I'm not really talking about the big ones like conquering the Alps or reaching the other end of the great wall of China, but rather just the little ones which make you smile when you're stuck in traffic taking the kids to school or doing the washing up.
Mine is halfway between Koblenz and Cochem on the Mosel, on a long, rainy curve in the road. My friend and I were soaked to the skin, and had been since breakfast. There was nothing on the road except the occasional truck washing us in spray as it passed. We'd seen two or three cyclists all day, which, compared with the five hundred or so we must have seen the day before, made the world feel a strange, lonely, desolate place. What's more, the two or three we had seen had all been much earlier on. We'd seen none now for about three hours. And then, out of the rain, in the distance, we saw a cyclist coming the other way. He was low down, working against the weather, bending to it. He was fully loaded, four panniers, and he was travelling, working the big ring. As he neared, he looked up, saw us, two fellow travellers, two dripping, sodden Englishmen pushing through the rain. He smiled grimmly and raised a hand in salutation. It was a moment. We were brothers of the elements, brothers of the road. He nodded as he flashed past. No words. And then he was Gone.
Like I said, not a great moment in the history of cycling, but for me, a treasure of a moment.