Thoughts.

I’m sitting on the train back home from London and the realisation of what I’ve achieved finally sinks in. I smile to myself as I glance out of the window at the houses rushing past and then again as I look at my bike resting against the inside of the train.
What an amazing piece of machinery. Not as flash or expensive as other bikes on the trip but special to me in it’s own way. Each mark, scratch, dollop of dried on energy gel it’s own story.
The lady sitting across from me looks at me quizzically, wondering why I’m so smug. I want to tell her, hell, I want to tell everybody sitting on the train about what I’ve done but it’s satisfying to let her wonder and wallow in my own happiness.
Three days previously, I am on the same train, just in the opposite direction. My bike gleaming and a million worries rotating inside my head. Full of self doubt, nervousness, but excitement at the prospect that lay ahead.
I’d arrived at the hostel/prison for young men to meet the others with a feeling not too dissimilar to that of a first date. I had a picture of the people from chatting on the forum, some I’d even met on other rides but it was still a great unknown and I stood quietly for a while as last minute preparations were finished.
I won’t bore you with details of the route, a breakdown of the 302 miles or what I ate on any particular day because I don’t think you need to know and likewise there are some things that happened that I don’t want to share because those memories belong to me and nobody else.
I’m not an arrogant or big headed person so please don’t take this statement as such but I found the ride easier than I thought it would be. I am not saying it was a breeze because three rides of that distance will never be easy but I assume that the training I did made it easier for myself.
When embarking on the trip, I expected pain, suffering, misery and a challenge that I would struggle on. It sounds strange but I feel cheated that it didn’t hurt more. That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy the trip, quite the opposite in fact but when I arrived at the Eiffel Tower, there was an anticlimax to the whole event, more a release rather than a chequered flag.
I thought I would be emotional. Writing my final blog last week, I felt choked and I assumed that those feelings would stay with me until I reached Paris. I don’t really know what I was expecting but what I felt wasn’t what I thought I would. I suppose the easiest way to express it would be to say that I ticked the box, job done.
I couldn’t have asked for a better group of people to go away with. Each individual had their own story and I think I shared some moments that will lodge in everyone’s memory for a lifetime.
I think we all shared a reality check when we visited the War Grave Cemetary at Etaples. Here we are, riding across France when in the not too distant past men of my age were fighting for their country. It was touching to watch as my friends walked around the graves paying respect to those who gave so much for so little.

Apologies, if you’re reading this and thinking that I’m depressed. I’m not, it’s just I’ve had a lot of time to think about things and realise that I am a lot more fortunate than some.
I achieved what I set out to do. Prepare for a trip and follow something through for the first time in my life. The problem is that I am left with more questions than answers and a hunger for bigger, better things. I thought it would close a chapter but it’s opened a door and given me a taste of things that I can do with my life.

The trip brought an abundance of highlights, the long, hair-pinned descent on day two, the steady climb on day three. Cobbles, the Champs Elysees. Riding in the tyre marks of my heroes. Not just the professional ones or the casualties of war but the other 21 who did something amazing in their own way.