
Back on Baildon Moor.
Looking North from the hill, I could see a track which leads onto Rombald’s Moor, it’s one of my favourite places & where we walk our dog most evenings. Just down the hill from the track was our little house, where my wife & dog were waiting patiently for my return.
To my left on the moor, was the place where my Dad’s ashes were scattered, I wished that he could’ve been there to see what I’d done...
Looking South, back the way I’d come, brought a tear to my eyes. My mind visualised my route. Fourteen countries, mountains, valleys, flat plains, but most of all, the battlefields where millions died a century ago.
They were the reason why I did that long journey. It wasn’t my journey, it was theirs...
The tears were still in my eyes as I turned around and rode home.

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