Checking in from down under, en route to a place called Mount Gambier, this steady diet of buses, flights, hotels, shows, road grub, all interspersed with whatever bits of sleep one can scrape together, doggedly persists.
|Hotel security, Oz-style (hint: backwards)|
After all, each week of this life banks almost two months of freedom back home, so I press on happily enough, comfortable in knowing that somewhere in the near future, a peaceful mountaintop awaits.
With the nearest bus a hundred miles away, and where the modest pile of cold, hard cash that I'm amassing will endure long after this daily grind has faded into distant memory.
|In case you've ever wondered how beer is made...|