The frame of my bike digs into my shoulder. It slips a little. I tense up to keep it and myself stable. My legs are shaking. My heart is racing. I’ve already climbed an estimated 20 metres in altitude, and I still have 10 metres to go. I can’t turn back. If I don’t keep myself and the bike under control, we’ll fall. Most of the bags are off, but my bike still weighs at least 15 kg.
I underestimated the wooden steps that lead up from the beach to the dunes. I’m standing at the bottom, I see that the route leads up there, I wonder, I look for an alternative, I don’t see one. I get ready. Bags down, put them to the side. Bike on my shoulder, one step after the other on the narrow wooden boards.
Two ladies sitting at the top are very impressed when I arrive with my bike. I take a deep breath, climb back down and get the bags. Only when I’m back at the top and take a deep breath do I realise how unnecessary this danger was, how stupid the route was.
The two ladies think I have done my day’s work. They invite me to fill up my bottles with them. I walk with them to their former holiday home, now their main residence. The two of them were teachers, and now spend their retirement painting and embroidering. I get some fresh waffles. They are particularly welcome, because I had been waiting for hours for a shady place to eat my lunch, but then I rode on the beach in the relentless sun.
Unfortunately, my satnav and my Gothenburg plans do not agree that I have already done my work for the day. 80 km to go, it’s already 5 pm. So I cycle. When the path wants to send me back to the beach, I refuse. The memory of the stairs is still too fresh. And a little further on, back on the European Divide Trail, when the path leads me towards the beach in a very narrow and impassable direction, I turn back. I then deviate from the planned trail for the rest of my journey. A storm in the distance increases the urgency of reaching my shelter for the night.
It is hard for me to say goodbye to the trail. To say goodbye to the idea of riding all the way, of completing the project. Again, the question arises as to why I am doing this tour. Because it makes me happy? I was happy in Portugal, on a similar tour. But what about it makes me happy? How do I weigh comfort and safety against challenge and adventure? And where do I stand in the way of my happiness, with ideas about how many kilometres I “should” do, how much I can do without, how tough I want to be? Martina’s question about what happiness means to me will probably continue to accompany me.
