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ing arguing and yelling our heads off. And then - I laughed as I remembered it -
the camp, early on in the snow, when I'd cut down an entire dead aspen tree be-
cause I needed a log to sit on. That pot sure did bring back memories, but they were
memories that I'd have to store elsewhere.
I shook my head slowly and looked at Tim. 'Nah, mate.' I waved the pot in the
air. 'There's a baggage limit on aeroplanes, you know. And besides.' I measured
him up with a steady grin. 'I don't think Nat would appreciate it too much if I took
this home and tried to cook up a romantic dinner for two. I've already told her
about us using it to cook our meals on horse poo.' Tim laughed and I continued. 'I
reckon I'll just have to go and get a new one. They're about three bucks, as far as I
remember, from Woolworths.'
Tim's face darkened. He was a Victorian and this was an issue of contention.
'You mean Safeway.'
I finished my long-rehearsed, almost automatic, morning routine with a new
awareness. I shoved my sleeping bag into the rear pannier for the last time and let
my thoughts wander.
We'd come through a lot this year, Tim and I. More than a lot actually. More
than I ever could have imagined, but the journey had run its course and now we
were returning home to different lives. I wondered if we'd ever travel together
again. Tim seemed to sense this too, and he broke the silence, adding his voice to
the few birds and the distant rumble of early morning traffic.
'You know, I've just realised …' I waited as he let his words hang in the air. His
voice was neutral. I didn't know what it was he'd just realised, but I could guess.
He let the pause extend a dozen heartbeats and seemed to be considering the mood
that hung around us like a fog. Then the moment passed and he broke into a smile.
'You know that private concert of yours that you and your pot make every day
when you're eating?'
I scowled half-heartedly back at him. 'You mean your hyper-sensitive hearing?
Sure, what about it?'
He grinned with huge satisfaction. 'I've just realised that I won't have to listen
to it ever again.'
We wheeled our bikes slowly out of the orchard and back onto the road. Beijing
was big and there - a thick pall of pollution and the beginnings of a vast build-up of
population. Our map was dodgy - just the photocopied corner of some large-scale
atlas - but as far as we could figure, we had camped about fifty kilometres from the
centre. We'd rung the day before and spoken to Helen, a British girl we'd met on
