The Space Between
You become a bit more creature like while bike packing — rougher and more sensitive at the same time. The body grows stronger and more powerful; your legs are dirty, covered in insect bites and scratches. You sweat and smell, coming a little closer to the nature which surrounds you. But you also become more sensitive and alert; your sensory pores open up — you hear, smell and see more.
Everything around us crawls and creeps, sings and hums, chirps and hisses. And if you stay very quiet, you can even hear the ferns whispering. The Green swells from the dense forests, insects buzz and snakes lie lazy on the warm asphalt.
We’ve returned to nature in its most beautiful form, riding along endless rivers that crisscross Japan like a tightly net. Each river has its own character — some roar loudly, others trickle softly and quietly. Some are deep and dark, others amber-clear and bright.
You feel the urge to just dive in and melt with nature.
But then comes the next city or little village and with it you are facing civilization. All of a sudden we find ourselves somewhere in between — between creature and etiquette. Sometimes in hotels and restaurants, often in tents or sitting on the ground, somewhere new every day.
We find stability in the rhythm of the journey, while still having to endure the daily departures and the uncertainties they bring. There is the feeling of freedom and independence, but also the longing for social connection and closeness. The freedom to choose a new path every day — and the desire to surrender to the comfort of routine. Your ties start to hurt, your body feels tired and we explore how to balance between rest and endurance.
