The Faceless Man

We believe what is presented to us, rather than what we discover for ourselves. Why in this day and age, does everything have to be a interactive online experience. Here’s an interactive experience people. Do something. Do anything…..”

          This is a saga of two close friends who let it all go, packed their meagre possessions onto two motorbikes and rode across Australia for the sake of doing so. Along the way they crossed jungles, traversed mountains, fought storms, went hungry, were thirsty, slept wild and yelled their defiant freedom into the face of the sun. This is a tale of self-definition through travel, and of searching for something that is finally worthy of making a man stop.



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Whether it’s leaning hard into a sharp corner in the east coast hinterland rain forest, or the endless lonely desert miles across the top end, Isaac Oosterloo puts the reader in the saddle as you join him and his best mate, Monkey on an epic journey through some of the most beautiful and harsh landscapes Australia has to offer.

Cold, wet and wild nights spent weathering coastal storms or the peace and quiet of an outback sunrise are perfectly captured with an easy yet evocative language and gives a real insight into what we can all expect if we can just let go of whatever holds us in place and embrace the freedom of being in control of our own destiny.

An honest account of the people met along the way with some typically open, warm and helpful Australian townsfolk and just as typically less than warm and helpful Australian townsfolk are mixed with random meetings with international and domestic travellers to gather an interesting and eclectic cast.

 Not just a travel story, it also conveys the relationship between two mates relying on each other to successfully rise to each challenge which comes their way. One a mechanical genius able to keep the bikes running with minimal tools but vast knowledge, the other a creative and social man able to bring strangers into their world and immediately make them friends.

It is impossible to read this book without peering out the window at your own suburban jungle without your mind wandering to those long black roads and dusty red plains, with equal amounts of wistfulness and envy of The Faceless Man.

Warwick O’Neill
Everton Park


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