Day 10: My Mums to Ellesmere

Gorgeous Georgie and The Time We Seduced a Waitress

The Difficult Goodbye

The sun cast a warm glow as I prepared to leave my mum's house. I had dreamed about this trip for years – we had talked in depth about it for years; the preparation, expectations of happiness, and dealing with fears around leaving friends and family for a long time – but nothing can quite prepare you for the emotions as you stand, looking into the beautiful, kind, nurturing face of the woman who brought you up, and saying farewell for such a long time.

Packing all my panniers onto my bike is somewhat of a ritual. It becomes an almost meditative exercise. In some sense, it is simply routine, like making your bed in the morning; it’s an unavoidable task if you want to cycle away and continue your journey - but it also signals the beginning of something new. A new day, leaving the place you’re in, the place you camped at, maybe somewhere that was entirely new to you, possibly you never see again, or simply staying with a friend. But it is not a graceful exercise. Without a decent kickstand, the imbalance of a freestanding bike - while hoisting multiple heavy bags, each of which, when attached, adjusts the balance of the bike - makes the whole ordeal not too dissimilar to a slapstick comedy sketch.

This both helped to ease the emotional challenge of the situation while likewise dragging it out, giving us both the time for them to boil up, making the final farewell all the more difficult to bear.

With my bike fully loaded, weighed down with possessions and the sheer heaviness of all the potential that lay ahead, an equal weight sat heavy on my heart as I saw my mum tear up, setting me off. It’s a curious thing, feeling sad and elated all at once.

Riding Lush and Green England to Ellesmere

“The entire train line has been cancelled,” said the lady at the train station. Her kind face and friendly demeanor softened the blow of the bad news. “You’ll have to take a rail replacement service,” she explained. (It's worth noting that, in the UK, transporting bikes on buses is rare. Whether it’s an empty 30-seater with only two seats taken and ample space for a wheelchair or baby stroller, or a rail replacement service—which, by definition, replaces trains that allow bikes on board—they almost never permitted on buses.) I explained this to the ticket lady, requesting pre-approval for my bike on the bus service. With one glance at my Behemoth, she quickly changed her mind. Instead, she suggested I take a different train line which my ticket wasn’t valid for. To make this possible, she wrote me a note resembling a permission slip for missing sports day at school. On a scrap piece of paper was scrawled: “Permit to travel this line,” with only a rail operator's dated stamp to confirm its validity.

Being an old tourist line, steeped in history and charm, the train moved more slowly. winding through verdant landscapes and historic towns, allowing me to bask in the sunlight and savor the gorgeous summer's day.

Curly packed up and loaded onto the train, ready for the upcoming advenutre.

My train arrived in Shrewsbury, a location I selected specifically for it not being Ellesmere, for after a nine-day hiatus following only a single day's riding, and not any single day, but day 1 of the rest of my life, I was keen to get my wheels turning. Despite being April, the weather was like a British summer. The Shropshire countryside submerged me in vivid light, sounds of creatures, endless blue skies, and stone cottages nestled amidst the greenery. Wildflowers carpeted fields, fragrant blossoms, a gentle breeze, while ancient hedgerows, witnesses to the ebb and flow of ages, whose whispers echo stories seen from their fixed perspective of centuries past to this very moment of a simple boy, passing by with his whole life, possessions, and dreams afloat with him.

Cycling the Sunny Shropshire Countryside

Wandering the winding lanes, a sense of kinship with the land enveloped me. Time suspended in the tranquil embrace of nature, buoyed by the elation that accompanies the start of any ride of such grandeur, each moment stretching into eternity like the languid flow of a river. The scene resembled a pastoral idyll, where history and contemplation mingled amidst the beauty of the countryside. There’s a palpable surge of excitement that courses through my veins in moments like this, so intense that my mind leaps ahead, existing a single heartbeat in the future, living in the next moment before my body and bike follow suit.

Gorgeous Georgie

Just a week ago, covering 60 km was a struggle, but today, this 30 km journey was a joy. I wish I could attribute it solely to being 6 km lighter, but in reality, I know it was the days ahead of me. Weeks of riding lie before me now without a break, along with exceedingly good weather and the anticipation of being in the presence of greatness at my next stop tonight. Enjoying the ride and gliding effortlessly on my bike, I had fully found my rhythm. It was nothing more than a leisurely journey through the English countryside, relaxed and immersed in the weather, heading to Ellesmere to meet up with the beautiful Gorgeous Georgie.

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Georgie is a friend I met during Saddle Life 2021, and we fell instantly in love - she served me at the bar, and I found myself staring longingly into her eyes. We connected over the almost impossible chance of both keeping a mannequin as a companion, a one-in-a-billion chance encounter. Georgie is beautiful and exudes energy that matches my own. “I’m going to the Green Man Festival,” she said with a smile so wide that my own eyes, lit with adoration, seemed like two lost stars in a nebula of her beauty. “I’ll see you there!” I heard myself say, despite having no prior plans to attend the festival. Needless to say, I didn’t go to Green Man that year, but I did gain a friend for life - one I would be sure to revisit and I was over the moon that one of these visits would be during the early days of my new adventure.

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With plans to 'hit the town' – a phrase quite a stretch for Ellesmere, but something that, between the two of us, I'm certain we could stretch for days – Mimi and Page came to Georgie’s house for pre-drinks. Mimi is a vibrant, sexy gothic girl, adorned with dreadlocks and piercings, and arrives in a sunflower-adorned outfit. She is never a dull or unexciting friend to spend time with. Page was just as Georgie had promised: someone I would fall instantly in love with. With his long hair and self-built campervan home, Page exudes a genuine and effortless bohemian vibe that envelops me like one of the teardrops from the paisley pattern, I love so much, in his hippy pants.

The wonderful Gorgeous Georgie, in the bar where we met.

We headed straight for The Vault, the place where we first met, and immediately the owners recognized me from two years ago. “We still have your number plate!” they exclaimed with excitement. Their bar, with a love for all things Italy and especially Vespa, boasts a beautiful shabby-chic style, with wooden crate walls draped in memorabilia and trinkets in every visible direction. Fond of the place and its decoration, I gifted them my old metal number plate, which I acquired from Sweden during Saddle Life 2017.

My old Swedish number plate ‘GXN 996’ or “road kill” acquired from the road during Saddle Life 2017 Scandinavia

Knowing I would forever cherish the moment I met Georgie, I was certain my number plate would serve as a landmark to commemorate the occasion for years to come, as long as the bar still stands. They were instantly protective, insisting, “You can’t have it back.” I reassured them that I was happy knowing it still stood proud in its new home, tucked away in the smoking area out back, where we settled for a few drinks before going for dinner. Our conversation burned through as quickly as the heater consumed gas, while both the heater and discussions kept me warm.

Seducing the Waitress

Moving on to the Greek restaurant, a waft of green smoke on the way perhaps heightened my perception, if not at least my enjoyment, of the events that would unfold and helped reshape the boundaries of acceptability. Georgie, being the soul of the streets, knows everyone, and in turn, everyone knows her. So when she didn’t recognize our waitress, her curiosity was instantly sent into overdrive, leading to what would become one of the funniest and most morally questionable restaurant encounters of my life.

Georgie, Mimi and I celebrating at a Greek Restaurant in Ellesmere.

It began with the most formal and thorough introductions I’ve ever exchanged with a waitress. Georgie, with great politeness, delved into our waitress's connections to the town and her job at the restaurant, practically as far back as the application process. Usually a chef, she occasionally covers the front of the house, which explained her infrequent appearances and apparent exotic appeal. Her introverted yet confident personality stood in contrast to the boisterous, giggling group she was serving that evening, and she graciously entertained our unusual and probing questions. From that moment on, she provided us with exceptionally attentive service, and the interaction we shared with her became a memorable experience in its own right, regardless of the incredible meal we ate that night.

We each introduced ourselves one by one in what felt like a three-on-one speed dating setup. Georgie gave her the full story of my forthcoming cycling journey around the world, followed by a complete and in depth history of how a previous cycling trip had led me to these very streets a few years prior, ultimately bringing us here, to her. Delving into the menu, we sought recommendations, which she graciously provided with sincere passion and attention to detail, tailored to our preferences. It was evident she was not just hearing us; she was truly listening to us. She saw us. Attuned to her own interests as much as our needs, her engagement beyond mere hospitality.

By the second course, Georgie's girl crush on the waitress had become contagious, spreading to Mimi and me. Laughter and giggles exchanged between Georgie and the waitress quickly infected us, creating a delightful echo of mirth. When Page returned, he was greeted with utter bewilderment, as if he had stumbled into a room filled with bashful schoolgirls. Each time our waitress approached our table, after completing her routine duties, we were reluctant to let her leave. Instead, we engaged her in reciprocated conversations, sharing complex histories and nuances about our names, the paths that led us to this moment, and our hopes for the future.