August 4, 2016
Newton Blossomville: Yes Dad, that's why I'm back
I was feeling pretty tired as I arrived back at my parent's house. I'm not sure why, maybe it had something to do with all the cycling. But I found more energy when I was greeted by my niece and nephew. Neither Summer nor Finley even existed when I'd first set off to cycle the world in 2010, and when I'd last been in England in 2013 Finley was just a gurgling little baby, but now they were both walking, talking human beings with their own distinctive personalities. Luckily this included a strong desire to play, something I could associate with. But my own energy reserves were no match for those of a four or a five year-old and after losing a few too many games of tag in the garden I suggested a Lego helicopter building competition instead. I nailed it.
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It was lovely to see everyone again, though there was no great fanfare about my arrival home. I knew it was not my family's style and I had not expected it. My dad actually asked me at one point if I'd cycled around the world now. "Well yes Dad, that's why I'm back," I had wanted to say, but to be fair to him my blog wasn't very up to date, and there was that one kilometre with a relatively-attractive Mongolian woman to disqualify the claim anyway. So instead we settled for a conversation about why my dad had voted for Brexit despite having a son for whom it would have calamitous consequences, which made a nice change from discussing why my dad does not really believe in man-made climate change. Me and my dad are very different people. He reads The Daily Mail, after all. But family is family and I love my family. My dad really must take a lot of credit for this trip actually, as he was the man who first taught me to ride a bicycle, and left a great big world atlas lying around for me to flick through. Fourteen years after teaching me to cycle he'd tried to amend things by buying me a Citroen AX and paying for me to go to university, but it was too little, too late - my path in life as an unemployed bicycling vagabond had been set.
After a couple of days my sister gathered up her growing collection of delightful children and scooted off back to her house near Wales. I myself enjoyed another day of my wonderful mother's cooking, but I could not stay longer, for I already had a ferry booked and someone waiting for me on the other side of it. No, this was not the end of my journey. Not the end of the story. Not even close. Sorry if you thought I was wrapping things up here already.
"Mum, I'm just going out for a little bike ride."
She looked skeptical. I couldn't get away with that one again.
"Don't worry, I won't be long this time. Just a few months. I'll be back for Christmas."
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4 months ago