Taking a Pause and Why I Travel Alone. Day 12-16 of Bicycling through Spain and Morocco (and England)

I am resting. Really resting. We have completed our loop back to Granada, along the Costa del Sol, weaving on and off of boardwalks and bike paths, stopping for quick dips in the sea and cafés con leche when needed. (Of course that was not before we paid homage to Komoot by following her route for several hours deep into the hills above Marbella only to find a locked gate with a no trespassing sign blocking our progress! We backtracked cursing her trickery and then had to ride on a broken sidewalk with only a guardrail separating us from the busy Autovia for 15 miles before finally being treated to a beautiful and mellow ride complete with all the aforementioned luxuries. But, a women as lucky as I should not complain.)

Now we are regrouping in an apartment with a little tower that overlooks the burnt-orange ceramic tiled roof tops of the town. Twain is working for a few days and I am planning the rest of my adventure. On Sunday he will fly home and I will head out alone into the mountains, northward toward Barcelona.

Hopefully, I will pedal through a pass just north of the snow-covered Sierra Nevadas and, after being in high elevations for a week, I will descend back to the coast and wend my way to Barcelona. I will camp and stay in hostels. It sounds absolutely beautiful out there. Tiny villages, caves and winding rivers tumbling through olive groves.
I am excited, but of course apprehensive. It has been so luxurious to have a traveling partner—to lean into another person’s strength. Twain and I travel very well together and have a lot of fun.

There is a drawback though. When I am with him, I begin to rely on him. I speak much less Spanish and end up leaving a lot of decision making up to him. It is easier that way because I often don’t really care what we do. But here is the thing—I end up feeling a bit like a passenger and that makes me feel a little squirmy. The truth is, I don’t always want to be the passenger, as relaxing as it is, sometimes I want to drive.

In every country I have traveled to, men still look to men as the decision makers, the communicators, the strength in a couple—and the problem is that I begin to believe them and act accordingly. I speak less, decide less and become less self sufficient. I make more mistakes, don’t listen to my instincts and allow him to be our spokesperson. It is only when I am alone or with other women that I truly feel seen and respected. Crazy.

I love my husband very much and I will cry when he leaves in a pitiful and pathetic way—but I know that there is a reason that I choose to go solo, despite how comfortable it is to be with him. I need to try to remember that through my tears.
I probably won’t write again until he is gone because I will be focusing instead on tapas and guitar music, the Alhambra and cathedrals, but I will be back when I hit the road again.