We’d agreed not to leave it another twenty years. Parting company in a small cafe in Bandon. A day’s ride from the California border. I’d thought this a fantastic achievement and had said so. Giles and I had covered close on five hundred miles in a week, at a sustained pace many long-haul riders would balk at. There’d been a few unexpected challenges that had taken time to fix. Broken seatpost bolt amongst others. So, to get as close as we’d done to our target, was, I was certain, doubly impressive.
I’d planned to ride on to Brooking, our intended finish, that day. But didn’t want to rush off, deciding instead to stop short that night. Some things can wait. And I’d not got eight hours solid driving on the freeway to get back to West Seattle.
