reflections of a ragged-trousered cycle tourer

So where does this journey start? Is it the day we leave Manchester on our loaded bikes on an overcast Friday morning?  We are a little tense about getting everything ready and making sure we set off well before lunch time so that my mum and dad don’t start wondering if we’ll ever go.  A bit of last minute kerfuffle adjusting panniers to fit the racks (why haven’t we already done this??), and finally we are set.  My mum and dad take photos of us with our bikes outside their house.  Gayle is grinning and brimming with nervous excitement.  I wear the look of someone with trapped wind.  My mum and dad have waved us off before but it doesn’t get any easier – there is always a feeling of sadness – so we don’t hesitate too long and are start pedalling down the road.  Find the right gear, check my feet on the pedals, fiddle with the helmet strap.

I call over to Gayle, “So which way are we going?”

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Or does this journey really begin at the end of our last ride – in Thailand in September 2015?  We stopped in Chiang Mai so that I could complete a CELTA course teaching English as a foreign language.  It’s all part of a cunning plan.  We are going to look for work teaching English in China so that we can save money and also have the experience of living in another country.  After a remark from my dad “So, when do you think we’ll see you again?”  Gayle looks at flights back to the UK and finds a really good price with Norwegian Air.  We fly back to the UK in the winter and catch up with family and friends and then get miserable trying to work out the best way to find teaching jobs in China.  And then a message from Gillian in Viet Nam.  There’s a man with a school in the middle of Viet Nam looking for teachers.  The town is small and not touristy – it’ll probably be right up our street.  She’s right.  It is.  We spend 11 months teaching in Quang Ngai.  It is, as they say, another story. 

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a newly-thatched timber frame cottage - check out the roofline chase

The clouds are breaking up as we leave Manchester and take a lane leading into Cheshire farm land.  The land is green and some of the trees are showing signs of spring.  Two MAMILs* ride up alongside us on their racing bikes.

“You’re loaded up.  Where’re you heading?”

“Alaska” we chorus.

“What?? This afternoon?!?”

Our journey has begun.

*Middle Aged Men In Lycra