The Weight of the Cycling: Freedom, Father, and the Price of Living
I wanted to write about my experiences to help others discover what I had found: the freedom of exploring the world and chasing adventure without a plan. However, as the years go by and I look back at my life, I feel a slight pang of regret for some of my actions.
My father recently passed away, and when he did, I felt my mask fall. I began questioning why I made certain choices that seemed so “cool” at the time—like cycling from Italy to the UK and back. Did I pursue those experiences for myself, for the sake of “showing off,” or for my dad? The answer is still a question mark in my mind, but it was likely a mixture of all three.
I cycled to the UK to feel personal freedom, but also to prove to my father that I could survive on my own. I also knew how impressive such an adventure would sound to others; certainly more impressive than saying I cycled 1000km in a month just by circling my local park.
Yet, these reasons are just the “firestarters” for an adventure. Like an engine, you need a spark to start, but once it’s running, it carries you toward unknown paths. That is what happened to me. I didn’t know I could cycle 100km a day and be ready for another 100 the next morning. I didn’t know people could be so welcoming. In certain regions, I received food, accommodation, and genuine laughter without ever needing money.
A fact I vividly remember is that I didn’t even exchange my Euros for Pounds until I reached Bristol. I had traveled from Plymouth and spent a week moving north without ever needing to pay for food or a bed.
In that silence of the wallet, I see my father. When I was a child, he used to get so upset talking about money. I remember him yelling at my mother; I was ten years old, feeling the pressure to get money but the total impossibility of doing so. That sense of inadequacy regarding “monetizing” still lives with me.
Even at University, I struggled to find a side job. I found it hard to put a price tag on something artistic. To me, money felt “bad”—something that would kill the positive energy I was giving to my work.
Now, looking back at those months in France and the UK, I realize the real power doesn’t come from a currency, but from attitude. Smiling at a stranger can provide more than I actually need. Money is irrelevant. I wanted to prove that to my dad, I guess. But I couldn’t. My trips remained in my memories, or in 3-minute videos that nobody really watched. My dream of showing the world a different way of living—away from mainstream globalization—remained just that: a dream.
I can still picture him in the countryside, on his six hectares of land in Sardinia with granite caves and a restaurant with a sea view that is now gone. “Sorry, Dad. I couldn’t save you or your land from the debts.” Everyone thought he was safe there, that he loved the countryside because it protected him from society. They were wrong. I discovered he was worried—terrified that “they” would get him and make him pay for everything. Again, money. He stayed still, losing the power to act, his energy drained by the world. The debts rose, he grew tired, and his heart pumped slower. Then, he was gone.
I was left looking at the immense possibilities that had turned into nothing. Did I just want to make him proud? Maybe. But I also wanted to be myself—to feel connected to others and stay alive without the fictional layers society demands of us.
Maybe I couldn’t prove my point to my father. But can I prove it to you?
Leave your baggage behind—all the things that weigh you down. Go for an adventure; free your mind and your soul. Connect with strangers. There is a hidden beauty in that process.
