On August 1st, I got on my bike, an Orbea Terra, kissed my girlfriend goodbye, and cycled into the unknown from the comfort of my home in Groesbeek, the Netherlands.

For the first time in my life, I set out on a one-month cycling trip with 0% planning and 100% adventure.

There was no goal, no destination, and no itinerary.

I called it the Non-Plan Plan.

All I had was luck, intuition, and destiny to guide me along the way.

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My improvised route

There was no predefined route for this trip. Each day, for 30 days, I woke up—sometimes in a forest, other times in the home of a kind stranger who had generously hosted me—packed my belongings, and pedaled into the unknown.

While I didn’t track my route with GPS, I later retraced it using bikemap.net, estimating a total elevation gain of over 50,000 meters.

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The rules for this trip

These trips are pivotal chapters in my life—opportunities to connect with source energy, deepen self-understanding, and enjoy the journey.

There’s a unique joy I can’t fully explain in just pedaling away. This cycling trip, however, was unlike any I’d done before. I imposed three self-defined rules to guide the adventure:

1. Nothing planned. No predefined route, no bookings, no reservations. Everything would be left to chance and destiny.
2. 30-day limit. I would leave my home in the Netherlands on August 1st and be back by Monday, September 2nd.
3. No hotels. I had never wild camped in Europe, and I wanted to challenge myself to do so as much as possible. Paid campsites in my mind were allowed but only without reservations—if they had space, great; if not, no problem. I'd smile, embrace the situation, and enjoy the wonders of wild camping in a random forest.

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The 4 things I learned

August 18. I woke up in Lupiac, France, at the home of Lucie and Niels, a young couple with two wonderful children and a stunning house overlooking rolling hills in every direction.

Standing at their terrace on a sunny morning, I admired the beauty of their garden and the hills beyond. Lucie joined me, and as if reading my thoughts about when I should pedal away, she said with heartfelt conviction, “Diego, you can stay here again tonight.”

Just 24 hours earlier, Lucie and her lovely family had been complete strangers.

They had invited me to stay at their home after seeing me on the side of the road repairing a flat tire—under in the pouring rain.

Note to self: Diego, the most memorable things in life happen when you get a flat tire.

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This trip changed my life. Here the 4 things I learned.

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1. We crave certainty

I began my trip heading south, chasing good weather. Crossing the border into Germany near Roermond, I cycled for two days through Germany, reaching Saarbrücken before continuing into France.

By the time I arrived in Basel, Switzerland, I left my next move to chance.

I flipped a one-euro coin: heads, I’d go south; tails, east. The coin landed heads, so I pedaled south, crossing the Jura Mountains into Switzerland.

This was the first cycling trip where every decision—where to ride, where to sleep, where to eat—was entirely unplanned.

The freedom of having no route gave me the time to stop whenever I wanted, have long conversations with strangers, and ride at my own pace. But it also came with unexpected challenges. Without a set plan, I had no external structure to push me forward—it was entirely on me to stay motivated.

A plan gives us direction and focus—something I came to appreciate on this trip.

While I loved the spontaneity, I might go for a more traditional cycling tour next time, if only to benefit from the extra kick in the ass that a predefined route provides.

Or perhaps I’ll embark on The Non-Plan Plan: Volume 2. I’ll probably leave that decision to a coin toss.

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2. Hope is a muscle

I slept in some of the most random places imaginable—from a small cave in Germany between Kordel and Trier to pitching my tent like a homeless in the city park in Paredes, Portugal.

Each day followed a ritual: wake up, pack my tent, load everything onto my bike, and decide how far I wanted to cycle. Then I’d see what towns or cities I could realistically reach by nightfall.

At first, not knowing where I’d sleep was unsettling. There were moments when I was tempted to book a hotel or call a campsite to secure a spot, but those options were against the rules of this trip—The Non-Plan Plan.

Letting go of the need for certainty forced me to lean on hope and faith. I began treating these qualities like muscles—parts of my spirit I could train and strengthen.

When you’re sleeping in a city park, your worst fears can creep into your mind and body. You can either let them take over or choose to trust that things will work out.

The latter requires energy and conviction, but over time, it becomes second nature.

By the end of the trip, I was deeply convinced: hope isn’t just a feeling—it’s a muscle, and with practice, it grows stronger.

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3. I love France

Every country I cycled through offered me encounters with kind and generous people.

In Switzerland, for example, Jean-Marc and his son Jonathan welcomed me into their home, treating a complete stranger as if I were family.

Yet, something about France left an indelible mark on me.

Maybe it was the 1,500 km I cycled through the country, but every single day, in every single village, I encountered warmth, kindness, and compassion. It felt surreal—a simple stop at a farmhouse to ask for water would turn into an invitation to join a family BBQ.

Throughout my life, I’ve heard the stereotype that “French people aren’t nice.”

If you’ve ever believed that, let me set the record straight: it’s complete nonsense.

If you’re French and someone throws that cliché your way, send them to me—I’ll gladly deal with them.

France, thank you. I can’t wait to pedal through your beautiful rolling hills again, devour croissants the size of my face, and experience, once more, the immense generosity of your people.

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4. It's easier than it sounds

This trip had its fair share of challenges. I faced two significant mechanical issues, one of them quite critical. I was often hungry, tired, and, at times, wet and freezing.

Yet, despite the physical and mental obstacles, I found myself in a state of flow—completely connected to source energy and filled with a profound sense of happiness.

It took me about 500 km to reach that flow state, but once I got there, I felt unstoppable.

The uncertainty of where I’d sleep each night became second nature, eating whatever I could find turned into a fun challenge, and meeting new people every day became an incredible gift.

Cycling 3,601 km in 30 days might sound hard, and it’s probably not everyone’s idea of a perfect holiday. But for me, it's pure bliss—a high unlike anything else.

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Conclusion

This one-month cycling journey was more than just an adventure—it was a transformative experience that redefined my relationship with uncertainty, hope, and humanity.

The Non-Plan Plan pushed me to embrace spontaneity and trust in the kindness of strangers and the beauty of the unknown.

From sleeping in forests and to being welcomed into strangers' homes, this trip reminded me that the most meaningful moments often come when we let go of control and open ourselves to possibility.

I learned that while certainty offers comfort, there is unparalleled freedom and growth in leaving outcomes to chance. Hope, much like a muscle, can be strengthened with practice, and even in moments of discomfort, it can lead to incredible discoveries. And above all, I fell in love—with the rolling hills of France, its warm-hearted people, and the universal connection that cycling brings.

This trip reaffirmed that adventure doesn’t require perfection or elaborate plans. All it takes is a bike, an open heart, and a willingness to embrace the road ahead—wherever it may lead.