I’d interrupted Carol. She’d mentioned a few cyclists that’d stayed with her. Including an English rider. Astrid. Quickly painting a picture of her, I’d proffered a few distinguishing details. Yes, it was her. Definitely. Explaining I’d corresponded with Astrid but never met her. Not yet at least. She lived perhaps fifty miles from my Somerset cottage.
Shouldn’t have been surprised. Route I was following across the southern States a very logical choice. And a stop at Carol’s bunkhouse equally sensible. Simply forgetting Astrid had chosen to come this way. Also cycling around the world.
[Visit Astrid at www.cyclingfullcircle.com]
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