The Power of One
Why adventuring alone is the best gift you can give yourself
Please tell me I’m not the only one who feels like their bloodstream is now 90% cheese? Or the only one who’s binged enough booze over the holidays to build a new and improved resilience to hangovers? Or the only one who, despite having a simply marvellous time, still finds themselves feeling both physically and mentally drained?
Don’t get me wrong. I love Christmas. I also love the comical overindulgence that comes with it. Whether it’s devouring a family-size box of Miniature Heroes for breakfast, cracking open the fourth bottle of Buck’s Fizz before 10am, or juggling the many, many social obligations of the season, I’m totally here for it. I had an absolute blast travelling across the South of England, getting obliterated by nerf guns (Sean’s nephews), Monopoly (Sean), and at cards (my dad). I loved the 10am lie-ins, the gift wrapping (and subsequent unwrapping), and the ambitious Boxing Day run around the park in the rain. It was the perfect mix of festive cheer, roast potatoes, and rounds of Articulate. In short, I got to experience everything that makes Christmas Christmas.
But now I’m tired.
Couple this with the unspoken pressure of new year resolutions and the looming return to work, and it’s the perfect melting pot to trigger an anxious spiral.
“Ok, the fun is over. Now it’s time to get serious, knuckle down, and start working on your #goals”
All of these things have led to a pretty lacklustre January 1st. The day where the world tells you to turn over a new leaf, change everything about yourself, and adopt all the new habits that will project you towards a life of unbound success and happiness.
Instead, I dragged myself out of bed sometime around 11am, pushed a ketchup-laden breakfast sandwich into my mouth, and tried to exorcise a week’s worth of alcohol on the turbo trainer. As the pedals turned, I found myself retreating further and further inside my own head, dangerous words like ‘should’ and ‘could’ ricocheting off the sides.
“You could have achieved more last year.” “You should be more organised.” “You should have a plan for this year by now.”
And then, that creeping dread: what if I have no idea what I’m aiming for? How do you hit a target when you can’t see the bullseye? What does success even look like, and why does everyone else seem to have it all figured out?
This isn’t a new feeling. In fact, it’s something I experience more often than I’d care to admit.
BUT. And it’s a good but.
I’ve been here before, and I know what I need to do to climb out of this type of hole.
Those thoughts and feelings - the ones that gnaw away at my confidence and cloud my perspective - aren’t me. They’re simply the byproduct of someone who’s been overstimulated and running on empty for too long. They’re the echoes of burnout, the signals of a mind that’s been overstretched, and a heart that’s given too much without saving enough for itself. They’re what happens when I pour all my energy into everything and everyone around me, leaving only scraps for myself. They’re the inevitable questions that bubble to the surface when I’ve lost touch with who I am and what I need to feel whole.
So, how do I fix it?
I need to go on an adventure. Alone.
Make no mistake, I absolutely love grabbing my backpack, saddlebag, or hydration vest and heading outside to explore with friends. I’ve also particularly loved the past year’s bike adventures with Sean. There’s a unique kind of joy that comes from experiencing the world with someone else - building memories as a team and finding camaraderie in the ups and downs of the journey.
But at the same time, there’s something different about venturing out alone. When it’s just you, the road, and the elements, the world feels both bigger and more intimate. Solo adventures strip away the noise, forcing you to rely entirely on yourself. They create a space where you can be wholly present, either immersed in your thoughts or blissfully free of them. It’s a different kind of connection - not just with the environment, but with yourself. Every decision, every turn, every challenge is yours alone to navigate, and that comes with a quiet sense of empowerment and freedom that’s hard to replicate in company.
Some of my favourite adventures have been solo, whether cycling to Wales and back one Easter bank holiday, or settling myself in Yorkshire for a week and exploring the local trails. As someone who expends a lot of energy socialising and just generally ‘existing’ in the busy modern world, it’s the perfect way for me to recharge my batteries.
Sure, heading out on your own can feel a little daunting. What if you get lost? What if the weather takes a turn for the worse? What if your bike decides to stage a dramatic breakdown that you can’t fix? These worries creep in easily, but let’s face it - any of these things can happen when you’re with company too. The difference is that with someone else by your side, the discomfort feels lighter. You share the challenges, you lean on each other, and together, you figure it out.
Now imagine finding that same sense of confidence when it’s just you. That’s the magic of solo adventuring. It’s an empowering realisation, knowing you can trust yourself. It’s one of the reasons I continue to make space for solo adventures, even though they would arguably be much less stressful with a friend in toe(!)
And fear aside, going it alone unlocks a world of opportunities and experiences that simply wouldn’t exist otherwise. One of my favourite memories from my first solo bikepacking trip in 2022 was pulling up outside a café in Worcester and spiralling into an internal panic over whether it was safe to leave my bike outside while I dashed in to order a coffee - not something you’d need to think about when travelling with others.
Without that (admittedly obvious) display of panic, I wouldn’t have ended up sharing lunch with Christine. Noticing my distress, she kindly invited me to join her and her friend at their table and even offered to keep an eye on my bike while I went inside to order - a heavenly gooey cheese toastie, if memory serves me right. We chatted about everything from bikes and the joys (and challenges) of traveling solo as a woman, to her exciting plans for an upcoming coast-to-coast cycling adventure with her husband. We still follow each other on Strava to this day and exchange the odd kudos here and there - an unlikely connection made possible simply by being alone.
Or the time when, on the verge of bonking and desperately in need of food, I skidded to a halt outside a church car park hosting what appeared to be the tail end of a weekend fête. My eyes locked onto a stall with two lone slices of cake sitting on an otherwise barren, crumb-dusted table. As I rested my bike against the wall and quickened my pace towards the stall, an elderly couple beat me to it. I held my breath as I watched the stall owner reach for a paper plate and move towards the remaining cake slices - my only hope of calories. But instead of scooping up both slices, he only took one. My heart was still thumping against the inside of my chest when the elderly woman in front turned to face me with kind eyes and a smile: “we’re going to share a slice so that there’s enough for all of us”. I could have cried.
Or my favourite memory of all, when I found myself stranded outside a cafe somewhere in the Cotswolds with a flat tyre and 160km left to cycle to make it back home. I’d successfully managed to change the tube on the side of the road, but my hand-pump let me down, practically falling apart in my hands. This wasn’t a scenario I had prepared for, and now I was in full problem-solving mode. All the nearby bike shops were closed (of course) because it was a Sunday, and a timid pop of the head into a car garage was met with nothing more than unhelpful sarcasm from the mechanics on duty. Thankfully, the sorry sight of me slumped against the wall with a dismantled pump, flat tyre, and 10kg of bike bags, was enough to pique the interest of Ross, who was in the midst of purchasing two whipped-cream-laden hot chocolates for his children after winning the local rubber duck race (who even knew this was a thing?!).
Ross took pity on me and invited me to his family home, just “20 steps around the corner”, to use the track pump in his garage. Once there, not only did he offer me the use of his pump, but his wife also made sure I was well taken care of, offering cups of tea and a generous supply of biscuits. The kindness of strangers knows no bounds, especially when you’re on your own.
These are just a few cherished moments in a sea of countless others. But hopefully they show that the world doesn’t have to be intimidating, and that adventuring solo can be a powerful way to not only connect with yourself, but also with others. It’s not about conquering some massive feat or proving your strength to the world - it’s about embracing the freedom to explore at your own pace, without expectations. It’s about experiencing the world in a new light, and rediscovering what makes you tick. It’s about embracing the kindness of others in the times you least expect it, but need it most.
In short: it’s the perfect way to fall in love with life again.
P.S if you’ve enjoyed my writing so far and think others might quite like it too, it would mean the world to me if you could spread the word 💜
In my last post of 2024, I talked about taking that first step, pushing past the doubts, fears, and “I’m not ready”s in order to just do the damn thing.
As with most of my writing, it was as much a pep talk for myself as anyone else. So now I’m taking my own advice.
Today, I’m taking a step that feels both exciting and nerve-wracking: I’m switching on paid subscriptions. This means that if you’ve found joy, comfort, or inspiration in my words, you can now choose to upgrade and support my writing with a small monthly contribution. Don’t worry - my posts will still be free to read for everyone. But for those who feel inclined to pitch in, it’s a way to help me keep doing what I love: telling stories, sharing adventures, and hopefully sparking something in you along the way.
So here’s to stepping out of comfort zones and taking the leap - one small action at a time. Thank you, as always, for being here.
I really admire you. I adore cycling adventures but tend to do safe organised ones usually with my husband. Id like to say I’m too old (65)but there’s a local woman i know who frequently turns up on Strava in all sorts of (usually European) countries and potters around from place to place, and she’s in her 70s!