50YOn: Monday, 19th April 1976
(Gosforth, age 14)
My sister and her friend, staying over, are quiet in the morning. I get up and look at the map again.
I decided to cycle to Wallington. I know these roads well—we’ve driven them for years—but it feels different setting off alone, with a plan. I pack sandwiches, crisps, and a bottle of cola, tie everything onto the bike, and leave at 11:40 with tea in a bottle. I have to adjust the seat—manage that myself.
I make good progress to Belsay, then hesitate. I can’t decide which way to go and end up ten miles off course. Even so, it doesn’t feel like a disaster. More like part of it.
I’m tired, but it’s a good tired. I like the feeling—muscles used, strength building, the sense that my body is capable of more than before.
I stop in a field for lunch. Eat what I’ve brought. Sit with it.
Home later.
See Mike and my second cousin, Idonea.
Very hot.
Water the plants and spread mulch.
Ring Julie-Anne.
I start thinking again about the books I want to write—different ones this time, or perhaps the same ideas reshaped.
School project.
T.V.
And somewhere in it all, the question sits:
Was this just a ride—or the beginning of longer journeys?
Leave a Reply