Greener, prettier, unfamiliar

A Story by Silkyway

This is a shorty story based on my cycling holiday to Berlin (from the Netherlands).

I can feel a drop of sweat drip down my forehead and I raise my arm to wipe it off. There is barely any wind and the sun is the only visible thing in the sky.

No clouds. No protection.

I sigh and look to my left. My dad is cycling next to me and he looks tired. He is leaning forward on his handle bars and I can see sweat glistening on his face.

Then I look to my right and, again, feel so free and alive. The fields around me are endless yet they make me feel at peace and determined.

Even though I'm sweating and my right knee is aching, a thought crosses my mind. This is the happiest I've felt in a long time. No stress. No obligations. Just keep moving and you'll get closer to your goal.

I feel nostalgic even though I'm here, right now. I know I'll miss these times and these fields and mountains one day. I'll want to go back and cycle those 800 kilometres with a big smile on my face, instead of a frown and sometimes some tears.

The meters on my odometer feel like seconds. Though, they're not as fast as seconds and for a moment I stare at the numbers in awe. It feels like I'm cycling in slow motion. I use my strength to push harder against my treadles and the numbers accelerate for a moment before slowing down again.

When I look up we're cycling past a row of trees and I let my eyes wander over the leaves and the little flowers that are hidden in the seas of green. I have to suppress the urge to stop and take a picture to brag about on my Instagram and instead look at my odometer again.

We've almost cycled 45 kilometres today and my leg is starting to ache again. I can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed. Before we left my dad told me we had to cycle around 80 kilometres a day, and I had scoffed and shrugged. Just 80, I had thought. And now I realise that 80 kilometres is a lot when you have to climb steep hills and carry all of your own stuff.
The view is amazing, though and the clouds, that now have appeared, look massive. It’s crazy how different the world looks when you’re in a different country. Trees look greener, flowers look prettier and people look unfamiliar.

I sigh in content when I see we’re only going downhill for a while and my dad cycles past me. He always wants to cycle ahead of me, for safety reasons, and I’m glad he does. Even though I don’t want to admit it, cycling down hills is pretty scary.

I breathe out and look to my right again. The trees have made place for the biggest meadows I’ve ever seen and I stare at them with my mouth hanging open. There are so many different colours green that I have to blink a few times to realize that I’m not kidding myself. It’s so beautiful.

The numbers on my odometer accelerate again and I look straight ahead, focussed and ready. It’s going downhill now, and it looks pretty steep.

I breathe in and out through my nose, scared flies will fly in my mouth, and wrap my hands around the handbrake.

My hair whips around my face and I can feel my stomach flipping. I steal glances at my odometer and can’t suppress a smile.

23 kilometres, 29 kilometres, 34 kilometres, 37, 40. I feel like I’m flying and I yell, “THIS IS CRAZY” but of course my dad doesn’t hear me. It’s a feeling I can’t describe. It feels dangerous, like one of those videos where you see some guys climbing onto the highest buildings without a safety cord, and insane but also exciting and it makes me want to laugh a deep belly laugh. Dangerous or amazing, I don’t care at the moment because I feel so alive.
I could die though, I realise all of a sudden. I could fall and crash and die and my dad could too. But I push the thought away because who cares right now? No one could ever take this away from me, not even death.

The wind sounds like thunder and I can hear the squeaking of my brakes. It’s indescribable.

And then, as fast as the lightning that fits the sound of the thunder the wind made, we’ve reached the end of the hill.

My dad turns around and has a concerned look on his face, though when he sees me smiling, he grins. “Cool, huh?” he asks and I nod enthusiastically. “I was a bit scared but it was awesome!”

Then I grab my water bottle, take a big swig, put it back and brush my hair out of my face.

“So,” I say and look to my left, “where are we going now?”

My dad looks at his map and grimaces. “We’re going to have lunch now,” he replies and that makes me realise how hungry I actually am, “and then…” He pauses and it makes me a bit anxious so I push against his arm. “Then?”

Like I said, one day I’ll want to go back to these days and scold my younger self for frowning and groaning so much. But I must say that this groan was justified.

“Have you ever heard of Blockhaus?”