Bike Tour Revival

Some journeys are not about distance. They are about reclamation.

After completing the Camino Francés in 2009 and the Camino del Norte in 2012, and years of shorter adventures that followed, there came a quiet pause in my life. Cycling faded into the background. Responsibilities shifted. Seasons changed. But the longing never left. It simply waited.

I’ve come to believe that desire is a form of memory—the body remembering what makes it feel alive.

In Barcelona, I would wander into Altair Bookstore, leafing through travel narratives. Conversations with other travelers, watching the Tour de France, hearing stories of distant roads—all of it stirred something dormant. Then came COVID. Movement stopped. The world narrowed. And in that stillness, the call to move grew louder.

When travel reopened, I knew it was time.

In the summer of 2023, I prepared to begin again. Illness interrupted me—fever, cough, a positive COVID test. For a moment, I wondered if the timing was wrong. But recovery brought clarity. The thought became simple and urgent: Just go. The rest will unfold.

I booked a flight to Nantes without overthinking it. I would find a bicycle there. I would start from there. It was not about perfect planning. It was about trust.

The Loire River had long lived in my imagination, but this journey carried something deeper. I was not riding only for myself. I was riding as proof that we can begin again at any stage of life. That pauses are not endings. That uncertainty is not a barrier—it is an invitation.

Meeting my sister and her friends in Côte de Beaune gave the journey direction, but the real destination was internal: reclaiming movement, reclaiming courage, reclaiming the simple joy of pedaling toward the unknown.

As I rode the EuroVelo 6 from Nantes, the memory of illness faded into the rhythm of the river. I moved gently, honoring my body. I stopped often. I listened. I breathed. The Loire became more than scenery—it became a teacher in patience and flow.

One afternoon, I met a cyclist carrying a guitar on his bike. He carried music. I carried a notebook. Each of us transported what gives us meaning. That moment reminded me of something central to my life’s work: we all travel with stories, with vulnerabilities, with gifts.

This is the heart of Explore Journeys.

It is not about athletic achievement. It is not about speed. It is about creating spaces where older adults, people of different abilities, and those who believe their adventurous years are behind them can rediscover movement, connection, and possibility. It is about stepping beyond comfort—Vamos Allá—and trusting that growth waits on the other side.

That summer along the Loire was not just a revival of cycling. It was confirmation.

We are never too late to begin again.
And when we move—mindfully, courageously—we do not just explore the world.
We expand who we are within it.