Pizza, Parcels, and Grampian Plans

Melbourne's urban sprawl embraced us gradually, the city's gravitational pull asserting itself at least an hour before our actual destination in St Kilda. The transition from open highway to increasingly dense suburbia felt like diving into deep water—each traffic light drawing us further from the freedom we'd grown accustomed to during our nomadic months. We had chosen to drive the entire distance rather than seek peripheral parking and navigate public transport, a decision that tested our patience but preserved our independence, keeping our golden home close as we negotiated the city's morning pulse.

St Kilda's familiar streets eventually materialised through the automotive maze, leading us to the clinical facility where Anth and Torrin's final outpatient appointment awaited—the last administrative thread connecting them to their twenty-five-day confinement. As the two men disappeared through institutional doors, Sal claimed sanctuary in a nearby café, its warm interior offering refuge from Melbourne's winter bite. Coffee arrived like liquid comfort while she established temporary office at a corner table, the familiar ritual of urban waiting transformed into productive pause as she savoured both caffeine and solitude.

"Won't be long," Anth had promised before entering, though medical appointments rarely adhered to predicted timelines.

The outpatient process proved mercifully efficient, and soon we were reunited on the pavement, freedom's full flavour returning with each step away from clinical corridors. Torrin, energised by complete liberation and upcoming adventures, announced his intention to venture deeper into the city via tram—those iconic Melbourne conveyances he'd had only experienced once before. His mission carried practical purpose: trying on trail running shoes for his imminent Te Araroa adventure across New Zealand's spine, a journey requiring proper footwear for thousand-mile ambitions.

"I'll find my own way back," he assured us with the confidence of someone who'd already navigated Japanese cities solo. The tram stop beckoned with promise of urban exploration, his enthusiasm for independent discovery infectious.

While Torrin pursued his pedestrian preparations, we navigated northward through Melbourne's varied neighbourhoods toward Jack's place. These streets had become surprisingly familiar through repeated visits, each journey adding layers to our mental map of the city we'd once found overwhelming. Jack, though imprisoned by weekday employment, had arranged parcel access—various online purchases accumulated during our trial period now awaiting collection. The domestic normalcy of collecting mail seemed almost surreal after weeks of clinical routine and wilderness wandering.

Parcels secured, we turned attention to more immediate needs. The grocery shopping that followed felt like provisioning for expedition rather than simple restocking—each aisle offering choices that would sustain us through coming adventures. We moved through the supermarket with practiced efficiency, our selections reflecting hard-won knowledge about bus storage limitations and cooking possibilities. Fresh vegetables for immediate consumption, non-perishables for extended journeys, treats to celebrate freedom regained—our trolley told the story of nomadic life resuming.

By the time Torrin messaged his successful return from the city—new shoes now earmarked for cheaper online purchase and tram system conquered—afternoon had matured into evening. The nearest free camping lay at least two hours distant through peak traffic, a prospect that held little appeal after our already full day. Pragmatism suggested accepting Jack's standing offer of street parking outside his home, trading wilderness for suburban convenience just this once.

"Let's treat ourselves," Sal suggested, and the decision felt like small celebration of trials completed and family reunited.

Pizza ordered from local establishment represented rare indulgence—hot food delivered rather than prepared, convenience chosen over our usual self-sufficiency. As we settled in for the evening, Jack appeared with his canine companion for their evening constitutional. His familiar face and warm greeting transformed anonymous suburban street into temporary community, the kind of connection that made city pauses bearable.

"How was the trial?" Jack inquired, genuinely interested in their clinical adventures. The ensuing conversation covered everything from Anth's blood-on-the-clocktower gaming sessions to Torrin's weight gain from institutional meals, stories that would eventually fade but currently felt fresh with recent experience.

Night on the suburban street provided its own particular soundtrack—so different from the ocean lullabies and forest whispers we preferred. Traffic ebbed and flowed with urban rhythms, occasional voices drifted past, someone's television murmured through thin walls. We slept adequately if not deeply, our bodies still calibrated to natural sounds rather than mechanical ones.

Morning brought unexpected pleasure when Jack and Nic knocked on our door with breakfast invitation. This gesture—simple hospitality extended without obligation—reminded us why certain friendships endured despite our nomadic absence. Over eggs and coffee in their warm kitchen, conversation flowed with the ease of genuine connection. Stories were shared, adventures recounted, and plans naturally emerged for Jack and Nic to join us for Sal's upcoming birthday celebration at the house-sit we'd arranged.

"It's only a few weeks away," Sal noted with slight surprise, time's passage accelerated by constant movement and change.

Farewells exchanged with promises of birthday reunion, we finally pointed our bus westward toward the Grampians—that dramatic landscape we'd barely tasted during our rushed transit weeks earlier. The promise of proper exploration animated our departure from Melbourne's grip, each suburb surrendered bringing us closer to the wild spaces where our souls felt most at home.

As the city gradually released its hold, replaced by increasingly rural vistas, we reflected on these urban interludes that punctuated our nomadic existence. Melbourne served its purpose—medical trials funding future freedom, friendships maintained despite distance, necessary supplies acquired. Yet always we felt the pull of unpopulated places, the call of camps where neighbours were trees rather than houses, where morning brought birdsong rather than traffic.

"The Grampians properly this time," Anth said with satisfaction as the last suburbs disappeared behind us. No rushing through this time, no clinical appointments dictating timeline—just the ancient mountains waiting to reveal their secrets to those with time to truly explore.Read more