Published via Ecency

After long conversations, a short and rainless night of sleep on the floor of the town halls cyclist sanctuary, we sit around the breakfast table and ultimately have to ask each other the question.

“How far are you going to cycle today?”

Arriving out of all directions at different speed and with different stories before and behind us. We met by complete accident. We share our thoughts and one night in the same room, a bit of food and a morning coffee. Then it is time to each go our ways again.

For my part I am not planing to cycle much, I want to stick around, take some time to write. Maybe cycle a bit in the afternoon. But then I have to admit, that I drank way too much coffee and the cookie I had left from yesterdays bakery woman, made it impossible for me to keep still on my chair.

Therefore I leave late and overly excited, a bit afraid of the sugar and coffee “down” that will await me at some stage that day.

Eventually I get to a little town, where I commit the mistake to go into Lidl hungry. Way too much food, that I somehow manage to stick, stuff and hang around my bike. Then I try yesterdays recipe for happiness and get myself a kebab.

Yesterdays recipes rarely work the same today.

The Kebab doesn’t taste as good, I feel a bit sick and not very accomplished since I had only done 15km or so. I keep cycling.

In my mind I have all the encounters of the last two days. I think about our conversations and am still amazed how everything did fit together so perfectly. In some ways I am wondering what will happen to me today and in some ways I am afraid it will go wrong, because now I expect it to be good.

Back on canal roads, endless and straight, which doesn’t help my current state of “What am I doing here?”. My thoughts quickly adapt to the road and become equally endless and straight, not seeming to move forward.

Am I conditioned to think that things have to go wrong at some stage? If I am doing the right thing, can’t they just keep on going right as well?

When I have a quick break on the nicely loaned moan of a pick nick area in the middle of nowhere a guy shows up. Weirdly behaving, way to close and asking strange questions. Even though nothing really happened my intuition tells me to get out. Suddenly scared and disturbed in my peace I leave, worried he might follow me. Which he does.

“See, told you it won’t go well today.” is coming from the part of me that also still feels a bit sick from that Kebab.

After I raced another 10km to a livelier pick nick place I am tempted to practice “running away” problem-solving-strategy and just keep on cycling until I would feel better. Even though I know at that stage, this has never worked.

Luckily I stay on my bench.

A coffee, some music, reading and some food and I feel a bit better.

There is one boat on that canal in front of me, earlier on I had quickly chatted to Roman and Beatriz who live on it. And just when I start to unpack my cooking gear to use up all the masses of food I had bought earlier on, he comes and asks me if I want to eat with them.
I happily accept the invitation.

Spaghetti Bolognese, a glass of fresh white wine and a marvellous conversation. When the glasses are empty, the plates in the sink, she tells me, that if ever I feel like it, I could also sleep on their boat.

A rainbow appears.

“A glass of rum on a wooden boat, how lovely is that picture?” I think to myself, as I mostly listen to them, telling me about their life and travels all over the world. They share their wisdom and the story of how they left their house to one son, got rid of all their belongings, agains all odds of life to now call a boat their home. And that’s what I feel, sitting there with them. Even though we had such different lives before, and theirs much longer than mine, we spend this moment together and have so much to share.

Strangers but for one moment the only home we all have.