Somebody said that it couldn't be done...

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done

      But he with a chuckle replied

That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one

      Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.

So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin

      On his face. If he worried he hid it.

He started to sing as he tackled the thing

      That couldn’t be done, and he did it!

Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;

      At least no one ever has done it;”

But he took off his coat and he took off his hat

      And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.

With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,

      Without any doubting or quiddit,

He started to sing as he tackled the thing

      That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,

      There are thousands to prophesy failure,

There are thousands to point out to you one by one,

      The dangers that wait to assail you.

But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,

      Just take off your coat and go to it;

Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing

      That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it

Edgar Albert Guest 

Less than thirty days now and it’s an upward spiral of anticipation and apprehension.  Anticipation because despite all the potential dealbreakers we appear to be on track to going.  There were a few things that would really have made this a non starter and they all seem to be cleared.  This includes the wife and the boss and his bosses clearing the leave, colleagues who are willing to cover the trauma calls and breast cancer workload, finding an events manager that would be devoted to all the paperwork .  if any of these hurdles were not cleared the process would have stopped. There is no way for us to manage this on our own.  Yet here we are still on track.

The apprehension comes because so many people have invested so very much into this that I dread something tripping this up.  This occupies almost all waking hours and the wife has caught me occasionally just off in my own world on more than one occasion.  I know the aim is to reach Sweden but I keep thinking just how far I would get before I would consider all this work worthwhile. How far before I could look all these people in the eye and said, even if we don’t make our goals, well that was a proper try.    Istanbul?  Samarkand? I asked Mike about this.  The answer was instant:  Karolinska.  Welcome to the swedes  and their literal mindedness. 

  I worry about my inadequacies as a rider and a mechanic.  After our brief sojourn with our 500 pound bikes offroad in mersing I realize that these aren’t the 200cc jobs we could just throw around like when we were in our twenties. 

Off road with a Vstrom 1000:  its not the XR250 of old...

There are new tyres and new suspension and new footpegs that should make all the difference but none of that really takes away the root problem  -  weight.  I keep thinking about what every overland rider has said to me,” you’re never going to wish you had a heavier bike”.  When the time comes it will be with horrific traffic, a deadline to meet and will likely last about 200km and not just our 20km into the Malaysian jungle. I know just the place where it will happen. Across the border from Laos into China, the road from Mojiang  to Kunming is 220km of some of the worse roads anywhere.  When we get there in late march it will still be cold, maybe even snow on the high peaks.  Last 4/4 trip on that road and its bike eating craters one of the Land Cruisers actually broke an axle.  

 Then there are the fears of the unknown.  With my dodgy record with high places I keep dreading the day when we will need to cross some rickety rope bridge across a ravine that does not appear on any map.  That or a four hour detour.  Again Mike Hartman has the solution.  He will have me Michael Jacksoned.  Propofol up to the gills, I pass out, he maintains airway and I wake up on the other side.  And put a tattoo in some unspeakable place.  Then the what ifs. What if the alternator burns up again, or the fuel filter clogs on the contaminated fuel or the air filter in the desert  sand. What if there is a rattle, or the brake locks up, or the bike just doesn’t start? 

I can remember when there were 400 days to go.  Now it’s less than thirty and somehow despite having made so many preparations I don’t really feel more prepared.  I know there have been things that I have been trying to sort out for months but had not had the chance to.  Like the bigfoot on the sidestand, the separate switch for the main headlamps, mounting the axillary lamps.   I also now know there are some things I wish had happened differently.

My main regret is the video team.  When we first met Jacqui Hocking, who had come highly recommended from our friends in the SIF,  I felt that we did not have to look further.  She has this attractive mixture of a video professional, a vision for a better world, a personal investment into the lives of the less fortunate, the experience of living uncomfortably  and most of all that direct honesty that seems to be a trait of people from her homeland.  Then the formal tender process for the university sponsorship shows one potential disaster – the perceived difficulty of an Australian passport in crossing some of the borders we have to get through. Although losing out in a tender is part of being a professional  I do still feel that we had misled Jacqui  and her team.  I called to explain and if there was any lasting bitterness she did not show it.  That she offered to help pro bono in whatever way she could only serves to reinforce the earlier impressions I have of her.  And makes going with someone else stick in the craw just a little.

Depending on how the day has been,  there are some days when I just want to get going, and other times when I wish we could have another six months just to sort out one or another lose end.  For the last month there is a sense that the other things are being cleared away.  No more new case breast cancers.  Fewer  trauma calls as the other consultant step up. One dry run to frasers hill with all the kit on board and 4/4 in convoy, then the farewell parties, and quieter times at home with the family.  Then living on the road without them for nearly four months.