gaining xp

Driving to the station, the windows are down, sun is roof up, and pop songs mingle with the blue skies and traffic lights. Over breakfast, my nervousness and excitement escaped to my legs, which left me jumping up and down while shovelling peanut butter toast into my mouth and running through packing lists for the 30th time.

Sitting on the train to the airport my chest tightens a little and my mouth turns sour. I glance over the routes, the expected times for each, and realise (again) that ~250km everyday, for 18 days, is a lot. Each ride is automatically tagged with an “expert” label, and a message to remind me that “most people would complete this in 2 - 4 days”.

I run through bike repairs in my head. The steps to change my inner tube, my tyre, my mech hanger, how to index gears and replace cables. It reminds me of last months exam revision, running through anatomy models in my head trying to make every detail feel familiar. We’ll find out next week if it’s a decent tactic.

The hubbub of the airport feels familiar. With mum by my side, we navigate security and the perfume aisles before ambling to the gate. Boarding was a breeze with a generous air steward kindly changing our seats so I could fall asleep on mums shoulder for the 2 hour flight.

We were hit by a bank of heat as we stepped off the plane. Swansea hadn’t prepared me for this.

Driving to Rovereto the jagged skyline of mountains was peppered with terraced fields holding fecund vines and abundant forest with steep rock peaking through. The sun set with a pastel sky of peach and yellow with opaque mountains dissolving from forest green, to navy, to grey through the hazy air.

Then we arrive, check into our bed&breakfast and amble to a nearby pizzeria (suggested by our host through a combination of emphatic gestures and google translate). Chatting about relationships, holiday plans, and mental health over pizza with my parents keeps the nerves at bay. Once I lie on top of the covers though, with the fan on full and lights switched off, my brain kicks in. Have I got everything? What will I visualise when my knees ache? When my back is sore? When I want to stop? How do I put up my tent? What sort of Tetris is best for my bags? How beautiful are the mountains going to be?

The safety briefing put these questions to rest. The 350-large crowd of Lycra clad attendees erased my worries. I’m not really alone while doing this, there’s loads of experienced cyclists around me (with friendly smiles and the same excited jitters I have) and if all these people can do this, then maybe I can too.

One idea / phrase stuck out to me during the meeting. We’re here for the human experience. Not just to reach North Cape, but to relish in the journey. Seeing sunrises poke above the mountains, hearing bird song as we cross bike paths, appreciating the scent of gravel after being caught in the rain, and meeting people of so many coutures as we cross Europe.

While I zoned out of the meeting, and zoned into the potential highs and lows of the trip, my focus settled on Baby J. While my passport is stowed in my backpack, Baby J awaits his own, and confirmation from his consultant that he is safe to travel. With his narrowing arteries, pale cheeks, and constant breathlessness, it feels unfair that I get this opportunity while he undergoes more blood tests and echocardiograms. We’ll at least be sharing a 4-6 hourly eating regime for the next 3 weeks as we both try to maintain our weight and battle with energy requirements.

But remembering Baby J reignites my motivation. There are so any kids in similar positions, who’s lives are curtailed by their health. But East Anglia Children’s Hospice expand their horizons beyond the boundaries of their illnesses, with everything from bushcraft and baking, to football and music. By tackling this ride we can create more opportunities for them - let’s can show them the best of the human experience.