The Point of No Return

With only four weeks left before I embark on a solo bikepacking adventure, covering 1800 km across Germany and The Netherlands, the reality of it all still feels like a distant dream. Doubts linger, questioning the feasibility of this journey.

The trip represents more than just a physical challenge. It's the culmination of a long-held dream to undertake a grand voyage. Until now, my experiences have been limited to short stints, never straying too far or for too long, and mostly with company. The 'big trip' has always been a distant, seemingly unattainable goal, hindered by the usual suspects: work, family obligations, financial constraints, and the quest for time. Yet, here I am, on the precipice of making it a reality.

Travel has never been a source of anxiety for me. I have an unwavering belief in the inherent goodness of people and a trust that, somehow, everything will fall into place. However, as the departure date draws near, a barrage of concerns flood my mind. Safety, accommodation, the risk of theft, encountering malevolence, the robustness of my planning, and my physical preparedness are all topics of the debate. Despite these apprehensions, the journey beckons.

Beyond the logistics, I grapple with deeper, more introspective doubts. Do I deserve this journey? Is it an act of self-indulgence, a betrayal of my familial duties? Will this experience be beneficial? Clarity eludes me on these matters, yet the support from friends, colleagues, and my partner is unwavering. My child, in true teenage fashion, offers tacit acceptance, while my father harbors a vicarious desire to join me (but can't), and my mother remains perplexed by my intentions.

This journey is born out of necessity, a respite from the clutches of burnout - a condition that stealthily erodes one's spirit until functionality ceases. From the outside, my struggles are invisible, and communication becomes an insurmountable task when I'm ensnared in the depths of despair. Periods of apathy intersperse with fleeting glimpses of hope, propelling me forward to the next day. The journey is the first step towards a much-needed break.

The truth is, escape is an illusion. Wherever I go, I carry the essence of myself. This self-imposed solitude has served me well in the past, yet the exhaustion I currently feel is unparalleled. Discussions have been had, plans set in motion - there is no turning back. The point of no return has been crossed. Despite the desire to halt everything, I also harbor anticipation for the journey ahead. Perhaps this pre-departure cocktail of emotions is universal?

I am not without my quirks, but I remain hopeful that I am within the realm of normalcy. The capability to undertake this journey is within me, albeit shrouded in uncertainty. The alternative - to continue on the same exhaustive path - seems untenable, with the specter of a health crisis looming ever closer.

As the journey commences, I anticipate a period of adjustment where I'll focus on the mechanics of travel - packing lists, routes, and the rhythm of the road. My aspiration is to settle into the flow of the journey early on, to discover and embrace the essence of who I am. After all, if not myself, who else might I encounter along the way?