Eventually Oliver set down his pencil.
“So you still think it’s stupid.”
“I think you’ve underestimated it.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Daniel rested his elbows on his knees.
“When I was your age, I used to think your grandmother could solve anything. If I broke something, she fixed it. If I was sick, she made soup. If I was frightened, she knew what to say.”
Oliver looked at him.
“She still does that.”
“Yes, she does.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
Daniel studied the carpet.
“Because now she’s the one who needs help, and I’m not very good at being unable to give it.”
Oliver considered this.
“Maybe we could both help.”
Daniel reached for the notebook again.
He opened it to the page headed LONDON TO NONNA.
“Maybe,” he said.
It was not permission.
But it was the first time his father had used the word.
Training began as an experiment.
Daniel had no intention of committing to the journey merely because he had agreed to examine the possibility. He told Claire that a few local rides might give Oliver a more realistic understanding of long-distance cycling.
Their first ride covered twenty-three kilometres.
Oliver complained before they had left London.
His legs were sore, his water bottle had leaked into his rucksack, and a headwind made the final stretch unpleasant. When they returned home, he abandoned his bicycle against the garden fence and lay on the grass.
Daniel stood above him.
“Still want to cycle to Sicily?”
Oliver closed his eyes.
“Not today.”
His father laughed.
The next morning, however, Oliver was at the breakfast table with the notebook open.
“We should go out again.”
“Your legs aren’t sore?”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps you should rest.”
“We could walk instead.”
Daniel poured coffee into his mug.
“You really don’t give up, do you?”
Oliver took this as encouragement.
Over the following weeks, they established a routine. They cycled on permitted routes when restrictions allowed, walked through nearby parks and quiet streets, and gradually increased the distance.
Claire insisted on practical safety measures: helmets, reflective clothing, proper hydration, and rest days. She checked Oliver’s shoes and noticed the beginnings of blisters on his heels.
“These won’t survive a long trip,” she said.
“They’re fine.”
“They’re too small.”
“I’ve only had them six months.”
“Your feet have continued growing during those six months.”
Oliver regarded this as an unreasonable design flaw in the human body.
Daniel began researching touring equipment. He spoke to experienced cyclists, studied ferry connections, and contacted travel advisers about the changing regulations.
He also began questioning whether the trip was something he wanted for the right reasons.
It was easy to admire his son’s determination. It was harder to separate that admiration from his own guilt about his mother.
One evening, after Oliver had gone to bed, he spread a map across the kitchen table.
Claire sat opposite him.
“You’re getting serious about this.”
“I’m looking at what’s involved.”
“You’ve been looking for three weeks.”
Daniel said nothing.
She traced the proposed route from northern France into Switzerland.
“Have you thought about what happens if he can’t finish?”
“We stop.”
“Where?”
“Wherever we need to.”
“And if he gets sick?”
“We find medical care.”
“In a foreign country during a pandemic?”
Daniel folded the map.
“I know there are risks.”
“Knowing isn’t the same as planning for them.”
“I am planning.”
Claire looked at him for several seconds.
“Are you doing this for Oliver or for yourself?”
He leaned back.
“That’s unfair.”
“Perhaps. But I’d still like an answer.”
Daniel studied the map again.
“I want to see my mother.”
“Of course you do.”
“I don’t know how many more Christmases she’ll have.”
Claire’s face softened.
“None of us knows that.”
“She’s ninety-three.”
“And Oliver is eleven.”
The distinction remained between them.
Claire reached across the table and took his hand.
“I love your mother, Daniel. I want Oliver to know her for as long as possible. But I won’t have him believing that if he just tries hard enough, he can keep everybody safe.”
Daniel nodded.
“He doesn’t believe that.”
“He’s eleven. He might.”
They sat quietly while the refrigerator hummed.
Eventually Claire said, “If we allow this, it needs to be a journey, not a test. He must be allowed to get tired, to complain, to change his mind. You can’t turn his love for your mother into something he has to prove.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Agreed.”
“And I want a complete plan. Insurance. Emergency contacts. Transport alternatives. Medical advice. Every border requirement checked before crossing. No improvising around restrictions.”
“Agreed.”
“Actual rest days.”
“Yes.”
“And if I say he’s too exhausted to continue, you listen.”
Daniel smiled.
“Are you coming?”
“Absolutely not. Somebody has to remain in this family with a functioning sense of self-preservation.”
She smiled back, but her hand remained firmly around his.
Three days later, Daniel called Teresa.
He waited until she had finished describing an argument with the pharmacist about a prescription that had been delivered to the wrong building.
Then he told her about Oliver’s idea.
For once, his mother did not interrupt.
“A bicycle?” she asked finally.
“Mostly. Some walking.”
“From London?”
“Yes.”
“To Palermo?”
“That’s the idea.”
“And you’re considering this?”
“Only if it’s legally possible and safe enough. We haven’t decided.”
Teresa was silent for several seconds.
Then she began laughing.
Not politely. Not gently.
She laughed until she had to set down the telephone.
Daniel waited.
“Mamma?”
“Oh, Daniel.”
“What?”
“You spent your entire childhood refusing to walk anywhere unless I promised you ice cream. And now your son wants to cross Europe on a bicycle.”
Daniel smiled.
“Apparently.”
“That boy takes after my father.”
“Your father?”
“He once walked thirty kilometres to return a borrowed hammer because he thought it was disgraceful to keep something that wasn’t his.”
“That sounds excessive.”
“He was an excessive man.”
Her laughter faded.
“Daniel, darling, you don’t have to do this.”
“I know.”
“I mean it. I miss you, but I am not sitting here counting the days until someone rescues me.”
“That’s not what we think.”
“Then tell Oliver I am proud of him, whether he comes or not.”
Daniel looked down at the route.
“I’ll tell him.”
“And don’t bring him here if the journey puts him in danger.”
“I won’t.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
That promise would become more complicated than either of them anticipated.
As the summer approached, travel restrictions began changing across parts of Europe. The news was encouraging, but the arrangements remained uncertain.
Daniel made enquiries about border rules, accommodation, insurance, and permissible routes. Some possibilities closed almost as soon as they opened. Others depended on their citizenship, country of departure, recent travel history, or local health requirements.
He abandoned several proposed dates.
Oliver learned that official guidance could be both precise and maddeningly temporary. A route that appeared possible on Tuesday might require reconsideration by Friday.
They agreed on one principle: they would not cross a border or ignore an isolation requirement simply to keep to a schedule.
Claire insisted that the plan include ways to return home at short notice. Daniel saved emergency telephone numbers and details of hospitals along the route. He arranged to take an extended leave from work, combining holiday entitlement with unpaid time. The decision meant postponing a home renovation they had been saving for.
When he explained this to Oliver, his son looked uncomfortable.
“Is it going to cost loads?”
“More than staying home.”
“How much?”
Daniel gave him a rough estimate.
Oliver stared.
“That’s nearly enough for a car.”
“A rather old car.”
“We could use the car, then.”
Daniel laughed.
“You’ve finally found the flaw in your plan.”
Oliver considered the matter.
“But we already have bikes.”
“Yes.”
“And Nonna will think it’s funny.”
“She certainly will.”
That evening, Oliver emptied a tin of coins onto his bedroom floor. He counted his birthday money, savings from Christmas, and a small amount he had earned washing the neighbours’ car the previous summer.
He took the money downstairs.
Daniel was at the table sorting travel documents.
“What’s this?”
“My savings.”
“Why?”
“For the trip.”
Daniel examined the pile of notes and coins.
“Oliver, you don’t need to pay for this.”
“I know. But some of it’s mine.”
His father looked at him for a long moment.
“Keep enough for yourself.”
Oliver pushed the money closer.
“I’ve got everything I need.”
Daniel was about to disagree when he saw the boy’s expression.
This was not a child offering money because he understood the family’s finances. He wanted a part in the undertaking that could not be dismissed as childish enthusiasm.
Daniel counted out a modest contribution and returned the rest.
“We’ll use this for something important,” he said.
“Like what?”
“Food.”
“That’s not important. That’s boring.”
“Believe me, after sixty kilometres, food becomes very interesting.”
Oliver accepted the arrangement.
The following day they visited a bicycle shop.
The mechanic, a woman named Ruth, inspected Oliver’s bicycle and gave Daniel a frank assessment of its limitations.
“Good enough for school runs. Not what I’d choose for a tour of Europe.”
Oliver looked offended on the bicycle’s behalf.
Ruth explained why they needed suitable gearing, reliable brakes, puncture-resistant tyres, and a position Oliver could maintain for hours without pain. She examined his reach to the handlebars and advised against buying an oversized bicycle on the assumption that he would grow into it.
“He’s going to grow,” Daniel said.
“Then he’ll need a different bike later. His knees don’t care about your budget.”
Oliver liked her immediately.
Before they left, Ruth showed him how to repair a puncture.
He struggled with the tyre lever, pinched his thumb, and had to begin again. She made him complete the repair without taking over.
“There,” she said when he finally inflated the tyre. “Now if your dad gets a puncture, you can charge him.”
Oliver grinned.
At home, he practised until he could remove a wheel and replace an inner tube without assistance.
He discovered that preparing for a long journey involved much more than imagining where it would end.
