Morning Air and the Smell of Coffee
I woke up in a quiet campground. My breath turned white in the cool air, and as I filled my lungs with the crisp morning breeze, the tiredness of yesterday seemed to ease.
The smell of coffee helped melt away the last of my sleepiness. After a simple breakfast, I stopped by the reception to say just one word.
“Thank you. Maybe we’ll meet again someday.”
With those words, I began pedaling once more.
Drawn to the Sea
Not long after leaving, I felt a sudden pull—not from the map, but from my heart. I wanted to see the sea.
So I took a small detour, and there it was: clear blue water, waves rolling steadily in and out. My mind grew calm, and the noise I carried inside disappeared.
The sea, I realized, is something like my starting point.
Straight Roads into the Distance
Back on the inland road, I rode through cold air and empty silence. The path stretched endlessly, with nothing but straight lines.
After about 50 kilometers, a small town appeared—Robe.
The Cold Sea Wind and the Town’s Quiet
Robe was beautiful.
The air was about 16 degrees, but the wind from the sea was so sharp it felt much colder. Yet even that cold was softened by the beauty of the ocean.
The sound of the waves in the distance was comforting.
I searched for a campsite in town but found none, so I decided to ride farther.
Eventually, I found it—a small open space, surrounded by trees, silent and still.
Here, I pitched my tent for the night. In travel, it is often these “accidental places” that leave the deepest memories.
I cooked dinner, looked up at a sky without stars, and thought to myself: tomorrow, I will ride straight ahead once again.
