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For most people travelling is about going
on holiday. The excitement in the buildup to departure, as
passports are retrieved and last minute plans executed. The
early alarm, for once acceptable, before the buzz of the airport;
its waiting planes the vehicles for escape. The destination’s
promise of new love or a chance to restore old romance. A
period to relax and unwind, where a forgotten toothbrush is
a mere inconvenience. But from mere to severe, replacing that
forgotten bike part after arriving in a foreign country the
night before a race can be a very different story.
Travelling for me is work. That is not to
say I don’t enjoy it. I live to travel. It is in my blood
and it only takes about three months in one place before I
get that restless feeling again. Heading out on a ride always
helps to alleviate it, but I need the intensity and change
of scenery to really keep me on my toes.
The main drawback to travelling means that
a lot of time is spent away from home. Being very family orientated
it can be hard to be away for large blocks of time, over consecutive
years. Home is my stability, the place to relax and unwind,
to recharge for the next season.
Missing the big events, birthdays, breakups,
engagements and even just the casual every day experiences
with loved ones, not being able to be there in person for
someone is hard. In fact I often feel as though I have two
separate lives, both worlds are engaging and each entices
me to stay. However as soon as I get used to one it is time
to go back to the other.
The bike is what connects me to both. If
only the co-existing worlds could combine. Distance is the
pure and lone reason for this split effect. My brain seems
sectioned into compartments of memories, the people from my
dreams become real again and the life I left behind blurs,
on hold but not paused. Thankfully my friends and family are
all people who can pick up where we left off. I am so grateful
to everyone in my life who is supportive and understanding.
My material connection between the two is
the bike, which attracts its own attention. The glaringly
obvious bike box draws constant comments at any airport. “No,
there is no sink in there, No hidden bodies either” and
yet in that bag is the tool of my trade, the bike I will build
up, pack down, build up and again pack down, as I travel and
ride, flying mostly alone, navigating trolleys I can barely
see over. If that bag doesn’t show up for a few days
then I feel like a part of me is missing, I need my bike back
to feel mobile, competent and independent.
However, no matter how big or small a problem
I may be dealing with is, they soften as my plane takes off
into the air. I love looking down at the miniature scene below
and reminding myself that life goes on, a personal problem
pales in comparison to the global vision that I see when the
plane is skybound.
The view depends on the perspective. It
only takes a takeoff or landing to remind me of that.It comes
down to choice, my view is self created. I choose to ride
my bike and I choose to spend time with my family.
With the gypsy life comes excitement, isolation,
challenges and uncertainty. Meeting new faces, exchanging
stories and trails. With the Australian life comes commitment,
stability, love and family. Sharing memories and building
foundations.
So while I may not have one particular place
to call home, I can find simple comfort in having my luggage
show up intact on the carousel. I know that wherever my bike
and my bag is, there is a sense of security. Being British
born, raised in New Zealand and the US, then growing up in
Australia I have always struggled with the simple question,
“So, where are you from?”
I don’t think it matters. All I can
do is live in the moment, enjoy the ride and hang on, like
tight singletrack, observing the surroundings and upcoming
obstacles and only dealing with what is in front of me, to
live where I am at the time and treasure the people around
me for who they are.
Keep it fun!
Niki x
Words: Niki Gudex. Photograph: Daniel Geiger.
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