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