Borderline

An English garden….was waiting to see the Vicar of Dibley pop out!

Hi everyone. Firstly, thank you one and all for your loving thoughts at this difficult time. It’s been a challenging time but we got through it. Dad met the ‘great cremator’ on the 16th May in a wonderful funeral full of music, reflection and laughter, just as he would want it. My heart broke for Al who has lost both her parents and now her partner of 30 years, my dad, in the last few years. My best mate Barry travelled over from Cork, and a dear old mate from a hill, Nick, came up from Reading too…we all carried dad in on his final journey. Lu has produced an outstanding video montage of dad through the ages which set the scene perfectly of a life lived.

One of dad’s final wishes was to have his ashes scattered on the Scottish borders, a place he truly loved…..as we brought Dad in to the chapel Billy Connolly roared out singing ‘Irish Heartbeat’! So I decided to fulfil that wish by taking some of his ashes up to the border on Bob. So I set off a few days after the funeral towards the north.

Over the coming days I made steady progress, covering around 100k a day mainly off road. I stayed with my lovely aunt and uncle in Great Dalby, and had stays in York, Stokesley, the Yorkshire moors and Whitley Bay. The going was seriously tough on days with incessant wind and rain, especially across the moors. Apparently the moors are beautiful….couldn’t tell you, as they were covered in fog and rain! I had to abandon the trails on occasions as they were impassable due to the rain, so had to ride the main roads, which were truly hideous. But when the trails were open and rideable I was treated to some incredible views and routes weaving through the north east English countryside. As you move north from the affluence of the south you come face to face with the tough life of the north where there is significant challenges of housing, poverty and unemployment….it was palpable. There really are two extremes in the UK with little middle ground.

There was also the feeling of moving north towards the midnight sun. The sun rises at 4:30/5 and it’s still daylight at 10! And of course the UK experience would not be complete without the eye watering prices of, well, everything! I had to double what the price was to make sense of it in Aus dollars! $9 for a coffee ( and crap coffee at that) was the norm! Campsites charging $100 for unpowered sites! Bonkers!

After 5 days of tough riding and 500+ Ks, I rode in to Whitley Bay, a beautiful scenic seaside town which has been decimated by unemployment and poverty. I had booked in to a hotel which had been turned in to a short term homeless accommodation option for the townspeople so it was pretty rough and ready. But this is all part of the very immersive experience of cycle touring. I rested by hibernation in my room just wanting to rest and sleep.

I’m acutely aware of undigested grief….the days between death and funeral are busy days, with loads to do to keep you moving forward – they are not easy jobs but can be engaged with as ‘tasks’ which occupy the mind. But they also prevent time to reflect and grieve. As I cycled north I was aware of moments of deep sadness. We were not a ‘close family’ but at the end of the day, your dad is your dad. Realising he’s gone forever is a humbling experience.

I have two more days of cycling to get to the border on Friday and then scattered dad’s ashes before heading to Edinburgh then Glasgow.