I’m not sure whether it’s the people I meet while walking Frank, or whether I’m naturally drawn to adventurous souls, but I’ve never been more fascinated by an epic journey that doesn’t involve me.

I’m struggling to find enough free time to play 18 holes at Royal Wembley, while a mate of mine is about to spend three months cycling from Norway to Spain.

I thought my friend John was remarkable when he rode from Perth to Bondi for his 80th birthday. This latest adventure is right up there.

My mate leaves tomorrow to tackle what’s known as the Pilgrims’ Way, a journey that begins in Trondheim, Norway’s historic Viking capital if you don’t mind, and eventually ends in Santiago de Compostela in Spain.

Somehow, he has convinced his wife that disappearing to the top of the world with a bicycle for three months is a perfectly reasonable idea.

The route follows ancient trails through Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Germany, France and Spain. Along the way, he’ll ride through forests, mountain passes, farming districts, medieval towns, and some of Europe’s most spectacular landscapes. There are long climbs, gravel roads and remote stretches. Just thinking about the history you ride past must be sensational.

What also fascinates me is not just the expected scenery or the distance. It’s the willingness to embrace uncertainty.

To wake up each day not entirely sure what’s ahead, what conditions you’ll face or who you’ll meet along the way.

It’s an extraordinary adventure and I can’t wait to hear all the stories when he gets back.

But while I’ve been thinking about one man’s journey across Europe, I’ve also found myself reflecting on something much closer to home.

A couple of weeks ago, as that terrible storm swept across Perth, I watched as hundreds of people volunteered to search for 11-year-old Norman, a boy with autism who had gone missing, wearing only shorts.

The weather was terrible. The rain was pelting down and the wind howled. Yet people kept coming.

Neighbours. Strangers. Volunteers. People drove long distances to get involved, most who had never met Norman or even knew his family.

On the Sunday morning, I was at Claremont Showground when the search resumed to see it for myself. I bumped into Norman’s frantic father, who was continuing his search on a push-bike after what must have been a sleepless night.

He looked exhausted and frightened but determined.

Every parent can relate to those feelings, I guess. The fear. The helplessness. The desperate hope that somehow your child will be OK.

Thankfully, that’s exactly what happened. Norman was found. Someone later told me he was thought to have slept inside the tube of a slide at a playground on Davies Road — in that weather!

The relief felt across Perth and in particular the western suburbs was enormous. But as I’ve reflected on it since, it was the response from local families, mums and dads and kids, that stayed with me.

All those people willing to brave the weather to help. Often people won’t take their shopping trolley back if the carpark isn’t undercover but there they were, out in a storm.

They walked through parks, bushland, checked the lake and trudged the streets in driving rain. They gave up their time, their energy, and their weekend because another family needed help.

Nobody was getting paid. Nobody was seeking recognition. They simply turned up.

And that says something powerful about who we are. We hear a lot these days about division, selfishness and people only looking after themselves.

Scroll through social media and you’d be forgiven for thinking the world is a bad place.

But that’s not the community I saw. The community I saw was one that turned up for Norman.

The community that understood that when one family is hurting, everyone should carry the load.

The real story of our community is rarely found in the headlines, statistics or politics. It’s found in ordinary people doing extraordinary things.

A former farmer cycling across Europe in search of who knows what. A huge contingent of strangers searching for a little boy in the middle of a storm.

Very different journeys. Yet both remind us life is richer when you are prepared to step out of your comfort zone.

When you’re willing to do something difficult. They reckon 80 per cent of success is just turning up. And the willingness to show up changes us, and makes us a little better every time.