Maybe I should renamed this trip sortie xiv. But then again, I am not NASA, nor am I superstious in any shape or form. It’s Friday and the weather is lovely. A couple of clouds are decorating the horizon. My destination today is Luton airport, located north-west of London. I am using public transport to get myself out in the vicinity of the waypoints that I am visiting today. From London Euston it is a short train ride to Hemel Hempstead. You could be thinking that I am ‘cheating’ by using any form of motorised transport. I see it more like shifting my base around. I am still finding the waypoints on bike.

Today I am tired and physical exhausted and not in any mood to make any trip. I miss to have someone around me. Not so much to talk to, but rather someone to cycle next to. That would have made such a difference for my project. The trips would have been far better paced – but it was not to be.

My deadline for London Polygon is looming over my head and I really have no choice. Once on the road I move along quietly, battling every little hill and enjoying every ride down. The roads out here are long and thin. I encounter a group of cyclists. Smiles, nods and cheers are quickly exchanged. I am in the countryside again. Fields stretch as far as I can see.

At the side of a road the Fudgeclub resides. They charge £8 if you get there after 1am. There are no busses around. No trains. No helicopter platform. They host have a special ‘Will & Grace’ night. Peculiar to say the least and you can come dressed as your favourite character. We are outside Hemel Hempstead, what’s going on?

The cars here pass me uncomfortably, often waiting behind me for miles before overtaking, as if I have the width of a 10 tonnes truck. It is one of the most annoying things as a bicyclist: Cars that don’t know how to overtake you. Sometimes I even wave them around me. Then there are those cars that almost touch you as they zip past at great speed. But the big trucks, yeah, those I like a lot. When they pass, they almost lift you along in their wake. From Hemel Hempstead I am circling around, getting lost.

I am fed up with cycling here. The GPS is telling me that I still have miles to go and roadwork leaves me temporarily stranded, circling the same roads for half an hour trying to find a way around. In St. Albans I find my last waypoint, half way down the driveway of an old retired windmill. I stop for a couple of minutes and wonder whether I should have a look around. I decide not to. I’ve had enough.