As my eyes crack open and the comforting sight of the black tent poles criss-crossing overhead come into focus I repeat my usual morning internal conversation, ‘I’m in the tent, but where is the tent!?’ After all this time, all the nights sleeping in the tent, the sight of it’s slightly yellowing inner and the washing line string tied from corner to corner are comforting sights but the world beyond often takes a conscious effort to recall. What country are we in? Where did we reach yesterday? Are we in a field or the woods? Yes, I remember, we are in Germany, in the woods, on the flat patch of gravel next to a bench and a small shelter.

The light of dawn hasn’t broken yet, I can already tell it won’t be a dramatic light show today. The thick grey blanket of clouds I can see through the gap in the tent door will make it feel like someone has slowly turned the dimmer switch on. The new day will be here with no fanfare, no rainbow of colours, no ball of glowing sun with golden rays, just a slow fading of dark grey to light grey. My alarm hasn’t yet shattered the silence, so I know it’s before 5.30am, I roll over and pull my sleeping bag over my shoulder, but I know I won’t go back to sleep. The familiar discomfort of needing a wee will keep me awake, I can tolerate it until my alarm goes off I tell myself and snuggle back down. As I sway along the gentle rolling wave from consciousness to slumber, I think about our little green dome, about how magic it is that inside – cosy, warm, dry, with everything we need – it is so easy to forget that the world outside exists. These two layers of canvas bring a sense of comfort, safety and belonging. It’s home.

But those very non-descript, very normal and very ordinary morning moments, would soon be etched in my memory as something very extra-ordinary – the last morning of waking up in the tent.

Everything had been better since we drew that straight line on the map across Germany. It turned out that abandoning our more ambitious homeward bound plans, in favour of the mundane had turned the pressure down on, well, everything. Our bodies were shocked by the ease of the 50km days on the flat. We found ourselves having to slow down and dawdle along to make sure we were not covering too much distance and getting too far ahead of ourselves. We would sit on a bench for a while, just because it was a nice one, or because it had a lovely view or because it was a great spot for people watching – whatever the excuse, we sat down and watched the world for a while.

It allowed for the creation of some separation between all the thoughts whirling around in our minds. The endless, countless, decisions were still there but we had the headspace to make them in a way that didn’t feel fraught and overwhelming anymore. We still disagreed (we always disagree!) but it was never blown out of proportion and we didn’t fly off the handle, but we had the patience to listen to one another.

It gave us the chance to gain some perspective. We have been through so much in the last couple of years, seen so much, experienced so much and felt it all with heightened senses and raw power. But it has led to a true appreciation of it all….The calm of the mornings; some drizzly rain; freshly picked bilberries topping off our breakfast; a second coffee – always the fresh stuff (Ted gave up on trying to make me drink instant months ago!); some simple cyclepaths; riding side-by-side chatting away; cooler temperatures; a stop at Lidl; a bakery treat; a midday tea made in a bus stop shelter whilst waiting for more rain to pass; picking the wild fruit from the trees – cherries and plums and apricots; another bench to sit on; more perpetual rain; a quiet woodland camp spot; the fresh damp smell of mulchy leaves as you kick them about to flatten the ground; the light dappled through the trees to create ever changing patterns on the tent; the comforting familiarity of the same dinner cooked in the Trangia every evening; that final cup of tea and a square (or four!) of chocolate; just one more chapter of my book; hearing the last brave songbird still chirping as night falls. Simple.

We had the space to allow the light back in and with it came the final trail magic. Just when we felt like the world was done with us, the trip was becoming predictable and riding was just a straight line to the end, we were hosted by our final trail angels of the trip – Gus and Mariska. We met them outside the supermarket and after a brief conversation in the pouring rain, they sensed that we needed a few days of rest and before we knew it we were enjoying cups of tea in their incredible antiques filled farmhouse. They were such kind souls, with wonderful energy who lead an inspiring, interesting life, we feel so blessed to have met them. It was yet another reminder that there are so many good people in this world.

We also had the time to arrange a few Warmshowers hosts across Germany and then the Netherlands. Knowing we had a bed, a warm shower and a roof over our heads arranged for every few days made a huge difference to being able to allow our bodies and minds time to replenish a little. Each and every Warmshowers experience has been such a treat and something we never take for granted. Everyone has welcomed us so warmly, shown such wonderful kindness, and provided an interesting evening and insight into others lives. It never ceases to amaze us how much we learn from those we stay with,  there are so many ways to weave your path through this tapestry of life and Warmshowers allows you the opportunity to experience that.

With the repairing of our bodies and minds came the unavoidable realisation that this was all coming to an end. With every day that passed, with all the kilometres we covered, we were getting closer and closer. It was such a mix of emotions. There was a real, undeniable sadness about this trip coming to an end. I found myself trying to savour and capture every small thing we were doing, knowing it might be the last. The last hill, the last sandwich lunch, the last headwind, the last Trangia meal, the last night in the tent, the last rain shower, the last time we have quinoa in our tea after not wiping the pans out properly, the list goes on. Each and every thing; I wanted to hold on to it all.

The excitement of reuniting with friends and family, is tempered by the knowledge that our lifestyle will change overnight. Everything will be different – the good and the bad. I’m filled with nervous expectation of what will come next. Is going into the next chapter going to feel like returning to the old? Will it be like trying to revisit and reinvent the chapter we left behind two years ago? Will everything have transformed and moved on without us? Or will nothing have changed? How can we go back when we ourselves have moved on so much? How will we slot back into our old lives but with the added extras of all the experiences and knowledge of the new life? I suppose we will never know; no-one can ever know what a new beginning may bring until they step over that threshold – I’m excited to find out.

But first things first, we know a cup of tea, some big hugs from those we love and our own bed await us at home and for now, that sounds just perfect to us!