Across Europe, Día por Día
THE START
One bicycle. Thousands of miles. A journey back to living.
On June 12, 2026, I set off from Grense Jakobselv, a remote area in northern Norway, with my bicycle, everything I needed to survive on the road, and six months' worth of ostomy supplies.
My destination was Cabo de São Vicente, on the southwestern coast of Portugal, thousands of miles away.
Originally, I planned to follow the European Divide Trail, one of the longest bikepacking routes in the world. But as the days turned into weeks, something began to change.
I realized that what I was searching for wasn't necessarily found along a predetermined route.
It was found in the people I met, the conversations I had, the places I hadn't planned to visit, and the moments when I allowed myself to be fully present.
So I began creating my own path.
What started as a bicycle expedition across Europe became something much more personal. A journey of rediscovering who I was after years of illness, learning to live with an ostomy, and understanding what it truly means to make the most of the life we have.
I started this journey hoping to inspire others. Somewhere along the way, I realized I was still learning how to live again myself.
And perhaps that was the most important part of the journey.
One day at a time. Día por Día.
Finding My Own Path
Somewhere along the road, the journey began to change.
When I left Norway, I had a route planned. The European Divide Trail would take me thousands of miles across the continent, from the Arctic wilderness to the southern coast of Portugal.
For a while, having a line to follow gave me a sense of direction. Each day had a destination, each turn had a purpose, and every mile brought me closer to the finish.
But as the weeks passed, I began to question what I was really searching for.
I had started this journey wanting to meet people, listen to their stories, and share the ways we overcome life's challenges. Yet I began to realize that some of the most meaningful experiences were happening when I stepped away from the plan.
An unexpected conversation, a spontaneous detour, an invitation from a stranger, or a place I hadn't even known existed. These moments reminded me why I had set out in the first place.
I began to understand that I didn't need to follow someone else's route to find what I was looking for.
So I started creating my own.
I followed rivers through Germany and France, made an unexpected detour into the Swiss Alps, crossed the Pyrenees, and joined pilgrims from around the world on the Camino de Santiago. Eventually, the road led me south along the Atlantic coast of Portugal.
There were days when I covered incredible distances and others when I barely moved at all. I began giving myself permission to slow down, change direction, and spend more time with the people I met.
For so long, illness had taken away my ability to choose what each day might look like. Now, for the first time in years, I was learning to embrace that freedom again.
What began as an attempt to cross Europe along a predetermined route became something far more meaningful.
I wasn't simply trying to reach the other side of a continent anymore.
I was learning to trust myself, embrace uncertainty, and discover that sometimes the most beautiful parts of life are the ones we never could have planned.
The destination remained the same. But the journey became my own.
The People Along the Way
Thousands of miles, countless encounters, and connections that will last a lifetime.
When I first dreamed of this journey, I imagined the places I would see. The vast wilderness of northern Scandinavia, the mountains of the Alps, the small villages of Europe, and the Atlantic coastline of Portugal.
But looking back, it isn't necessarily the landscapes that stand out the most. It's the people.
Some were strangers who offered a place to sleep, shared a meal, or stopped to ask where I was going. Others became friends with whom I spent hours, days, or even weeks. People from different countries, cultures, backgrounds, and walks of life, each carrying their own story.
I set out hoping to learn how others had navigated the challenges in their lives. I wanted to understand what helped them move forward when things became difficult, what gave them hope, and how their experiences had shaped the people they were becoming.
But somewhere along the way, I realized that meaningful connection isn't always about asking the right questions or capturing someone's story on camera.
Sometimes it's simply about being present.
Listening without an agenda. Sharing a laugh despite a language barrier. Sitting around a table with people who were strangers just hours before.
This became especially clear during my time on the Camino de Santiago. Although thousands of people walk or cycle the Camino for different reasons, we were all moving toward a common destination. Along the way, our paths would cross, separate, and sometimes come together again.
Arriving in Santiago de Compostela was special, but what made it unforgettable was seeing familiar faces again. People I had met days or weeks earlier, each having experienced their own journey, now reunited in the same place.
It reminded me that while our experiences may be different, so much of what makes us human is shared.
We all experience uncertainty, loss, joy, fear, love, and change. We all have moments when we need someone to lean on, and moments when we have the opportunity to be that person for someone else.
I began this journey believing I had a story worth sharing. Along the way, I discovered that everyone does.
And perhaps one of the greatest gifts of traveling slowly, one day at a time, is having the opportunity to listen.
The miles carried me across Europe. The people made the journey meaningful.
The Road Ahead
The end of one journey. The beginning of something greater.
As I make my way toward Cabo de São Vicente, on the southwestern coast of Portugal, I've found myself thinking more and more about what comes next.
For months, my life has been remarkably simple. Wake up, pack my belongings onto my bicycle, and see where the day takes me. Some days are filled with challenges, others with unexpected beauty, and many with a little bit of both.
But every day has given me something.
When I began this journey, I thought reaching the finish line would be the greatest accomplishment. After years of illness, simply being able to ride a bicycle across Europe felt like something worth celebrating.
And it is.
But somewhere along the way, my understanding of what this journey meant began to change.
I realized that the greatest thing I would take home wasn't the distance traveled, the countries crossed, or even the physical strength I had regained.
It was a new perspective on life.
For years, I had been waiting to get better. Waiting for the next treatment to work, for the pain to stop, for my body to give me permission to live again.
This journey taught me that life doesn't always wait for us to feel ready. There will always be uncertainty, challenges, and circumstances beyond our control. But even in the middle of those things, there is still life to be lived.
I don't know exactly what comes next, and for once, I'm comfortable with that.
What I do know is that I want to continue sharing stories, creating opportunities for people to experience adventure, and building connections that remind us how much we have in common.
I hope Project Día por Día grows beyond this bicycle expedition into something that encourages people to step outside their comfort zones, connect with others, and make the most of the life they have.
Because the message I set out to share has only become stronger with every mile.
We don't need perfect circumstances to begin living. We don't need to have everything figured out. And we certainly don't need to wait for some distant finish line to appreciate where we are today.
The end of this journey doesn't mean the end of the adventure.
It simply means a new chapter is beginning.
One day at a time.
Día por Día.