I had been living in England for years — good job, stable life, but never quite at home. The people were kind yet distant, and I missed nature deeply. I longed for mountains, wild lakes, and the feeling of being surrounded by something untamed. England’s calm landscape and closed rhythm slowly pressed against my curiosity, until one day I decided I had to leave.

I didn’t have a car, or even a driver’s license, but I had something better — a bicycle. I had been cycling since childhood, and the idea of traveling across Europe by bike felt both natural and exciting. Before that could happen, though, I wanted to test myself — and my gear — with a smaller trip first. My plan was simple: ride from Birmingham to Warrington and back.

Before leaving, I spent two weeks dismantling my old life. I sold and gave away everything from my three-bedroom apartment until all that was left fit into four bike bags. When I looked at that small pile — everything I owned — I felt strangely complete.

I climbed on the bike and started pedaling. Ten meters later, I realized I couldn’t even move. My bags were far too heavy. So I stopped, unpacked, and cut everything in half again. It wasn’t the kind of packing you do for a holiday — it was the kind you do when you’re leaving one life behind and beginning another.

Finally, I set off.
The English countryside surprised me. The biking paths were peaceful, tracing canals and rolling hills. From the saddle, I saw a different England — less grey, more alive. It wasn’t about sightseeing; it was about testing what I could carry, what worked, and what didn’t.

At one point, I faced a choice: take a long detour or cross ten kilometers of broken, muddy terrain with no proper path. I chose the direct way. It took me five hours — pushing the bike, slipping in the mud, moving slow, but always forward. Every meter made me stronger, more certain of my purpose.

When I finally reached Warrington, I stayed with friends who offered me a warm bed. Instead, I slept in their garden — in December, in the snow. I wanted to test my bivvy bag and sleeping system. The night was freezing, but my sleeping bag kept me perfectly warm. It even rained, yet I slept better than I had in months. Waking up to the clear, cold sky above me was pure peace.

After a few days, I cycled back to Birmingham. This time, slower, lighter, more present. I didn’t return to my old apartment — it was gone. I stopped at a friend’s house instead, checked my gear, and quietly began planning what would come next.

Because now I knew: I could do this.
The road ahead was real.
And somewhere beyond England, a much greater journey was waiting.