The last-minute flurries are over, the alarm clock has rung for the last time for 5 months and the plane awaits.In that moment of silence between kissing your family good-bye and turning to face the boarding gate, some things become clear. It is like the image burned on the retina by a camera flash in a darkened room. Vivid, static, monochromatic and stark. It is a still life of my family with all their hopes, fears and love frozen in my mind.
All their unstinting support, the cherished moments of tenderness, that feeling of dissociation, the tenseness in relations as the day drew nigh has come down to this. And I would turn back right now to change that image.
But the process takes me away, I'm gripped by the compulsion to walk through the gates. I didn't even see the bell-wether leading me in.
What a mixture of feelings, loneliness, excitement, regret, anticipation. I'm leaving New Zealand on my own and meeting Bill in Vladivostok so there is no-one to share the excitement. The remote possibility of not making it back, seems that little bit more possible.

Everybody in the plane is alien. They are wearing stylish casual clothes, not well-worn quick-dry camping shirts and hiking boots. They have a whole wardrobe in their luggage, not just one change of clothes. They are going home, not setting out. They don't know what I am embarking upon.

Watch the movies, eat the food, drink the water, sleep a little and after an eternity of limbo, I arrive in Japan.

Snap! The focus shifts again. I am here with one job in mind, to retrieve my bike and get myself to the ferry from Fushiki to Vladivostok. All those project management skills kick in.
- List and prioritise.
- Complete each task.
- Keep your focus on the outcome.
And just as quickly the challenges become apparent. The ship is delayed, the ticket agent will not release the ferry ticket, it is far more difficult to actually find places despite having a detailed map, the address and asking local people in the vicinity.
I am now resigned to spending all the contingency time in Osaka waiting for the bike to be released. In the mean-time my priority is to plan and rehearse so that in the 12 hours between release of the bike and the ferry sailing, I can navigate out of Osaka, ride the 400km to Fushiki,　pick up the ticket from the local agent and then ride to the port for loading and customs formalities.
And so I have spent my time finding the warehouse and the various agencies, confirmed the clearance process, bought maps and GPSed the route. And only when there is nothing more that I can do on that day have I relaxed.
All this brings me back to a previous blog entry decrying people with tight schedules striving to maintain them. I only have two milestones and within one week the first milestone is jeopardised.
Of the 4 dimensions that humans conceive themselves to live within, time is the only one that moves by itself. The three spatial coordinates can easily be frozen, just stop running. But time, that restless driving thing, keeps moving relentlessly.