The last time I went for a “proper” bike ride was on a trip to Norway. It started adjacent to the Djupvatn Lake in Geiranger, some 1030m above sea level and 17.7km back to the cruise ship. To say I was ill prepared for the ride would be a monumental understatement. You see, the last “proper” bike ride before then would probably have been cycling around the local garages pretending to go shopping for my Mum. No, I hadn't gone through a heart-warming period of encephalopathy, but rather I was five or six years old.
The route was dangerous. Before our tour group had even passed through the cloud layer, someone had fallen off a hairpin turn and broken their arm. They would later be flown to a hospital via helicopter. Fortunate sod.
I spent the rest of the journey white knuckled, heavily reliant on the brakes, being overtaken by two story tall tour buses inches away and seeing some of the most spectacular views in my life. It was incredible.