It is hard to believe as I write this account of the last day, that it is over 18 months ago that I cycled 1700 kilometres down the River Murray.

Not only have I been distracted from this final chapter for an incredibly long time, but the memories of that epic ride are still strong, almost like it was yesterday that I rode the last couple of kilometres through Goolwa to my endpoint.

The day itself started with a sunrise to make an artist proud and it was not until I cycled up the short hill from the caravan park, that I got the first taste of what was ahead. Today’s last very short excursion had been imagined as a ride in the park, an easy morning, nothing to raise a sweat over. But the headwind that I encountered as I road west put an end to that notion.

Today was going to be tough. There was now a strong chance that I wouldn’t make it to my midday rendezvous with family and friends to celebrate the last couple of pedal strokes. In itself, the terrain was not the problem. Yes, there were a couple of hills closer to Goolwa that had me straining, but it was the wind that persisted the whole morning that was the real challenge.

Regular five-minute rest stops, a couple of energy bars and sheer determination saw me through and it was with high spirits that I finished this last short leg a few minutes after midday.

The single biggest surprise though, was the next day, when I didn’t have to rise early, pack up camp and get on the bike, that the enormity of my ride finally broke through the daily routine that I had previously developed.

I finally admitted that I had ridden a long way.

All the 80, 90 and 100 kilometre days had amounted to a real achievement.