The final day in Cambodia was one I didn’t want to miss. After cycling every day apart from one, I found myself wrestling with my body all night, fighting off a flu bug. As morning broke, the thought of staying in bed was tempting, but I couldn’t let go of the chance to experience what I knew would be one of the best days. The plan was to leave at 7:30am, ride to Angkor Wat, and cycle through the surrounding temples before returning to the hotel.
Fuelled by a strong coffee and a cocktail of meds from a local pharmacy, I managed to get myself on the bike. And thank God I did. It was a day that reminded me why I push through the tough moments. We found ourselves cycling through forest tracks and weaving between ancient temples with the morning light filtering through the trees.
As the rhythm of the ride took over, I felt my cycling legs return. With a huge smile on my face, I weaved between the trees, feeling truly alive in a way that’s hard to put into words. There’s something about the simplicity of being on a bike, surrounded by history and nature, that grounds you while also lifting you up.
By the end of the day, my body was spent. Exhaustion tugged at me, and I could have easily collapsed into bed. But this was our last evening in Cambodia, a chance to reflect and celebrate an incredible week. At our sending-off dinner, surrounded by friends new and old, I felt a sense of pride for what we had achieved together. Out of the entire week of cycling, I had only missed one day, a small victory given the challenges my body often throws at me and especially given the last few months.
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Now, as I sit writing this column from London, nursing both jet lag and the remnants of the flu, my body is thanking me for finally giving it the rest it needs. The journey home was its own adventure, a full day of traveling that began at 7am in Cambodia. From there, it was a flight to Singapore, a stop in Hong Kong, and an overnight flight back to London. By the time I landed at Heathrow, it was 5am, and the familiar worry set in: Would wheelchair assistance be there?
Heathrow is the only airport in the world where I consistently face issues with assistance, and after a long travel day, I wasn’t in the mood to wait.
True to form, no staff or wheelchair was in sight, and I was asked to sit and wait. Last time, that wait stretched over an hour. Frustrated but determined, I decided to try walking, a decision I soon regretted. Thankfully I got lucky. There, parked like shopping trolleys, was a line of unattended wheelchairs. No staff, just the chairs. Chris stepped in to help, and with him pushing, we made it to baggage claim. It wasn’t the smoothest ending to the journey, but it got the job done.
A short Uber ride later, I was home, finally giving my body the chance to recover and heal. As I sit here reflecting on the week, I’m grateful for the experience in Cambodia, for the resilience it took to cycle that final day, and for the moments of connection shared along the way. Now it’s time to recharge, to let my body rest, and to prepare for the next adventure in the French Alps.
