Why does anyone leave the comforts of home to live on the road; regular warm showers, soft beds, abundant and varied food, the soft comfort of girlfriends, the warmth of families, and the banter brought out by a few pints and good company? Why leave it behind in search of the unknown?
Why did we choose to spend 18 months cycling 30,000km around the world?
Some days the answer seems so obvious, and some days… I have no idea.
We had flung the adze down from the top of the fall and also the log book and the cooker wrapped in one of our blouses. That was all, except our wet clothes that we carried out of the Antartic, which we had entered a year and a half before with a well-found ship full of equipment and high hopes.
That was all of the tangible things; but in memories we were rich. We had pierced the veneer of outside things. We had suffered, starved, and triumphed, groveled down yet grasped at glory. Grown bigger in the bigness of the whole. We had seen God in all his splendors, heard the text that Nature renders. We had reached the naked soul of man.