Part of Chapter 6 Bipedal Therapy
Chucuma to Villa San Augustín (GPX 57km)
if it doesn't come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don't do it.
Charles Bukowski
Sometimes it’s difficult to put into words how you feel. Perhaps because you find yourself in a situation you’ve never experienced before. It might unbalance you. It might shake you out of control.
Putting together the letters that do justice to something so unexpected is difficult.
That’s why it took me months to write this piece.
It’s said that disaster can strike in your brightest moment.
The loss of an fly sheet in a rainstorm; a vanished wallet; a thorn in your tyre on a freewheel descent.
And, just like that, your euphoric mood is punctured. Scrapped. The air is forced out of you.
The road you thought you knew veers left, curves right, turns sharply skywards or simply disintegrates.
It’ll be bumpier from now on.
But you keep pedalling.
The first hours are still benign. The mind feels oddly removed.
The assailant, from whom you expected violence, doesn’t stick the knife in yet. He circles you instead, observes from a distance. Follows, but doesn’t get close.
‘This seems alright. This seems okay.
Maybe I can reach the destination unscathed.
Maybe I’m fine.’
But there’s a nagging feeling that another phase is ahead. One that will come closer than the snapping dogs that never dare to bite.
A form that lurks in the blindspot over your right shoulder.
You pedal faster.
But the force is miasmatic. An unseen and unpleasant, oppressive atmosphere lurking. A carrion bird circling. You can’t escape it for much longer.
You want to look people in the eye. You want them to tell you it’s not true. That there’s another side to the story that makes more sense than you’ve been able to.
Those you knew to love and trust. Won’t they brush away your fear? Serve you a healthier truth?
Well, sometimes they can’t. Because there is no other side to the story.
No other persepective. No way of dressing it up. Nothing.
You start to peter out.
You know you need to stop. Stop to take stock.
Break the rhythm of movement. Understand the physical and mental scale of the process. Recognise the severity of the issue.
Some surfaces are too rough to ride. The loose rocks destroy your rhythm; they drain your resolve.
The road ahead will take all your focus. You can’t deal with the external and internal issues at once.
The two legs and the two wheels will help. But don’t treat them as an instant fix; these things take time to pass.
You are strong. You’ll be back. It won’t be too long.
You’ll reach the next stretch of smooth tarmac eventually.
You stop.
’Every corner was a torment: brake, clutch, first, second, help, Mamáaa…’
Che Guevara, The Motorcycle Diaries
The story so far
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
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Beautiful x
A courageous and deeply moving piece of writing, Jack. Sometimes it is hard to find the words. Thank you for expressing how it made you feel xx