Narrative 3

The best stories come from the most uncomfortable situations. At some point you have to face the fact that playing things safe leads to a very safe life, which, in turn, has a significant chance of leading to a very boring life.
Louie made things uncomfortable.

In almost all aspects, he was a great man to be cycle touring with. He was easy going, rode at about the same level as we did, was pretty self sufficient, shared our same thirst for adventure.

He did however, have no sense of when it was about to get dark. Or even a sense that darkness was approaching within the next few hours. So he would ride, and ride, and ride, until said darkness enveloped us and we would be on the side of the road in some tiny village in the middle of Silicy, with no idea where we would camp.

In somewhere like Germany, this wouldn't be a problem, campsites are everywhere. In Sicily, a visit to the local (and only) store would reveal that there were no campsites, no hotels, no 'paying' places to stay. And of course there weren't any, for there were never any tourists in these towns, so never a need to provide them with any accomodation.
Which left us on the side of the road, with no where to sleep. In the dark.
It was then that Louie would spring to action, which would basically mean he would ask anyone passing by where we may be able to pitch a tent or two. And his strike rate was exceptional. In the course of a few days we were invited to sleep in a half completed house, shown a 'perfect' beach to stay, camped on the local football field, and shared a paddock with a bunch of goats.
We knew all this in the morning. At night we simply pitched our tent, ate something and went to sleep, in the dark.

When reflecting on the camping we did on this cycle trip (and there was a lot of camping over the 5 months), I don't think about the paid campsites with our alloted numbers (although the one in Austria where we could use the hot tub and sit, warm, in zero degree temperatures as we looked up at snow capped mountains does often spring up). My thoughts usually go to these times of discomfort. Times when we were not sure of what the outcome would be, but where the generosity of the human spirit was displayed towards us, time and time again. These moments, these adventures, weaved together the purpose of the trip, they created the story.

I cursed Louie for his lack of ability to safely seek accomodation before we couldn't see anything. It made me uncomfortable, I didn't like the added stress at the end of a day of riding, I didn't like the feeling of fear as I lay in my tent imagining the local football team turning up to 9.00pm practise (and turning the lights on) and seeing two tents right in front of their goals. I didn't like having to eat my dinner in the dark.
I shouldn't have been cursing him.

I should have been thanking him.