Estonia-Latvia: Breaking Point

What if I just go back home now, three months into this motorcycle adventure across Europe with still three more to go? It wouldn’t be horrible, I mean, I went to the World Cup and that was my main objective. How much are flight tickets back? I would lose my non-refundable ticket I already purchased for the original return date; that’s ok, I can live with that. I miss the routine, or do I simply miss the comfort of it? I miss my dogs, my family, and tacos. I should go back.

I had left Russia with bland riding days and intermittent rain; the south of Finland, where I was only briefly passing by, was not much different. I didn’t seem to enjoy riding my motorcycle anymore, or going through new places, I didn’t feel the interest in meeting new people, either. I searched for flights back home, with a guilty feeling deep inside, as if I was failing at something.

Ultimately, I decided I needed to take a few days to not think about tomorrow, clear my mind, and then decide. To do this, I took a ferry from Helsinki, Finland across the gulf to Estonia. I arrived in Tallinn, and parked the motorcycle for a few days, as I wandered the city center without looking for anything in particular, no specific sight seeing, no travel guides, nothing. Just walking around and stopping where I felt like to read a book or people watch, such as a grassy area overlooking the town, or a cafe in the historic center.

Tallinn had a cozy atmosphere around it. It was quite small and the narrow medieval buildings with pointy rooftops, contributed to an enjoyable walk, regardless what direction I took. The early mornings, when the town still slept and the cruise ships had not docked yet, were my favorite, leaving an empty main square and the maze-like, cobblestone streets all for me to get lost in.

After a few days, and a sense of renewal, I left Tallinn and rode south, going through what looked like one infinite forest covering the entire country. In this green blanket of trees, I unknowingly crossed into Latvia, where I would reach Riga, the capital, and stay for a couple of nights. I would describe Riga in a very similar way as I described Tallinn, except bigger, louder and, with more people.

As much as I ride through scenic nature, I couldn’t remember the last time I camped and spent a night under the stars. After some research and a couple of days in Riga, I set my route for Pape Nature Park on the Baltic seacoast of Latvia, just north of the Lithuanian border. Half a day’s ride and some dirt roads later, I reached the coast. Determined to go for a swim to counteract the hot and humid weather, I walked over to the beach and decided the weather wasn’t as hot anymore; the water was quite cold judging by my wading feet.

The next day I took a bicycle ride on trails that led to a nearby lake and, eventually, back to the coast. There, at the beach, I stared at the sea, and didn’t necessarily long for the cold sensation I would feel by swimming in this water; the muscle cramping in your legs due to the low temperatures, or the difficulty to expand your lungs, and that hesitance to bring your head under the surface. Instead, I wanted the feeling one has afterwards, when the skin is cool and crisp, and the sun’s rays, your shivering, and a towel over you bring your body back to equilibrium. That’s what I wanted. So, with much hesitation and little determination I walked into the Baltic for a quick swim.

I strongly believe this is what I needed to regain the desire to continue on this adventure. Not the cold swim, but slowing down the rate of travel, thinking a little less, coming out into nature, and being away from the crowds.

I later found it interesting that this sudden urge to go back home came to me as I reached the three month checkpoint. Something similar happened during my first major motorcycle trip through Mexico and Central America four years ago. Back then, I felt a lack of purpose and interest in continuing south when I was in Guatemala. Without an apparent reason, I recall wanting to ride back north and go home, but I didn’t, and eventually regained that desire to carry on. Oddly, though, that also happened at the three month mark. Could it be that three months is the time frame I can withstand this lifestyle before having second thoughts? Are three months what it takes for me to reach that breaking point? If so, did I discover what it takes to get over it?

I don’t know that I ever made a conscious decision to continue this journey across Europe and not fly back home. I simply stopped thinking too much, something I should practice more often, perhaps. Regardless, I’m glad I opted to continue the second half of this adventure, since I don’t know if the opportunity would have repeated itself later in life.