Yesterday my children, spurred on by Kirk, took me to a very dark place. Having enjoyed a few days in the mountainous area just north of Turin, Northwest Italy, we were heading across into France and Kirk suggested the kids and I bike down the 20km windy road we had driven up to find our fantastic camping spot (and some amazing mountain biking for Kirk).
Not really being an adrenalin junkie and no where near as confident as my kids at speeding downhill, I thought this was one of those opportunities to seize. As we set off, I did have a moment of joy at being in the Alpes of Northern Italy doing this with my kids.
This soon faded into nervousness and was then overtaken by fear, followed soon afterwards by shear terror as we cycled through a 3.5km tunnel. The tunnel was surprisingly cold and the noise terrifying. Despite having Kirk following us in the campervan it sounded like a massive truck was on my tail and the terror was added to by a car passing us and then just as we were almost out of the tunnel, a concrete mixer also passing us. By that point I was sobbing, “I hate this, I hate this”.
Isn’t the saying, if you fall off your bike, the best thing to do is to get right back on? Well, after a wee sob, a cuddle from Em and some deep breaths in the sunshine, I regained my composure and got back on to continue down the hill.
Check out the timelapse Kirk took to see what the ride was like. Sure was something to remember and I suspect my family will tease me about it for ever more.