I was putting off the thought of just what a potential pain in my a** finding a new bike would be should it be lost. I was slowly becoming gripped with despair and boredom, when I finished a cup of tea and walked half-heartedly to the front desk. Chris, the German hostel front desk boy, was on the phone, and in front of him was a woman in an odd looking uniform. She looked at me like she knew me. I had no idea who she could be.
"Are you Jordan?"
"I have your bike."
My mood instantly changed.
"You have no idea how much you made my day."
The box was in surprisingly good shape, and the bike had arrived unscathed two and a half days after I did. I lovingly checked over it, and put it together with care. The large boxes that had protected both bike and panniers were surprisingly easy to get rid of. My ride to the chemist was uneventful. . . . Things were going right. This told me two things: 1) God existed in Perth, and 2) He wanted me the hell of here.
Thus I am in the middle of doing laundry. I enjoyed a shave and celebratory beer in the shower and am planning on an early rise to follow the road out. Now, by the time most of you read this, the main event will begin to unfold after this somewhat shaky preamble.
“A fly in the house is worse that two in the bush!”