Tony Kemp, Author at Adelaide 2 Anywhere

The road to the Great Divide – a stroke of good luck!

by Tony Kemp | Apr 19, 2025 | 0 comments

Well, having slogged to get back to Cork after a bumpy few months early in 2024, little did I realise that bumpy and all as that was, it was nothing compared to what was to come!

On arriving in Cork I stayed with my dear friend Barry for a few days, then I had an opportunity to house sit in a fantastic Irish cottage in literally the back arse of nowhere. My friend Sinead had moved to the country some years ago after relocating back from Australia. Her family home was up a ridiculously steep farm road which was a dead end. It was a traditional Irish bungalow with rolling hills, cattle and sheep as the only local residents. Sinead headed away with her family on holiday, and I was left in complete isolation for three weeks. However, despite starting to look for a place called home in earnest, it quickly became clear that renting and buying in Ireland is a national crisis – prices for sale properties were obscenely overpriced, and the auctioneers were profiteering by continuously putting words of ‘fiction’ up called ‘Guide Price’….which bore absolutely no resemblance to actually what they knew the property would sell for. For example, a property on the market for €280,000 eventually sold for over €400,000! I quickly realised that the possibility of buying anything was slipping away, but nowhere near as quickly as any rental options were. There simply was nothing, and what there was led me to be caught in a bind as I was required to produce one years previous salary……how does a few Kenyan Shillings, Vietnamese Dong and Indian Rupee’s sound as an alternative…..no, oh, OK!

Over the weeks that followed I house/dog sat for Barry and one of his friends, who lived close by in Dublin Hill. This is one of those hills in Cork which rises steeply from the city centre….I remember coming up it in 2022 after cycling Bob from Rosslare to Cork…..I was going so slow people walking were overtaking me. So any time I needed something from the shops I had to roll down the hill on foot, then hire a sherpa to haul me back up. I continued to look for properties to rent or buy, but it was fast proving an exercise in futility and frustration. I was lucky to secure work both from Australia and Ireland in reviewing historical abuse cases, so that was keeping me from going completely do-lally. And I was able to use Barry’s old Nigel Dean touring bike to get some great rides in, mainly with my old cycle group, the Lee Roadies, as well as some solo rides in the northern hills surrounding Cork….truly wonderful rising, so so quiet, beautiful scenery and great roads. I’d ride out to Glenville, then down to Blarney for a coffee, then a short ride back to Dubin Hill…..with four seasons consistently revealing themselves each ride! Oh, it was good to be in Cork, but it was also extremely frustrating as the reality of not being able to stay in Cork, or even Ireland, if I could not locate somewhere to live, was dawning on me. So, in tandem with looking for an abode, I was also preparing Bob for the next trip to…..well, I had no idea where! Summer was fast slipping away (such as it is in Ireland!) and so heading to Europe was looking fragile, and heading to the US to do the Great Divide, which I wanted to do as it was the final continent, would mean doing the ride in Autumn and winter (snow and ice!). But if staying here was not an option, then all I had left was Bob, me and the open road.

After a crappy few weeks with my back, I managed to get an MRI which revealed not one, not two, but three prolapsed or damaged discs in my lower back, which my friend and doc signalled needed to be seen by a surgeon. I was not in the least bit surprised, given my history of back surgery and pain. But disappointed as to what that meant for my future riding.

At that stage I had seen one place which I really liked – it was a set of converted stables adjacent to the old ‘mental asylum’ in Cork, so they had history and character. It was in a small gated community away from traffic and also on the edge of the city, so countryside was just metres away. I booked to see it, but as the agent arrived she told me ‘we have literally just sold it’. She nonetheless showed me around – a 2 up, 2 down small place which was steeped in character and history. Alas it was not meant to be. But a few weeks later she called me to say the previous ‘buyers’ had fallen through and would I like to buy it! What a stroke of luck. So, I put in an asking price bid, and asked that they take it off the market as I was not going to engage in a bidding war. So, they did, another stroke of luck! And No. 6 The Mews was suddenly mine.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the only ‘stroke’ to come. At my father funeral in May I had experienced a ‘funny turn’ when my lip started to droop, I had pins and needles in my face and jaw, and overall felt pretty crap. I put it down to stress of the day and of course, didn’t seek medical attention. On two further occasions in Cork, I had experienced something similar with dreadful blurred vision and facial numbness……And no, I didn’t get it checked, and yep, you’re ahead of me, you know what’s a’comin!! Sure enough, on the 17^th August, I had had a great ride with the lads up Bael Na Morrive and Macroom, clocked 105 k, was having lunch a few hours after getting back and bang…..things changed in a heart beat. I lost use of all my limbs, my vision was completely distorted and my head spun. I lay on the floor in this house I was housesitting, unable to move, not near my phone, and panic setting in. I lay there for hours, hoping the feelings would subside, and eventually they did enough for me to fall asleep. The next day I awoke feeling very fragile but not in the same state as the day before. My head pounded and I was weak for sure. In the afternoon Barry took me to the Mercy Hospital in Cork where, lo and behold, not only had I had three TIA’s (starting with the episode at dads funeral which left an footprint on my brain) but the day before ‘bang’ was a full blown stroke in the Peripheral Inferior Cerebellum Artery (PICA). I was apparently very lucky, as it was a ‘star burst’ stroke, with the clot breaking up in to shards and ricocheting off sections of my cerebellum. Had it not exploded like that, it would have caused havoc. And then they found a small hole in the heart (a PFO) and two Pulmonary Embolisms. A bit of a train wreck! What followed was a stressful number of weeks in hospital and rehab, with set backs and progress in equal measure as I slowly recovered. What was hit most was my concentration, my balance and hideous fatigue. It truly was a significant blow, and I struggled on more than one occasion to see what the point was in going on – I had seen this movie before!

After 6 weeks in hospital, I was well enough to leave, but as I was in effect homeless now, I discharged to a bed and breakfast. The next day I got on a plane to Malta to catch up with Lu. I had a walking stick and looked half p&ssed – I availed of the ‘assistance’ program in the airports and it was simply great. I spent the following week recuperating whilst gaining confidence walking and balancing again! On my return, I was homeless, but a mate Fergal put me up, fed me, and cared for me, while the Mews was being finalised, which it was in early October. I pulled up outside my new house with nothing but the bags I had had on Bob! But through the kindness of so many friends, and the Lee Roadies cycling club, we quickly furnished the place with 2^nd hand stuff. I have loved living in the Mews, its so quiet and in a perfect location. The first thing I did was buy a bike wall hook, and hang Bob on the kitchen wall, as a permanent reminder of such wonderful times together!

Over the weeks I started to get more things, and then took the bold step to start riding again. 3 months after the stroke, I had my first spin. Muscle memory is such an extraordinary thing – I was as steady as a rock on the bike, but would fall over when walking to the coffee shop! Over the coming weeks, the full extent of the damage to my cerebellum started to reveal itself, with hideous fatigue, central neuropathic pain, lack of concentration, and episodic (im)balances which caused me to fall or drop things. I won’t lie, there were some pretty dark days, but thanks to Lu, family members, and wonderful friends like Bar, Richie and Sheila, Lar, Jerry, my fantastic doc Mick, Fergal, Decky, Jane, Con, the Lee Roadies, and so many beautiful friends back in Australia, I started to piece my life back together, and then dared to dream of another adventure.

Whilst it is undeniable that most folks have considered my next plan to be foolhardy, even dangerous, given all that has happened, I also know they most of them know that for me, there is unfinished business. Should I even be contemplating such a challenging adventure. No. But I have a choice; sit here in my lovely little townhouse and while away my days yearning for one more adventure and bemoaning my bad luck….or……go out with a bang, one last hurrah with Bob on a stupidly difficult route. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, do I stay or do I go. GO.

So, the Great Divide.

The route follows the Continental Divide and is 90% off-pavement using high-quality dirt roads, gravel roads, trails, and a few short sections of unmaintained tracks. Bikepacking the GDMBR requires only intermediate off-road mountain biking skills, but it is a painstaking test of endurance based on the sheer scale of the route, with over 200,000 feet (60,960 meters) of elevation gain and loss.

I slowly started to get Bob ready, which was a feat in itself, as almost everything needed to be changed out to be ready for such a demanding challenge. Literally all my equipment needed to be upgraded, Bob needed serious work to make it possible to fix anything and everything on the fly, and some serious planning was required. There are days with no access to food or electricity, and loads of wild camping. But bit by bit, over weeks, months, the plan started to come together, whilst all the time questioning my sanity.

So, here we are, at the brink of another, and final, adventure with Bob. I picked May 11 as kick off day, as its my late fathers birthday. The plan is to fly to El Paso, and ride west from there to connect with the Divide and Hachita…..and then its north for thousands of kilometres to finish in Banff to meet my oldest daughter Charlie, who lives there.

I have oft been accused of being brain dead….now I have dead brain!

My new home, 6 The Mews

Learning to walk again….!

Bob, pride of place

My first ride back after the stroke.

West Cork

Local Abbey

It’s a long way to Tipperary

by Tony Kemp | Jun 19, 2024 | 0 comments

It’s a long way to Tipperary….

After a great nights sleep in the hostel I awoke to wind and rain, so decided to not risk the main road full of freight traffic to the ferry and risk a puncture (and miss the ferry!), so got the one bus out of town to Stranraer ….and sitting in the bus looking at the route I definitely made the right decision, as the road was fast, full of morning traffic and feck all hard shoulder!

Alighting at Stranraer I only had 10k to ride to the ferry terminal which was dead flat so an easy ride.

The ferry to Belfast was singularly uneventful bar the fact it was packed with Chinese tourists who made such a noise. I was bemused by the ferry terminal at Stranraer – it’s now more like an airport security process with bags being sent through an X-ray and placed on the boat to be collected by the passengers at the other end. There were body searches too. But strangely, with my fully loaded bike I was waved straight through!

On arrival at Belfast I had a few hours to kill so decided to go see the Falls and Shankill roads, both flashpoints of the Troubles, one a Catholic stronghold/Republican, the other Protestant/aligned to the British. Whilst the peace process is holding there nonetheless remains a residual tension. It was palpable- and visceral too….houses on one side with British flags, on the other, the Irish republic flag. The murals had in the main been replaced with less provocative ones, but they all pointed to the same deep hatred towards the other side. It was in many ways a little like Cambodia, both having a history of trauma and pain barely concealed beneath the hoped and longed for peace.
I met my WS host at his work. He was a Canadian living in Belfast and had done an amount of cycle touring. An interesting guy, but his in questioning about this and that and this again was a little bit too much. He was however kind enough to show me the local area….walking through the nearby park provided a birds eye view of the tension….kids on the ‘Catholic’ side throwing stones at kids on the ‘proddy’ side, taunting each other. Intergenerational trauma is very real!

The ride out of Belfast was predictably challenging and I ended up getting lost and found myself in the infamous Milltown Cemetery, which is full of republican ‘soldiers’ of the Troubles.

My route to a small village called Clontibet was fairly straight forward though very long and very hilly. I crossed in to the Republic without any discernible border, and got to the village around 4….with absolutely no idea where my host was with whom I was supposed to camp. In the end I asked at the village store, and luckily they knew my hosts location. They were a fascinating couple – she never stopped doing things, whilst he sat around doing nothing but chewing the cud….a genuine, paid up conspiracy theorist who had an opinion on absolutely everything! As it was, they were able to accommodate me inside the house which was just as well as the rains came in that evening.

Unfortunately, as I pulled in to the village looking for my hosts I felt a really bad twinge down my right leg. In the morning it was no better, but I needed to get going. It was bloody cold and wet. In June and I cited see my breath in the air. But there was a bit of a tail wind so I was grateful for that. I was passed by a local group on the road so I jumped in behind them, which significantly increased my speed but also the sheer volume of rain from their tyres! As the day progressed so too did the pain in my hip and leg. There was a monster climb up to and out of a village called Kingscourt, which really pulled on this injury. I had booked in to an Air B and B in Kells (of The Book of Kells fame!) and was pleased to learn that I had the place to myself that night which was great….they even had a hot water bottle I could use on my injury which really helped. I was soaked through from a day of riding in driving rain so really needed to warm up and rest! Both were completed!

The following day the sun was shining and behold, a tailwind! The scenery on the back roads through the hills of the midlands was truly beautiful- and what made it so much better was how drivers treated me as a cyclist – always waving, always waiting. I had 90 or so K of just joyous riding to Tullamore. I was staying at the cheapest ‘bed and breakfast’ I could find at Euro 75….about $120! Except there was no breakfast, it was cold, the dog of the owner was barking, the wifi didn’t work and there wasn’t even tea/coffee making option. Ireland has fallen prey to the cost of living crisis like everywhere, with outrageous prices on everything. But this was pure opportunistic price gouging.

The next morning I found a wonderful breakfast place (seeing as the bed and breakfast was, well, just a bed) before heading off to Thurles. Again, I had the good fortune of a tailwind and sunshine over the Slieve Blooms. Another day to just really enjoy the cycling on quiet country roads that took me by old churches, ruins, religious sites and glorious country houses.
I had booked my last night in another Air B and B in Thurles, and in chatting to the host via WhatsApp he very kindly gave me the accommodation for free….it was the best part of $200! I have been consistently humbled by people’s generosity on the bike. I was watching a doco on a German guy who had been cycling for over 40 years and he made the comment ‘my bicycle is my passport’ referring to how, as a cycle tourist, people open doors, their homes, their world, to you in deed, gesture and conversation….that is just so so true.
I stayed in Thurles in this delightful self contained unit of Eoin and Mary, and on Wednesday hit the road to Cork. Whilst I still had the sun, the wind had swivelled to a headwind, which was not warmly received given I had well over a 100k to ride. But the Ks came and went as I became increasingly familiar with the area as I got in to County Cork. I knew I had one long long climb up Watergrasshill….i had forgotten what a long slog it was! As I crested it with just over a 100 in the legs I was utterly spent. Barry, my best mate from Cork had ridden out to join me for the final 20 or so kilometres….but then I made the fatal error of following him off the main road to a route which added another 10k to the total distance! I was pedalling squares by the time we arrived at his place! But I had travelled from north to south in the space of 5 days, and had been riding without a break for 7, covering just over 700k, so my tiredness was entirely justified!

So here my journey ends for a while at least. I’ve no idea what lies ahead. It’s all a bit unclear to me to be honest. The initial plan was to buy a house here so for once I would have a place called home. But in order to do that I need a short term let, which is by all accounts nigh on impossible given the chronic housing crisis here in Ireland. So I’m house sitting for a few weeks in order to try find a place, and failing that …..well, I have Bob and I have a tent! The open road will once again become my home!

Footnote – Alison politely pointed out that in my last blog I placed Whitley Bay in Yorkshire. It’s not….its in Northumberland! Ooppps! Well, wherever it is….it was bloody cold and wet there!

Porridge, soda bread and coffee….no prizes for guessing where I am!

Old Church

Country houses and deer grazing

The Peace Wall in Belfast

It sure is a bloody long way…!!!

Still able to find the trails and woodlands through the midlands.

Ireland is littered with fantastic historical buildings, telling a story of its an ancient past.

You know you’re in Ireland when the grass grows in the middle of the road.

A stunning mural in Belfast

Gotta love the Scots sense of humour 🤣

Final Wishes

by Tony Kemp | Jun 6, 2024 | 1 comment

Some great fords to cross along the coastline.

Final wishes

I spent two days in Whitley Bay, barely venturing out due to the hideous wind and rain. I certainly picked the right day to be stationary!

I did however discover Whetherspoons – a large pub food chain selling very well priced meals, and an unending ‘refill for free’ supply of coffee, so I spent hours there using their wifi and eaves dropping on North Yorkshire life! I strolled along the promenade in what was supposed to be an English summer…..you know, howling wind, deserted beaches, sideways rain!
Unfortunately my rest day shot by like a heat seeking missile….when you look forward to something, it comes and goes twice as fast!

On my first day back I was looking forward to seeing some of the coastline Alison had spoken so fondly about, but unfortunately I was greeted with a 50kph+ headwind all day. I got to Seaton Sluice, where Alison’s family heralds from, and on to Blyth, a very run down seaside town. I couldn’t find anything vaguely resembling a coffee shop so had a Gregg’s ‘coffee’ before venturing further north. I was treated to some incredible landscapes, rolling hills, quiet lanes and howling wind, though it was very warm. I arrived at Alnwick late afternoon and quickly visited the castle, featured in Harry Potter movies! I stayed with two wonderful hosts in a glorious old house. The next day I had lovely weather again, but that northerly was not going to bugger off any time soon. I however traversed the back lanes of the north east English coastline, dipping in and out of bays, harbours and castles….a wonderful day of riding (bar the wind). I managed to get out to Holy Island, a small monastic island which can be accessed by a tidal causeway. The sun was out, the scenery sublime and the riding good ….bar that bloody wind! I stayed in Berwick upon Tweed, the last town before Scotland.

So on Sunday I rode north across the border. The border was on a main road and I didn’t want to scatter dad anywhere near there, so made the decision to get to Dunbar, a small harbour village. I hugged the coastline which gave me access to tiny little villages and secluded coves.

I got to Dunbar, and went to a quiet part of the rocky beach area and here said my final farewell to dad. A humbling experience, but one made easier by knowing it was dad’s final wish. After a coffee and scone, I headed to Edinburgh, Scotland’s capital. Despite it being a large city I was able to get to the centre by cycle tracks. Whilst this kept me off the busy roads, I was constantly treated to some of the worst track conditions, which battered me and Bob, who was starting to groan….as was I! I was so grateful to get to a warm showers host living just off Leith Walk. It had been a tough and emotional day, one which I’ll always remember.

On Monday I hit the hills south of Edinburgh as I rode towards the ferry to Ireland. The weather was stunning, matched by a) the wind….and b) the scenery! I tried to just ‘be’ in the moment rather than focusing on the remaining kilometres. The hills were long and hard, with speeds regularly dropping to 6-8 kph. But the scenery was worth every climb. It is soul destroying to put in so much energy and going nowhere…..but without any pressure to be somewhere it’s easier to just ride in to it. I stopped regularly to just sit and look at the hills and moors. And incredible day….until it wasn’t!

My host for that night was in a tiny crop of houses in a settlement hardly marked on the map. It was desolate and barren moorland. On arrival it was clear this was nothing short of a dumping ground for Scotlands down and outs. There were about 100 or so houses, all council, all in a poor state of repair. Poverty was palpable. My host lived in one of these houses. To say it was an horrendous experience is an understatement! The place was nothing more than a squat, full of rubbish, broken furniture, and about as unhygienic as one can get! My host showed me where I was sleeping….it was a room so utterly cluttered with crap there was no bed but a camp bed style thing with sleeping bags which were full of mould. And my host smoked marijuana constantly! Given its location I had no other options….the next town was over 20k away and the weather was quickly changing. But as I’ve done in other places in India and Africa I sought to make it work. It was a long evening! But it came and went, and when I got out of my squalid surroundings at 7 the next morning it was lashing with rain and the wind was blasting through the broken windows! Despite my host insisting I stay another day…..I hit the road! It was a 90k ride to Dumfries. It was I think the toughest day on the bike. The rain was so bad the roads were flooding, the hills unrelenting and the wind incessantly in to my face! I kept cycling as it was the only way to stay warm. Kilometres came and went, and I made the decision to simply keep riding the total distance. As it was there were no shops, garages or places to stop anyway. The only stop was in a bus shelter when the rain was so intense it was dangerous. I used the time to change clothes, then headed back in to the battle! Surprisingly, I managed the 90 in 5 hours, arriving in Dumfries in time for a well earned coffee and scone! I had booked in to a cheap guesthouse for two nights, and after the night before this was a well earned rest break!

When I put on my casual clothes I was reminded of the night before as they all stank of smoke ….i hope I don’t get stopped at the border in to Ireland🤣. I spent the rest day catching up with friends, emails and resting best I could. I made the mistake of waiting to hear back from a Warm Shower host before booking the ferry so when I did try to book…,sold out! The only option was a morning ferry meaning I had to ride 65k before 10 on Friday morning….thats going to be a stressful ride! I hope next time I write I’ll be reporting that I made it on time!

Best wishes to everyone. T

Dumfries is testimony to the mass closure of industry up north, with hundreds of derelict factories and buildings.

Berwick upon Tweed….the last town in England.

The causeway to Holy Island which can only be crossed at low tide.

The whole area along the east coast is littered with castles. Bamburgh is a fine example.

The village harbour of Seaton Sluice.

Yep….this was my Warm Shower’s hosts offering of a ‘bed’ for the night. That’s my own sleeping bag!

The dry stone walls of Scotland

Edinburgh Castle

Dunbar harbour, near where I scattered dad’s ashes.

Holy Island.

Scotish Borders!

Any one for a game of Quidditch? If you know, you’ll know!

Delightful trails through the woodlands along the east coast.

Off Whitley Bay, Yorkshire.

Across the Scottish Moors.

A final farewell ❤️

Borderline

by Tony Kemp | May 30, 2024 | 1 comment

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.

The rolling moors near Stokesley

My nights accommodation on the Yorkshire moors.

York is a stunning town.

Crazy VW van near York.

A cafe stop in a deserted town in Brittany

Windsor….first day back on the pedals….and the only day without rain!

York Minster.

Incredible tracks all up the east side of the UK….this is the Cinder Track.

Days spent on dirt trails all over the moors have been so rewarding but bloody tough!

The cycle tunnel under the Tyne….such a great option for cyclists.

A Journeys End

by Tony Kemp | Apr 30, 2024 | 3 comments

Rest Easy Dad….

After leaving my hosts Andy and Claire in Poole I headed to the ferry port which was only 4 kms away. I got there just in time ….i had awoken early to load up and of course….ran out of time. Anyways, got on board and the ferry left on time. I had dosed up with seasickness tablets so I was delighted not to throw up, as I’m prone to doing! It’s an odd ferry to St Malo, as you disembark in Guernsey and re-embark on a different ferry to St Malo…same company, different ferry. So I duly disembarked, got my boarding pass for the next ferry and waited where I was directed to wait, then shown back ….to the ferry I had just left! I explained my predicament to the stewardess who realised their mistake…..otherwise I’d have been heading to Jersey! As it was I eventually got on the right ferry which only took 2 hours to get to St Malo.

St Malo is an ancient walled town with wonderful french architecture and shops in a car free centre-ville. My hosts were right inside the walled part of town in a stunning block of flats on the main boulevard. We had a great evening meal and chat – a young couple running their own agricultural machinery business.

On Saturday I headed to Ploermel, a route of 113k along canal paths, tracks and disused railway lines. It was a stunning ride, but most critical of all…the new rack and panniers held tight and there was zero shimmy….i was able to get back to smashing it downhill!

One thing you learn/remember cycling in France is that there is simply no one around! Village after village was deserted! Shops only open for short times and there are few cafes, tho I did find two that I ordered ‘cafe grande’ in (ask for coffee and you get a tiny teaspoon cup!). But you need to think ahead as often there can be 30k with no food or water! There was a trick I learnt from my last trip here….if you’re out of water, find a graveyard and there’s always a tap….and so I put that to the test and sure enough….a tap! I struggled a few times with the distance today, being the longest I’ve ridden in months, but whilst it was undulating it was doable and best of all was a tail wind. I arrived at my camp hosts around 5 and had a delightful evening chatting to them…both teachers….and their three children. I was so stuffed when I got there tho, and my back/hips were really complaining! The challenge is that after a ride I need to get a warm shower, a hot drink and food, and put the tent up….by which time I’ve failed to stretch! Plus there is often nowhere to stretch, so it’s pretty challenging to manage the pain.

The next few days took on the familiar feel of a long distance tour – pack the bags, throw the leg over the bike, and ride! Each night I had a chance to stay with a Warm Shower host which was excellent- tho it takes some effort to engage after a long ride; the hosts want to chat and all I wanted to do was rest! On my second night I arrived to a house full of kids and adults enjoying their holiday time and my room was just off the lounge with no door! It was going to be a long night, but thankfully the visitors left around 7. I stayed with another couple who appeared not to eat or drink, as nothing appeared to welcome me or feed me, and the place was in a forest miles from any shops (which were probably shut anyway!) I had asked if I needed to bring food and was told ‘no need’….i guess if you don’t eat yourself having food isn’t top of your list! Eventually around 9:30 a small vegetarian dish arrived! I went to bed hungry! At another place I arrived at the agreed time but the host was working from home, so briefly said hello and went back to his work and left me in the garage for an hour and a half! I used the time to clean Bob and stretch! And another host had 13 bikes in their shed and proceeded to take the time to explain each one despite me desperately wanting a shower! But it’s all part of the ‘exchange’ in Warm Showers. I had been on the road nearly two weeks before I needed to book a room, which as you can image saves so much money over the course of a trip – my daily expenses were around 20 euro a day which isn’t too bad in Europe!

The cycling here is truly wonderful- just endless trails and tracks, small country roads and picturesque villages to amble through. The French ‘do’ cycling so well, with dedicated bike lanes and signage everywhere. Getting through Brittany is always a challenge as you’re on the pedals all day – you’re either going up or down….there are no flat roads here! And overall the weather was great- overcast or sunny , freezing in the morning but warm by midday.

As I progressed south I learnt that dad had taken a drastic turn for the worse. He had become very unwell and was removed to his room, where his condition deteriorated rapidly and very unexpectedly. Whilst his dementia has been very evident his vital signs were stubbornly good, so there was nothing to suggest that he would crash so quickly. But crash he did, in spectacular fashion. He stopped eating, he couldn’t take his medication and basically disintegrated in the space of 5 days. It was distressing. On the 26th dad passed away. It was a bitter-sweet moment- relief, yes, but shock too, that it happened so quickly after the slow burn of his progressive illness. I headed back to St Malo over the coming days, doing big distances to get to a ferry to get back. They were lonely and deeply sad days on the bike. The legs turned over the Ks but my head and heart were elsewhere. It probably was lovely scenery but I couldn’t tell you as I saw nothing. I made it to a ferry sailing to Portsmouth which positioned me with a final 95k back up to dad’s home town.

On my last day of riding I went north in the pouring rain and head wind. It seemed quite fitting. The route took me through muddy trails and tracks, having to push my bike up steep bridleways. Then I got a puncture, then another, and was thoroughly miserable for an hour….but i had a chat to myself, got Bob sorted and made the final 50k push.

I’m going to be here a few weeks preparing for the funeral, then I’ll head north, then across to Ireland. Whatever happens next will have to wait. I need time to decompress, find myself a place called ‘home’ and then consider what life holds next. Whatever it might be, I’m sure it’ll involve Bob!! I have loved being back on the road. I’ve stayed with some amazing families and have absorbed the French countryside, and their acceptance of cyclists!

I’ll write again when Bob and I head north. Till then, be safe, live life to the full. Laugh. And tell people who matter, that they truly matter to you!