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There are thing in life that make me go, “Hmmmm”. One of these was September 2015, when I received an email from a charity that I never heard about. Wounded Warriors was going to Italy. They were retracing, by bicycle, the path my Grandad took in WWII. Italy was not a country that was ever spoken of fondly in our family. And of course, my Grandad came back, from his time there, a damaged person.

I knew that I had to sign up for this bike ride.

I had no idea what Italy had in store for me. I was not prepared for the steep climbs, the windy descents and the emotions. I could talk for hours about for hours about Ortona, Monte Cassino, my wipe out, but the most important story from Italy, was the day that I met my Grandad, the grandad that I never knew.

Day 3 or was it Day 4. The day had started with a long ascent, winding and relentless. It seemed unending and my attitude was not in a good place. I had a long conversation with Grandad while I rode. I apologized for being so defeated, after all he had done these hills in heavy wool clothing, often wet and always carrying a gun and his heavy kit. Meanwhile, I am on a leisure ride, light weight bike and someone else is moving my kit. And here I whined. I felt so defeated, such a failure.

Then a man rode up beside. He was a Veteran from the Afghanistan war. He had anger issues. His anger made me uncomfortable and I tried always to avoid him. But here is this man, that I had judged harshly and he slowed his pedal strokes and said, “You got this Susan, just keep pedalling.” He rode with me for a little bit and then moved on. Jason, came away from Afghanistan with many of the same burdens that my Grandad had come away from Italy. In meeting Jason, I met my Grandad.

Today, in 2023, I say, “I have grown up more on BBR than I have anywhere in my life.” I grew up a little that day, on that hill, with Jason & Grandad.