine the brakes, the frame, the cables, the pedals and chain and surpisingly enough,

“Fine.  I can’t beliece it after how hard we hit eachother.  How is yours?”  He examines his bike which appears to be from the early 00’s.  And responds,

“Fine as well!  Hahaha!!!”

“Nothing like a minor collision to make you feel alive eh?”  I say jokingly.  He laughs nervously, apologises and asks me many questions about myself. He then gives me directions to the beach and apparently I’m going in the wrong direction AGAIN.  He tells me that centennial park is the one of the best spots in the city to check out and that if I go west enough I’ll find the velodrome that was used in the 2000 Olympics.  Awesome guy.  Before leaving he tells me his name is John and he works for CADGroup and that if I need anything whatsoever while I’m here, He shakes my hand firmly and apologises again before heading off northbound.

I’m a little shook after the collision and decide to head back.  At this rate I will never see Bondi beach ever!  On the way back though I decided to check out King’s cross and upon arriving there I wonder why I even bothered as it is a very rundown and quite sketchy. I thought Toronto had a lot of homeless people, but they are everywhere here.  There are a lot of gay people around this area too, not that I dislike fags and queers (just kidding) but there is copious amount of them in King’s cross.  Sure this is the red light district of Sydney but my god this area is shitty.  I would not want to be here alone at night or even be here at night period.  As I roll up to my hostel I am calm and not emotionally unstable at all.  When I get back to the hostel Laura, the Welsh girl, asks me about my ride and I let her know about the accident.  She helps me clean the grease and blood off my leg.  I let her know how exhilarating it was to crash like that and how alive I feel at the moment.  She calls me crazy and grins simultaneously.  Tomorrow she is leaving at 6 AM and going to New Zealand as asks me what I’m doing tonight.  No plans yet.

I make three sandwiches for dinner:  ham and mustard on multigrain bread.  Pretty low level, but quick to make and easy on my wallet.  After dinner I grab my copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirzig and start to read it from the beginning.  I can’t passed the first part of the book as Part I is some of the best writing I have ever witnesses.  The protagonist in the book is so present and he himself is on a personal journey that he calls a Chautauqua.  Sounds familiar don’t you think?  What a strange juxtaposition of words and concepts: Zen and motorcycles. 

Zen - A very spiritual word rooted deeply in eastern philosophy and the Buddha.  Relaxing and calming.

Motorcycle - A machine or even better a lifestyle that is so western.  The word itself gives me the mental image of some badass dude with a handlebar moustache wearing all black leather while cranking his throttle so loud and going so fast he would be impossible to go unnoticed to any onlooker.

I have a friend named Barbara and we have become quite good friends over the past two years working together.  She is one of my only female friends and I value some of her views and opinions on things.  One day she noticed I was reading this book and she was like “OH ZEN… and motorcycles, that’s stupid.”  One of the main concepts the author discusses is how some people view things in either a classical vs. romantic way.  The romantic thinker examines only the surface level of things.  As an example I will use Barbara and myself.  This past summer Barbara found out she likes dirt biking and she sees it as a fun hobby and can appreciate the way the bike looks on the surface.  She also prefers men based on their physical attributes.  I on the other hand am more of a classical thinker as I want to see the depth in things.  I see the dirt bike (or push bike for that matter) as not just a machine but a series of parts and systems that makes the instrument work.  I want to understand WHY it works and enjoy taking things apart to examine the cause and effect of the machine.  I want to divide the bike into parts and systems and then subdivide those into other parts and systems.  I also prefer women based on their personality traits, but shit I like hot chicks as much as the next guy.  

Either way of thinking is correct, therefore both are equally acceptable ways of thinking. To say one is better than the other would be demeaning to both the Buddha and the badass biker dude.  Even comparing the two almost degrades philosophy for that matter.  Sure I like the way girls look sometimes and I bet Barbara could become interested in the systems of the motorcycles.  The point myself and the author are trying to make is that a paradox must and always will exist in nature:  Man and woman, day and night, white and black, gay and straight, ying and yang, good and bad…Zen and motorcycles.

Every turn of the page makes me feel closer to the Chautauqua.  Pirzig also discusses why he prefers motorcycling over driving cars.  The car has a frame around it and you cannot truly enjoy the moment while driving as you aren’t able to smell, hear, touch, and taste the world around you.  Furthermore the car has a windshield that is almost like a television screen that makes you a spectator along the journey.  While riding a motorcycle on the other hand… YOU ARE IN THE SCENE.  You can taste the air and feel the wind on your head.  You can smell the meadows you pass and hear the rumbles of the engines of passing cars in the other lane.  This is another reason why I bike to work and hate taking the subway when I am forced to.  The subway is like going to a football game to spectate with other people around you.  Biking is like being the quarterback in the game.  Once again I am not saying that one is better than the other.  I’m simply discussing a natural distinction between two things.

 Pirsig and his son Chris

While reading Laura comes over and asks me what I am reading and instead of overwhelming her with everything I have just discussed, I simply tell her it’s too complicated to explain and she will have to read it herself someday.  She concurs and promises to me that she will.  Laura must have developed a minor fascination with me.  Sure she is adorable, but... Cindy.  I place my bookmark at page 89 just before the end of part I.  I have an important meeting in the morning at 11 AM in Eastgardens and I need to go on to Google maps to check out where exactly I am going.  Laura lets me use her internet minutes as she doesn’t really need them and I map out a route to get there on my bike.  I also check the weather and it is going to rain tomorrow around noon.  Perhaps I will have to learn the transit system here, which I do not want to have to do.  Since I have a busy day ahead of me, I decide to make it a super early night and go to bed at around 9:30 PM.

November 13th

I wake up well rested at around 8 AM.  All my roommates are still passed the fuck out from the night before.  I grab my no name shampoo and conditioner from my bag as well as my tiny bottle of Dove body wash that I got back in Toronto during the World Cup.  I also grab my travel can of Shick Fusion shaving foam as well as my only Mach 3 disposable razor.  I can only use razors with 3 or more blades as my facial hair gets quite thick, even only after a few days.  I won’t even deal electric razors.  My father used to tell me that electric was the way to go and Philips is the best brand.  On my last birthday my mother gave me a Philips Arcetec which is considered to be the best electric razor ever.  God knows how much she spent on it, but I’m sure it was well over 2 hundred dollars.  She couldn’t give it to me in person on my birthday last year for reasons that I will discuss later on.  I’m guessing she bought it well in advance as she often does with gifts. After the 4^th use it broke.  Me being mister fix it tried to take it apart and soon realized that the motor inside has overheated, expanded and melted the plastic pieces inside.  The warranty had expired at this point and it still sits in my bathroom to this day.  Some technological things just don’t pan and it’s funny because my father owned an older Philips his entire life and never had any problems.  I took his apart when it broke once and it stopped working because all the metal pieces inside had finally rusted after being cleaned too many times.  They just don’t make em’ like they used too.  This is also the reason why I choose to ride a push bike as opposed to a motorcycle:  If the motor or engine or suspension were to break down, it may require you to go see a mechanic to have it fixed unless you know that one machine INSIDE OUT.  All bikes are pretty much universally the same as are most razors and they don’t require gasoline or electricity to run smoothly.

I bring my laptop to breakfast and wrote a little bit, however the fatigue is still not allowing me to truly write to my full potential.  It is sunny out and I soon realize it will be hot day.  Great!  My breakfast today is a roll filled with egg and ham, orange juice and coffee.  This coffee is worse that Tim Hortons, even worse than Williams, even worse than COFFEE TIME!!!  This sort of dampers my mood and don’t even finish the cup as I go upstairs to repack my bags in order to go to my next hostel which is only a few blocks away.  I hand the guy behind the desk my swipe key on a rope and my pillow case.  Peace.  It only takes me minutes to get to my next hostel a few blocks away and the girl behind the counter tells me that I can’t check in until 2 PM.  Weak.  She asks if I want to store some luggage and I decide to store my main Swiss Gear duffel bag there.   She hands me my receipt and of course it’s number 10 (always 10).  My bike is still locked up on Pitt St. near my old hostel and I want to ride around the city to take pictures.  I unlock my bike and noticed that my front derailleur cable has been frayed…so is the back one.  This will require maintenance, but I don’t have the funds until my bank drafts clear.  This bike requires more than that though and I knew this before leaving.  The last minute decision to take this bike instead of my green Steve Bauer Sirroco is now haunting me.  Of all 5 of my bikes I know this one the least, all though it is the most expensive and best one of all.  I can still fix it though…trust thy hands.

I take some pictures in Hyde Park which is like Central Park in NYC.  There is a busker making massive bubbles in the shady parts of it.  Some other notable spots I arrive at include the museum, the art gallery of New South Wales, the Royal conservatory of music, the courts houses and city hall.  As I arrive down to the harbour, it’s not the same as the first time I saw it yesterday through virgin eyes.  This disappoints me because I don’t want the Opera house to become some mundane thing I barely notice any more like the CN tower has become to me in Toronto.  I don’t even notice it anymore back home; it has become just a vestigial feature of Toronto to me.  

Sunscreen time so I don’t burn and I burn easily.  In Jamaica I feel asleep in the sun for 4 hours and for the next 2 weeks it looked like I had leprosy or some sort of flesh disease (Illmaculate).  Australia also has the highest rate of skin cancer of any first world nation.

In order to get into the Botanical gardens next to the Opera House, I must dismount my bike as they don’t allow bicycle riding there.  I’m cool with that and I figure it would throw off the rhythms and positive vibrations.  What a beautiful place to be.  Wow, my mother would love this.   My grandfather, who was a devoted gardener, may have liked this even more than she would.  The grass is like fairway on a golf course: cut very short, but still thick enough to allow people to walk on it without damaging the root structure.  The colours are quite vibrant as the sun reflects off of the foliage.  I don’t know the names or class or genus or species or kingdom of any of the plants here but that doesn’t really matter as I can enjoy their aesthetic beauty in a romantic way as opposed to as classical manner.  I’ll explain that later.  I feel very present in this garden and I haven’t felt this way in a long time.  The last time I felt this present since I was at my cottage as a little boy.  Ironically, that is how I feel today: little a newborn baby seeing something new.  Nostalgia I guess, although I don’t miss home yet.

After returning to my hostel I grab some brochures as I want to do some touristy stuff while I’m here.  Specifically sky diving, the great barrier reef, the blue mountains as well as seeing a couple of the other cities here like Brisbane, Melbourne, Cairns, Gold coast, etc.  It’s now 1:33 and I still can’t check in.  The girl behind the counter is telling where the Market City is and this is important so I can grab some bread and peanut butter as a snack.  Instead, I decide to try to bike to Bondi beach and this will take me about an hour.  Half there I realize I don’t have my map…shit!  I’m like fuck it; I enjoy being lost since I feel I’ve been lost for the majority of my life.  This area is very hilly and at times I nearly run out of breath climbing the steep hills on my bike.  The areas near the beach are very honky tonk and run down and not maintained well whatsoever, but you can tell there is money here by the types of stores, cars people drive and clothing that they wear.  It must be a worldwide thing because every area I have ever been too that is close to the beach (Hampton beach, Montego Bay, Orlando, Malibu) are all very similar.  You can see seaweed and shells even on streets nowhere near the ocean.  I can now see the water from a highpoint where I stop to drink some water and there appears to be hundreds of sailboats around the marina.

I inch closer and closer to the shore and see a sign that reads Double Bay.  I guess I took a wrong turn at Albuquerque because the route map for the ferry’s show me that Bondi beach is way South East of here.  Like over half an hour away.  My energy is running low and I will have to check it out another day.  My camera ran out of batteries earlier today so I can’t take pictures of the Marina in Double bay.  As I leave I get the feeling I’ve been here.  It reminds me a lot of Yorkville in Toronto if Yorkville were on the water.  The restaurants and boutiques are quite posh and the women walking around are dressed to the nines and are in full makeup mode.  This one hill is killing me and I almost pass out pedaling up to the top of it and sure enough at the top there is an even steeper hill going in the direction I need to take in order to get back into the city.  It is now slightly overcast as I make my way back to my hostel where I can FINALLY check in.

The room is not clean, but not dirty.  My roommates are from all over the world: One cute welsh girl, 2 Irishmen, a Scotsmen, a kiwi chick, a German girl and an Englishmen.  One of the Irish guys named Brian is being temporarily evicted as he hasn’t paid for the night even though he has told the desk people he will be staying here through the New Year.  I’m writing on my laptop as the kiwi chick comes in and tells me that I’m in her bed on the top bunk. Oops.  The Welsh girl quickly rectifies the situation by blaming the hostel.  She also asked me if I’m going out tonight and I shake my head and let her know I just want to get some pictures of the harbour.  She seems disappointed in this for some reason.  

It’s Saturday and most people usually go out at night to get drunk, do drugs, hang with friends, get laid, etc.  Not me.  I move to the beat of my own drum and rarely hear the cadence of others.  I want to take some night pictures of the harbour to show my friends and family back home.  It takes only 10 minutes to get down the Opera House by bike from my hostel.  The streets are alive and there are people EVERYWHERE, unlike anything I have ever seen anywhere else I’ve been to.  The Ocean is quite calm as I arrive near the bridge.  At night the harbour just lights up and there are just as many people here during the day as at night.  I take out my freshly charged camera and get some phenomenal shots.  A performance must have just ended at the Opera house as there as hundreds of people pouring out of there all dressed up. Carrying playbills from whatever show they have just witnessed.  Since I’m a jackass I bike around the harbour as fast as I can, weaving in and out between the all the people.  A slight smirk is pasted on my face as I swerve to avoid the Sydney-siders.  There are these benches on this hill adjacent to the bridge that 3D and dread would think is the best spot EVER to bun it down.  I didn’t come here for that though. This trip is almost like a detox or a rehab from my old life, although at some point it will go down.  My true reason for this journey is self-acceptance.  I wish to gain a new level core confidence that I’ve only read about.  It hasn’t permeated mentally yet that I am enough.  

The streets are so busy here at night and the girls are just so beautiful.  There is a serious abundance of my exact type of girl here (looks wish at least).  Once again I am speeding and swerving back towards my hostel, this time on the sidewalks.  Hahaha.  There seems to be a lot of guys rocking black Metallica T shirts.  James, Lars, Kirk and Robert must be in town rocking the hell out tonight!  I hear the sound of a distorted guitar in power drive playing the solo from “Fade to Black”.  As I edge closer to the noises I see across the street what appears to be a Samurai playing an electric guitar behind his head.  I am in shock!  This guy knows seems to be able to play every great metal song ever made and I’m not talking playing, I mean he is fully owning the fucking street.  Onlookers seem to be hooking this guy up with tip after tip.  After each minute of play he sticks out his tongue and throws horns to the crowd and gets a great reaction as well as more tip money.  This guy puts any Busker I have ever seen to shame.  A true master in his craft and has probably spent the majority of his life learning to master this skill.  Don’t think I can ever look at guitarists or street performers the same way ever again.  I give him 2 AUD and I never tip buskers.  I also took two videos of him playing so I felt obliged to hook him up with a little something something.  Upon arriving at the hostel I am fatigued from all the biking and excitement of the day.  I have a quick shower and pass out around 2 AM.

November 10th-12th

The last thing I did before I left was hug my mother.  I tried to keep it in, but I cried a little bit.  When I said goodbye to everyone I work with I didn’t cry.  When I said goodbye to all my friends there was no crying.  When I said bye to Theo I didn’t cry.  With 3D and Dread I didn’t cry.  With my brother I didn’t cry.  But when it came to my mother… I cried.  Only a couple of tears but I was still sad to leave.  They say real men don’t cry, but I am a real man and I cry…SORRY!

My taxi-van arrived whilst hugging my mom and I loaded my luggage on board.  This includes my backpack, my Swiss Gear duffel bag and my bike box.  Inside my back pack are my books, my laptop, my Nintendo ds, my camera, my mp3 player and my outlet adapter/converter.  My bike box contains my black Specialized Sirrus Sport push bike, my tool bag, my pistachio green Louis Garneau (Olympus) helmet and my reflectors.  My duffel bag carries all my clothing: shirts, jeans, shorts, socks, etc.  It also contains all my health care stuff, my tent and all my shoes.  

I get to the airport at about 10 AM.  I go to to the Air Canada desk located at terminal 1 in Lester B. Pearson airport.  It seems they have this new check in system with machines so at no point did a human being even check my passport.  Two people working for Air Canada were even complaining about how much the machines actually slow down the process of checking in.  I get to the counter where an older lady makes me weight my duffel bag.  It weighs 55 kg which unfortunately is overweight by 5 kg.  She tells me to take something out of my bag and store it in my bike box which I must pay $50 to check.  I take out my tent which I remember is about 5 lbs.  Sure enough 4.5 kg.  I remove the tape from the edges of the box and place it inside and reattach my homemade straps.  The straps are two pieces of polypropylene cord and a shoulder strap that I took off of my Huskey Tool bag.  Very creative I must say.  After checking my bag I bring my bike to the oversized luggage area where I place it carefully onto the conveyer belt.  Right away a worker slams it down sideways and I am immediately thanking Naish for the zip ties and bubble wrap he gave me to secure the bike safely inside without damage.  Next it’s off to the ticket counter where I get 3 temporary boarding passes and I pay the $50 charge for my bike box. 

In the security area I have a moment of sheer terror as I forgot to take off my dragon face belt buckle.  This is the most important thing I own.  I bought this buckle just over 2 years ago as I symbol to show myself that I was no longer a koi fish swimming through life in walking daze.  I am now mentally a Dragon.  Growing up my favourite game was Dungeons and Dragons.  Yes I am aware that is FULL CHODE DELUXE!  In the game there are many different types of dragons and even classes that each dragon falls under.  I would always make dragons my character when playing the game and not because of their size. Rather because the character stat of intelligence for dragons is amongst the highest of any race in the game.  Draconian is actually one of the most complex languages if you were to analyze it.  So basically this buckle personally symbolizes how mentally I have transcended.  The security guard only tells me to get it X rayed and that it is “the most original one he has ever seen”.

I get to gate 42 at 10:30 AM but my plane does not leave until 2 PM.  In the meantime I grab a Grande Bold from Starbucks and eat my final Canadian meal: Poutine.  God I will miss you baby…you are my cheesy, greasy and salty little slut.  I also grab a lip balm since I recall having dry lips the last time I was flying due to the air pressure in the cabin.  At about 1:33 PM they announce that the flight will leave from gate 37 instead of 42 so I rush over there and show my boarding pass to get on.  On and gone.   Of course I get the crossbow seat in between two other people.  Not only do I not get the window view with this seat but the guy in that seat is a crackberry fiend and has to call every contact in his phone before take-off.  The lady in the aisle in a very pleasant and happy older lady who was so kind to me the whole flight asking me about my life and telling me enjoy every moment.  I hope when I am her age I still have that zest for life.  She smiled the entire flight and was happy to get up for me and the cracky when we had to use the washroom.  The flight was smooth. I had a nap for a few minutes during the flight and drank a diet coke.  When we landed cracky tried to actually push the pleasant lady and myself out of the way.  That wasn’t happening as I blocked his ass like Warren Sapp.

My next flight is on the other side of the Vancouver Airport and I was running to get here even though I knew it didn’t leave for over 2 hours.  I checked in very early and grabbed a sandwich from Tim Hortons.  Sure I hate on the restaurant a lot because I dislike their coffee and lack of selection but it is still quality as fuck.  My last meal on Canadian soil is quick and my stomach is growling as I devour the Turkey Caesar sandwich.  Right before boarding I remember that this flight is 14 HOURS LONG!!! Fuck me up the ass.  Upon receiving my official boarding pass from the Air New Zealand flight attendant, who is as hot as it gets, I notice I am sitting in seat C which is the aisle.  A little extra leg room .  The window is occupied by a Dutch lady who has a very thick accent but manages to speak very fluid English.  Seated in the crossbow is this ginger Aussie dude around my age who says maybe 3 words the whole flight.  We were served dinner shortly after take-off.  Curry beef over rice with green beans, some sort of New Zealand Cheddar cheese and crackers, a dinner roll and diet coke.  At this point I remember being so hungry I felt ill.  Before landing we also were served breakfast: cheese omelette with tomatoes, fruit salad and orange juice.   I watched a few films during this flight: Get him to the Greek, Grown ups, Despicable Me and my favourite movie of all time Alfred Hitcock’s North by Northwest.  They also had Inception and Toy Story 3 but those will require a deluxe viewing with my friend 3D when I get back to Toronto who has just purchased the ultimate home theatre including a 40” LCD Sony Bravia.  I slept between 3-5 hours during this flight and my legs were sore once we landed in Auckland.  I am also close to finishing Rant: An oral biography of Buster Casey by Chuck Palahniuk which is such a cool novel.  Like the TV show Lost in Book form.  I was watching Dispicable me as the plane landed and I planned to watch the last 40 minutes on the next flight.  

I only had an hour between landing and take-off in Auckland.  These kiwis are SERIOUS about rugby and the all blacks are like a religion here.  Exactly the same way us Canadians show love for hockey.  I was in seat F in the middle row and the seat labels were complicated to follow as 3 times people told me I was sitting in their seat.  Each time they incorrect.  Seat F was an aisle seat, this time next to some American dude around my age.  I listened to music this flight as it was only two and a half hours.  My second favourite album The Beatles Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, After the Gold Rush by Neil Young, Alone by the Bee Gees and Led Zeppelin’s greatest hits.  We were served some sort of egg and ham breakfast “tart”, which the flight attendant told me was like quiche in North America.  One funny thing that caught my attention was that instead of ketchup they have this “tomato relish” which is bomb as hell.  Probably the best condiment I have ever tasted.  It was blue skies while landing and I could feel the radiance of the sun of my skin already.  The captain said it was 22 degrees outside and that it had rained the last 3 days straight.  As the wheels touched down the final part of “Stairway to Heaven” blared in my headphones… and as we wind on down the road.

I collected my luggage with ease from the conveyer belts and examined it for damage: none on the surface.  Customs examined my bike box and made me actually open to see if there was a lot of dirt on the tires because they don’t want our soil to contaminate theirs.  The customs agent was thorough but very gentle with my bike and said that I was clear to go.  My bike appeared fine too…few!  At the information counter I paid 14 AUD (from now on the dollar signs will mean AUD instead of Canadian dollars) for the shuttle to my hostel.  I had to pay the driver $10 more to bring my bike with me. 

This driver drops me off right at central station which is about a block away from my hostel.  It’s a good thing I made the straps for my bike box as carrying my luggage is quite the ordeal.  Even to go a block to my hostel is like a 10 minute struggle.  I could see my hostel, wake up, as soon as I was dropped off so it wasn’t like I was being dropped off in some random city where I know where nothing is.  Plus I managed to grab a map of downtown as soon as I got off my plane.  The front desk was pretty busy when I entered the hostel.  The girls who worked there seemed swamped.  A couple minutes after waiting in line some random Aussie announced that whoever was going on the walking tour should follow him and that it is a four hour tour around the city.  After waiting about 15 minutes the girl behind the desk helped me check in.   She asked me where I was from and told her Toronto.  She said she was Swedish and that I probably know Mats Sundin.  She immediately gained like a thousand points since Sundin is my favourite player of all time and the greatest Maple Leaf to ever captain the franchise.  My key card read 705 as she handed it to me.  I stored my bike downstairs in the luggage room until I unpacked my bags.  Elevator up to floor 7, swipe card, open door. 

Room is fairly clean.  There is a tall curly haired dude there who greets me with a Hello.  He’s clearly French and I let him I know I speak the language.  He’s like, “Oh ma gud! Mi naame ees Stephane!”  I tell him I need to shower and then put my bike together.  Stephane tells me he also has a bike and that he needs oil.  I don’t have any but I tell him I have all the tools for bikes he will ever need.  As he mixes his Mioflex protein shake he tells me about how biking in the city is crazy and to “…watch oot for zee asiaans.  Zey are very bad driveres ere!”  Fuck!  I have my first shower in 2 days, almost like a washing off any remnants of Toronto.  

Next task is assembling my bike.  I bring it outside the hostel and take it out of the box.  Front tire is fine as is the frame.  My helmet, reflectors and bag of tools are still zip tied to the bike.  The PVC insulation is glued on to the frame in a couple of spots, but I can cut it off.  While assembling the bike this French girl who works for a local tourism company asks me about myself and if I need work.  I tell her that I have everything setup and he tells me I am brave to be biking in this city or in any city for that matter.  Before I go for a ride I see Stephane's Bike which is a purple Myata roadie from the early 90’s.  6 speed in the front and a 1 speed in the front, 36 teeth if I remember.  “ Yu zee zee roast?  I need hoil!  I want tu repant zee fraam of dis boike.”  His bike is rusted and he wants to repaint.  I tell him that the oil won’t shit.  Those were my exact words and he clearly understood.  I told him instead to buy 80 grit sandpaper and sand the whole thing down, than a can of primer, two cans of the colour he wanted and finally 2 cans of primer.  I doubt he got all that but I tried to help him out. 

I hop on my bike after re-assembling it.  The front wheel is squeaking, I have no inner tubes for my tries and I need to buy a pump and gloves.  Stephane told me that there is a bike shop on Kent St. called the city bike depot.  Sweet!  My ride commences and I am scared to death riding on what I consider the other side of the road.  I knew I would have to adapt but this is like jacking off with your left hand… feels weird.  This city is very hilly and steep.  Bike lanes are few are far between here and the drivers…wow they just don’t give a shit about killing you.  One thing I noticed too is that there are hot girls EVERYWHERE!  Sure the population is bigger but the ratio of grenades to boss hogs is great.  More on this later though.  I find the bike shop and the guy who works there tells me he knows I’m Canadian by my MEC (Mountain Equipment Co-op) camel back bag.  He says he lived in BC for a couple of years and worked there.  He tells me he is happy I brought a helmet because it is the law here; you must wear a helmet at all times on a push bike and read red reflectors as well as a front light.  No biggie since I won’t ride anyways without them back home.  I tell him front hug is squeaking and takes a look as says he can make it stop squeaking but the hub will require more maintenance at a later date.  I grab a bike pump and 2 inner tubes and upon paying I realize that this city is expensive as fuck.  Sure the wages are higher, but the cost of living is pricey.  At least the price as shown is the price you pay since there isn’t tax on anything.  In Toronto the taxes will rape you up the ass twice with their brother and cousin Fred.  Here though a 7 dollar sub is 7 dollars flat. 

I took out a bank draft before leaving Toronto and I need to head over to 671 George St. where I can get deposit my draft and open an account.  George St. is like Yonge St. in Toronto: busy.   I think it’s the main North/South road in Sydney, though I haven’t asked anyone yet.  I get to the bank and worse fears confirmed it is CLOSED!!! NOOOOOOO!!!  I must wait until Monday and with only a few hundred AUD on my person.   I have a moment of sheer terror and panic.  Even as I write this, I am still very worried about this situation.  I trust myself though to plough through “the wall of bad emotion” and not resist whatever life throws at me.  I take a few pictures on the ride too and at least now I know where the bank is now and what the hours are, so at least there was something positive to come out of it.  

After I eat lunch, a 7 dollar sub, I head down to harbour because I must see the Opera house and the bridge.  When I first started planning this trip I said that was the first thing I want to see: the harbour.  The closer I got the more excited I became.   I could see a bit of the bridge, then more and finally… WOW!  What a gorgeous waterfront…breathtaking and stunning to say the least.  On google maps I remember seeing that from the Botanical gardens at Macquarie point you can get a great picture of the bridge and Opera house.  I proceeded to do so using my camera attached to my twisty tripod which is better than having some random take my picture.  The pictures didn’t turn out quite the way I wanted but I do have another 6 months so it should be okay.  It was getting late at this point so I headed back to my hostel.

After eating dinner and worrying a bit more about money, I met my other roommates who are Irishmen from Dublin.  Look, I try not to judge people but these guys had to be some of the most unwise human being I have ever met.  Sure an Irish accent makes you sound dumb, god these guys are dumb.  They thought Canada was on the other side of Australia and der tick Oirish occent doesn’t make they sound too bright either.  Thank god I am only here for one night.  Passed out shortly after this at around 10 PM, but was reawaken at around 3 am when the Irishmen came back in the room drunk as fuck only to eat M&M’s and watch some stand-up comedy on his laptop.

Pre Trip

Before you start to read this, you must know that I try to stay as close to the truth as humanly possible.  It’s hard to write a few pages everyday while working, planning and cooking meals, exercising, going out at night, biking, thinking, breathing, etc.  In some cases I won’t be able to write on the exact day of the log entry as that would be nearly impossible.  I haven’t really written anything in a few years, so my writing is very rusty…please bear with me in such instances.   I am also my own editor, so if I have misspelt something or I make a grammatical error, please excuse me.  There is no goal or outcome that I will be striving for and I am writing this for me, so if you don’t like it…FUCK YOU.  Enjoy!  Excelsior and Namaste.  

               I’ve been planning this journey now for a while: To go to the other side of the world for six months and escape my mundane life to grow to be a better person.  I first had the idea about a year ago to dodge the long, cold and boing winters in Toronto.  My first step was in June was contacting the owner of the same company I work for in Toronto: City Sightseeing Sydney.  He was like sure I’ll have work for you in December as that is our high season of business.  Done.

Once I heard the great news, every particle of my being moved towards me leaving.  Sure I love Toronto, but you get tired of the same old places and faces.  I’m just fed up with the bullshit Toronto has fed me for the last 25 years of my life.  Sure I have a lot of positive memories; it’s just that all the negative ones seem to always outweigh the positive memories.  I learned everything I know in Toronto Ontario Canada.  A lot of the stuff I was taught though is useless and has been holding me back for quite some time.  The plan originally was to go with a group of people I knew, but they all bailed.  It’s ok thought because I might be the best in the world at self-amusement and soon self-trust. Toronto such a comfortable and safe place, not that it is a bad place to live, I just want to grow and experience new things and meet new people.  After finding work months in advance of my trip, I was telling everyone I know about the great news.  I told my mom, my brother Brad, my boss, my best friends, my friends, my acquaintances, my co-workers, random people in the street and even my enemies.

The first step I made was applying for an Australian working holiday visa 417.  This visa means that I can travel and work for up to six months in Australia.  It took me a few days to fill out due to my habit of procrastinating.  I filled out the form after reviewing it between twenty and thirty times.  My credit card was charged the $235 AUD it cost to apply for the visa.  After applying for the Visa on the 24^th of September, it was approved the next day.  Committed 100% to leaving. 

My next step was to book a flight on October 1^st aboard Air New Zealand.  This was, if I’m not mistaken, the biggest purchase of anything I have ever made in my entire life.  I bought an $1150 ticket from a booking agent at Jarvis and Queens Quay with all the toonies and loonies (2 dollar and 1 dollar coins) I had been saving for over a year.  The itinerary: Toronto to Vancouver, Vancouver to Auckland, and finally Auckland to Sydney.

After booking the flight I made a list of everything I needed to do in the next 40 days before I left and left it on my third floor.  With a fading turquoise sharpie, on a blank piece of paper that only contained my mother’s letterhead from when she worked at PTI, I wrote down every important thing I must do in order to leave:

Pack bags/luggage                                                                          Painting

Netbook                                                                                         Fix Bikes: - Hulk

Bike box                                                                                                         -Sirrus                              

Banking/C.C.                                                                                                  - Frontier

New Shoes                                                                                                     - Hard Rock

New Jacket                                                                                                     - Fire Mountain

Gym cancelation

Camera bag

Mp3 player

Hostel

Return flight L

It’d hard to believe that I managed to complete all that stuff before leaving.  A week before I was in full panic mode with some of the things on the list. 

Luggage:

- November 5^th

- Random souvenir store at Yonge and Gerard

- 95 CAD + taxes

- 1 Swiss Gear duffel bag with main top compartment, bottom compartment and 2 small side pockets

- Packed between November 5^th-9^th

- 1 black M.E.C. backpack

- Mountain Equipment Co-op at King and Peter

- 39 CAD + taxes

- 1 black Pacsafe money belt

- Mountain Equipment Co-op at King and Peter

- 16 CAD + taxes

Netbook:

- November 1^st

- Future shop at Yonge and Dundas

- Bought Laptop over not netbook since they have no CD/DVD slot and basic windows 7

- 681.79 CAD including taxes

- 1 Hewlett Packard blue laptop 4GB processor with 640 GB harddrive

- 3D (great friend) got it with me (same day he got his new HD sound system) and since he knows computers, I gave him carte blanche to do whatever it took to make it as user friendly for me as possible…thank you 3D!

Bike Box:

- Acquired on October 13^th

- Urbane bicycle at Queen and John

- Came with all necessary fittings

- Free

- Naish gave me bubble wrap and zip ties from Cervelo…thank you Naish

- Was supposed to contain my “HULK” (Steve Bauer Sirroco) road bike that I spent the last two weeks sanding, painting and assembling with all new parts (300 CAD worth), but due to a last minute impulse decision, I brought my Specialized Sirrus Sport hybrid as it was a more logical decision

- Packed on November 8^th

- Attached 2 pieces of yellow polypropylene cord around the bike box and attached a shoulder strap, from my huskey tool bag, for carrying purposes on November 9^th 

 

Banking/Credit Card:

- November 8^th

- TD Canada Trust at Yonge and Erskine

- Signed my mother Nancy onto my account

- 6000 CAD bank draft

- Exchanged 429.17 CAD to 400 AUD

- Called Capitol One on October 18^th to let them know I will be using my MasterCard overseas

New Shoes:

-Never purchased

New Jacket:

- Also never purchased

Gym Cancellation:

- November 8^th

- Smart Fitness on Avenue road

- 5 months left on contract, will have to pay each remaining month at 52 CAD /month

- Will have 5 month credit upon return to Toronto starting in May

Camera Bag:

- October 11^th

- Future Shop at Yonge and Broadway

- 9.99 + taxes

-  1 Roots brand black and blue camera bag

- Contains my black Canon 12MP camera, battery charger and Gorilla flexi-tripod

I ordered a battery charger for 5 CAD from China on October 11^th and was stressed for over a month and it finally arrived on November 2^nd.  Upon arrival it barely worked and I had to jiggle the cord just to get it to charge properly.  On November 9^th it stopped working, but while riffling through my electronic drawer I stumbled upon my old one by dumb luck.  Here is a random quote form the seller sent me, that you might find quite interesting:

We are honesty seller,we all love good journey ,if you don,t trust
us and  like to open dispute,leave Neutral or Negative Feedback,pls
don't bid from US !!!!

MP3 Player:

- October 19^th

- Future Shop at Yonge and Broadway

- 29.99 + taxes

- 1 COBY 4GB mp3 player with built in USB adapter

Book Hostel:

- October 30^th

- Hostels.com

- 3 CAD deposit of 31 AUD grand total

- 1 night at Wake Up, 93% positive rating, arriving on November 12^th

- I’m taking the advice of this guy Wesley who works for the yellow bus company in Toronto, Shop and Dine (Dark Side of the Force), and will book another hostel upon arriving in Sydney if the Hostel isn’t up to my standards and because November 13^th is fully booked…risky

Return Flight L:

- Yet to be booked and I will leave this open as I want to travel in March and April in order to check out other parts of Australia and potentially New Zealand, Fiji and Hawaii if I have the time and funds

Painting:

- I wanted to do one of my stencil paintings depicting a double decker bus on the QEW overlooking the CN tower and Rogers Center but I didn’t have the time

Fix Bikes:

- None of them ended up getting fully repaired and I regret this and it would take pages and pages to describe the problem with each individual bike

- Should have purchased cassette lock ring tool and chain whip

- Only the Sirrus was ready to ride so I will brought it with me instead of the HULK, as I broke the front derailleur the day before leaving while hastily fixing it and not giving the task my full attention

My mom also had a list of things for me to fix and complete before I left, but I will instead just give a basic description of each of these tasks:

- Replace light bulb in Hall

- Take posters down in room for painting/drywalling of house in late November by CJ repairs

- Clean third floor

- Clean room

- Find moms shoes in third floor eaves (incomplete)

- Hook up Wii and do a Demo

- Explain Skype and do a Demo

- Wipe Tar off of door knobs and walls (incomplete)

- Clean Sunroom

- Install 5 new smoke detectors

- Paint edges of roof

- Fix roof on Garage:

This was backbreaking labour and I spent over 100 hours on this task.  I had to get the materials with the assistance of my mom’s friend Jill Greenwood (thanks Jill) my neighbour and former school mate Eric Fredrickson who lives across that street (thanks Eric), which were 7 sheets of plywood, 3 strips of roll roofing (heaviest stuff ever), 1 can of roofing glue, 4 sticks of sealant, 1 can of foam sealant and 1 box of 1¼”roofing nails.  After transporting all these materials home I had to rip out all the old plywood and shingles from the garage roof as well as carefully removing the flashing from the perimeter as this was to be reused (exhausting).  After removing it from the front I realized that the wood under the flashing had rotted and also had to be replaced.  I used the jigsaw to cut pieces and installed them as well as the plywood, which I had to bring on top of the roof by myself.  After installing the wood I had to bring the roll roof up to the roof and that was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, once again all by me and each strips weighs about 60 lbs.  After measuring and cutting each strip of roof, you must nail them down and apply the roofers’ glue, with a brush, under the overlapping pieces, to ensure no water seepage during from rain and snow.  Once this was complete I had to use the sealant on the northern, eastern and southern sides of the roof.  The sealant somehow got wet, and the case it came in ripped open, so instead of using the mono gun I had to do it by hand and it took about 2 hours just to clean it off my hands once it was completed.  The Western side was sealed with foam, as the gap between the rear slant and the roof was larger and required an expanding form or sealant.  The final steps were reinstalling the flashing and painting the wood green on the Southern facing bottom edges.

Everything was eventually completed on that list except a couple of minor things, which can be done when I get back in the spring.  The morning of November 10^th I smoked a joint in my garage just before calling Beck taxis in order to get a van which will carry all of my stuff to the airport.  Before I left I wanted to hear one of my favourite songs, Jack’s theme from LOST, so I played it several times while awaiting my cab and got very emotional as it is a very touching and beautiful song.

 Ready…set…GO!