8 days ago in the dark of the last Friday morning of February I left home with my bike. Two panniers strapped to the rear rack.
We, Simon and I, have been on the road cycling now for seven days and have made it all the way down Nîmes at the bottom of the Rhone valley. In that time we have cycled around 700km. We’re not counting exactly. We haven’t cycled all of the way. We took a train out of Paris and a couple more to cross the urban sprawl of Lyon.
The weather on the way to Paris at best could be described as miserable. Arriving at our hostel last Sunday evening, wet and cold. We’ve also had some glorious days with clear blue skies and bright sunshine. Days that we’ve so missed throughout the very wet UK winter just gone.
It’s been a joyful experience meeting people all the way. Yesterday as we passed under a bridge just before Avignon, Simon stopped me as he’d spotted a hand up in the air. We turned around and lying on the ground was a disheveled man. I started to talk to him in French. Quickly we moved to English. Simon asked if he needed anything. Not waiting for an answer handed over a bunch of bananas, followed by some nuts. We talked for a while and found out that he’s from Copenhagen and walks up and down Europe moving with the light and warmth. As we were headed south, in contrast he was slowly making his way north. We didn’t get his full story in the few minutes we spent together, but there was one there in a fellow human being who has chosen a different path to most.
We’re on an accelerated journey, and so for the most part we keep our heads down and pedal on. On towards our destination, Barcelona. A place that seemed so far, now seems very reachable.
We still can’t quite believe that as “two old fuckers, with chronic illnesses, who have to get up for a pee in the middle of the night” we’ve made it this far. But then every morning as we get on to our bikes, there’s a sense of excitement as we know how lucky we are to be able to journey on bikes to remote places.
