Today was a weird day; I didn’t know what to do with myself! My “lodger” had left the place immaculate – much cleaner than I had left it for him, which was a little embarrassing – so I had no immediate cleaning to do. I wandered around aimlessly, looking at this, checking on that, and remembering all the tasks that, along the road, I had set myself to do; but they were for tomorrow.
I read once that “Absence intensifies a great love but kills a moderate one, as the wind extinguishes a candle, but fans a fire into flame.”
As I sat on the terrace, enjoying the ever-magnificent view on a bright, warm and windless – yes windless, I should have waited a day more in St Tropez – autumn day, I thought, “Yes, this is where I want to be.”
Even though I have increasingly looked forward to this moment the last while, I would never have been content had I cut short the trip and shipped my bike home.
Looking back, there were many high points, and some low points, on each leg of the journey, but the first leg, through Africa, would be my choice of the one to repeat. This could be simply because it is being viewed from the greatest distance, or maybe I remembered the anticipation and enthusiasm for what was, after all, the first book or movie, as it were. Sequels rarely live up to, and even more rarely surpass, the original. However, I have no plans to do so.
Along the way, I met many great people and made friends of some of them. With very, very few exceptions, everyone was helpful, kind, generous and supportive. Although this was a solo trip, there was, in effect, a hugeback room team, without whom I never would have succeeded. To you, I offer my sincerest thanks, and I hope that some of you make it to this part of the world, with or without a bike; if you do, there’s a hearty Belfast welcome waiting for you.
My feeling, yesterday, as I approached the end of my odyssey was mixed and uncertain. The long drawn-out nature of the last leg, B-2-B Part 3, with the hiccoughs in NZ, the delays in India and Iran, the hurried and uncomfortable run through the heat of the Persian Gulf, and finally, three long, blustery days of highway riding, had left me with a feeling of relief that it was coming to an end. The elation that I had experienced 5 ½ years ago, as I left Dublin for Belfast was missing.
I’ve covered a little over 60,000 kms, on a 50 year-old motorbike, that was declared “uneconomical to repair” twice, but which, a leaking cylinder head gasket aside, performed faultlessly all the way; the minor faults that occurred were due to failure of modern components. From the first day, when I had my first, of many falls, I was confident the bike would make it. I wasn’t sure about me, mind, but here we are; a little older, somewhat bruised and a bit more battered and bent, but we did it.
A great achievement? If I were to dwell on it, I might get full of myself. But really, it was just a rather long ride home! 😉
Belfast-2-Belfast-By-Bike 