Sabrina left, Kiki was handed back, and Tara was meant to be collected to continue my journey. The parts—a set of spokes that had fallen off in Armenia, threatening the integrity of the wheel—ordered two weeks prior, had arrived. So, with bated breath, I returned to George's garage to pick Tara up, intent on leaving directly from there to the Georgia/Russia border to restart my journey eastwards across the desert plains of Kazakhstan, Tajikistan through Afghanistan, Pakistan, and India. The excitement of the night before was only matched by the disappointment of realising that George had ordered the wrong parts and hadn’t bothered telling me.

Returning to a familiar place when your heart is set on riding around the world can feel like a setback, or even a failure. The very word "set" becomes a problem on a long journey that has a direction but no defined path. Nothing is set in stone—from the gear you pack to the ideas you harbour. The impermanence of things is revealed the further you stray from your original plans.

I left Georgia with a vicious cold but a warm heart, as Shota is now undoubtedly a brother. Such kindness, generosity, and love—it’s a real privilege and an honor to be able to call him a friend.

Onwards from Tbilisi to Armenia for a long-awaited meeting with my old friends Kane, Lucy, and their newest addition, Max. Nate had advised me to avoid the eastern border crossing, as it’s the main transit route and often clogged with transport trucks and tourists. Instead, he recommended the less-used eastern border crossing in Guguti, sitting at 2000 meters in altitude—a forgotten road leading to a barren border crossing.

Recovering from the mountain is a multifaceted experience. Your body demands rest, and while the sense of accomplishment is uplifting, a subsequent deflation often sets in. What next? The adrenaline and high-risk intensity experienced during the climb aren't easily replicated, similar to the transition soldiers feel returning from operations—loss of purpose, fatigue, and a backlog of insights and experiences to process.

Thanks to my altercation at the border, I lost three hours on my initial plan to enter Georgia. There's a lesson here for any traveler crossing multiple borders: Start your crossing early. You never know what might happen—slow procedures, grumpy guards, lines of traffic, and sluggish administrations. Be the early bird and even dedicate a full day to the crossing. Make it an event rather than an inconvenience; it will alleviate any frustrations that may arise. Nonetheless, hindsight is great, but in my case, I still had 300 kilometers to cover to get to Tbilisi and finally reunite with my long-lost friend, Shota, whom I had last seen in the parking lot of Old College at Sandhurst 14 years ago, the day after our commissioning parade and officially becoming 2nd Lieutenants.

 Like any traveler will know, it's hard to get back in the saddle after finding a haven of peace, tranquility, and emotional safety. Amid the chaotic hustle and bustle of Istanbul's streets, I had found a place where I could probably hang my hat, but something in my heart was still stirring me to move on. It was a sad goodbye to Sabrina and her neighborhood that had, in a sense, become mine. Ismael the shop owner, Onur the rug dealer, and Mohamed the barber had become my friends and made me feel at home on the Bosphorus. But I have a mission, a goal to achieve: to get around the world on Tara. So, with a bit of my heart forever in Istanbul, I set off toward Georgia via the Black Sea, knowing that I will see my friends again soon, and Sabrina even sooner! My feelings are torn between my longing for adventure and the serenity and well-being I found in her presence. I text our mutual acquaintance who introduced us, "Mate, you’ve messed me up on this one. She's either my Penelope or the Medusa that turns heroes to stone!"