Denver, Colorado. September 15, 2010.

Polar bear hugs: that’s how my old buddy Mark signs off most of his emails, and he takes the salutation quite literally. It’s after midnight by the time my plane touches down in Denver, and Mark is there to pick me up…. He hugs with his whole body, lifts my feet right off the ground. Then he picks up my one-pound-over-the-weight-limit-big-enough-to-hide-a-stow-away suitcase, clunks it in the back of the gas guzzling truck emblazoned with a Legalize Freedom sticker, and we are Boulder-bound.

Apart from a four day rendezvous last year, it’s been a dozen years since I’ve seen Mark.

He’s a never-fail friend. The kind who remembers every birthday. The kind of friend who pro-deals gear and posts it to you, year after year. And he’s the kind of friend, who, when you only-half-jokingly email with a subject-line of ‘Need a roommate?’ responds that while no, he does not currently need a roommate, you are more than welcome to stay at his house….indefinitely….

Are you sure?

I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.

He proceeds to send a list of the adventures planned for the season; climbing, canyoneering and backpacking throughout Colorado and Utah--and extends a warm invitation. I'm welcome to tag along on any trip that strikes my fancy.
Every qualm I have is immediately resolved.


Spare gear that I can borrow as needed? Check. Bike for transport? Check. Wireless internet access? Check. Land line so I can continue working remotely for my clients in Australia? Check. Hot tub? Check. Space in the house for me?

Well, it had to end somewhere.

We arrive at Mark’s condo late. A homemade dinner and chocolate covered macadamia nuts await. There are, however, a few details that were omitted from the get-Ellen-to-Boulder campaign. Like the fact that this is an itsy bitsy two bedroom place, and both bedrooms are in fact already occupied. Or the fact that he's neglected to discuss my long-term presence with his paying housemate.

He shows me to my room. Which also happens to be his room. He'd prefer I not couch-surf, given that the sofa is adjacent to his housemates room, he explains. Sure no worries, I respond, unsure what else to say. Here are your towels, he continues nonchalantly. And you can sleep in this half of the bed....

Ummmmmm………
He assures me he’ll be clambering in just as I’m getting up.

At this point that awkward email I felt oddly compelled to send a few weeks prior-- that  'you may not even be thinking this at all, but just in case, I wanted to say that while I value your friendship immensely, I have no interest in pursuing a relationship' email-- seems positively enlightened.  'Ummmmm, the feeling is mutual...' had been the timely response. 'Phew, didn't think so, but just wanted to be sure,' I'd said at the time, a little red-faced for having brought it up.

That night I sleep so close to the edge of the mattress that I wake wedged into the tiny gap between bed and wall. But alas, I do sleep.

And so there was this guy....

Last week a letter arrived in the post from Wells Fargo. We regret to inform you, it read, that due to our inability to verify your address, your application for a credit card has been declined...

I'm a nomad of sorts.

Most of my stories begin the same way: "And so there was this guy...."

What?! Should I be ashamed of that? Ok maybe I am. A little.

But let's be honest, because the best writing always is: every story needs a MacGuffin; every adventure, an impetus. Even if the impetus is the same every time...in my case, an impeccably pecced man, usually blued eyed with darkish hair, an adventurous streak and some  tragic flaw or incompatibility that invariably leads to our relationship-demise....and even if the ending strays wildly from whatever the initial focus happened to be, which mine, almost unfailingly, does.

These days I expect it to. I factor it in to the decision making process. Any associated heartbreak is merely collateral damage for the adventure I would never have otherwise encountered. And in any case, it'll make a good story, one day, when I'm de-chagrinned enough to tell it, right? Right.

I like to think of myself as a realist-optimist hybrid.  I can be happy anywhere. Except the suburbs, Mongolia on a budget, and Tasmania mid-winter, sex-deprived and shivering, up to my shins in soggy mud. But most anywhere else, I can be happy. I crave change and dread boredom. I'm a romantic. But not a hopeless one...

And so, more times than anyone with any degree of self respect would publicly acknowledge, I've criss-crossed the planet, prompted by some vague notion of 'what-if?'
And by those gorgeous pecs, of course.