Nowhere To Be

Nowhere To Be

The daylight fades, the wind, although largely alive blows silently, nearby people cheer, enjoying the final shining hour before the sun sets on another Friday. The skin is tender, face burnt and body exhausted, though spirits are high and stoke refreshed. What began as three strangers, connected through a mutual interest in a lifestyle became an open road journey south, through fields of green and quiet coastal roads, out west past the valley for time spent by a fire, laughing and drinking. It’s only a short story, but then again it was only a short trip. See the road to The Pocket is short, but the scenic route not so much.


The Volvo was full, boards sprawled over the back seats and logs perched comfortably on the roof. We greeted as new friends, familiar with one another but not yet solidified through an eye gaze and a handshake. Outside the skies were clear, the air warm. The road south is quiet, the crossing from Queensland to New South Wales painless. There was no rush, no schedule, no particular place to be by any particular time. It was Wednesday. Everything was slow, quiet, calming.


We pulled up in Byron, The Pass. It was afternoon and the beach was littered with bodies. We stood watching, unamused at the half-foot swell though enthusiastic. There was an eksy, a few friends, a ‘only-if you’re-desperate’ right-hander and a clear afternoon canvasing the ideal afternoon. We perched up, the spring sun warming the skin and beer soothing the soul. The surf was average but the times had nothing short. The sun began setting as we traded waves between tins and laughed at how it was only Wednesday with nowhere to be.


There is a certain charm to small towns, little nowhere places situated off the popular paved road. I’m sure you’re aware. I’m certain you’ve been there, to a place much the same. And yet no matter where they are, no matter how much we talk of them, that charm still remains. Again the skies were clear, the road open and the Volvo uncomfortable accelerating up hills. Again there was no rush, no schedule and no singular place to be. Instead we drove west, away from the coast and into the hills. The sounds of Byron Bay echoing the valley. There we found a park, a skate ramp, a one hour session in an empty nowhere town with no one but a car full of friends and again more beer. There was that charm, that feeling you long for where emails are obsolete and time moves slow, where there’s no pressure to be the best just an opportunity to enjoy.

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It's only a short story, but indeed it was a short trip. Yet bottled in there is that feeling you’re after, that off the well worn path liberation that sounds awfully like the sound of change. See this is Rhythm, this is our introduction to summer, Australia.

Words by Jake McCann
Images by
Brydie Watson, Jake McCann & Jacob Byrne



Curated on the road, three guys inside a 1980s Volvo wagon, boards strapped to the roof and a sunshine drenched road ahead; tunes to keep the feelings high. Tune in, drop out