As I write this, I’m six days out from my first Ironman 70.3. Growing up, I was a decent cyclist, so getting back on the bike didn’t feel like a big stretch. And I’ve been an avid runner for years, so the half-marathon never really bothered me, either.
But swimming? I couldn’t swim at all when I started training six months ago.
Rhythm in the Water
At first, it was all about technique—how my arms pulled through the water, how my legs kicked, how I found breath. Once those foundations settled, it shifted to nuance—hand position, rotation, sighting.
Then I left the pool and stepped into the open water.
And that’s when I realised that swimming isn’t about concentrating on technique. It’s about feeling. Feeling the water slide through your fingers. Feeling the resistance. Feeling your feet break the surface.
When you find that rhythm—when your arms, legs, and body move in harmony—it stops being about getting to the other side and becomes about being there, suspended in the moment. And when you get it just right, you never want it to end.
The Thread Between Water and Road
If you’ve read this far, you’re probably wondering what swimming has to do with riding and touring.
But there’s a common thread.
See, for a long time, I treated touring like a way to escape. Back when I had a corporate job, every tour was about getting away—leaving the weight of the desk, the incessant ping of the inbox, and the obligations behind.
I convinced myself that I was chasing freedom. But in truth, I was just running from the things that would still be waiting for me when I got back.
But everything changed when I stopped riding away from something—and started riding towards something instead.
The Difference Between Riding and Escaping: The Power of Presence
At first glance, that sounds like the same thing. After all, to ride towards a place, you have to leave home. But the difference is in the intent.
These days, my rides aren’t about outrunning the noise. They’re about riding towards clarity, towards moments of peace and presence. Towards a deeper connection with the world around me.
One begins with an open heart. The other with a closed one. This intentional approach to motorcycling is precisely what I delve into in The Quiet Tour Chronicles.
The rides that fill me up—the ones that mean the most—aren’t the ones that start with an escape. It’s the ones that invite me to stay open, to let the road shape my world rather than shield me from the one I dislike.
Because here’s what I’ve learned: there’s no road long enough to leave my troubles behind. They’ll still be there waiting when I come back.
But when I ride with intent—when I’m not trying to escape but to immerse—it feels different. I can feel the pulse of my Triumph triple. I feel the world slip away—not because it’s gone, but because I’m here, fully present, in this moment.
And I think that’s what we’re all really after—connection, rather than disappearance.
Because when you come back from a ride like that, you might be tired – but you’re also restored. You’re ready to face whatever waits at home because you’re stronger for having been on the ride.
And that, for me, is the difference between riding and escaping.
The ride doesn’t end at the finish line—it lives in the rhythm, the presence, and the quiet places we let it lead us.