The Ride I Didn’t Finish

adam jacobs
Sep 9
3 min read

When Uncertainty Becomes Routine

By the time I reached the base of Mount Kenya, I was approaching 1 year on the road.

I’d walked along coastlines, taken detours unexpectedly and experienced the highest highs and the lowest of lows of my journey. The ride had already changed me so much, it had almost become a moving meditation and a routine carved by the whistle of my tires through African dust.

The funny thing is that even with an adventure this unpredictable and uncertain comes a routine. Uncertainty becomes normality. And, in that “rhythm” it is easy to lose the edge and become content with the comfort, that is just human nature.

A Spontaneous Challenge

I needed a change — a jolt of energy. So as I approached the town of Meru, nestled at the foothills of Mount Kenya, I made a spontaneous decision: to attempt a full circumnavigation of the mountain in one continuous push.

From Frustration to Acceptance

I rested for a few days, gathering my strength and preparing myself mentally. A few local cyclists, who had done it in the past, offered to join, and we set our departure time for 1 a.m. The night before, I couldn’t sleep — I just lay there, wide awake, contemplating whether this was a good idea at all.

From the beginning, things felt off. My legs were heavy almost immediately. 20km in and they were already toast — but I kept moving, committed to giving it my best shot.

210km I pulled the plug and called it a day while the other guys, determined, carried on. I stood on the side of the road - I was frustrated, I felt defeated and angry about “failing.” I tried to hitch a ride, still clinging onto my adventurous spirit, but no one stopped. That made me even more angry. I was angry because, to me, it seemed no one cared or understood what I had just attempted. I had been riding since 1pm and no one cared.

And then I laughed. I flagged down the next bus and paid my dues to get me home.

I felt a strange but profound sense of acceptance — like taking a deep breath of fresh air after holding it for too long. The bitterness and frustration suddenly morphed into a deep release. And with it came a sudden surge of energy, not physically but mentally, as if that acceptance had cleared space for something new. Maybe I was just realising I was rather hungry.

A Conversation in the Desert

I couldn’t quite put my finger on the pulse at the time — not until a few days later, while

riding through the vast arid landscapes of northern Kenya. One of my longest days on the saddle, 122km from Marsabit to Turbi. 116km in, a man stepped into the road. He was a herder, in his 30’s and curious. We chatted, wrapped in the silence of a space that looked endless as far as the eye could see, for me. For him it was the complete opposite. It was limiting and extremely restrictive.

What struck me so much was the stark contrast between scale and possibility. His world, though wide open in my eyes, was boxed in by reality. Opportunities were few and to him, possibilities next to none. Yet, he showed up everyday. Not for glory, fame or goals but because that is what life demanded. And within his reality he felt like he was failing.

That feeling I felt after my ride hit me like a truck and I realised a few things. The importance of simply showing up. Showing up for no one else but yourself. To stay curious and to always challenge our definition of “success.” And lastly, to always question what the hell it means to be alive.

Things don't always go as planned, sometimes we fail and that is fine. Failure is merely proof that you tried, that you were willing to push a little harder and venture into uncertainty - that alone is commendable.

We all need to challenge ourselves every now and then. Whether it’s your first 5k run,

learning to play an instrument, cycling around a massive mountain, or absolutely anything out of your routine. Forget about what you will “gain”, what others will think and just give it a go.