You’re driving along, maybe on your way to work, a meeting or on a family outing. You’re concentrating on the road ahead, tunes from the CD player providing the soundtrack to this particular road movie of your life, when out of the corner of your eye you spot it. A curving sinuous line worn into the hillside – it’s obviously been there for centuries, but you’ve only noticed it today. It clings to the steep side of the glacial valley, seductively snaking around the gnarled trunks of windswept trees, a ribbon of dirt slowly losing height down the slope, terraced by the feet of the grubby sullen sheep that stare at you as you pass. A momentary distraction, a promise of adventure, a memory of your other life, that slowly grows, demanding more thought, offering an escape from the routine that you find yourself trapped in.
This is how it starts.
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At the bottom you regroup once more, the grins of your friends confirm that it has all been worth it. Talk in the pub recounts and relives the ride you’ve just all shared. Section by section the ride is discussed, the satisfaction of all involved is obvious. The anticipation, and year long obsession has paid off; maximum pleasure has been gained from what started as a brief diversion from a routine journey. As beer and conversation flow, you lay your ghost to rest, hoping that the next time will be as good.