Trial and celebration

I cried.  And I hadn’t got more than half a mile from my front door.  For my trial run, my beautiful new bike which has wafted me through country lanes now seemed impossibly heavy, laden with (almost) everything that I am planning to take on the trip.

Now I’ve always been an economical packer and have prided myself on how little I can seemingly get away with.  I’ve gloated at how I can skip along while others lug, heave, push and pull their worldly goods into a field for a couple of days of festival fun.  But then there have always been others,  around.  This time I won’t be able to steal a friend’s raincoat, make up or extra pair of socks.  The bare essentials – shelter, clothing, food and water paired down to an absolute minimum.

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I cried because it all seemed impossible.  But I had to try.  And then if I had a complete melt down I could always call the whole thing off.  The cycle odyssey would become a cycle saunter.

But as I left Bristol behind me, and the Wye Valley displayed itself in all it’s glory the impossible felt a little bit slightly possible.  The thrill and the sense of freedom returned with the pleasure of observing and feeling part of the landscape.  And what a privilege to be able to experience it in such a way.

82 miles later.  9pm I arrived depleted but jubilant that actually… even the days when it all seems impossible I need to remind myself that all I need to do is just give it a go and see how far I get.  Or not…. I could just eat cheese and read a book.  But I think I know which I’ll end up doing.

Trial and tribula celebration success.  Prosecco and baked potatoes have never tasted so good.

 

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