Why?

Before there was the Jogle after which this blog is named, I had done one other tour and that's the one  that had me hooked.  I took myself and my commuting bike on a short 4 day ride from Carlisle to Glasgow.  I loved the freedom to explore and the quiet solitude of riding through the woods and hills. 

The weather wasn't kind.

I remember rolling down the hill into Kirkcudbright through the rain and wind wondering when the town would emerge.  In the forest of Galloway on a silent road when a golden eagle launched himself into the air in front of me - that was it.  It was a beautiful moment.  It is a magical little thing that I still think about, the time when I knew that I wanted to do more of this.

I remember too in Queen Street station dropping my purse in the queue and realising that my hands had gone numb.  It took at least a week for most of the feeling to come back.  I stood in the shower after I had arrived home frozen and soaking, trying to see which of my fingers would move.

Obviously I've learned a lot since then.  I've discovered that (after a childhood sporting injury - sounds good but essentially I fell down a hole) straight handle bars are terrible for me.  I also found out that cycling mitts have more reason than hand warming.  I know how fast and how far I can go.  I know how much I have to eat and about the emotional ups and downs.

The Jogle was the best thing I have ever done.  I spent a high proportion of the time crying through joy and despair as well as worrying that I would never make it.  When I did make it, I didn't realise.  The fog was so heavy that I couldn't see the signs.  I remember sitting looking out to what I suppose would be the sea crying and wondering what I would do next.  That was when I started to blog, before I had a smart phone so I had to catch up from my diaries when I got home.  Now I type on my phone as I go and get slightly panicked messages if I don't post every few days.  I still keep paper diaries where I record ideas for future posts, lists of odd things and my more esoteric ramblings.  

Those two tours were bank breaking b and b tours.  To keep costs down I stayed in some questionable places.  I'd like to say that at least they were clean but I can't.  The next year in Brittney I decided to embrace camping.  Carrying everything you need on your bike has a strong appeal.  Paying minuscule amounts to stay on municipal campsites meant that I could make the most of my teacher holidays.  Its usually cheaper to go away than to stay here.

Then of course, there was the Danube.  My lovley Don.  Seeing it grow from a small (albeit false) spring to the mighty mile wide monster of central Europe was the reason for the ride.  He kept me company as I cycled on and I missed him when I left.

Last year my plans and directions were less clear. I cycled through the Netherlands, Belgium and France focussing as much on relaxing as on direction.  I hadn't planned to cycle the whole way but trains were uncooperative and so I carried on.  The hills in Dieppe dismayed me at first but then, when I made it, I enjoyed my little campsite.  That's always the way with hills.  I hate them till I reach the top and then I love them.  Drumochter pass taught me that.  After a bike mishap in Southampton my week in the New Forest was limited to day rides but, I love to wander and so wander I did. 

Until this summer the weather has been a disaster.  I have struggled through rain on an almost daily basis and have ruined a tent after having to pack it up soaking for a month.   This year was the first time I have had to cope with heat and that too has its problem.  Laying under a tree on the roadside desperately hunting for shade has to be a high point.  I desperately missed the rain.

Throughout the rest of the year I don't tour much.  I kick back and craft over the weekends, keeping my cycling legs in order with extended commutes.  But, I'm always planning and dreaming. 

Where will I go next, what will I see?