There was a moment last year - and it was just a moment - when I stood with my toes hanging over a cliff edge, looking down into white water. I did not take time to admire it. Instead I focussed on the way it hammered against the banks, and as I leaned forward, further, further, I wondered why I was here, doing this. Why anyone would do it? Whether branding myself a coward was worse than broken ribs? How I would explain the consequential injuries to my running coach? Had I done enough? Lived enough? Loved enough? By the time this deep self-examination was complete I had already failed to leap with wilful abandon into the depths and instead managed to face plant against the rapids hard against the rapids. The injuries were limited to a very sore nose. (Genetics can be cruel.)
But there's something about that kind of moment. Something that makes you want to do an exultant little dance while waiting for your tram. I don't know what chemical processes are involved - probably something to do with dopamine and adrenaline - but it's exciting.
And here I am again. Caught in a long moment, that has dragged interminably and quite suddenly has me about to throw in life as I know it for the other side of the world. 8 days to go, and then the fellowship (Matt, Jamis, Bianchi and I) head for Europe to see how far we can ride in six months. Matt has already mapped out the first two or three weeks of the trip, which he assures me is 1100kms of what ought to be nice riding. He showed me on google maps last night. It looked like a small child has drawn a great biy 'Y' across Denmark. I will trust his navigation. (Matt interjects - 'Don't do that! It'll be a disaster) And I'm not particularly fussed, as long as the promised mountains, fjords, and blue(ish) skies eventuate. The closest I've been to 'getting back to nature' lately is nodding off while watching the adventures of Micky and Mallory Knox on the laptop, which probably aint so healthy.
6 months, which will capture London, Scandinavia, Skovakia and the Czech Republic, Germany, Switzerland, France, Spain and Morocco.* 6 months, in which I will endeavour to time trial up Ventoux with panniers, eat every variety of cheese on offer, get at least one photo that has both Matt and I in it (preferably without a horse), locate a dog who will follow us throughout the journey and then be allowed to come home with us, write more and better, go to at least one German metal festival and tear around in a circle pit wearing cycling shoes, and occasionally update this blog so my mum knows where I am. And Matt's mum knows where he is. Too much? We shall see.
We'll go for a jolly ride! The open road! The dusty highway! Come! I'll show you the world! Travel! Scene! Excitement! Ha ha ha!
* Route subject to variation at author's discretion at any time.
