The
Adventurous adventure 2012 saw it’s final stretch and end last week.
But I haven’t gotten around to ending the saga. The trip ended with a
slight anti climax. But that’s reality, not everything ends with an
explosion and dramatic reunion in Hollywood style. The trip wound down
and I came home, so this last final update is just a small conclusion,
thanks and a little philosophy. A bit wanky but nothing one wouldn’t
expect from an update on my timeline.
Firstly thank you. In its
conception the trip was always to be a solo mission. Regardless of how
much I’d unplug from the internet, Facebook and everything else I’d have
to travel alone. In the end though the laptop and smart phone ended up
tucked away beside my clothes in the pannier bags, and so I brought you
all with me. Any updates were a connection to back home and they cheered
me up and made me feel a little less alone when I’d gone a week without
speaking to someone who spoke English. It was also nice to know that
someone took the time to read through something I took the time to
write. Thank you for that.
Where I left off on the tale I was
in Hannover and I stopped writing about Oktoberfest’s 4th day when Mike
left. I wrote about the last few days but even writing about it was a
chore so I’m not putting it up here. The weather turned towards the last
couple of days and it looked set to be down pouring constantly nearly
the whole way to Amsterdam. Niall’s phone showed an unprecedented amount
of rain, either a tsunami or the apocalypse was on its way. The first
day cycling out of Hannover proved not to be so bad. But day 2 was 80
kilometres cycling through sheets of heavy shower falling vertically
thank god. Had there been a wind added to the mix the punctures that
plagued my journey that day might have driven me over the edge and
plundered my soul of all hope. Day 2 was mainly along the Mittelandkanal
a really long canal that stretches a good bit across Germany, going
nearly in a straight line from Hannover towards Amsterdam relieving a
traveller from the burden of thinking and navigating. Though for the
cyclist on a road bike with skinny wheels and thin tyres the gravel path
isn’t ideal and is conducive to punctures. Add the rain and by the end
you can expect a chain and gears full of grit and a bike covered in mud.
Day 3 dried up and this was set to stay, but the clearer days brought
colder nights. All my (very smelly) socks and underwear hung from the
bags as I cycled along the road. The nights got colder and colder and on
the morning of day 5 frost was on my tent and bike. But the roughing it
being almost over hope diluted the hardship. The cold met a defiant
perseverance and I ploughed on. The day before reaching Amsterdam I was
50 km short of the city in a small city called Amersfoort passing the
time there rather than getting into Amsterdam and having to spend a
night in the city with no money, the plan being to find some woods in
the evening then cycle the rest of the way early enough the next morning
to find the bus park, sort myself out and pack the bike into a tarp
that had to pass for a proper bike bag to get on the bus. To pass the
time I installed myself in McDonalds and went online planning out the
next day and chatting with friends online for a few hours, eating
speculatius biscuits and jellies. Around 6.30 I was strapping everything
to my bags to go find the last forest that I would sleep in on my
travels, when this Giant Dutch guy with long shaggy hair comes out from
the restaurant. ‘Do you have far to go?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got to cycle
another 10 or so km towards Amsterdam, gotta camp wild tonight, I’ve
spent all my money so I can’t get a hostel.’ I said earnestly. ‘You need
a place to stay? You can stay with me here in Amersfoort.’ The man
offered. This is a pretty exact account of the conversation we had, the
words may be a bit off but it’s representative of the entirety of our
dialogue. So having not gotten to know one another, I graciously
declined. 10 minutes later he and his son leave the restaurant and any
paranoid suspicion that may have alarmed me earlier now was replaced by
guilt and regret. He was just a normal dad and I could have slept in a
bed and had a well needed shower, but wouldn’t thanks to my lack of
trust. The next day I got all the way to Amsterdam with not even a flat,
my tube with copious amounts of duct tape holding in punctures didn’t
even have a pissing fit and give me trouble. The bus man let me take my
bike on board and without a hitch I found myself in London. Here I
conclude my account of my travels.
It struck me that on every
holiday or trip that I’ve ever been on there’s a gradual reintegration
to where you left off. To get to Spain you get the bus to the airport,
then fly then wait in the airport for another bus. Then the reverse on
the way back. While you wait around the airport on the way back, or you
look out the window of the coach at the sights that remind you of the
week earlier you start to reflect. A week ago seems strangely different
and you feel like you’re observing everything through different eyes. At
least that’s how it is for me, and that’s how it was for me heading
back up North after a month in France. The reintroduction was extended
and slowed as my trip was extended and slow. Passing through Luxembourg
only facilitated this by being a massive buffer between Germany and
France. Having time in Amsterdam where the trip saw its birth to arse
around and think felt profound. Looking over the rail of the barge that
crosses the Ijmeer tributary and offers the cheap skate tourist a free
boat cruise at the industrial side of Holland, looking at the world in
operation while I was removed from its running and just an observer. I
was left with an impression of vastness and enjoyed soaking in the feats
that civilization has achieved. Even being able to stand in Amsterdam
is testimony. This I felt and realized that it’s not something I
normally appreciate being too wrapped up in my own little life, being a
cog in the complex machine reduces your perspective and ability to
appreciate the grand scheme of things. Naturally you can understand I
felt a little sad.
Cycling is a wonderful metaphor for life.
Probably anyone who has a sport that they love can draw comparisons
between it and what they experience day to day, my punctures are my
trials, my broken pannier my tribulations. Though I don’t think many
sports can come as close to paralleling life as cycling. As Jack Kerouac
put it. "Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we
had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life." The Road being
life a cycle trip with no set course is true to the comparison that I’m
trying to draw. Turn left; turn right; go through Dijon or Digoin. It
doesn’t matter really. All roads lead to home, what matters is that you
enjoy your way and can make the most of it. When my pannier racks broke
in the outskirts of Paris as I endeavoured to leave the city, despair
haunted my will to carry on. When you suffer from your resources
crumbling around you in life you feel the same way. What do you do? Get
into the foetal position and die? There’s no hopping on a train to
escape in life like I could have done in Paris, take a breath and think
about what you can do. Clarity of mind sets in after a few miles on the
bike. After the heart has started pounding and taken on a rhythm. After
the lungs have become flooded with oxygen rich fresh air. After the skin
pales on contact with the cold air, then flushes warmer than usual from
the exertion. You’re in the zone. Thoughts flow freely. Problems can be
easily broken down, and with cycling in particular you’re freer to use
that zone to think about and work out other areas of your life. Cycling
is a great metaphor for life but it can also be a great tincture for
life’s more complex problems. Especially those more confounding problems
that in the haze of every day working life can seem as impossibly
coiled as a tangled mess of thread. A cyclist in the zone will remember
that the thread though tangled is almost one dimensional in its
simplicity. An ordinary person as prone to bouts of boredom and foggy
headedness as any of his or her contemporaries can enjoy a serenity for a
time. Knowing that he or she will cycle again and that any of life’s
problems will unfurl themselves when they’re on the road and that
clarity of mind sets in. In short, I recommend cycling for anyone
looking for a sport.
And that’s it. But on my final note a
special thanks to the great people who put me up along the way. Jorgy
Bear. You sir are a legend. I’m still enjoying the Bochum curry sauce
and I’m still sore that you made me use the steering wheel playing Mario
kart. Next time you get an extra nun chuck and I’ll kick your ass.
Tobias. Cheers for coming out for the chat in Brussels when the girls
totally bailed. I’m fond of those chats, the kind of which we had. You
know what I’m on about. That Belgian beer was stronger than I was ready
for, apologies if you were putting up with a babbling piss head by the
end of the night but honestly I just didn’t reckon on 10% beer being so
effective. Judith. What can I say? Your hospitality and general humanity
are outstanding. That night sitting around your kitchen with your
family telling jokes drinking all your brother’s beer will stay with me.
I’d a great time in your company. That tour of Paris has me hankering
for more time in the place where I was punched in the face. Violence or
no violence it’s a beautiful city. Diana. The tour of the old town. The
cactus ice cream. The general tom foolery that we got up to on our own
or with your bonkers friends was class. You tend to draw the funny
intellects and the friendliest folks. I’m usually a bit shy around
people’s friends but your friends were hilarious. Guys I can’t thank any
of you enough and I hope I was a decent guest. I insist you come visit
me in London some time once I’m there. When I’m set up expect a few
messages on here badgering you to come out for a weekend.
All the best, Garion.
