Yesterday, I had a bit of fun doing some calculations. If I keep moving at the same pace as I am now, my journey could end up lasting only ten months. Yet from the beginning, I’ve been saying that this expedition would take between twelve and eighteen months.
So I’ve started asking myself a question: am I going too fast?
I know this calculation is still very theoretical. For now, I’m still in France. I know how things work, I speak the language and, when I run into a problem, I can usually find a solution fairly easily.
It certainly won’t always be this simple.
In a few weeks, I’ll find myself in countries where I don’t speak the language. Some of the people I meet may speak neither French nor English. A repair, finding a spare part or even dealing with a simple everyday task could then become much more complicated.
There will probably also be more difficult terrain, less favourable weather and unexpected situations that I can’t even imagine yet.
And yet, right now, I don’t feel too bad.
Physically, I actually feel pretty good. My diet still needs a few adjustments. Some days, I feel like I’m eating properly. On other days, I know I’m eating too much. I’m still trying to find the right balance between what my body needs to keep moving and the habits I still need to change.
What exhausts me the most isn’t necessarily cycling.
It’s all the everyday tasks.
Inside the bike, I have very little space. Several objects therefore serve multiple purposes, and each area has several functions. Whenever I want to do something, I have to move things around, put some things away, take others back out, carry, lift, reorganise, and then put everything back in place.
Preparing a meal, washing myself, looking for a tool or simply getting ready to sleep requires much more energy than it would in a house.
Despite that, I feel like I’m starting to find my feet. Little by little, I’m creating a routine. I’m developing habits and reflexes. Situations that would have worried me a lot at the beginning now seem easier to deal with.
The fact that I’ve lost fifteen kilos since I left also helps me put the question of how much weight I’m carrying into perspective.
Of course, I still try not to keep anything I don’t need. But I also tell myself that if an extra kilo of food or tools can make my life easier and give me some peace of mind, then perhaps it isn’t so unnecessary after all.
Even with these few extra supplies, the combined weight of my body and my equipment is still lower than it was when I started.
And that’s reassuring.
If I get stuck somewhere, I know I have enough food. If I have a mechanical problem, I have a few tools that allow me to try to fix things. Obviously, I don’t have everything I might possibly need, but I’m not completely helpless either.
Overall, I feel good.
The rain isn’t particularly pleasant, of course. But when I look at the weather outside, I often think that if I were sleeping in a tent, things would be much more difficult. Inside my bike, at least I’m sheltered.
What I probably like the least is the humidity and everything related to hygiene.
With the physical effort, I sweat a lot. When I work on the bike, I quickly get dirty. So I need to wash very regularly.
When I have access to a shower, everything is simple and quick. But that isn’t always the case. I then have to wash myself with whatever means are available. It works, and it feels really good afterwards, but it requires more time, organisation and energy.
And that’s exactly why I’m wondering whether I should use the time I’ve gained to slow down a little.
Originally, I wanted to produce much more content for social media. I receive a huge number of messages from people telling me that my videos help them. Since I left, I’ve been posting less than I had planned.
And sometimes, I feel like making fewer videos also means helping fewer people.
That’s genuinely heartbreaking for me.
Maybe I could use some of the time I’ve gained to spend more time filming, writing and telling the story of this journey. But on the other hand, I also know that what lies ahead will probably be more difficult.
Maybe one day, the weather, the terrain, mechanical problems or exhaustion will naturally force me to move much more slowly. Maybe, when that happens, I’ll be glad that I built up some extra time during the periods when everything was going well.
I still don’t know what the right decision is.
What I do know is that I’m starting to build a small routine. I’m developing habits. I’m finding solutions. I feel more confident when dealing with problems that seemed insurmountable just a few weeks ago.
There is still one thing that remains difficult to get used to: the constant uncertainty.
On the road, I never know exactly where I’m going to sleep, what I’m going to encounter, whether the bike will hold up or whether the day will go according to plan. That uncertainty can be very stressful.
But it is also an unavoidable part of the journey.
Maybe I need to stop trying to anticipate everything. Maybe I simply need to accept that this uncertainty is normal and learn to live with it.
If I can do that, perhaps I’ll become a little more at peace.
Maybe I should start meditating.
Maybe I should slow down sometimes without feeling like I’m wasting time.
Maybe I should simply take the time to do things.
I still don’t know whether I’m going too fast.
But I’m beginning to understand that the success of this expedition won’t depend solely on how many kilometres I’m able to cover each day.
It will also depend on my ability to build a life on the road that I can sustain for several months.