Częstochowa to Radomsko, Poland. July 23.
I arrived Częstochowa in decent spirits. Not quite to the point that I went sightseeing - there seemed to be no sights in this industry town anyhow - but at least I was amused by the weirdness of my accommodation. It was similar to a hostel in the way rooms were shared, only in standard beds rather than bunks. There were stove plates to use but no cooking equipment, that people brought themselves. When I say people I refer exclusively to polish men, most middle-aged. If it wasn't for the fact that I saw no trucks around, I would have guessed they were truckers. Apart from the necessary pit stop on a long cycling journey, I could see no real point in visiting this location. Yet, it seemed a popular spot as most beds were filled in what looked like a school building repurposed to makeshift barracks.
While my mental health had stabilised a smidge I was physically fragile. Over the course of the long journey I had never been properly sick, but somehow I had felt underlying infections being suppressed by a body that wouldn't allow weakness while on mission. Once reason flew out the door, though, the body went into a rage that completely dropped the guard. In short, I was about to get sick, and it was a long time coming. However, Cheerful as the truckers-in-all-but-profession seemed, I had no intention of staying. Two pills of paracetamol and slow cycling would have to do. Thankfully the temperatures were down to those of normal summer weather by Swedish standards, so I should be fine. At least, so I thought.
Once I got going on the road, stabbing pains emerged in my stomach. Light at first with pauses, but for each they it grew worse. Southwest of Radomsko, on a little path right beside highway E75, I had to stop at the edge of the forest. With my towel as a sleeping mat I lay down on the ground. To the sound of the roaring motorway I would lay there, only to rise when emergency cascades flowed upwards or downwards through my system.
At this lowest of lows, I phoned my parents. They had some useful tips and helped trying to figure out what wad happened to my gut, but mostly I just needed someone from my known world to be there with me. Despite that I have a lovely family, from which I am often far away, I rarely miss them in an active way. Perhaps I take them for granted, that they will be there when I need them. They have always been, and they were now. For the first time since I can remember, ever, I was about to tell parents how much I missed them, but I only got halfway before the voice broke off and I fell into tears.
After four hours on the ground, I called for an ambulance. There had been no significant change neither to the better or worse and I was by no means dying, but I could not move from there with my stomach in uproar. On the phone they had said the ambulance was on its way, but one hour later when I was found by a few local guys in a car, there still were no medics in sight. The boys were kind and helpful, called again to check on the ambulance and then waited with me until it arrived two full hours after it was first asked for.
The medics could provide some supplies and medicine. It was unclear whether it was food poisoning or gall stone that had caused my troubles, but the medication would stabilise the tummy either way. Unfortunately, they were not allowed to bring my bicycle, and they could only take me to a hospital or not at all. Leaving the bike overnight to find later would mean a task and a risk that I simply couldn't take on. In the end, after more than six hours on the ground with vomits and diarrhea, I had to get back up on the bike and cycle eight kilometres to the closest hotel.
In most ways, this was the worst day from Baghdad to Stockholm, and the only time with any real threat to my physical safety. While laying there alone with blistering pain for hours on end, I felt incredibly lonely and weak. I was already in a bad spot emotionally, and the fact that my biggest supporter throughout the adventure was now gone made me very sad.
Still, in an ironic kind of way, life was made easier. There was a tangible threat, which mentally was more simple to handle than my illusionary ones. And though my body felt terrible, I could at least feel good about feeling bad for myself. Somehow, it was much easier to accept weakness and pain from a bad tummy than it was from a broken heart.
When I slowly cycled on in the setting sun the body was emptied and thus weakened, but the mind was emptied and thereby strengthened. The day had been a test, and I passed it. It was not graceful nor without help, but I came through to the other side. I could feel my resolve to finish the quest coming back to me. As I peered into the gardens in the neighbourhoods at the edge of Radomsko town, watching polish kids play in the summer evening, I even felt the hint of a smile setting on my face. A small step, and yet a giant leap, on a long road home.