It Is Time for Another Little Bicycle Adventure-Chasing Hannibal

This winter’s route

The acorns snap and pop under my wheels as I pedal back to Lighthouse Bikes after giving a cold, damp bicycle tour to some customers from Texas. We just visited three lighthouses along the coast of South Portland, Maine, in a late October drizzly sleet. They were great sports and said that this was the weather they were here for. They oohed and aahed at the sites and exclaimed about what a great time they were having, even as the hail bounced off the seaside docks.

I, on the other hand, found myself distracted by my red, raw, stinging fingers that were seeming to begin to freeze to my handlebars in the biting wind. I repeatedly thrust them, one at a time, into the pockets of my rain coat while trying to maintain control of my bike with the other. Despite the discomfort, I was trying my best to exude an air of enthusiasm and fun. Luckily, given how beautiful this area is and the attitude of the guests, it wasn’t too difficult. Besides, I knew I had only one more week of tours left and then the season would shift. No more leading trips; it would be time once again to make my own adventure. There are two parts to this one.

First, next week, I will be traveling to a secluded cabin alongside the Kennebunk River and doing some unlayering of the past years. It sounds a bit melodramatic, but my plan is to hide away and complete a facial peel to rid myself of years of precancerous, sun-damaged skin, accumulated from endless, sunny days of adventuring, and as I do so, also peel away the busyness of life and start to write another book. I like the poetry of it—the symmetry. As my face shall go—so shall I. Layer by layer, lesson by lesson, story by story. Maybe creating something presentable, if not beautiful.

I will probably be lonely, most likely afraid, and surely horrified as my face scabs and peels—because I am vain and it is Halloween season, but I want to see my way through this and find what is there underneath worth sharing.

When I am finished, I hope to turn my attention to another bicycle trip. This time following the route of Hannibal and his elephants as they made their way north through Spain. I will start in Granada, Spain, dip into Morocco, pedal along the coast to the Strait of Gibraltar and then head north to the Pyrenees—as far as I can get in 6 weeks.

My husband will join me for the first leg through Morocco. We will travel together for the first two weeks. He seems a bit wary of following my “fly by the seat of my pants” bicycle touring style and is diligently poring over maps and consulting those who have gone before. It is fun to watch him, but truly, also difficult to realize that this trip will be different because of the compromise involved in planning and traveling together. I have gotten pretty used to my independence. His companionship will be great, but I have learned that I need both, so I will continue on the second four weeks solo.

It feels a bit misdirected to focus on stories of adventure, beauty and growth right now when much of the world is suffering. These are really confusing times, but all I know how is that these expeditions consistently give me hope and remind me of the good that exists. Hopefully, feeling that, and sharing it is worth something.