Camden,London to Ware, Hertfordshire. Monday the sixth of April
Today was a great start. There were many small triumphs to confirm that I had done the right thing, by sailing out of my Camden studio, a few moments before twelve, on a crisp morning, Monday the sixth of April. I cycled further north east than I had before, though the moment that I felt I left London was when the air became fragrant with silage rather than exhaust fumes. Blossoming trees sprinkled white and scent as I took the canal path along the Lea valley, a hard left after Victoria park in Hackney, and straight ahead north. It was all very idyllic and the network of rivers and resevoirs, canals and creeks stretched on for the whole day.
I had derided my friend Marcus when he tried to cycle to Bristol, and insisted on cycling through central London. I had said to get a train to the ourskirts of the city, avoid the chaos of the outlying suburbs. But now I understand, the satisfaction of going from your front door into the unknown and crossing those boundarys of where is familiar. The journey starts from home, and not from a train station.
I used my first cable tie in repair, to secure the mud gaurds to the my low rider rack, and I also lost my first item, an acorn nut from the clamp that holds the rack on.
Now sneaky camping in a field, nervous, sure the entire nearby village can hear my pencil scratchings and are forming the mob to pitch fork flaming torch chase me away. They burned witches here once.
The moon is so strong that it casts shadows, which makes me feel even more conspicuous.
I hope it gets easier to do this, I hope I get use to the fear. Beer can cracks open, people have arrived, to drink and piss against the burnt out lightning tree nearby. It puts me on edge. I am not worried about now, I am fight or flight coiled, but if they come back, now that they know that I am here, while I’m asleep…..
They leave without incident, probably feeling that they have been caught doing something wrong too.
