Faced with the option of either having a severe disability for the rest of their lives, or facing a firing squad, it is a fair bet that most able-bodied people would probably chose the firing squad. The finality of this choice is often brought about by fear: a fear of surrendering autonomy and being dependent on others.
Over the last 11 years, I have heard time and time again many people say they admire the way I cope with my situation. I suspect that many of these people are harboring a dread of finding themselves in a situation that they thought they would only have to contemplate in very old age.
Like many severely disabled people, whether they are blind, or in a wheelchair, or disfigured, or whatever, I have had to become accustomed to losing a large degree of independence. Because of my situation, I cannot survive without someone to act as my arms and legs for most waking hours.
But this ride is a good (if somewhat extreme) example of how having others around can result in something of benefit, and something which truly enhances my life.
Day 9 was the 25 mile leg east of Dunbar. We made it to Ayton before packing up and driving onto our hotel. It had threatened to rain all day and had finally started. The hectic schedule of media interviews and meetings with dignitaries has abated since leaving Edinburgh. We’re now passing through one of the quietest corners of the UK.
This sleepy nature continued on day 10 of the ride. This was a 24 mile leg that took us into England (here’s a photo of Justine at the border) and along spectacular clifftops south of Berwick.
At this stage on the ride south as we entered the northeast, rather than journalists, photographers and people of note, all we could really muster up in terms of interest from locals were a few inquisitive glances from sheep.
