Surely this cannot go on. I left home to cycle around the world. I was expecting a physical grilling, to be frozen and burnt, tired and sick, lonely and afraid. But the reality is so different. The cycling is, relatively, not a problem. I can handle it. But my emotions are driving me crazy: it’s a bloody rollercoaster! I am having unforgettable experiences, meeting fascinating people, seeing extraordinary things.
But the depths of sadness I keep plummeting to are frightening. And it is not just once or twice this has happened to me; it hits every few days. There is no way I can continue for long in this frame of mind.
I miss those I love at home. I miss the ‘comfort-zone’ living of Starbucks, armchairs, 9-to-5, music,
friends, routine, familiarity. I feel terrified at what I have got myself into. How did I have the audacity to
think I could possibly pedal through Africa alone, how could I have committed myself to three years of
this madness, of being the odd one out, of knowing no-one or nowhere, a world where nobody knows
your name? I feel I have bitten off more than I can chew and surely this cannot go on.
It all came to a head in Damascus. I had reached the end of the road. It was too much. It was too hard.
I was too alone. I was in too deep. I had failed. I was the nearest I have ever been to quitting. I was so
close to heading for the airport and escape. It was over.
But I am trapped between a rock and something painfully hard. Frying pan or fire? An impossible
situation. For there is no way I can go home either. The very comfort-zone I crave now is exactly what
led me to all this in the first place. I cannot go back to that. And on top of all that is my stupid pride. I
have told so many people of my grand schemes that I cannot possibly show my face in England before
Christmas!
So I stayed. I didn’t quit. I pedalled on down the road. I cheered up. I’mve made it now to Jordan,
country number 15 and 6500km under my wheels. But the journey is just beginning, there are countless adventures ahead and a fair few horrors too. I must gather my rain-clouds while I can, for these dark depths of sadness make the high points even purer. It’s not a bike ride, it’s a roller coaster. I just don’t want too many freefalls like in Damascus.
