What makes something an Adventure?
Four days in the Pyrenees reminded me that adventure has very little to do with where you are; more, where you go.
When is the right time for an adventure? Saying that - what even is an adventure? Are adventurers just fleeing? Or are they seeking the truth? Should I…?
I’ve gone round and round this over the past six months. How much should a restless soul stay still, feet on the earth, for some stability and stillness. And when should they go nurture their wandering spirit, in quest of a deeper sense of grounding and inner peace. It’s easy to think a stable platform is calming. That jostling about on the stormy seas is chaotic. But then… is it?
For my birthday I gifted myself an adventure (and a week off of Salted – thanks by the way!) Letting go has been the theme of 2026. So, earlier in July I’d reluctantly but eventually surrendered an old dream I had planned for the summer: to bike tour the ocean – ocean route along the Pyrenees. It just felt “too much”. Then, as things often do once you loosen your grip on them, it swung back around into my peripherals freshly reformed into a softer, much more appropriate and accessible idea. The fortnight became four days, and the mountain range traverse became a point to point “let’s see how it turns out”. In other words, I let go of the summit and was reminded of the first marker an adventurous spirit: an appreciation of the journey.
In realizing I needed a tent and other things comfort related because frankly, I’ve roughed it enough to know that sensible adventurers value sleep and see no correlation between voluntary misery and strength, I spent the best part of a week researching new equipment (favourite pastime; maybe you relate?) and decided the only sensible next step was to add on to the bike tour – a backpacking trip! To test the new gear of course. Project creep; the tendency for adventure scope to expand is a character flaw of mine – or just the great mark of a curious optimist (you decide).
On the morning of my 33rd birthday, I rolled over on my (new) blow up mattress, unzipped my (new) tent to dewy cloudy morning, realised I’d lost two toenails from the overly ambitious hike in (old) boots the day before and felt – for the first time in months and months, like I was exactly where I was meant to be.
Say ‘adventurer’ and obvious candidates come to mind. They’re usually on some sort of quest to achieve or discover or do something someone hasn’t done before. Find gold on a desert island, ski to the south pole, pogo jump across Australia (ok I made this one up but it’s an amusing idea, especially if they were dressed like a kangaroo). It’s ironic that these adventures are listed by their associated adventurer taglines because really, we the ‘greats’ are not characterised by the world record or the finish line, but by their story - the middle parts of the journey they didn’t see coming, the river they had to cross, their getting lost and treading a new path, the realisation that the treasure was in fact just fake gold coins after all that.
Sometimes adventurers don’t even complete their voyage. But does that make them less of adventurer, or it less of an adventure? No. Because the mark of genuine adventuring is not the outcome. The mark of an adventure is the unknown. An adventurer willingly sets sail into the void.
The escapade to get myself to the Pyrenees on a last-minute flight with minimal planning was the mess one would expect it to be with not enough foresight. The bike box was too small and tears were shed at 8pm the night before my 8am flight trying to squeeze it in. Eventually with a fully dismantled bike it worked. After landing in Toulouse, the train was delayed, and I arrived at my campsite in Tarascon-sur-Ariege just before dark a sweaty, hungry, overtired mess with no provisions and no plan.
The next morning my French camp neighbours watched me pack up my entire set up, squeeze it all into its associated dry bags, squidge them onto the bike frame hoiking the Velcro straps as tight as they would go, sit down to look at the map and then to realise that woah – I’m exhausted and I don’t think I can face a day on the saddle. Then they watched me unpack everything, re-pitch my tent, and head off for an unloaded spin around town.
“Is packing and repacking your bike every day part of your training?” The couple asked me earnestly in french the next morning, presumably wondering whether I was once again going to unpack and pitch my tent.
“Ha! No… I just realised I was exhausted and changed my plan.” I explained.
“Oh right. We understand.” They said, looking less confused.
Yes – sometimes even if you want the wind to blow in a certain direction, it just won’t. I rolled off, proud that morning of my willingness and readiness to listen to my self and accept the truth that I couldn’t hack a 3000ft climb on day 1. If slightly embrassed at how mad they must have assumed I was to think that was genuinely my plan. It did remind me how much easier it is to let go when you haven’t made a schedule, when you’re alone, and when you have no idea what you are really there for.
Should you go an adventure? Yes go! If your expectation is to experience and to be with the moment, whatever that moment might bring. Yes go! If you are looking for something new. Don’t hesitate! Even if you don’t know what you are looking for. That’s the point of a quest. Not the means to an end, but what you find along the way. Adventurers are seekers. And what I was reminded of after 200 miles and many horrifically long and steep mountain passes, together with looks from fellow carbon fibre and lycra clad serious cyclists that signalled a “that girl is mad” or “that girl is vintage” – I like to think a bit of both – is that ultimately the adventure is just a dreamscape - a playground – in which we venture on so that we can go deeper within and reconnect with parts of our self that maybe we lost.
I woke up this morning to journal.
“… maybe that’s why I needed to go on an adventure. To remember that there is wonder and awe and a beautiful world in the unknown. I’ve remembered what brings me joy. And that I don’t need much. I’ve remembered that I have strong legs. And that I can find the cheer to smile at people as they cycle past me whilst I’m 1.5 hours deep into a 7% gradient with a fully loaded bike. I like that part of me. And I’ve remembered that peace, in the end, is right there whenever you need it. And it doesn’t come from anywhere but you.”
That's why we go on adventures. And that’s what an adventurer is. Someone who is willing to head out into the unknown, return within and find the truth. You can do it at home or on a wild voyage - whichever helps you let go.
Fabulous writing
This was very encouraging to those contemplating adventures. We often ask ourselves when thinking about a trip (cruising, backpacking, etc, ) "If not now, when?" That has helped overcome the hesitation.