Today I saw Jeremy, a top mate and fellow cyclist from that trip in June.
He showed me lots of pictures, including the spot I’d hit the road very hard.
The Tarmac was marked with a green cross.
It was chokingly emotional to see the place where one life ended and another fought for survival.
It suddenly dawned on me that I could remember early parts of the day. What for me my mind had filed as memories of a DIFFERENT trip, suddenly were revealed as THIS trip.
I remember taking an early morning swim, retrieving my bike from the locked van, and having breakfast on a sun bathed terrace.
I’d been convinced that all that happened the year before, in Spain. Now, in a flash they were the summer of 2013.
I’ve still not watched the video taken from my own bike’s camera of my actual crash. The camera sits in the corner of my kitchen, there every time I go home at the weekend.
Will it do me any good to watch it?
What would you do?