About two months ago I attended a farewell party of my friend’s family which had to leave the house they had lived in for most of their lives. Our friendship began 32 years ago when this young pair with a little baby moved into that house.

I had been playing the organ in the village church for 3 years already back then (having no idea it would once grow to 25), and this family took over the sexton duties, partly because the house they moved to belonged to the church. On my first visit in the old building, a former parish office, they offered me a watermelon, some music, and their friendship.

They would have four more children and raise them all in that old mansion. But when I say "old mansion", that's the result of their restoration: they were the first residents there after the communist era, and the communists had used the building as a civil defense warehouse; the yard was one impassable jungle, and the house itself was full of gas masks and the stink of perished rubber. They also built a community of people around the village – and sometimes my friends from the capital would join the activities, too, incl. my future wife. I liked these two young adults very much because they’d always took me as their equal, although I was a decade younger.

Two years ago the mayor of the village, all of a sudden, informed them that the municipality had bought the house they had been taking care of for three decades from the church.

The deal had been made without any of the two bargaining parties bothering to include the people who mattered the most: the residents, or to even offer to them to buy it first, which they were hoping for since forever. The church they had worked for selflessly for free over those three decades as the sextons (keeping the church clean, ventilated and decorated, organizing its reconstruction as well as the renewal of the organ with the help of my concerts and our beloved pastor back in the 00's whose personal contacts from exile provided the funds) sold the house they had rebuilt without a second thought – and the new owner gave them two years to find somewhere else to live.

…

The farewell party was wonderful. I met people I hadn’t seen for years. A teacher from my kids’ kindergarten; an old rowing coach I knew from my organist era; his former charge, a lady well in her seventies now; or a woman who, as a little girl, used to sing at “my” Christmas concerts (some of my fans know her voice from the long bonus track of the long sold-out Lofi Ambient Xmas cassette). I talked to the whole family, we hugged a lot, took Polaroid pictures, shared memories, and had some great conversations. One of the best ones was with the little baby from before, who’s now 32.

This eldest son of my friend told me about a special activity their wider family had been doing for a decade every July – a 5-day bicycle trip, every year somewhere else. And he invited me to join them this year. I was a bit tipsy so I said yes, thinking they’d forget about it anyway.

A week later I went to the local pub with my friend, this guy’s dad, to drink a few beers. He didn’t forget – on the contrary: he insisted I should join them.

Another week later he texted me that it’s about time to pay the deposit for the accommodation. “I’m not sure about my shape, nor the equipment,” I wrote back, having in mind the consequences of my scooter accident three summers ago, my fear of single-track vehicles since then, and the state of my old bicycle.

“Last week you proved your shape was perfect,” he wrote back, alluding to all the beers we had that night, right before the remaining family finally moved away, “and regarding the equipment, I’ll lend you my beer mug. You’re going.” And just like that, my close future got decided.

…

I had bought a good bike before our first kid was born, but I wouldn’t use it for the next 12 years, because it was incompatible with bike seats and tow bars. I bought an old, cheap, used one a decade+ ago and have been riding it occasionally since on a handful of short, slow family trips with the kids. That good bike thus spent the 12 years at my parents’ cottage, right above a damp cellar.

After I had the corroded bike serviced (and many parts replaced), I started training, afraid that the others would break away from me immediately. I soon realized that the terrain around the river Elbe was too flat. Elevation distance of 60 m versus the planned 1000+ m at the 5-day trip. So when our kids went to their “School in the nature” for a week, I took my bike to the Giant Mountains to train there.

It was hard at first. Not only the elevation of about 750 m was too much for me so I walked by the bike a lot in the beginning, but I worried often because of my experience on the scooter 3 years prior to that. It was exhausting, far from fun, and often dangerous. I had a puncture and a few accidents, too, fortunately in the woods with a softer bedrock, but still, I dreaded the 5 days long trip with – as I would find out later – 9 other guys.

…

Finally, the day would come. I went to my friend’s newly rented house, waited for the others, and we rode to Prague on bikes, to Moravia by train, and then we began our 5-day journey to Slovakia.

To my huge surprise it was just wonderful. Riding together with 9 other people was much more fun than worrying about my speed and pain and whatever, alone. The tempo was alright, the discussions refreshing, and the company perfect. Right from the beginning there was a feeling of camaraderie, togetherness, and belonging. We always waited for the last one (right at the beginning of the trip it was me, but the rest of the guys would experience it sooner or later, too) and we didn’t allow anyone to get lost or forgotten.

Suddenly I didn’t have to focus on all the discomfort – I began enjoying the beautiful landscape, all the fields, pastures and, especially later, the mountains. There were moments when it felt like nirvana on the road, and I felt closer to Kerouac than ever before.

All these guys are believers, and so we had a couple of philosophical debates about what is faith, how it is different for the elders of the family and for the “boys”, and how their opinions on some controversial topics (or the fact the roof over their heads, their home, got sold by the representatives of their church) had been changing over time – or stayed the same. It was illuminating, inspiring and interesting. Sometimes alarming, sometimes admirable, but always sincere, hearty, and forgiving.

On the last night we concluded our philosophical discussion at 4 in the morning. Three hours later most of the guys went to a service at the local church, and two younger ones, plus me, had a slow breakfast and talked some more. That partly spiritual topic would last during parts of the bike trip to the target city. From there we went back to Prague by train, and continued on bikes to our homes.

When I arrived at mine, I was exhausted, but happy. Not just because I survived something I had dreaded as dangerous, unnecessary, and silly in my physical shape. But also because I found new friends thanks to the trip, I got more knowledgeable in topics I hadn’t known that much about before, and I overcame myself and my insecurities. Also… I was the first non-family member invited to join their trip, and it was an honor, an obligation and a privilege to get “approved” as one of them. Because they are truly good people with admirable perspective on life.

But what made me happy the most was the realization that, like composing music, this trip gave me a total disengagement of my mind from all the work-related stuff, all my problems, all the intrusive thoughts. It was a five days long riding retreat and it worked like a charm. I could let go and enjoy my surroundings, and my fellow co-cyclists – fully, first time in a long time. It was a mystical experience for me in a way.

I didn’t want to forget the feeling, so I sat down and started composing a kind of reflection of those five days spent with genuinely nice, solidary, smart guys who were a joy to join not just riding, but talking to, listening to, and learning from.

The result was over 30 minutes of music unlike anything I had made before, music I thought would serve just to myself as both a reminder, and a kind of musical diary. But when I listened to it for the first time in its entirety, I felt it worked as an album. An album that could speak to other people, too…

So I would spend the next three nights and two days turning it into a proper album (and trying to write these liner notes which took more time and attempts than ever before). What you are hopefully enjoying right now is the final piece of work, inspired and influenced by my unexpectedly wonderful, beneficial and unforgettable bicycle trip.

I hope you like the music. Thank you for your support and have a great summer. Oh, and take your old bike for a ride, you might find the experience enjoyable – and if not, take someone with you – making connections between and with people is always meaningful and awesome.

Jan aka Binaural Space, July 14, 2023