On Wednesday morning I sat outside my little flat in Camberwell with Peter and Matyas. I was a little bit nervous, a little bit unsure I'd be able to make it, and a little confused about how we'd ended up leaving Camberwell with no real route planned.
I'm not sure how Matyas was feeling, but Peter was hungry so I fed him some rice and vegetables and we drunk some tea while we waited for Stuart to arrive.
While we waited I was convinced to pack a sleeping bag with me, a decision I'd come to appreciate.
Stuart arrived, and we set off. Just outside Tooting Peter had his first puncture. I laughed, a decision I'd come to regret later.
Tyre changed we headed towards the green(er) roads of Surrey, having grown up there I didn't think we needed to consult a map and we headed off in entirely the wrong direction and cycled around the footballers houses of Kingswood a few times. At this point we gave up cycling, picked up our bikes and scrambled through an overgrown footpath to get back on the road. So I guess you could argue we didn't really cycle all the way from London to Paris.
Finally we arrived in Reigate to find that my mother had displaced all of her anxiety about the upcoming misguided cycle into preparing a feast of a BBQ for us. I could tell she really was quite worried - there was quite a bit of food, even for the Vegetarian.
The other hint that mother was slightly stressed was that she was pulling the face - where her lips press together, and her whole mouth gets slightly pulled to the right of her face. This is a face I have always thought made her look slightly mad, but just as I came to regret laughing at Peter's bursting tyres, I have also come to regret laughing at the face my mum pulls when she's stressed...
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