Where is home?

Having traveled for 2-3 months every year for the past few years and with an upcoming trip that will be much longer, I often think about the concept of home.

When traveling, my ‘home’ has been anywhere from hostels, tents, the streets and on rare occasions, a hotel to recover in.

Throughout all of these I have found that after a certain period of time, I crave a night in my own bed, a shower in my own shower; a sentiment that seems to be shared by a lot of long-term travelers I’ve met.

I used to think this was a craving for some sense of routine. Riding into LA after a few weeks on the road in the South West of America made me re-consider that.

Not all days ended dry and warm. Camping in the wet is part of the deal.

I had started my journey in LA by staying with a friend for a couple of days whom I had met in Peru years ago. George had been kind enough to invite me to his home where I was able to prepare for my ride.

Friendships formed at Machu Picchu

Having gotten back into LA late on a September evening after around 20000kms, I rolled down a main road in Orange, California and saw taco shops I knew pass by, I realised that perhaps it was not the sense of familiarity I craved.

What put me most at ease was knowing that tonight I wouldn’t be wondering where I was sleeping tonight or what I was eating. I knew I had a soft bed waiting for me and a proper meal I was going to be content with.

That was home.

A before and after in front of Georges home. Note the colour of the rear wheel