5,500K's OFF ROAD SPAIN

I don't know what possesses me to get on two wheels and go.

I do know that it often forces me to grow.

Maybe it's in the discomfort - the narrower, harder seat. The heat that burns through summer, or the cold winds that cut through Winter... the torture of it all when you've no choice but to ride... the reward of the journey you carry when you arrive.

The isolation. The silence.

Spaces where the world forgets you exist.

Crashing, breaking, mending - carrying on.

Loose plans.

This form of travel doesn't respect plans.

Always pivoting, always learning,

until the gut, the body or the mind says - enough.

When the fuel runs out, the money runs dry, and the bike's barely holding on.

It feels like that time to cut home.

And when that time comes, I assure you, home is never close.

Then, for a while, the urge to get up and go goes quiet.

Until again, it's not.

This one was a push.

Knocking on the door of five thousand kilometres cross country across Spain and France.

Grateful. Tired. Little bit smelly. Almost home.