When winter’s lifting, I start to think about motorbike trips.
I think about countries; roads and tracks; seas and airports; about the bike I would take and the luggage I’d fix onto it. There are a growing numbers of places that I haven’t been. Not because I dream of visiting them, but because I’ve thought about it then resigned myself not to.
Then I get this email from my uncle:
I’d like to invite you to a celebration of my 70th birthday at the restaurant Comendador Silva, Óbidos, Portugal on the evening of Tuesday 16 August.
An external constraint makes planning a trip easy. It’s harder when the idea comes only from within. You’re more likely to question it.
And so the first few places go onto the map.
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