Spoke 3: Back to life, back to reality (AB)
Featuring 10,000km Arriba's third guest writer, Alison Blofeld (my mum!)
'Here is no final grieving, but an abiding hope.
The moving waters renew the earth. It is spring.'
A Child of Our Time, Michael Tippet
"I'm going to cycle to Portugal in the summer holidays, mum," he said as we shared a beer, a vegan lasagne and salad.
"How long's that then?" I asked, now familiar with my son's epic adventures on two wheels, and often just two legs and a CamelBak.
"About 3,000 kms I reckon. I'll go down through France, across Spain and on to Lisbon for the middle of August. Wanna come?"
"Me? To Portugal - you're kidding?"
"No, obviously you can't be with me for that long- but how about St Malo to the Dordogne? You've got friends near Bordeaux. How cool would it be to cycle there? "
My initial reaction was negative. No way could I take on a huge European bike ride. Looking at my 6ft 5in son in supreme physical health and 29 years younger than me, I felt like a meerkat attempting to keep pace with a cheetah.
"It's flat all the way!" he added encouragingly.
What, all 430 miles I thought? Yeah, yeah!
And it was. Almost.
We packed our bikes and were soon queuing beside families in crammed cars at Poole harbour, before bumping along the metal ramps of the ferry and securing our precious cargo as we headed to France. Now it was getting exciting.
This moment had followed months of anxious preparation- getting out on my bike and cycling around the lanes and Sustrans sponsored routes of Somerset and Wiltshire. Pushing myself to solitary pedalling for hours at a time, building up my stamina. Until the big day dawned.
What happened on that July journey was little short of a miracle, certainly a rebirth. You see for years I had been struggling with crushing depression and anxiety. It left me exhausted every day after just a few hours' sleep, fearful of the future and totally lacking in self-esteem. Accepting the challenge was an act of bravery which often felt overwhelming in the preceding months.
I kept thinking I would be a let down, too slow, too exhausted, too anxious to cope with a solid week of cycling. My son would be off somewhere in the far distance and my bullying brain would tell me how each day I would be alone and useless, a burden to my patient son who would rue the day he invited me to join him.
But, from our initial ride through the dusky evening streets of St Malo, the weight of my trusty metal steed beneath me, at last a sense of excitement for the journey, for being alive began to awaken. Those dazzling days of hypnotic pedalling became as life blood to my broken heart; days cruising beside the canal and then the wide, tranquil river ...along beautiful gravel cycleways leading us down the west coast of France, towards the glorious Dordogne.
As the miles clocked up, the fresh air, exercise and companionship gently reset my body and psyche. Where the drugs failed - nature and the joy of being present in my healthy physical body began to take a hold and lead me forward into the light.
At last I was able to sleep again, as the distance from home increased; I felt free. We cycled through the sunshine, sometimes chatting, often silent and reflective, lost in contemplation of the present moment. Sharing the shady pathways through sandy forests and sun dappled tracks beside the great Atlantic Ocean. A metronome of tranquility.
We stopped off at quaint cafes en route at locks, bridges and tourist towns. All we had to do was pedal, eat and sleep. Maslow's theory of needs happily requited.
We witnessed acres and acres of yellow, bowing sunflowers, a couple of heavily pregnant donkeys who needed their very long, fluffy ears tickled. We shared stories with other travellers and stopped off along the way to picnic in green spaces and village parks.
We travelled on paths and tracks and roads beside fields of golden stubble and witnessed a Johnny Deppalike in his pirate barge seizing a lock with plastic cutlasses and fighting talk. We shared music and sang along. Every day became a new delight, a feeling I had lived without for so long.
Our trip was magical in so many ways. But mostly it was about healing. I realised, at last, that it was okay to be who I am. That I was acceptable as a human, a human who had been so broken, so lacking in hope she had lost the ability to feel love or connection with those who were most precious to her: her beloved son and daughter, her wonderful friends and family.
It was an agonisingly lonely existence for so long ... but in France, on a bike, with my son ... I started to emerge from the darkness, climb out of the pit of despair ... regain my sense of self-worth ...and embrace the joy of life again.
About Alison
Alison is an educator based in Frome, Somerset.
This was her favourite ever bike trip. She has also ridden from Somerset to London for charity on more than one occasion, and cycles to work as often as she can.
She has a special interest in, and great knowledge of Irish literature, particularly the works of W.B. Yeats.
Together, we hope to cycle around the coast of Ireland in 2024, embracing the stunning landscapes of the Wild Atlantic Way, the inspirational muse of its myriad poets and authors.
Other guest writers on 10,000km Arriba
Ultraviolet Summer (JM)
Somewhere in deep northeast Somerset, between the towns of Radstock and Frome, lies an abandoned railway line. A relic of the region’s coal mining past, it’s consumed by rust, baked by the sun, and a languid metaphor for southwest England’s barrenness.
The stuff we’re made of (ZL)
↑This article has an audio option recorded by the author. Press play to listen or scroll down to read.
A call for writers
If you’d like to guest write on 10,000km Arriba, you’d be most welcome.
You can write about any bike based experience, whether a short or long trip, a chronic cycling addiction, or simply a moment on two wheels that you deeply cherish.
Let me know in the comments.
Mum, you are more than enough. X
The magic of bikepacking. Love this