Trying to stay sane

Had the sky not fallen around us a few months ago and changed, well, everything, I’d be in Slovakia now, something like 3,000 km into my bike trip. I don’t think so often about where I’d be anymore; I quickly accepted the fate of my plan, and dreaming about “where I’d be if…” is like psychological cocaine – feels great in the moment, but the come-down is a bitch (note: honestly not speaking from experience, haha). I processed the crushing of my dreams pretty quickly, really. Spent virtually no time in denial; threw a few f-bombs the universe’s way to get the anger out of my system; had no one and no god to bargain with (side note: does this seem like something a benevolent god would do? what part of his plan would this be?); cycled myself most of the way through the depression; and thereafter arrived at acceptance. Admittedly, acceptance has not come at the complete exclusion of depression. But mostly.

Interesting sidebar: apparently, there’s no empirical evidence to support that classic 5-stages of grief thing. Originally, it was applied to terminally-ill patients in their journeys to accept their fates, not those who were grieving for lost loved-ones. Only later was the model incorrectly co-opted for the latter group. The more you know, eh?

Anyway. The bike trip was off, indefinitely. But what about the trip back to the US for July? On? Off? Can I? Can’t I? Quarantine? Getting back into Germany? So many questions and so much uncertainty. Eventually, I realized I would probably have a breakdown if I didn’t commit one way or the other. To go from being so close to having a long and glorious break to suddenly not knowing if a break would ever come was not awesome. So about two weeks ago, I decided come hell or high-water I would proceed with my US plans. Plus, I mean, it’s the land of freedom fries, can’t nobody tell me what I can or cain’t do!!! Orrrr…it’s America, currently the land of conflicting messages, no leadership, and zero central guidance – the cracks to slip through are massive!

Rather than try to predict what consequences I’d face, I simply accepted that if there are consequences to face, I will face them. Of course, I’m terrified of the consequence that I infect someone. Terrified. I am willing to deal with a quarantine in the US or in Germany upon my return, as it would be an inconvenience to me. Dealing with affecting someone else is something I would struggle with.

But…see the paragraph above. I needed to commit, and skipping seeing my family, friends, and cousin’s wedding in favor of playing it safe and spending a month in a hut in Brandenburg just didn’t seem like an option.

Plus, everything was going well. Case numbers coming down. Berlin almost back to normal with no spike in cases. Borders in Europe opening up. My friends in Italy celebrating a modicum of regained freedom. Hotspots in the US seeing case levels decline. Cause for optimism…surely my trip to the US would be great, and could the door be opening again for my bike trip in August?

Rabies and reality

I used to say “If you keep your expectations low, you’ll never be disappointed.” Should have stuck with that philosophy. Recently, as I was getting my final rabies shot to protect me from angry feral dogs during a hypothetical trip into the backwaters of Eastern Europe, the nurse asked me about said trip. I told her the original time plan and admitted that I was getting more and more hopeful for the new schedule in August & September. Well, turns out she’s from Macedonia, the country I would enter on literally my first day of cycling. Literally literally, not figuratively literally. Her report was not glowing. Though they’ve opened the borders, they haven’t abolished the quarantines. If I entered and tested positive, I’d even be quarantined at the border at the cost of 30EUR per day. Test negative, then quarantine wherever you want, but quarantine you must. Then leaving Macedonia and getting into Serbia, well, also theoretically possible, but apparently not probable, as my nurse said the border guards are subject to send you away with no justification.

Well, shit. Talk about a total gut punch. I’d regulated (read: crushed/suppressed/ignored) my expectations so well for 3-4 months, then let a sliver of hope in, only for it to be immediately dashed. Silly American optimism.

Though she did say something interesting: if the border guards think there’s a good reason (or 50, or 100) that you should be let into and out of their countries, they’ll probably let you through.

Coming soon: how I bribed and biked my way through Eastern Europe during the corona crisis  😉