Heart

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...MUST COME TO AN END.

  And so it was that we left the bed-and-breakfast in a torrent of conversation and rode the remaining stretch of the Francette back to Niort.

  No records were set, distances achieved. I speak not of borders crossed or mountains climbed. All we wanted was to get back into touring, to confirm that it could be enjoyable once more. And that much we have established, or I should say I have established because it was I who had begun to doubt it.

  I still feel guilty about the motor. I still won't put it on anything but the lowest setting and I plan to lower even that. I want to remain a cyclist, not become a motorcyclist. I want to enjoy or at any rate challenge myself when the terrain turns three-dimensional; I want that sense of achievement that comes from being proud and tired at the end of a day. And that much I feel I have achieved. I have, as was promised, refound the legs I had 20 years ago, the innards I had before heart valves began their mischief.

  The next test is to carry full camping gear. I don't know when that will be. It says something that I want it to be straight away. But as I gaze out the window at southern France, the trees are bending to a 70kmh wind and the air threatens to bring the flakes of snow that startled us yesterday. This isn't the time to go cycle-camping. Not if you have any say in the matter.

  I won't promise you that I'll chart the next ride as I've recorded this one. For me, at any rate, this tour was significant. The next will be no more than an experiment.

  But I leave you with a gentle message. And it's this: if ever you feel that touring has become a struggle, an unreasonable and unenjoyable challenge, don't hesitate... fit a motor. One day, like me, you will no longer be ashamed that you did.