Running into the sky in Perpignan, France

After a long train ride from Geneva, I finally arrived in Perpignan, France. I was tired and a little perturbed after standing in a crowded train car attempting to hold my bike up. I thought to myself, “How amazing will it be to finally start traveling by bike.” After two days of travel, I was tired of trains and long flights. **By the end of my trip, I was ecstatic to catch a train back to Geneva**

My train arrived in the center of Perpignan. I had a host set up outside of the city, but like many mistakes I made on this trip, I failed to realize how far outside of the city he lived. Looking back now, I wish he would have said “Pedal to the mountains, then pedal up the mountain.” Instead, I had a list of confusing directions. Being that it was my first time attempting to ride anywhere on my converted race bike / touring machine, it did not go well. I ended up lost, following my GPS, which was set for traveling by car. While I flew down the side of the freeway (incredibly unsafe decision) at 30mph, I was starting to get seriously scared. If bike touring was like this, I wasn’t going to survive one week of this trip. Lucky for me, I found an exit and proceeded on an alternative route. Unlucky for me, the navigation function on my phone drained my battery and I was now lost and without a phone. Because I was relying on my phone for EVERYTHING, I started to feel like I was screwed. It was now getting dark. Fuck. **After this mishap, I started to rely solely on paper maps and written directions**

Nothing in the last month went as planned. Everyday, I found myself in a situation where I had to think on my feet. If there is one lesson that I learned in the last month of traveling, it is to live everyday minute by minute… to never stress out over little disasters… and to truly believe that everything will work out, no matter how bad the situation seems.

Lost and confused, I did what anyone would do. I found a bar. Now, I know that I was only a few kilometers away from my host’s home in a small village that lay in the foothills of the Pyrenees. But, at the time, I had no freaking clue where I was! I sat at the small local bar, ordered a beer, and asked if I could plug my phone in. After a few beers, my phone was alive and I was able to continue into the mountains. As I climbed higher, the homes became more and more beautiful. When I arrived, I was greeted by Matt, a short, corky British guy in his 30s. Staying with Matt ended up being an amazing decision. His home was nestled deep in the Pyrenees. It was equipped with a small basement apartment and swimming pool. It took some time to truly get to know Matt, but what I uncovered was a selfless, strong willed, well educated guy with a lot to share. Matt was also a brilliant chef and didn’t mind cooking for me both nights that I stayed with him.

The next morning, I jumped on my bike and headed towards the sea. With my speedo, goggles, sandals, and towel strapped to my bike rack, I flew down the mountain towards the sea. Matt had given me directions to a more private beach called La Plage de Paulille, about 20 miles outside of town. I made him promise me that there were no big sharks in the sea **there weren’t any sharks, just lots of fish** The water was chilly, but the sun was hot. I definitely liked swimming in the crystal clear Mediterranean water. Avoiding snorkelers ended up being the most difficult task. The water was calm and I started to enjoy swimming with the fish. The ride back into the mountains was much more difficult, but I was excited to be riding in a new place. The roads were steep, narrow and winding. Each small village I passed through was a welcomed change to the steep mountain roads. Back outside Sorede at Matt’s house, he had just finished up work and wanted to go for a mountain run. I assumed there were some decent trails in the area, so I gladly went along. I should have realized what the run would be like when Matt said “we’ll basically run up the mountain for 6km and then run back down.” Up we went indeed.

The dirt switch backs had us climbing faster than I thought was possible. The road was steep and it was difficult to keep a running pace. Every time the road twisted back towards Perpignan, we were greeted with the most amazing view of the region. As we stumbled higher into the sky, the view became increasingly more beautiful. When the dirt road ended, a narrow and rooted single track trail began. It snaked its way higher into the mountain. The terrain became technical and Matt’s short stride started to benefit him. I had never seen anyone run technical terrain like Matt did. Jumping over rocks, climbing ledges, and running through roots like a football player running through tires. I tried to stay as close as possible. Towards the top of the mountain, we weren’t even running anymore. The trail was so steep that we used our hands to climb the rock ledges. Looking up, I could see the feeble ruins of a thousand year old watch tower. We climbed towards the sky. Once we reached the summit, I was greeted with one of the greatest sites I had ever seen with my own two eyes. We could see for a hundred miles in both directions. We looked down on the Mediterranean Sea with Perpignan, the Pyrenees and all of France on our left, and the Spanish countryside on our right. I took a few deep breathes, spun around and screamed into the night as the wind nearly knocked me off the stone ledge.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?! Matt! This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen in my life!” He laughed and nodded his head.

The next morning, I packed my bags and started the 160 mile trip to Barcelona. What was waiting in Spain was a totally different type of adventure, but it wouldn’t even be three days before I had myself repeating the exact same phrase that I screamed on top of the mountain that night outside Perpignan.

Cheers from the Pyrenees! 

Bikes, Bocci, and Beer in Geneva, Switzerland

It was 2:00am in Cleveland when my plane landed in Switzerland. Exhausted from the flight, I knew I would have a long day ahead of me. After collecting my suitcases and bike box, I found a quiet corner and started putting my bike together. Arriving in a new country, building a bike in the airport, and riding out the front door is an interesting experience to say the least. Someone from the training center in Premanon was kind enough to meet me at the airport to get my bike box and suitcases. He didn’t speak English, but knew I was grateful for his help. By the time I was ready to roll out, the anxiety started to kick in. If I spoke any French at all, the first few hours would have been MUCH easier.

I needed to find downtown Geneva, find the train station, book a ticket to Spain, find a place to stay and situate my belongings. Sounds easy enough, but when no one in Switzerland seemed to speak English, the task became much harder.

My plan was to use my cell phone to find the train station. But the address was on my dead laptop and my phone was too dead to open the navigation. Great… After an hour of attempting to not get hit by traffic, I finally made it to the station. This was a success, but I found out that I could not bring my bike to Spain without packing it in a box. I guess I am going to the south of France instead. I booked the ticket for the next day, and made my way down the street to the Youth Hostel. It was 1pm in Geneva and I couldn’t check in until 2pm. I was hungry anyways, so I found a pub on the corner and had a sandwich and beer.

After checking into an insanely expensive dorm room with 9 other people, **seriously, it was like 30 euros for this bed** I locked my belongings in a locker and headed out for a run. After a quarter mile, I was on a path that circled Lake Geneva. Although crowded, it was a gorgeous place to run. The exhilaration of running in a new city had me floating through sub 6 minute miles. I knew I should slow down, but it was the best I’ve felt in months. I was healthy, in a new city, and finally running well. I said “screw it” and continued to hammer down the road. I felt my pace waver momentarily, but that changed as I ran by a group of topless women lying on the rocks. I quickly decided that my turn around should be here. I doubled back, slowed wayyyyyyy down, took a long look (it was free nudity), said bonjour in my crappy American accent, and then continued on my way. I thought to myself “Geneva isn’t all that bad.”

After a shower and short nap, I figured it would be a good time to take the bike out and really see the city. I tossed on some jeans, tied my shoes to the bike rack, and headed out. After cruising around the city for awhile, I found the “Old City.” It sat a few hundred feet above downtown, surrounded by large stone walls. My bike wobbled as I tore through the cobble stone streets. This city was definitely a site to see. I sat down at a small café, ordered something in French, and ended up with a dish that resembled a cross between a thin crust pizza and a pancake. **It was a crepe, but at the time, I thought all crepes were sweet** After dinner/breakfast, I cruised through a few of the parks that surrounded the old city. When I finally headed away from the old city, I was attracted to the skate park I saw in the distance. Across from the skate park was a large stone bocci ball court. The court was filled with younger guys and girls drinking 1664 and playing bocci ball. After watching for a moment, I rode up to the fence.

“Par-lay voo ong-lay?” Asking someone if they spoke English was the only phrase that I had mastered so far.

“Yeah, we do,” they responded.

“Thank god. Ummm, can I play?”

“I guess so. You’ll make four so we can play teams”

“Sounds good to me,” I said as I forced my way into their game (this is how I make friends).

“You want a beer?”

“Hells yeah!” I shouted. These guys seem alright to me.

After an hour of playing bocci and a victory that I had earned, they invited me to roll with them for the rest of the night. With no other plans, I gladly accepted. We all hopped on our bikes, slightly buzzed, and began ripping through the city as the sun set. By the time we got to the festival on the lake it was dark. After locking our bikes to a fence that had been erected for the festival, we grabbed some burgers and beers and found a place in the grass. With thousands and thousands of people gathering for this summer event, it was the biggest festival I had ever been to. **Until two weeks later when I attended La Feria in Beziers, France** After a few beers, we went to jump back on the bikes but ran into a small problem. The festival workers had continued to put up fences and our bikes had become fenced in. After a good laugh, I considered climbing it, but quickly remembered that I don’t climb fences anymore. No worries though, the fences were zip tied together and I had my pocket knife on me. After tearing down their fence, we quickly got on the bikes and headed into the park for a late night concert. The music wasn’t my style but the beer and large amounts of women were my style. As our blood alcohol levels grew, our group had begun to grow as well. We now had around 12 people rolling through town on bikes. We headed back to a bar near the festival and picked up right were we left off. By 2am, these guys had become old friends. We laughed and drank late into the night. We joked about our differences in culture and I actually learned quite a bit from them about French culture. I even had the awkward pleasure of kissing a female acquaintances three times on the cheek. **It was only awkward the first time, I got used to this part of French culture very quickly**

We finally called it a night when it began to rain. After a short, wet and semi-drunken cycle back to the youth hostel, I stumbled up to my 10 person dorm room. I woke everyone up as I slammed my locker shut (several times) by accident. As I lay on the stiff mattress, I thought back on the evening. “This is exactly why I wanted to travel by myself.” By forcing myself to be social with strangers, I had an amazing time in a brand new city. If this is the pattern for the next 4 weeks, it is going to be a long month! **It was indeed a VERY long month**

Cheers from Switzerland!

One Adventure Ends, Another Begins

I have barely began telling the story of this trip, but I feel a deep urge to write about the ending as it happens. I’m rolling out of the Lyon train station, and I can’t help but get this weird feeling of déjà vu. Twenty four days ago, I traveled down the same tracks and saw the exact same sites. But everything was different then. I’m not going to go into some rant about how traveling through Europe has changed my life. Three and a half weeks on the road is barely long enough to make your clothes dirty. But traveling alone, thousands of miles away from anyone resembling a friend, does change a person. You learn a lot about yourself when you are alone.

Taking myself out of my element was something that I should have done a long time ago. In a weird way, I almost feel like I matured a bit in the last few weeks. Everyday on the road brought a new challenge, and everyday I was forced to make a decision. In any sense, my encounters, adventures, and countless days under the warm Mediterranean sun gave me a new perspective on my life. So many people take trips to “find themselves.” I didn’t find myself, I just opened my eyes a little wider. Life can’t always be about the goals achieved or the tasks accomplished. Maybe it is more about the people you influence and the people that you allow to influence you? As an endurance athlete, I’m constantly engaged in this mission to understand my body. Not only to understand how it functions physically, but how and why I make certain decisions. If I could truly figure myself out, I could figure out how to push my body to my absolute limit. Well, spending the last twenty four days on a bike, definitely gave myself a small glimpse into my own head.

Like any trip, I had good days, bad days and really bad days. But everyday taught me something about myself. I made numerous friends along the way, had some amazing conversations, and took a little bit away from every single encounter. Following this post is the story of my trip. Like any good story, certain details may be left for a long bike ride or evening at the bar, but I will do my best to share as much as possible.

As the sun sets in France and I pass through the Alps on my way back to Geneva, my mind races. I have that weird feeling deep down when you know your life is changing. Regardless, I know where my life is heading and my eyes are open wide. My heart is settled and I know what I want to accomplish. My life is Ironman and nothing else. I am healthy, strong, focused, and ready to uncover something I have spent years searching for. It is time to create my own destiny. It is time to write a story that I will never need to tell.