{"id":2874,"date":"2011-09-26T05:00:57","date_gmt":"2011-09-26T10:00:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theprofessionalhobo.com\/?p=2874"},"modified":"2024-06-19T07:37:44","modified_gmt":"2024-06-19T11:37:44","slug":"a-week-in-the-life-of-andrew-road-roving","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theprofessionalhobo.com\/a-week-in-the-life-of-andrew-road-roving\/","title":{"rendered":"A Week-In-The-Life of Andrew: Road Roving"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p><em>Andrew Collins of Road Roving is a 23-year-old adventure traveler from Boston, Massachusetts. He likes motorcycles, Mexican food, P. Diddy, and long walks on the beach. Not having decided where or how to <a href=\"https:\/\/www.theprofessionalhobo.com\/why-settle-down-is-a-bad-word-or-not\/\">settle down<\/a> yet, he\u2019s \u201cbetween residences\u201d looking for cool vehicles and near-death experiences wherever he can afford to go. He\u2019s currently employed as an outback motorcycle tour guide, allowing him access to an awesome lineup of machines and incredible locales. Please enjoy this week-in-the-life of Andrew and his Aussie Outback life!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>This post was originally published in 2011. It has since been updated for accuracy of links and content. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Day One: Monday<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Morning: <\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>My alarm vibrates at 0500 and I wake up in swag somewhere under the Australian sky. It\u2019s dark and freezing outside &#8211; the next five minutes will be the worst of the entire day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Emerging from my sleeping cell like a groundhog with a hangover I trip into my clothes already caked with dirt and oil.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Jay-zuz CHRIST it is cold.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I set to making sandwiches for lunch, re-lighting last night\u2019s fire for a little breakfast ambiance. I exchange good-morning grunts with my boss Magnus, who\u2019s firing up the grille for bacon and eggs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Within ten minutes the rest of the team is awake, crowding around the tea kettle like expectant fathers waiting for their first child to be born.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>After breakfast I wash dishes as Magnus checks the oil level of the motorcycles. The first bike fires up and a blows a hole in the morning serenity. The rest of the bikes chime in, making their presence known for miles. With everyone\u2019s swag in the truck and helmets on their heads, Magnus leads the formation of bikes onto the track and I bring up the rear in support truck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Midday<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The sky is clear, track is open and I\u2019m blasting over sand dunes in a quarter-million dollars worth of 4&#215;4. Life is good. Knock-off Ray-Bans shield my eyes from the desert sun as I survey the horizon through the truck\u2019s massive windshield. I spot a big, wide, sandy bend ahead that puts a big, wide smile right through my five o\u2019clock shadow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I drop a gear and power-on, kicking five-tons of cargo to the outside of the corner in a drift fit for a <em>Fast &amp; Furious<\/em> movie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>With the engine wailing I counter-steer hard, holding the truck on the edge of control. I risk a glance in the mirror to catch the sand tsunami my rear tires are throwing-<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Oh yeah, it looks awesome.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201c<em>Yeeeee HA!\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But as the track straightens bushes reveal a big, stinky bull camel taking a piss in the middle of my path. Long legs put the bulk of the animal almost two meters off the ground- squared up with my windshield.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Downshift, downshift, pump brake, pray.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The beast realizes his impending peril and books it. I\u2019m bearing down on him hard, but just before I make a hood ornament out of his humps he veers off- bounding into the bushes and out of danger.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I ease off the throttle, reeling the truck back down to a canter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Round twenty minutes later I roll to a stop at the lunchtime rendezvous point.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOk ride?\u201d asks Magnus.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cEh. Standard stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Night<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>On the last night of a 17-day tour, the team whips up a bonfire fit to signal astronauts and I pass beers around.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Everyone recounts their favorite moments and takes the piss out of each other one last time before returning to wives, jobs and traffic lights the next day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>When the booze is finally drained the crew climbs into their swags and sets to snoring.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I make sure there\u2019s no petrol near the fire coals and wash down a couple of painkillers with a dram of scotch. Mm, better make that two drams.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Day Two: Tuesday<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Morning<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>See Monday.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Midday<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Drive turns dull quickly as we re-enter the realm of pavement and pedestrians. But at least we get radio reception. As this tour concludes at Fremantle, Western Australia, we pop off three bottles of champagne for a group photo at the Indian Ocean.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Night<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The whole team gets together for a massive night at the bar where \u201ctour superlatives\u201d are given by Magnus. Beers and vigorous handshakes are exchanged until closing. Our clients retire to hotels; I stay with Magnus at the house of a relative.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Day Three: Wednesday<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Morning<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A glorious sleep-in to 0700 followed by a proper espresso coffee has me feeling like a king after two weeks in the dirt. Good thing, because the tour may be over but our work is anything but.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Midday<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>We have seven motorcycles that need repairs, filters, fluids, and detail jobs. I start spinning wrenches while Magnus runs around town picking up parts and a new trailer. Half the bikes will stay in Fremantle, the other half will be towed back to Queensland.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Night<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>We don\u2019t finish until the sun has long sunk, but everything is in order before I hit the pillow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><span style=\"color: #0000ff;\">&nbsp;<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Day Four: Thursday<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Morning<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>After another \u201clate\u201d wakeup, we load motorcycles onto the new trailer and Magnus makes ready to head home. We\u2019ll be parting ways at this juncture; I have four weeks off before the next tour and I\u2019ve been left with one of our Suzuki DR-Z 400\u2019s. With a handshake and a nod, Magnus begins another 5,000 kilometer journey and I\u2019m on my own for the first time in three months.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Midday<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The relaxation brought on by solitude is immeasurable. No one to answer to, no one to make sandwiches for. All I\u2019ve got is a motorcycle and a duffle bag; instant adventure, \u201cJust Add Petrol\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Night<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Unsure of how to begin my month of freedom, I book two nights into the first hostel I cruise by. It\u2019s an ex-fire station converted to dorms with an Indian restaurant on the first floor and free parking. It smells invitingly of curry and marijuana and seems like the perfect place to re-adjust to society. I rumble in and slot my bike into a parking space while the rest of the guests shuffle in off busses and beat-ass camper vans. Loving having the coolest vehicle in the lot, I hid a smug smirk behind the visor of my helmet on my way to the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Day Five: Friday<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Morning<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Now that I\u2019m on my own time, a \u201csleep-in\u201d means a sleep-in. I wake up without an alarm and catch my first clock while I pour my coffee- half past noon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Ah, vacation.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I break out my MacBook and get a much needed internet fix. After emailing my grandmother I get down to business assessing my surroundings with a few standard Google searches: \u201cbest cafe fremantle\u201d, \u201cbars fremantle\u201d, \u201cred light district Perth,\u201d etc. I could research my touring route later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Midday<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It\u2019s midday already?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Night<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>After a shower and shot of whiskey I <a href=\"https:\/\/www.theprofessionalhobo.com\/travel-money-guide\/\">hit the ATM<\/a> and grab a wad of cash, tucking the big bills into my boot in case I get jumped. The ride into town is brutal cold, but the anticipation of debauchery keeps my adrenaline going and takes my mind off the temperature.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I roll into Northbridge, Perth\u2019s red zone, at around half past midnight and am pleased to find it in a state absolute bedlam- lights, sounds, and people everywhere. Wedging the bike between the two most expensive cars I can find I power down and start foot patrol down the main drag, soon finding myself at the door of a strip club called Voodoo Lounge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>There\u2019s no line but the bouncer isn\u2019t keen on my tattered motocross gear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cMate, we\u2019ve got a dress code \u2018ere.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYeah, you\u2019ve got coat check haven\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYour boots\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWhat? These things are like six hundred bucks\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThey\u2019re taped,\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Alas, the guy was an astute observer of fashion &#8211; my boots had taken some damage in a crash and were indeed dependent on cloth tape for structural integrity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHow much is it to get in?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cFifteen, but mate-\u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThirty you say? Sounds steep, but alright,\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The bouncer thinks about it for a second, shrugs his shoulders and extends his hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I march up the steep stairs and walk into the set of <em>Tron<\/em>&#8211; Daft Punk is blasting a hole in my brain, everything is trimmed with neon and chicks in less than latex are flying all over the place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201c<em>At least it\u2019s not one of those <\/em>gaudy<em> strip clubs\u201d <\/em>I think, amusing myself with some inner-monologue sarcasm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>By the time I have my coat checked and whiskey in hand I\u2019ve parted with another $20. Taking advantage of a freshly vacated booth I park myself and try to relax. Comfort level in a place like this has a direct correlation with the level of my beverage, and I\u2019m in need of a refill before the next song ends.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It\u2019s starting to get crowed when a couple Germans lean my way,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIz it alright, ve come zit \u2018ere?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Always accept an invitation to party with Germans at the nudie bar- I learned that in Hamburg two years prior. Nobody makes it rain like the Deutschem\u00e4ckers, and on this night I\u2019m not disappointed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cUnd now ve get ze table dance, ya?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Day Six: Saturday<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Morning<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Missed that one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Midday<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I wake up feeling like hammered shit. Which of course, I deserve. I need 600 cc\u2019s of latte STAT or I\u2019m liable to collapse into a lifeless blob forever. I drag myself into a caf\u00e9 and check out the barista while I\u2019m in line, as one does. I\u2019m deep in my imagination picturing her slow-motion running toward me by the time it\u2019s my turn to order.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cCan I help you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It sounds like she\u2019s asking a second time\u2026 I scramble for a line but all that comes out of my mouth is air and drool.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cUh, yeah- coffee please,\u201d Maybe next time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Night<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Last night in Freo\u2019: I meet a French chick named Adele imbibing a beer in the hostel courtyard. I ask her back to mine- to help me pack- an invitation she accepts literally, much to my disappointment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I try to shed all unnecessary baggage to reduce payload for my touring trip, but have trouble getting rid of anything. After spending ten minutes explaining why I need all three pairs of sunglasses I\u2019m carrying, <em>Don\u2019t French people understand fashion?<\/em> I give up and accept that I\u2019ll have some heavy lifting to do if and when I crash.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Day Seven: Sunday<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Morning<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Scrambling to get my shit together before I get fined for a late check-out, my gear is all over the place at half-past ten. Luckily I\u2019ve made friends with the guy at reception and he couldn\u2019t care less. By the crack of noon I\u2019m loaded up and on the road, 40 kilograms worth of junk bungee-corded to the pillion of my DR-Z and another 40 in my backpacks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Good luck,<\/em> I mutter to myself as I power out of the driveway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Midday<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I\u2019m heading for the Dwellingup National Forest and 4&#215;4 Circuit about 150 kilometers south of Perth, and after braving a \u201clong-cut\u201d off the highway I\u2019m happy to hit my first dirt road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I follow tracks south as they get tighter and tighter, and less than an hour after pushing off from Fremantle I\u2019m standing on my pegs plowing through deep sand. I\u2019m grateful for the excitement but fatigue quickly- the motorcycle is extremely top heavy with all my cargo and is harder to keep down than a freshly castrated elephant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The terrain finally gets the best of me and abruptly halts the front wheel, hurling my bike and body into the ground. Soft sand is a merciful surface to crash on, but digging out is a different story. It takes twenty minutes of excavation and heaving to get the over-laden machine upright. I\u2019m sweating like a slave and the <em>acromioclavicular joint<\/em> I had damaged in a crash the previous week is ablaze with pain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Alright, back to the main road for a bit.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em><strong>Night<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A few more hours on paved and hard-packed dirt roads has me on the outskirts of Dwellingup. Staking a rocky clearing as the night\u2019s campsite, I erect my $15 tent and try to get a fire going. And try. And try. Finally settling on a pathetic whimper of burning twigs I manage to boil enough water to cook instant noodles. I\u2019m sure I\u2019ll get better at this with practice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><span style=\"color: #0000ff;\">&nbsp;<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>In an increasingly accessible world, it\u2019s becoming harder and harder to write an engaging travel story. Anybody with a week to kill and a credit card can be on the other side of the Earth 24 hours after deciding to leave; having \u201cbeen to Thailand\u201d doesn\u2019t exactly make you a pioneering explorer anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Now that we have cars and jets and satellite imaging of every square inch you could possibly piss on, the days of stumbling into a clearing and making first contact with a tribe of aboriginals are over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>That doesn\u2019t mean there isn\u2019t any more adventure to be had; only that people like myself have to work a little harder to dig up a new angle for creating a yarn about life on the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>That\u2019s why I bend the throttle, proverbially and literally, every chance I get to find truly unique adventure stories for RoadRoving.com. My obsession with motoring and lust for action puts a petrol-powered spin on the \u201cadventure traveler\u201d archetype, so check the site often to come along for the ride and satiate your need for speed from the safety of your computer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Andrew just celebrated his 24<\/em><sup><em>th<\/em><\/sup><em> birthday (yesterday!), and he\u2019s currently somewhere in the middle of the Aussie outback racing an Isuzu NPS as a service manager\/support driver for the Australian Safari: the largest 7-day off-road rally of its kind. His tour of duty with this team ends in a month, and he\u2019ll probably kick around Oz until the end of the year. <\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Here&#8217;s a week-in-the-life of Andrew of Road Roaving, as he roves around Australia as an outback motorcycle tour guide (seeking the open road and debauchery on his days off). <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[226],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2874","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-week-in-the-life-series"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v27.7 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>A Week-In-The-Life of Andrew: Road Roving - The Professional Hobo<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Here&#039;s a week-in-the-life of Andrew of Road Roving, roving around Australia as an outback motorcycle tour guide (seeking debauchery on his days off).\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theprofessionalhobo.com\/a-week-in-the-life-of-andrew-road-roving\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"A Week-In-The-Life of Andrew: Road Roving - 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