Why I Travel

“I want to do that someday!” is a common response I get from people when I tell them about one of my bike trips with my friends. We’ve all agreed the best response is, “There is no ‘someday’” you have to get out there and do it now. I have another friend who had a heart attack at 55 and he’s lucky to be alive.

I’m exceptionally fortunate to be able to travel as much as I do. But the time is the most expensive item on my itinerary as my last trip had a $70 train ticket to get to the start, free camping half the nights and the only lodging available on the other nights was inexpensive because who wants to go to Silver Lake Oregon, btw, there’s no silver and no lake.

I like to push what’s left of my physical abilities on my bike trips. A friend says he does it to make sure he “still feels alive” because he sure isn’t feeling alive at his well compensated corporate gig. I want to feel like I’m able to go places and see things you can only see with some serious sacrifice. The picture accompanied with this blog is my at Lake Ohau in New Zealand. The ride there was spectacular, until it started raining and hailing.

When I get to the end of a day of hard riding, steep long climbs, headwinds, wet and cold… I feel I accomplished something. I’m sure the endorphins are flying and the body is telling me simultaneously, “That was awesome! We did that!” and “Are you nuts? Where is the closest airport to get us out of here?” My version of fight or flight.

Ironically, I’m more challenged sometimes when traveling with Terri. Languages? Understand cultural history? The Louvre? I can do some of those things in small doses, but my brain can’t keep up and mental exhaustion quickly takes me down faster than riding uphill into a headwind of frozen hail.

But I love traveling with Terri and trying as much as I can because I know it makes me better. Terri makes me better. We have experiences because of Terri that have been amazing. Her ability to meet people is something I can only do on a bike, because someone walking by looks at me on a fully loaded bike and they immediately want to talk to me. Where you going? Where’d you start? How long are you riding? And I’m happy to talk about biking, but if it’s just me sitting in a sidewalk cafe, I might be able to order another croissant and ask for the check. Terri will get us invited to a private dinner with a celebrity chef followed up with tickets to a circus where we get up close and personal with an elephant.

But my lower threshold sometimes renders better outcomes. We did a day trip out of Paris to Giverny to see where Monet painted his water lillies, along with every other bus load of tourists following their special umbrella around in the sweltering heat of July. I’d had it; I was done. I asked a waiter at lunch, “Where else can we go around here that isn’t as popular?” They mentioned another spot about 15 minutes down the road, overlooking the Seine, La Roche-Guyon. Sold! Let’s go!

15 minutes later we drive up to a place that I had to ask myself, “Is it open?” There was no one there. It was open and we went inside to find fewer than ten people in the whole castle/chateau/estate/whatever which was amazing. Two of the ten were some artists doing performance sound art so this beautiful music/art was echoing throughout this empty castle as we walked around. Then we found a 144 step staircase carved into the clif wall the castle was built against that led up to a turret type place overlooking the Seine and the entire area… and then it started drizzling. Perfect. Alone with my family. Great view. Cool rain.