by Paul Howard
Neither really carried much weight. Laziness and the desire to protect my 100 per cent success rate were probably more significant factors. As was the view of the four children and wife I had left behind for over a month for the sake of a bike race, for whom once was also enough. Unless they could come too, though the bike hasn’t yet been built that could allow us to do it together (if any enterprising designer wants to organise a road test – make that an off-road test – drop me a line).
Nevertheless, even one day of ‘normality’ was sufficient to have me yearning once again for the existential simplicity of life on the Tour Divide. Eat. Sleep. Ride. Great Divide. That was the motto devised by the route’s creators at the Adventure Cycling Association. It would make a fine philosophy.
But for now, at least, that was it. The adventure was over. Trevor flew home to Montreal on Saturday morning. Per caught his flight that evening. I had to wait until Sunday, but I was home in time for school sports day. I entered the fathers’ race. I couldn’t find a way of coming last in that either.