I flew back to Perth via Tokyo, a bumpy flight where the sound of someone vomiting in a nearby seat wasn't uncommon. I hadn't told Mum and Dad I was coming back to Australia, so a friend picked me up from the airport. I had to break into our Perth apartment.

I took a bus down South to surprise my folks, a bit scary to see my Mum's almost hysterical reaction. Over the next few weeks I ate lots of good food, put on weight, read lots of good books, went on lots of good walks and generally got myself feeling healthier. I even got the feeling back in my toes.

Went to one funeral (the girlfriend of a best friend who died of cancer at the young age of 32), one wedding (a friend of my sister's), foiled a burglary (woke up to the sound of thieves trying to get through my bedroom window), turned thirty, and found out I have to be back in Perth in three months time for my brother's wedding (a surprise announcement on Christmas eve).

By the end of my time in Perth I was glad to be getting out of Perth again but nervous about getting back on the bike. The airline almost stopped me from flying back to the States because my working visa was about to run out in two months time. I ended up having to quickly buy a flight from New York to London just so they'd let me get on the plane.

I suffered severe pre-bike trip melancholy. I questioned everything I was doing. I tried to write it down in an email to a good friend but found I couldn't express myself at all. I spent a few days in Long Beach with Brooke and Stef and decided to start my trip (part two) on a Monday by riding down to visiting Herman.