Workfree Wandering

Well… here we go. It’s getting real now. We’re just about there, and it’s time to jump.
It reminds me of that sunset in Vang Vieng, Laos, when we climbed into a hot‑air balloon for the very first time. The sky was turning gold, our nerves were buzzing, and then we met two young travellers who were even more terrified than we were. So, we slipped on our “we’ll look after you” shoes, steadied the moment, and ended up having one of the most unforgettable adventures of our lives.
This whole Workfree Wandering thing has a similar feel — a mix of nerves, excitement, and that sense of stepping into something bigger than we expected.
Bring it on.

The Beginning:
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how journeys really begin. Not the day you hitch up the van or roll out of the driveway, but the quiet, older beginnings — the ones that happened long before you realised you were part of a story already in motion.

For me, this next chapter — time on the road with Michelle and Fizz, circling this great country of ours — starts with two young migrants stepping off a ship in the 1950s. My parents were Ten Pound Poms, part of that wave of hopeful families who traded grey skies for the unknown. They arrived with little more than determination, a few suitcases, and the kind of optimism you only get when you’re brave enough to start again.

Dad was a mechanic who loved tinkering at home and loved creating stuff. He early on started modifying vans turning them into mini motorhomes. I believe he may have been the first person in Aussie that installed a pop up roof into I think a Morris vans. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was clever, practical, and quietly pioneering, and it kicked off my love of being on the road. Every Xmas we made the trip from Brisbane to Sydney and back again along the coast road. He also gave me the love of camping and having a piece of home with you wherever you are. I belive Dad passed on some of that creativity into me: the idea that you don’t need a spotlight to build something meaningful. You just need to show up, solve problems, and keep moving forward.

Maybe that’s why this Big Lap feels less like an escape and more like a continuation. A chance to honour where I’ve come from by choosing a life that values curiosity, resilience, and the courage to step into the unknown.

Over the past year, we’ve been downsizing, sorting, gifting, and letting go — not just of things, but of old rhythms and expectations. My 2019 Holden Trailblazer 7 seater LTZ has been stripped, rebuilt, wired, rethought, and re‑imagined. The caravan is nearly ready. The checklists are multiplying (as they do). And somewhere in the middle of all that, the shift happened: the moment where this stopped being a plan and became a promise.

A promise to slow down. A promise to meet people who see the world the way we do. A promise to tell the stories that matter — the funny ones, the hard ones, the ones that remind us why we chose this life.

This blog won’t be a highlight reel. It won’t be curated perfection. It’ll be a record — for us, for family, for anyone who’s ever wondered what happens when you stop saying “one day” and start saying “now”.

So here it is. The beginning.

A journey that started on a ship in the 50s, passed through a van workshop, wound its way through decades of work and family and responsibility, and now — finally — leads to the open road.

Stay tuned for the next post, where we’ll dive into the practical preparations, the gear choices, and the little surprises that come with getting ready for a year on the road. We’d love to have you along for every step of the journey.

We’re nearly ready. And I can’t wait to see who we meet out there.