Travelling

Odd, or silly, I'm sure: somehow it felt as if I wasn't moving at all.

I knew I was pedaling, but the feeling was as if I was on a stationary bike, the world around me some kind of slowly changing virtual reality or video. Flat, it was very flat. To the horizon in all directions there were fields of wheat, sunflowers, corn. I knew I was moving, but … really?

With no real sense of direction, or of my true location, it felt as isolated as the high remote peaks, and valleys, of the Pyrenees. That is foolishness. Other cyclists were rare, though I saw many signs of aquaculture ...oysters, shrimp, maybe other shellfish.

Continuing sometimes on narrow tracks, sometimes double, my route a rough mixture of white stone and shells, it continued… beautiful slow riding.

The air warm, humid, and so salty I could feel and taste it. Crossing digues … dikes, I think built to manage human's relationship with the sea. Rather than the sea managing us.

Construction blocking the route, with no detour signs. In a marked route of 1250k, normal enough. I circled, searching for a route to continue southward.

And I found great, marshy bird habitat, birds familiar to those at home, but not the same species.

This was the first time in all these years of touring that it felt truly like long-distance riding. It didn't much matter how far I rode. What mattered was continuing to pedal, and continuing to pay close attention to the world I travel through. Because I was indeed moving.

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