Mike Carter gets ready to hit the road. Photograph: Richard Saker.
What the hell am I doing? What I am I going to say? What is a blog anyway?
These are the questions that have been running around my head today - together, of course, with, Jesus! Why did that moose just run out in the road when he's got an entire forest to play in? And, is this a mosquito in my helmet or just the first signs of tinnitus?
If you've been reading my column, you'll be aware that I am a lethal combination of: a) a middle-aged male; b) on a very large motorcycle which he has no clue how to handle; and c) trying to find my mojo again, explains Mike Carter.
Luckily for you, assuming that you live in Britain, this is a production unlikely to come to a town near you in the near future.
But what to say?
I could tell you about the blisters on my backside from sitting in a saddle all day, but you're probably still having your breakfast. I could tell you about the awesome tunnels and bridges system that links the islands of Norway to the mainland, but if that's your bag you're probably already out at Clapham Junction with your flask and your notebook. I could tell you about my spectacular crashing and burning with the women of Stockholm, but why would I voluntarily humiliate myself like that?
I could bang on about the price of everything in Norway - yes, yes, I know that's terribly old hat, but their pricing structure really is the eighth wonder of the world. They could organise coach tours just to look at the cost of stuff. 'Hey, Mabel, these fags are £11 a pack.' 'I know, Jack, and look at this cup of tepid coffee. £4. It's amazing here. Much better than the Pyramids.'
So, you tell me. Do you want the filthy, uncensored stuff that doesn't make it into the paper? If so, just ask, and give me a few days' notice so I can make it all up. And hopefully we can time it so the paper's libel lawyer is at lunch.
Or do you want to know what it's like to pass your bike test and then head off into the sunset minutes later? Or are you having a mid-life crisis and want to talk to somebody about it? My advice: lock yourself in a room until the feelings pass - they always do eventually. Otherwise, The Samaritans, I believe, are excellent. On no account contact your local BMW dealer.
But actually, since I did this, every day I feel alive - sometimes sad, sometimes lonely, often euphoric, but never less than 100% alive. Every day is like a clean slate, a new start: get up, get on the bike and go where the road takes you.
It's an, at times, semi-feral type of existence: basic subsistence needs, and a daily structure often dictated by whimsy. But, for me at least, it seems to sate the terrible restlessness that I've carried my whole life: the delightful constant thought that around the next corner is a world of new opportunity.
Incidentally, if anybody has any great places they've been to in Eastern Europe, Turkey or the Balkans, or people they think I might get along with, please share. I'd love to meet up with them.
