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Miami – I was staying in a youth hostel and was friends with Terry, Teddy, Valery, Fred, Laura, Jess, Matt, Tim, Nick, Chris, Mark, Cindy, Minesh, Rich, Rebecca, Sebastian, Becky, Ivan, Alex, Catherine and Marilyn. I was not friends with Hamzah. South Beach in Miami is a holiday resort and a party town. The only way to experience any place is to embrace it and so I joined the others: early afternoons were hungover, late afternoons to early morning drunk and late morning asleep/passed out.

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There was a lot of football, volleyball and frisbee on the beach. But mostly the beach was too hot and so we played in the sea. I went snorkelling with Mark one day and we met a remora (shark sucker). They attach themselves to sharks or boats by suction and are pretty harmless but it is difficult to be so rational when you feel it trying to attach to your nipple. Mark later admitted that he fought so hard against the fish that afterwards he was genuinely scared that he would drown as he had no energy left to make it back to shore. One day I went with Terry, Teddy, Valery and Fred to a pool party. We had paid $10 for entry at the hostel and when we arrived realised we had been duped. There were 30 middle-aged people asleep around a pool, there was music but you couldn’t hear it because the real party was next door and their music was booming. So obviously we climbed the wall. We landed in the middle of the 10 year anniversary of Aqua-girl. We were 4 guys amongst 2000 women, standing in the middle of a lesbian pool party. It was one of my most memorable days ever. Some nights we ended in the dive bar down the road, playing pool of course. Some nights we went to the beach, sometimes we wangled our way into a club (I never paid) and other nights we never made it out the hostel.

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At the hostel there was food going missing from the kitchen and so I started writing notes on the door (my final one was: “you despicable, low-level piece of shit. You know who you are you ball-licking, hamster-hugging pervert. Have my can of tomatoes, they are yours. But I hope you get swine flu, you seat-sniffing, tuna-thieving ball of hairy scrotum. Rot in hell for the devaluation you are the sole culprit for in the level of humanity. Sweat in your sleep you dick. Love as always, John). Hamzah was the thief, or at least one of them as I caught him with one of my beers (no one else drank Busch), he received a further tirade.

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I ended up staying in Miami for almost 3 weeks. All the time I was looking for boats out of there but without success. The only option would have cost $1600, and that depended on finding someone to share a room with. So having made it from England to Miami by land and sea I then held my nose as I booked myself onto a flight back to Europe. I flew back to Paris on Monday 18th, a little disappointed to end it in that way but at the same time aware that it would have been stupid to spend so much money that I don’t have just to be able to say I didn’t fly (and in terms of emmissions, cruise and freighter ships are hardly better than flying). From Paris I took the eurotunnel to London, and then a train back to Great Missenden. Then one final hill to climb and I was back at Thimble Farm Cottage. No one was home of course except my dog. I had been looking forward to a cup of tea but thought better of it when I found a can of London Pride in the kitchen, then I made myself beans on toast, found a second can of the good stuff and sat in the garden with my dog while I waited for my parents to get home.

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So that is it. I will put up stats from the trip soon (it’s the kind of person I am). The trip is over. Plans for the next one have begun.

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South Beach, Miami. The first thing you notice here is that there are a ridiculous number of beautiful people. To start with you think you are in heaven, everywhere you look there is another perfectly tanned, perfectly toned, gorgeous woman. But it doesn’t take long to realize that it’s not such a good thing. You start to feel like a kid in the biggest, best sweet shop in the world, all the time knowing that you have no money.

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At least that’s how I felt until one of them actually talked to me. She said “hello, I’m…” (I don’t remember her name but it would only detract from her anyway because maybe it was an ugly name, or I know someone with the same name that I don’t like) and I said “hello, I’m John”. We were playing beach football at the time and just after our conversation I cropped her and that was the last time she spoke to me.

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But I met another girl too, Jess is her name. Lori, or Loni or whoever it was is long forgotten now. Jess is the real thing and I do know the story of the boy who cried wolf and I’m disappointed that you should doubt me now. Evidence? I gave her my ‘love me love my bike’ T-shirt. She left though and now I am stuck here in the sweet shop with the girl I cropped giving me evil looks.

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I’m staying at a hostel here, a minute or so from the beach, just down the road from the only dive bar for miles (perfect). But miami is a strange place and I’m not too sure what I’m doing here now. I thought I would get to Miami, find a boat within an hour or two and make my way either into the Caribbean or to Europe. But it isn’t that easy and now I’ve been here over a week. There are no ferries into the Caribbean from here (good research John) and little hope of finding a yacht. So I’ve been looking at other options: container ships and cruise ships, they are expensive though, about $1000 more than flying. But! but… yesterday I did meet a guy who has heard tale of a yacht looking for crew and today he is finding out for me whether they might have a spot for an Englishman.

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So I will find out soon how I will get out of here. Either way I think I will be back in Europe pretty soon, scouting towns for dive bars.

And so this is for you Loni from Flagstaff, published in an obscure branch of the internet that you would never consider looking at. Written on the train with the one album I have left to keep me company, invading my thoughts. The only band that matters anyway. Passing out the desert, slowly the grass grows and clouds shield the sun and it rains and then it floods and it’s all so beautiful and I’m so glad to be here, and out the desert dry heat, but then…     And now the suburbs and the peaks of Chicago come into view. A long way from Flagstaff now.

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The last cycling I had done was when I got heat stroke and even though I had long since recovered, I was still not looking forward to the ride. In truth I was scared of the desert.

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After a short ride I got to Boulder City, where gambling is prohibited and the atmosphere is a hundred times nicer because of it. Then I went over the Hoover Dam, crossing at about 10am, with the temperature 82f (28c) and rising. Stopping by some construction workers on the climb out from the damn they asked where I was going and I said ‘down to Kingman’ and they said ‘you mean up to Kingman’ and it was a bad moment. I found the liter of vodka I still had from the night Simon bought it, and the half bottle of Kahlua and gave them to one of the workers. It was a really low moment.

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The desert kicked my arse. I am rubbish in heat and there is no shade. I had plenty of water (bath temperature) but there was no escape from the sun. I entered Arizona, ‘the desert state’ (no, there was no jelly and ice cream on arrival, I made the same mistake). I rode straight through the midday heat because this was kind of a test. I survived it but can’t say that I enjoyed it at all. I kept riding and the first time I enjoyed the ride was a few minutes before sunset. I arrived in Kingman that night after 80 miles and I had already decided that I was defeated. It was time to change transport means and from Kingman I would take a train.

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The desert heat isn’t the only reason for my change of plans. I am now low on money. I found that there is no longer a ferry around the Darien Gap. Mexico is becoming increasingly sketchy. My bike needs a fair bit of attention. And so on. Each one of these excuses is surmountable – mostly it’s about the heat. It is now a mere 90 degrees (33C) but is getting hotter quickly and will soon be up to 120 degrees (50C). Going south isn’t going to help much. All in all, I’m not enjoying the heat, it is taking the pleasure out of riding. So I decided to take a train out to the east coast – Miami, Florida.

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In the morning I found that I wasn’t allowed to put my bike on the train in Kingman and would have to go to Flagstaff instead. Flagstaff is 140 miles east of Kingman, mostly on an interstate. I just couldn’t face the ride having decided to take the train and so I went to the highway and stuck out my thumb.

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I was feeling cheerful, excited about something new and within 5 minutes a flatbed had pulled over to pick me up. We threw my bike in the back and got going. My driver was Mr. Haws, though I called him Billy. He took me all the way to Flagstaff and I just kept looking out the window relieved that I wasn’t out there on a bike. In Flagstaff he dropped me at the station to sort out my ticket and then came back to take me out to dinner with him and his daughter. Am I really leaving this place?

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Well, yes, on Saturday morning at 6am. My train goes all the way up to Chicago, then over to Washington DC, then south to Florida. It will take about 5 days. It is sad to throw away the plans I had and now I know how Tom felt in Seattle. Still, I am excited about the train and the change of location. From Florida I don’t yet know, that’s the fun of it.

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Let’s be chronological about it. Writing my last blog I was staying with my friend Charlie in the Palace Station hotel and casino. Charlie is on the virgin flight crew and was out for a couple of days. I wrote the blog, Charlie left and I kind of hung around for a bit. No real reason other than lacking the motivation not to. With nowhere obvious to sleep I adapted my schedule and stayed up until sunrise, then went out to the pool and slept on a sun lounger under a towel. All this went swimmingly for 3 days. Then two security guards asked me to leave. They were unhappy about my bike and had come to find me having failed miserably to cut the lock – they only managed to get through the rubber coating and literally scratch the metal, I have no idea how long they kept at it. Then, finding me by the pool they realised I didn’t have a room. OK, it was a fair cop. But then they started being silly about it. One was accusing me of lying to him and of picking locks in the hotel while the other was suspicious that I was traveling on a fake passport – CSI fans no doubt. So I left Palace Station and the strip and found my way to a quieter part of Vegas and settled in a bar to watch the Masters.

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This bar is where I met some cool characters. Geoff was one of them, he had worked in the casinos for 35 years and knew lots about them. For example I didn’t get why they wasted space with the penny slots and he explained that it is a way to attract people, who then make the casino look lively and fun to the real gamblers. Whereas the Bellagio has a deliberately dull casino interior and this is to prevent all the non-gambling tourists from looking around. But most interesting about Geoff was that after all that time working in the business he still didn’t quite grasp the odds, and while he claimed never to gamble he was on video poker within 5 miutes of leaving my side.

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Another was Justin Whitehead. I am pretty good at pool, I’m saying this for perspective. In most bars I play left handed unless I meet another player and then I play right handed to make sure I win. I am also extremely competitive you see. But I am nothing on Justin Whitehead. He seeks out the best players  in the country and challenges them for big money. He usually wins and makes a lot out of it. Then he gambles all of that money away in casinos. Presently he has only $45, which he hustled in the bar that night from an unsuspecting player. Another guy there was the best player in Vegas until Justin arrived. Justin recently beat him 7-2 in a match for $1000. There is some tension there still and it errupted, with ‘Trick’ refusing a re-match with a handicap given. Then throwing insults at Justin, who then told Trick he would have him killed for running his mouth, with Trick then telling Justin he had lived there for 35 years and would win the war, with random locals now taking their shirts off in the excitement. There was no fight, that night at least, and Trick left. Justin still telling us how his room-mates would now have to punish Trick for what he said.

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Another person was the policewoman this morning, waking me up by shouting “unzip and stand up” and I did, too tired to find the joke. Then she had me lean on the hood of her car while she ran my passport, “how long have you been homeless?” I tried to explain that I’m not really homeless but she didn’t see the distinction. Turns out it was a real passport after all and I was OK but couldn’t sleep there. Then she went over to another group of homeless people and gave them all a much harder time. There must be a memo somewhere: We have a new policy on reducing homelessness, we are spending millions of dollars on it. Basically our key strategy is to discourage it. We hope that by giving all the bums a hard time they will not be so hasty to choose the streets next time. It’s absurd. It is totally fucking absurd.

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More people? Well, all around the bar were people playing video poker, each one desperate for the $8,000 royal fluch jackpot. At the other end of the bar were two guys approaching the 23rd hour of their bender. Playing pool was a guy that had recently lost his job and his wife and then gambled away all his savings in a single night in a casino. Another guy playing pool was working out how to cheat his drug test the next day for his parole. Of all the residents I spoke to in Vegas not one of them recommended it as a place to live. “Vegas is fun for visitors with lots of money. If you have no money there is nothing here for you.” I still consider it to be the most interesting place I’ve been but I am ready to leave now, even if it means cycling through desert again.

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But before I go I have been ordered by my parents to spend a night in a motel. See, the bar I was in was also 24 hour and somehow I never seemed able to track the time, staying each night until it was day again. And in my tiredness I let slip to my folks on the phone that I reckon I’ve averaged about 3 hours a night for the last week. My tiredness is strange because for the most part I feel totally normal but once in a while it gets too much and I fall asleep wherever I happen to be. So a good night and a shower are really quite appealing and I will obey my parents. Not that I would ever not.

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From Forest Knolls I headed out over the little hills on the little roads because I came in on the big roads and they weren’t much fun at all, or legal. It was a late start of course because they always are. The scenery quickly became dull, the roads variable with the worst a 30 mile stretch of single lane with impatient trucks and cars so that I had to swerve off the road whenever any of them approached. I covered about 60 miles by the end of the night. I passed the town’s bar because everyone there looked too strange and instead I lay out my bag at the end of a drive. I chose the spot because my computer read 9999.9 miles and I wanted to save my celebratory beer for the next day.

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First I had a coffee and a bagel though because the house owner thought I looked like I needed it. Then the beer. Then I found the road that wound all the way up the Sierra Nevadas. The day was long and slow. The hill was stubborn. I found some sort of rhythm and covered about 40 miles by evening. I stopped for a while in a bar, it was closed but I was allowed in anyway. After an hour or so the landlady decided she was going to kill a guy called Jon, she had her gun next to her (us), loaded and ready, and called the police to tell them what she was going to do. It all seemed a bit surreal so I left and slept out on the mountain in a patch between the snow, surprisingly warm and with lots of stars to look at, which I did for quite a while.

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More mountain in the morning, it was kind of predictable. The locals had lied to me about the summit – the truth is that there are 3, at 8000 feet, then 7900 feet, then 8500 feet (2590 metres). Before the last one I stopped for food and was surprised to find myself in a ski resort. Then the last summit and into a long, glorious downhill. A policeman signalled for me to pull over to let a car pass, I politely signalled back that I wasn’t going to. Cruising and winding at 47 mph, the car behind happy where he was anyway and videoing me all the way down. Then a right bend and suddenly we were out the mountains and into the desert. Totally surreal but also welcome, and so the ride south began.

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I was following the 395, a road that paralleled the Sierras. A little climb to start but it didn’t concern me much, it was night at the time and I was entranced by the little cottages on the hill, wondering what the little people inside were up to. That night I heard talk of a storm coming and the next day there was a healthy headwind. A highway patrolman persuaded a couple of motorcyclists in front of me to turn back. There was a lot of snow ahead he told them, especially over the passes. I wasn’t sure whether the news about the snow or the passes upset me more but it took the energy out of my battle with the headwind and so I kicked it early, stopping in a town called Walker. I met Don there and we took a walk in the mountains before the snow arrived. By morning it was there and so I had to wait a while. I found Don again and we spent an hour working on his jigsaw puzzle until the sun came out.

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No more excuses now, so I started on that first pass. There was plenty of snow but the road was clear and in the sun it wasn’t even cold. Also the wind had died and so it was becoming a very enjoyable day. 50mph on the downhill and then the next pass. It was getting a little chillier as I reached the summit (8000 feet). My hands froze for a while and then went through the painful defrosting phase while I whined to nobody. 51mph on the next downhill (joint top speed on the trip), then a hot-dog, peanuts and a beer as I psyched myself up for the final climb. The sun was setting as I started and the temperature dropped rapidly. My ears froze, my feet had been long numb, my hands froze again, my stubble was just long enough to collect ice and my belly also froze. There was little left of the good-day-feeling and the hill dragged on. As I neared the top a car stopped to see if I was OK, then a police car stopped to ask the same thing. But it was close by then and I wasn’t about to give up. Finally I reached the summit (8100 feet) and coasted down the other side, towards the ski resort I planned to stop at for the evening. As I turned into the town (magic) another car stopped, he had passed me earlier and his dashboard recorded the temperature at 5 farenheit (-15 celcius)(before the windchill) and had come back out to check on me. I was fine I said, which was true as by then I was thawed again. I found a bar and was bought a shot by a group of people testing if I was a narcotics agent – I passed the test by taking the shot, I don’t know the plan for if I had failed.

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Then it was all downhill, and the wind was at my back too. I noticed my rear wheel was badly cracked, which scared me, but there was nothing I could do until the next town so I relaxed and cruised through ‘Tom’s Place’ and into ‘Bishop’ (reminding me of course of Tom Wright, bishop of Durham). No luck with the wheel, next chance – Las Vegas, should be OK, at least not catastrophic he said. So on I went, still coasting, coasting all the way to the easiest 100-mile day possible. Ending nicely with a Scotsman buying me a plethora of beers.

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East. A few hillocks and I was in Death Valley National Park. What a shock! From freezing in the mountains to the heat of the deserts. Luckily it had cooled to a reasonable 85 farenheit. In the middle of the park I found I would have to go over another mountain and all the way up it I criticised myself for never knowing anything useful. Another 3 hour climb or so and then a beautiful 17 mile descent to the tourist stop at the bottom. Jon gave me a couple of beers he had left in his car and so I lay out that evening in the warmth with my day’s rewards, incredulous at the other tourists locked away in their caravans.

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Whew! Another hot one. My new t-shirt was now my bandana. In Death Valley proper now and glad it was only March. Saddened to see bunnies surviving ‘Death Valley’ but killed by a car. I met a few other touring cyclists and was glad to see I had the best looking-bike, though jealous at the completeness of their rear wheels. In the late afternoon Lee joined me as I made to leave the valley. My wheel crunched right by the ’services 156 miles’ sign, which Lee found very funny. Lots more cracks now and 2 broken spokes. No chance of replacing the spokes so I let Lee go ahead with his sense of humour while I tried to make it go round again, and I wobbled away half an hour later.

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A long climb of course and sleep at the top. Just 100 miles from Vegas now and a cracking tail-wind. It was a beautiful start to the next day and I made good progress, passing through the Vegas-wannabe-town, Pahrump. The wheel somehow holding its shape - each mile covered a bonus mile. Then the last climb and I started at it strongly. But it didn’t feel right, even with a hammering wind from behind, and I sat at the side of the road for a while unsure why this wasn’t more fun. Then the real hill started and it was definitely not fun. I was only able to muster half a mile at a time. Towards the top I started feeling delirious, struggling to pedal at all. Only able to make progress by focusing on making the numbers change on my odometer until at last I reached the top, and the bar sitting there.

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The sun was out but it was freezing, why were all the other people on shorts and t-shirts? Stupid people. I wrapped up and went inside, well aware now that something was quite strange about the place.  –  I had sunstroke, I was dehydrated, it was something to do with that wind. That night I wore about everything I had, inside my sleeping bag, inside my bivi, and I was so hot I could feel my face burning, and it was a really nice feeling.

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Luckily I had just another 10 miles to Vegas and it was downhill because even the next morning I was well out of it. I was 670 miles from San Francisco, over mountains and through lots of desert and then suddenly you drop into this bowl, a place surrounded by mountains and full of lights and sin. God’s blindspot. I reached ‘the strip’ and cycled up it, taking it all in, spaced out.

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I collected Simon from the airport that afternoon and was determined to be OK. We got to the hotel and before we showered I poured us both a little white russian. I think Simon poured the second. At some point we ran out of vodka, Simon went to get some more while I passed out.

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In the morning I felt fine. Fantastic really and wanted to wake Simon up to gloat about it. But as Simon came out of his hangover I fell heavily back into the sunstroke delirium and stayed there for the next 48 hours. Totally out of energy, sapped of enthusiasm, out of the conversation, out of my mind, boring to be around.

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We had lots of fun for the next 8 days though. I hope Simon might write a bit about it all here, the gambling, the alcohol, the trip to the Grand Canyon, so I won’t.

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But I will say a little about Vegas, how it is so open about being sinful, dirty, wrong. There is no shame here, about anything. Buildings are to be as grand, posh or garish as they like. Ring 702-889-2525, 702-689-7032 or 702-579-0707 and a prostitute will arrive at your room within 10 minutes. Drink! Drink lots, anytime and anywhere, get it for free if you gamble. Of course you should gamble. Never stop. And smoke too, inside is better for smoking. Anything goes. The naughtier it feels, the more it is encouraged. But really it is all about the high rollers. Vegas is not for the likes of me and Simon, though we were tolerated. You are not meant to put a dollar into a fruity and then claim free drinks for over an hour. You are supposed to gamble 10 thousand dollars on one turn at craps - we enjoyed watching that, it is a malevolent, peverse pleasure watching somone lose 50 grand in 10 minutes – but really we were meant to join in. Vegas is full of behaviour discouraged everywhere else. That is why Vegas is unique, why it is so interesting, why it is such an incredible place. I like.

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But of course there is other fun ahead. I am meeting another extremely cool person, Simon, in Las Vegas in 9 days. Vegas is 700 miles away over some very big mountains and very hot deserts. So this one is a short blog but there are lots of photos and I promise to tell you in detail about my ride to Vegas next time. Now it is time to get going, the ride is long and I just accidentally deleted all my music.

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The reason for my detour was that my sister, Helen, was planning to be there. On my way over I found myself in a poker game and came out with a $40 surplus – not bad seeing as I’m crap at poker. I also found a courtesy phone (I was in a casino, initially for the free drinks) and so spoke to my brother for a while before being encouraged to end the call.

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The ride inland was fairly uneventful and when I arrived (a day ahead of Helen) I was a little shocked to be in a city again. It took a while to find a decent park away from downtown where I felt safe enough to fall asleep. Cities are not always a great place to hang out with a laden bike but I met some people early on that introduced me to some people and I was given a place to stow my kit, and also for my sister and I to stay.

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Helen arrived on a greyhound bus, a brave choice of transport. It was the first time I’ve seen her since England and we both enjoyed catching up over the next few days. Pretty typical city-seeing stuff really, a climb up Spencer’s butte (disappointingly pronounced ‘bute’), a spot of bowling, a few bars and so on. Not that it mattered of course. I was on a break from my budget which made the time all the more enjoyable, though Helen bought most of the drinks anyway.

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But Helen had to leave, as is the way, and so after seeing her off I packed up my bike for the ride back to the coast. On the way out Jon (we were staying with Jon and Sherman) said “it’s funny. Here we are. I’m going to work and you’re going to explore the world”.

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I didn’t really start the ride until it was dark. I love night rides – they are a whole different thing. Of course the scenery is invisible for the most part, which makes it a ‘purer’ ride in a way. Also a more reflective, introspective, infectious ride. I was listening to Radiohead and loving it, cheering and urging Thom on, riding the high.

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And now I am here once more, turning left now. Charles Darwin was 200 on Thursday, I think that deserves a drink before I go. Cheers to you Charles.

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I was about to gamble away some of my hard-inherited money in a pool tournament when I last wrote. Well, I did and I came in third, which won me about $25 and one very pissed off local. I stayed in town another day and there was a tournament that night too, which I won, taking another $50 from the angry locals. That is quite some money for me and I put it to good use – I bought a new pair of cycling shoes. My old ones were in a bad way – they had long been covered in duct tape (this was 2000 miles ago) and I had also recently taken to wearing Tom’s old overshoes with them to literally hold them together. They served me well, including a trip to the top of Mount Fuji in the snow. But they have passed now (‘dead’ I’ve noticed is quite a taboo). Plus, I had enough money left over to buy two new stickers for my bike. I chose ‘have you hugged your bike today?’ and ‘Girl Power’.

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That was all in Elma, a little town at the south end of the Olympic Peninsula. Since then I have had an entire week of winter sunshine – my favouritest weather. So, I headed south of course, riding late into the first night, with all stars out overhead and sounds from strange animals in the bushes. The next day I arrived in Seaside, Oregon, where I stayed with Carry, who is my friend Annie’s mum, or ‘mom’. She is a very cool lady and looked after me well for a couple of days before I continued my journey. I was on the coast at last by that point and have been since.

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The coast really is beautiful, and I’m told the the best is ahead of me yet. Of course the weather helps lots, it is a pleasure to be riding in shorts and a T-shirt again. The towns are quite pretty I suppose but I don’t care for them all that much, I prefer to take my breaks down on an isolated beach somewhere, eating my PB and J sandwiches.

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I have had a couple of conversations with the police recently, once about camping illegaly and another time about failing to stop at a stop sign. I beat up both cops and ran away.

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They left on Monday 19th. If you are in England now and wondering why you haven’t heard from Tom then worry not, he is back safe and sound I assure you. Still, he should have called. But enough about England and our oppressive queen. I am in the states, I have a moustache, I’ve fired guns and I’ve been to a monster truck show. Queenie means nothing to me.

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I have mentioned the guns before and prehaps you saw the photos of my new-look moustache but the monster truck rally is news. I went with Kellie, who is a girl that Tom and I met on our first ferry ride up to Alaska. I went with Kellie but I was really crashing an 8 year-old’s birthday party. It is an awesome spectacle, lots of rolls, crashes and fires, few fatalities. And we had pizza afterwards.

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Then there was a going away party for Tom and Christa. Mucho alcohol of course although I have personally given up drinking (until last night when I was forced into breaking my alcohol break for fear of being labled a chicken by my shot offerer). Then they left on Monday and I stayed with the housemates of the girl that is Tom’s girlfriend that just left, who are of course my friends too by association. I was there for another couple of days until I was physically escorted out of the city by Laura. Laura chased me on her bike for 60 miles into the Olympic Peninsula. Then we had a brief truce for sleep and I had barely slept when she then rowed me out to a tiny, uninhabited island – Hope Island.  I cried and begged for mercy and eventually I was allowed to return to the other shore having given my word that I really was heading south this time.

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I have been cycling south since then and am in a town called Elma. It feels great to be back at it, in my two days away from Laura and friends I have not yet had to buy food due to continuing hospitality. My new friends are Amber, Cole and Rowan (who were waiting for me to wake up so that they could invite me inside) and Eddy (who leant his spare bed). Bish may be gone but I am well looked after.

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Tonight I am entering a pool tournament in the hope that I can gamble my way into some money. Tomorrow I will be riding the coast, coasting the ride.

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I headed back up to Bellingham with Tom last week because we had an invite to a party and also because my bike was stranded there due to a missing jockey wheel. There was a great turnout to the party and I was amazed when I realised I knew everybody there (except 1 girl) and so I pretended it was really a party for me. Tom headed back to Seattle the next day (he has a lady friend don’t you know) and I stayed just a little longer. Then I fixed my bike and on Monday afternoon left B-town for the last time.

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Ten miles down the road I passed Pat’s pub and stopped to say hello. It was closed though and so I just stopped to put on my waterproofs but then Pat was there after all and came outside to say hello to me. Then he invited me inside for a coffee and a burger and I accepted. I was then down into the flooded areas (from about 2 weeks of heavy rain) and had to go carefully where there were rivers crossing the road. One cyclist told me there was no way through and that I would have to take a long detour but I have met his type before – the naysayers – and it was no problem. The raptors were having a great time – all the voles and rats and mice had to flee the fields and the birds picked them off as soon as they did. In a single 10 mile stretch I saw 32 eagles, 13 hawks and 2 herons. There was one spot where I saw 18 eagles in the same tree and 2 hawks right next to them, and as I stood looking a courageous mouse ran past me.

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I made my way to Seattle by heading through Anarcortes Island, then Whidbey Island, then the Olympic Peninsula, then Bainbridge Island,  and then over to Seattle, sleeping in a park along the way (I woke in the morning to hear “holy shit! Check out that campsite. Right there! He’s camouflaged and there’s a hot rod outside!”). I ended up cycling quite a way in the dark and had to do an emergency wheelie over a branch and then later hit an invisible rock that lifted my whole bike off the ground. When one car passed me the driver leant out the window and shouted at me for cycling on the road, I stuck up two fingers at him in response and then realised that over here that means peace. Then I decided that was better anyway becuase I don’t need to bring more negativity into this world, let him ponder my peace message instead. Anyway, I made it to Seattle and will hang out here until Tom and Christa leave on Monday, and I will ride out with them (metaphorically).

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So off I went up the big hill I knew was there. Though the maps and stories told of a steeper hill than I found and by dusk I was almost at the summit of Pine Pass. My plan was to ride as late as I could to make sure I made it on time and so as the darkness gathered I put on my lights (a new one to replace the one pinched back in Fort Nelson). By about 8 I had finished the climb and was now following a winding, lonely road high up in the mountains. There was little traffic, perhaps one truck each 10 minutes. When they came from the front I would have to lower my head and furrow my brow to limit the glare of their headlights, and when they approached from behind I became nervous, checking over my shoulder to see if they were pulling out. Then looking ahead at the shadow they had made of me, watching for it to arc to the right and then checking over my shoulder again just to be sure. I passed the occassional lodge or cafe but didn’t enter, I had my own food and could do without the warmth for now. Still, I felt a thrill each time I passed the homeliness of lights and warmth, back into the thick and welcoming darkness. I imagined watching myself from above, just John on his bike with donuts and the blink blink blinking red light. I could make out a mountain range to my left though couldn’t see for sure where the tops were, sometimes a little way above, other times much higher, looming over the road. I felt that thrill again and pedalled on. I saw a creature, not a deer for sure but in my poor light I couldn’t see what it was, a wolf, a big cat, probably just a fox. After a while I reached a downhill and leant over my handlebars to put my front light on its highest setting, illuminating the white line to my right for about 10 metres ahead, which now passed quickly. The bridge, and then pilons took me by surprise as they were outside my narrow beam. The hill steepened and though I couldn’t tell at the time I was now going 55kmph, concentrating fully on that white line, scrutinizing any signposts for hints of curves ahead. Twice a truck approached from in front and I had to lower my gaze from its lights (the Basilisk’s eyes) but first memorising the upcoming curves. Then a quick look up before ducking again for the rush of air that always followed a couple of seconds after a truck. Then the steepness cooled to a flat again and I was through Pine Pass. It was about 10 by then and the weather deterioarated to dull rain. By midnight I was tiring. I noticed my thoughts becoming stranger, actually the thoughts that lead to dreams. I could have easily snapped out of it by pulling down my muffler and letting th cold air in but I was reluctant to do that. Also I had read about a guy called Schermer having a UFO abduction hallucination on a long ride and I wanted one too. But I was tired yet not exhausted and so there were no hallucinations and instead I felt myself weave to the left and correct myself automatically, then realising my eyes had been closed, so I had fallen asleep on my bike (again). Now desperate for a place to sleep and yet not wanting to pitch my tent in the now heavy rain I hoped for a shelter and not long after saw a light, which turned out to be a cafe, closed of course (now 1am), but the toilets were open and there was a space outside the cubicles big enough for my bivi and so there I slept.

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After a fairly easy ride the next day into Prince George I heard from Tom that he had managed to hitch on and suddenly I felt tired, no longer excited about Halloween and my plans. But I needn’t have worried, the tiredness went and I was now on the Hospitality Highway.

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I was greeted by Kim and her friend Kyra. Kim had pasta ready for my arrival and a costume laid out for the evening ahead – my first authentic Halloween. It was a fun night and ended with me asleep on her futon, still in my pharaoh costume. Kim was a great host, keen to make sure I was content and having a good time (and I was) and I stayed with her for another two days, with her and Kyra keeping me well fed. When I did leave I had a bag full of food for the road and headed towards Quesnel.

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It was an easy two day ride and when I got there I met Mike in a Tim Hortons. Mike invited me to stay with him and we quickly became good friends. I stayed with him for two more days, enjoying the best of Quesnel and then once more I left (though Mike was keen for me to stay as long as I liked – ’stay all winter if you like lad’).

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Another day in the saddle and then I was in Mcleese Lake. I walked into a pub and straight away the landlord (Greg) gave me my coke on the house – ‘you’re the cyclist? then you’re the designated driver.’ Then I was given a Guinness. Then a bowl of soup. Then a shot of Amarula. Then a reflective vest, and finally a warm and dry spot to sleep in.

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Amazed by this run of generosity I rode towards Williams Lake, where I am now. I had to pass through the stretch of savage dogs, chasing me down the road biting at my bags, with me speeding up so as to keep them at the bags and not my ankles. Then a while later I heard a bark, loud enough to hear through my headphones, not a dog. And to my immediate right I saw a bear and her cub scampering away - I must have surprised them and luckily her response was flight. And soon I was in Williams Lake, and not two minutes after I had arrived had a lady called Pam offered me a place to stay! So that is where I will be tonight, riding the hospitality highway.

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I still had headwinds the next day and was still climbing and had run out of doughnuts and the scenery was really quite dull compared to my previous rides and so the day became a slog, just trying to get to Buckinghorse by night so that I could read into the evening and sit in the warmth. I had planned on eating my wraps and cream cheese for dinner but started promising myself hot food if I made it that night, and I did arrive at about 7, and then I ordered hot food.

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And while I was marvelling at the artificial light Justin introduced himself to me and when he left invited me to join him and some friends for a drink. When I turned up I was offered (recommended?) a shower and took one as it had been over a week. Then on my return we got started on Justin’s stash of alcomohol and by the time people turned up for drinks we had been through multiple vodkas, whiskys and a drink called, well I don’t remember the name but it was a bizarre mix of vodka, kahlua, milk and coke. And then we began the drinking games. Justin successfully got me drunk (a good host) and by midnight I was asleep on his couch.

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I woke up in the same spot (phew) at about 8 in the morning and decided I might as well get going. It was a brave decision seeing as I wasn’t able to drink even water at the time, and the first 3 miles were among the most miserable I remember. But surely a long ride is the ultimate hangover cure, and by lunchtime I was feeling remarkably better and able to speak. The wind had become sporadic, swirling, hitting me in the face, then chasing me from behind, then slamming me in the side sending me out into the road. But it was an improvement on the boring, predictable headwind of the first 2 days and just after lunch I reached the peak of my long climb (Pink Mountain) and so after that I had a net downhill too. What with the regaining of peripheral vision it was turning into a glorious day.

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I pitched that night in a hamlet called Wonowon (at mile 101 from Dawson Creek. 101. Wonowon. 101) and had the wind ripping around my tent all night. I woke in the morning, highly reluctant to get up and sat there mulling over the day ahead instead. I knew the headwind was back and that I had a grim 60 miles ahead of me to Fort St. John (the end of the ride). Goes to show what I know. I finally poked my head out at 11.30 to see a blanket of snow and a hammering wind heading south – a tailwind! What a difference that made, the ride became incredibly enjoyable, even the bland scenery excited me and I arrived just after 3.

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Tom had been invited to stay with John and Debbie’s family and I joined him (he had hitched ahead remember?). Just an incredibly friendly family. We stayed for 2 days, eating great food and soaking up homeliness for a while. I washed all my clothes, along with the MP3 player in my jumper pocket (amazingly after a while above the fire it worked again) and we had our own beds for our stay. And when we did leave we were sent off with trail mix, sandwiches, dried fruit and homemade bison jerky.

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Tom got a ride 150km down the road, with his knee a continuing problem (he thinks he will have to hitch all the way to Seattle) and I headed to Jennifer’s house (a couchsurfer) for one more night here, not yet ready to hit the road again. I have just looked at the forecast and will be getting more headwinds for a few days. For anyone that isn’t a cyclist, I struggle to explain just how much the wind matters. Lance Armstrong says that after one training ride his support car driver said “man, that headwind must have really got to you” but Lance hadn’t even noticed it and replied “what headwind?” Well, when Tom asked me a similar question I replied “it was a fucking bitch whore”. Lance is a liar, I tell the truth.

ride 1

We woke up on the 9th outside a lodge at Contact Creek. My toes were numb from where they push my sleeping bag against the end of my tent. It had been 9 below over night. The cold wasn’t doing Tom’s continuing knee troubles any good either, he was now forced to go slow and so he headed off while I stayed in the warmth of the lodge. The physical aspect of cycling isn’t mentally demanding and so my mind often wanders off, I don’t try and guide it but rather watch as if viewing some crap TV channel. And so I nearly missed the herd of 40 wood bison at the side of the road. When I did spot them I slowed right down to get a better look. A few of them looked back. One stood up and began to wander away, then 4 or 5 others followed him and then all 40 were in a full stampede down the road. I decided to let them make some ground and settle down again, but 2 miles later I could see them still charging and since I would have to pass them anyway I figured I might as well get it over with. I started to gain on them as they were climbing a hill. They were in single file just off the left edge of the road, me as close to the right edge as I could get. The bison were traveling at 20 mph, each one weighing a tonne or more. As I passed them one by one I was terrified that one might suddenly choose to cross the road – as they sometimes did – and close the precious 4 metre gap, I was exhausted from now 5 miles of continuous exertion, I felt absolute awe for the animals, displaying their full power for me, the only witness, almost a part of the charge with the wild, strong, powerful animals thundering down the road, I was wishing there was someone to take this photo – the bison, tongues hanging from their mouths, puffs of air visible from their mouths and nostrils and me also breathing hard, sagging over the handlebars, looking terrified. I slowly reached the front of the pack, the leaders now reaching 23mph and then had the lead. I kept my pace as long as I could to create a gap and was surprised when I turned to see them still coming. It seemed that none of them were sure what they were running from or to, the followers just knew to chase the leader and the leader seeing the followers still running tried to keep his lead. Now Tom was just a mile away up the road, taking a rest for his knee on a big climb, and he looked back to see me cycling hard, being chased by a herd of bison, and he got back on his bike too so we were all on the move now, cycling or running, fearing for our lives, all desperate to stop but none of us allowed, and so we continued for another 5 miles.

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rest 1

We reached the Liard Hotsprings the following day, which had been our incentive since Whitehorse, and spent 3 full days there. While basking in the heat of the alpha pool (beta was closed) we met Herb, who is THE mountain man around here and heard from him plenty of stories about bears (like the black bear that got in the hotsprings one day, killing two people and maiming another) and stories of his adventures. He also told us that the gate we had earlier climbed to get to the upper pool was locked because of a 6′8″ grizzly in the area, he said he watched us and hoped he wouldn’t have to get out of the hot water to come and find us.

It wasn’t all pleasure though, not for Tom anyway. First he had his wallet stolen (from the changing room) and then he found a squirrel had eaten a hole straight through his pannier to get to food. And then 20 miles after we left the hotsprings, Tom’s knee once more gave out and so he was forced to hitch ahead again, getting a ride to Toad River.

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ride 2

So I was cycling alone of course, stopping at a lodge to sit by their fire on the first night. The next day I had spent the first two or three hours battling a head wind, feeling miserable and then that afternoon had the most glorious ride I’ve yet had. There was one moment when I was so happy I started laughing all to myself. It was all downhill and I had a tail wind and there were lots of caribou, elk and moose, but that wasn’t it. It was when I turned a bend and started descending through a steep canyon, with peaks either side of me 1000 metres above, and the biggest mountian, the most menacing was right in front of me, still a few miles away. The road led straight to it and then disappeared, it felt like I was being funneled towards it, lured towards it, no escape from my destiny at this awesome mountian, Mount Doom. And somehow that excited me and I experienced the high I mentioned, laughing aloud for only the moose and elk and caribou and me to hear.

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rest 2

I caught Tom up in Toad River and stayed there for two days. The first was meant to be a day of rest for Tom’s knee, but he realised it wasn’t enough and would have to hitch-hike anyway. The second day was borne of lethargy and laziness. On the third night snow began to fall and by morning we had 10cm and more coming still.

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ride 3

I wasn’t at all sure that I should be cycling in it but was told the snow was there to stay anyway and so I rode out, Tom watching and then catching a lift a while later. In fact most of the road was clear, with just a few patches of snow or ice, but mostly slush. And once I cleared the slush, and the snow ceased, it became yet another incredibe ride, this time on top of mountains, first Summit Lake and then Steamboat Mountain. The climbs hard but well rewarded with the views from the tops, and as always the descents fantastic. The worst part of the 2-day ride came at night when I became convinced I could hear a bear outside my tent (though in the morning my footprints in the snow were alone).

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rest 3

Now I am in Fort Nelson, with Tom again. Tom plans to hitch one more time to give his knee a full rest, so I will meet him in Fort St. John in a few more days.

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We didn’t have far to go on the first day as we had been offered a place to stay by Ron and Suzanne and their children Abby and Orion (though I doubt the children had much say about it). So it was only about a 15 mile ride in the plummetting temperatures out to their house, where they had prepared a room for us, complete with a wood burner, which was unbelievable luxury. That evening was the first snow of the winter, which we celebrated with a snowball fight. The highlight for me was throwing a small snowball at Tom so that he felt safe to collect snow and then launching my pre-made icy monster and getting him right in the side of his head. That might be his highlight too, I’m not sure. Abby also introduced me to a new tactic I might try next time - it involves running right up to someone and then throwing the snowball at them from close range, relying on their moment’s hesitation about throwing snow at a little girl.

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The snow was gone by morning and so after pancakes we headed out east, with our next real town 300 miles away. On the way out, Orion told us “I just have to get my bag and put my coat on and put a poo on my head”, which reminded me of Tom as a child, though I didn’t know him then.

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At the end of the second day Tom’s knees were causing him grief again and so the next day we rested in a place called Teslin. We left again feeling good but within 30 miles his knees were forcing him to walk up all the hills and so he decided to hitch ahead to Watson Lake to give them a break while I caught up. The temperature dropped to -6 on the first night but fortunately I was sleeping outside a lodge and was welcomed in to sit by the fire in the morning to warm up. It was a glorious ride that day, with the frost lasting until late afternoon and I stopped for the evening in a campsite. I met William Oefelein there, and shared his fire, and had his last beer and some of his whisky. You won’t have heard of him but he’s an astronaut and he’s been in space. And I met him. He’s probably telling the same story about me.

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One other person I’d like to mention is Christopher because of his strange behaviour. I was sitting down eating a pack of Doritos and reading my book when he came to say hi. Anyway after a bit of chit chat he got into it, asking if I had read the bible. Not really listening to my answer he gave me a web address (http://www.bibletruth.com/) so I had to be a little clearer. Anyway, I got back on with the cycling, just 15 miles from Watson Lake at this point. 10 miles later Christopher was behind me in his car, he pulled up alongside me to offer me a lift (which of course I had to politely decline) and then told me that he just wanted to say “jesus really loves you and he really is real”, I said thanks and he turned round and drove back home.

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I am now back with the Bish in Watson Lake. We are both feeling well and ready to ride once more, confident that no setbacks await us. We are currently 130 miles from Liard Hot Springs, and then another 200 miles from Fort Nelson, our next target. Oh, also I’ve seen 4 moose/mooses/mice.

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We arrived in Skagway on the 22nd, just a couple of days before the final cruise ship and therefore end of tourist season there. Of course Skagway largely depends on tourism but that doesn’t mean they have to like the tourists. For example we read “25th September: a no ship day at last!” at the top of an advert for a ’scary baby photo exhibit’, promising the chance to “hang out with friends – there will be no tourists!” There is also a Heard on the Wind section in the local paper, where locals send in tousists’ quotes they have overheard. Highlights from this week were:

- “Along the panhandle, where Alaska meets Canada, do people speak both English and Canadian?”

- “So you have silver charms here? I’m looking for something that says ‘Hawaii’. You know, like a little bear or eagle, or something that really says ‘Hawaii’.”

- And from a couple who were looking at the outgoing mail slots at the post office, looking confused. One stopped in front of the Out of Town slot and said to the other “I don’t know. We’ve been here all summer”. Her partner replied “maybe we should put it in Local then?”

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The paper also had a Police Blotter. Here is a sample:

25-08 A man reported losing his wallet

26-08 A wallet was found and brought to the police department. The owner claimed it

26-08 A woman reported losing her camera

26-08 A camper found parked on the street was advised to move on

31-08 A man called and reported his cell phone lost or stolen. He was to call back with more information and never did

02-09 A man reported his bike stolen. He found it later

05-09 An officer responded to a noise complaint downtown. the noise was not found to be unreasonable

28-08 A camper was found camped at Pullen Pond directly in front of the “no camping” sign. he was advised to move on.

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For those of you not bombarded with the upcoming US election, you may not be aware that the republican McCain has nominated an Alaskan woman, Palin, as his running mate. For those of you who did know that perhaps you were unaware that Palin spent almost five years in Skagway. The paper is full of insightful stories about Palin during her stay there (from birth to nearly five years old), such as this fascinating one from a babysitter, O’Daniel: her only memory “of the pack of Heath kids” was when she made popcorn for them, and it overflowed while she went outside to check on them. “I came back and the popcorn was all over the place, I told the kids to help me pick it up if they wanted more popcorn.”

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On a tenuously related subject, I was flicking through an old copy of National Review (a magazine for the intelligent republican) and found this about Pluto: “Pluto is so far from the sun that it takes 248 years to complete one orbit”. Either you like that kind of thing or you don’t.

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Anyway, Tom and I reached Skagway and after an evening in the local brothel and a night sleeping by the train tracks (undisturbed by the police) we began our ride up to Whitehorse (where we got to from Anchorage), 180km away. The temperature was around 0 centigrade, which was a bit of a chock to us both. Another shock was that we had to climb to an elevation of 1100 metres in the first 25km. It was a slow climb but enjoyable to be back in the saddles (except for me as I have recently converted to a no padded style). At the summit it was cloudy and snowing but later in the afternoon we were riding under crystal clear skies. It was still cold but a dry cold, reminiscent of Mongolia. Also the scenery was incredible, especially as the leaves had started turning. Also, I saw a fat black bear and her cub and Tom saw a fat grizzly bear.

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The only downer was that due to the cold and shock of cycling, Tom’s knees were getting sore and so at a town (the only town) between Skagway and Whitehorse we stopped for a day’s rest, where we met and had a few beers with Elijah.

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The next day’s ride was even more glorious than the first, perhaps the most enjoyable ride on this trip yet for me. We arrived in Whitehorse that evening and have been here since. We have been befriended by the pub’s landlady and are thus protected from all the (abundant) drunks (both aggressive men and obsessive women) by her. We have also bumped into an old ‘friend’ again, who threw rocks at our tents because he objected to us being in ‘his city’. I threatened to cut off his legs.

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Tom has bought some leggings to keep his knees warm when cycling and so we will continue from here later today, although we are only going about 30km for now as we have been invited to stay with Ron just down the road.

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This is weather for long hair and a beard but alas mine is gone – in a moment where opportunity collided with a moment of doubt, I walked into a barber shop in Chicago and had them do the deed. I’m sure many are saddened by this news, disappointed and even hurt. I can only tell you that I feel it too. I feel it too.

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Mum, Dad and Sarah stayed for about a week; it was fantastic to see them all again and have some beers. But, they had to get back home, so on the 8th I left them at the airport. It was sad to say goodbye again but I’m not yet ready to go home, so they took a plane back to England and I got a ride back into the city centre pretending to be a prospective customer for the hotel ‘Browns’. The driver seemed happy to take me but explained that it was probably out of my budget.

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Actually I was planning to take a bus up to Chicago that evening and so found a bar to kill some time and brain cells. As I sat down I was invited to join Tom and Mandy. As we neared the end of our first beer they decided they liked me and so told me that the rest of the evening was on them. Later in the evening they took me to the bus station but were concerned at the number of undesirables there and so insisted that I stay the night in Mandy’s spare room. So I did, and at 5 in the morning Mandy woke me up to take me back to the station. By the time I got to Chicago I had just about cleared my hangover. I had to stay there for 2 days as the earlier trains were fully booked, so I did a spot of couchsurfing and had a look around the city. I spent one evening playing street chess. It’s really just like normal chess played on the street, non-contact and all that. It was the first time I had ever heard people trash talk over a pawn-D7, “I don’t hear you talking, it’s on you man, it’s on you man, ain’t nowhere to go, wooo, you’ve gone quiet, it’s your move bro. Move! Move!”

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The train journey back to Seattle was pretty boring really, I was drinking white russians but found no-one to share them with. One lady sat next to me for just over a day and talked for at least 18 hours of it. I could tell you all about her two sons and her daughter and how she’s just retired and so on but there’s no sense in putting you through it too.

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So, I arrived back in Seattle on the 11th, 3 days after Tom and Christa. Since I’ve been back I’ve done very little and so has Tom. Well, Tom has done a lot of fishing and claims to have caught plenty although he conveniently releases them so we never actually see the sea monsters he hooks. We are again staying with Christa, Carley and Laura. Christa is Tom’s girlfriend but don’t tell anyone. Christa insists that I tell you that she is amazing; she is amazing.

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Tonight I am cycling up to Bellingham once more. Tom is following me up on Friday and that afternoon we will take the ferry back up to Skagway to then get to Whitehorse. Tom has been for a bike set up and then been on a long ride without any effects on his ankle. So, this time next week, if all has gone well, the long ride south will continue.

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The water was 81 degrees farenheit (27 centigrade) so wetsuits were not required. Mostly I tried to find a clear space to swim in but contact was inevitable. It tended to be hands grabbing feet but on one occassion I caught up to a gentleman that must have been swimming with his legs slightly apart for the first I knew of his presence, and he of mine, was when I stroked his balls with my fingertips. Our course took us upstream for the first kilometre or so, we then turned and swam the remaining 2.5km slightly downstream. I happened to be keeping a tally and so know that I urinated 8 times during the swim, which is more from habit than necessity. In hindsight it can’t have been particularly nice for whoever was behind me at the time but I’m sure I wasn’t the only one doing it and must have been through some warm patches myself. Other than feeling bloated early on I truly enjoyed the first leg and exited the water after one hour thirty two minutes still feeling fantastic. Allowing for the staggered start, I was in 1445th place of 1975.

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I had planned on walking through transition as I had been advised to, but everyone else was running and I didn’t want to look stupid so when it came to it I ran too. I entered the changing tent and put on my cycling gear, then found my bike and wheeled it out to the bike start. I was riding a bike I had borrowed from a guy called Mike, I was also using a new type of cleat for the first time and so for the first few miles was convincing myself that everything was set up horribly and that at some point I was going to have to get off and change it. But I soon got comfortable and settled into a good pace. With a late start and a relatively slow swim I was a long way back when I started the ride but I knew it would be my strongest leg and I found myself passing a lot of bikes and I loved it every time. By this stage everyone had their race bib on their backs with their name and number which meant that someone passing could call the person in front by name to make room. I was also able to tell Jen that she looked great and mutter profanities at Jim when he snotted over his shoulder and sprayed me. Incidentally, my bib number read John 317, which as all fellow bible scholars will know refers to ”For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.” I had forgotten to find suncream in the transition and so had to call for some through my first aid station. I hated having to stop the bike and in my panic smeared sunblock all over my sunglasses having forgotten to take them off my face. I hurriedly wiped most of it off with toilet paper and began cycling again.

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Most supporters were congregated at a spot on the LaGrange Loop. I knew Mum, Dad, Sarah, Tom and Christa would all be there and wanted to make eye contact. But as we approached I heard the cheer of the crowd and felt a burst of adrenaline. Without really meaning to I accelerated to over 30mph and  moved out on to the wrong side of the road to overtake a group of cyclists. I didn’t see anyone I knew and soon noticed my heart rate had gone over 175. I then hit a small headwind and slowed my pace and experienced my first low of the race.

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I was eating a gel pack every 20 minutes and drinking a gatorade each 30 minutes. Inevitably my bladder began filling up and at about mile 40 I made the decision that I would save time by pissing myself on the bike. This is a surprisingly hard thing to do. It’s not really the position that causes problems but the engrained reluctance to go with your shorts on, especially with lots of people around. In the end it took 20 minutes and a number of false starts to get the job done. I realised too late that I didn’t have any water to pour over myself and had to cycle a further 10 miles before I could grab some, by which time my socks were yellow. I started my second lap of the ride and collected my “special needs bag” which contained a ham sandwich. It had no appeal to me whatsoever but the hotel had charged $15 to make it the night before so I felt compelled to at least give it a try. One soggy mouthful was enough to send the remainder flying into a hedge, unfortunately at that moment I was being followed by a race official and was shown a yellow card for littering (it was a fair cop) which meant I would have to spend 2 minutes in a penalty tent later in the race. The thought of losing the time I had worked hard to make up sped me up once more. There were a few accidents on the course and at one point I was drafting behind an ambulance, unsure if I was breaking any rules but unwilling to slow down. I saw my family in the crowds the second time through the LaGrange Loop, which was a real boost as I entered the last 40 miles of the bike leg. A short while later I saw Tom near some trees and yelled to him that I had wet myself and he gave me the thumbs up. Having mentioned it to Tom I needed to go again and so for a second time pissed myself on the bike, with no difficulty this time. As I neared the end of the bike I knew I had to super-hydrate myself in preperation for the run so I started taking on a lot of gatorade but seemed to overdo it and felt bloated for the final 20 miles back into Louisville. I finished the bike leg in 6 hours 18 minutes, which moved me up to 838th place overall.

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I changed to my running shorts and luckily had fresh white socks to replace my yellow ones, got sprayed with sunscreen and made my way onto the running course. The time was about 15:40 and with the 17 hour limit being from the final starter I knew I had about 9 hours to complete the run, which I was confident I would do. I felt massively bloated however and so wasn’t smiling a lot; actually though I was pretty happy because my legs felt fine and I knew the bloatedness would go with time (I was partly right, it did ease but never left me). I set out at a slow pace (12 minute miles) unaware that I would only slow down further from there. I hadn’t felt the heat too much on the bike ride but as I began the run the full shock of it hit me suddenly (93 farenheit, 34 celcius). I vowed right then to get rid of my beard and hair at the first opportunity and took to pouring water over myself at every chance in the meantime. I was still unable to bear swallowing anything much and so covered the first 40 minutes or so with little to drink. The fresh leg feeling soon evaporated leaving me with two wooden pegs to run on. I began to walk through each aid station (located each mile) to take on water and cool down, and then concentrated on nothing more than running to the next one. My appetite for gels had waned fast and so I had to force down a gel at every other aid station and drank a mixture of gatorade, water and flat coke. I poured water over my head at every station and sometimes gatorade by mistake. By the next station I was always bone dry again. I reached the penalty tent after 8 miles and gratefully took my two minute “punishment”. I was averaging almost 16 minute miles by this point, I would pick out someone walking ahead of me as I ran and focus on overtaking them, it normally took me half a mile mile to gain a few hundred yards. Focusing on one mile at a time, with people shouting “good job!” at me every minute or so, and “run Forrest run!” once in a while, and “it’s Jesus!” and “nice beard!” and “that’s got to be hot under there!” and “Tom Hanks!” and “holy shit!” making an appearance, I made it through to mile 14 and the end of the first lap. Volunteers called ”not far now” to me, unaware that I wasn’t even half way yet. I did not see my family or Tom and Christa in the crowds on the corner though I knew they were there. I semi-jokingly thought about taking the finishing route but instead turned right, away from the cheering crowd and back up the road, away from the lights, into the dark. This half-way low has been talked about much by others and knowing to expect it was one of the few things that made it bearable.

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It is important, I had read, to be nice to yourself on the course and so when I reached mile 16 I decided not to hate myself for having to stop for a couple of minutes. I couldn’t run each mile anymore so while I really hated doing it - it was horrible to have to resign to it - I had to walk half of each mile between stations. I walked fast and was able to run faster after the break so this method actually increased my average speed to just over 15 minute miles. Over the run I was constantly setting new goals and couldn’t help working out what average speed I would need despite getting it wrong each time from my initial assumption that 6×4=26. I went from trying to get an official finish to beating midnight, to breaking 16 hours, to beating 11 O’clock, to breaking 15 hours, to beating 10 O’clock. Then back to 15 hours on a low, then back to 10 O’clock after a gel. I was getting pissed off at myself for having nothing more interesting to think about but couldn’t stop doing it. Over the last 6 miles my goal became firm in trying to beat 10 O’clock, which meant better than 15 minute miles (don’t compare that to Olympic athletes please). At 26 miles I was still on course and broke into a real run, near the finish I was veritably galloping and I crossed the line at speed with a smile, arms up as if I had enjoyed the whole thing. In truth I was massively relieved and delighted to get there before 10 O’clock. I was led out by a concerned volunteer to get a hug from my parents and sister and then join the queue for a massage. My run took me 6 hours 14 minutes, perilously close to the dreaded negative split (where the run takes longer than the bike), leaving me as the 1117th (or 1120th) of 1788 finishers (depending if you look here or here) in a time of 14:16:56. The announcer announced “John Mitchell you are Mountainman. You are Ironman”.

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The book was really this one by Jim Taylor. In his helpful “wrong reasons” section he lets me know that I could be participating simply to fill a void in my life. I may have entered for an anticipated increase in respect and acceptance from others, hoping to increase my popularity with women. I may have entered on the notion that ‘more is better’ but I should know that there is always a greater challenge and that the bar can be set too high. I may be doing an ironman with the desire to answer some of my life’s questions, but I should be aware that though I may find meaning, satisfaction and joy, answers will probably elude me. Jim Taylor may have some good points but dresses them up very badly and the crap about “answers” is just silly; also, why does he say things like “increase popularity with women” when he means “get laid more often”?

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Overall it seems that my training hasn’t been textbook. Probably the best training I’ve done was my ride to Nordkapp, although it was over a year ago now so I’m not sure it really helps that much. I have managed to do a fair amount of swimming though, and can now swim over a mile. I had thought it would be easy to train while Tom and I were riding but found that even when I felt good, and even after a couple of days’ rest after cycling, my legs would still be incredibly tired, which made running almost impossible. Of course I was doing plenty of cycling back then but haven’t really done much since we got back from the Yukon so I hope that holds up for me. The great news though is that Mike from Indianapolis is very generously lending me his incredibly nice bike for the event. It is about 1.5kg compared to my tourer’s 15kg. I am hoping the high from this improvement will last 114 miles. I gave up drinking 4 days ago, although had a relapse 2 days ago. I decided to go for a long run on Monday (my previous longest was 13 miles and I panicked) and am still suffering for it today. I had read that it is very important to use a heart rate monitor for training and the event and so bought one a while back but left the monitor part in Tok so now I go by feel. According to Jim, this is a very poor strategy.

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Here’s other stuff that happened. Tom and I went to a wicked wedding on Camano Island. We are now living with Christa, Carley, Laura and Alexandra in Seattle on the edge of Lake Washington. We have been swimming every day and most nights. And last night we went to see Radiohead, which was incredibly awesome.

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Our plan was to take the ferry as far as Bellingham but to try and get very cheap stowaway tickets. We were doing frightfully well with our plan and would have succeeded is it wasn’t for those pesky authorititave people that made us pay for the entire journey. The ferry was much quieter and more subdued than our journey north. Most of the people on board were pissed off to be returning back to work after a holiday in Alaska, taking their depression out on the kids through the medium of complaints to the captain, so that by Bellingham children were banned from running, talking loudly, using remote-controlled cars and playing hide and seek.

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We arrived in Bellingham on the 25th. On our way to Anarchortes (for a ferry out to Salt Spring Island) we stopped to camp in a park and met a very friendly group that invited us to join their feast, leaving us with the leftover pizza for breakfast. (It was a specific kind of group that kept assuring us that God was looking kindly on us and taking care of us). Once more we were woken in the morning by a guard to kindly tell us that we had unfortunately happened to sleep in a place prohibitive of sleeping. We gave the reply demanded of us that we hadn’t realised, thanks for letting us know and where is the nearest shop and then we were on our way.

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On Salt Spring Tom and I have been staying with Vida, Sam, Krista and Corbin and have been treated far better that we deserve. We have been swimming in the lakes around the island (not literally around, that’s the sea) and I’ve been trying to come to terms with the looming ironman (4 weeks) and so have been for a few panicked runs.

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It is fun to be back on the island, especially with my new-found fame. Yesterday morning Tom left for Seattle where he will be staying with friends; I will follow him down in about a week.

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Anyway, the doctor said Tom should rest it for a week, which was highly predictable. In fact I doubt he listened to what Tom even said, he just knows that when he says “give it a week’s rest” he gets paid $60. So we have been thinking about our options, and here they are.

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First, here are the starting blocks.

-We are currently in Whitehorse.

-I have entered an ironman in Kentucky that I must compete in. Therefore I have to get to Seattle by the 23rd August so that I can take a train across from there.

-At the moment we are cycling the entire distance from Alaska to Venezuela.

-Our overall trip is around the world by train, bicycle and boat.

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Now here are the problems.

-Seattle is 2000 miles away.

-A week’s rest may not do much and so probably a longer rest on Tom’s ankle would be better.

-Today is the 23rd August, minus the minimum week’s rest leaves 4 weeks.

-Given the need to not aggrevate the Achilles tendon cycling 2000 miles in 4 weeks is not a good idea.

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Here are our options.

1) Tom rests his ankle here in Whitehorse for three or four weeks while I cycle ahead to Seattle. While I am messing about with the triathlon Tom catches up, we regroup in Seattle and carry on.

2) Tom and I wait in Whitehorse for two weeks. We then cycle at a modest pace south and when time becomes a push hitch-hike the remaining distance to Seattle. After returning from Kentucky we hitch back to where we got to and carry on.

3) We take a ferry from here (Skagway) back to Seattle. Tom rests there while I train. After Kentucky we go back to Skagway, then Whitehorse and continue our trip.

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More about the ideas.

-If we have to come back up to Whitehorse after Kentucky (mid-September) then we will be cycling down the coast during winter and into central America in the summer. This doesn’t seem sensible although we don’t really know why.

-If Tom tries to cycle too much before his ankle heals (sorry) properly then it could be bad, although we don’t really know what kind of bad. 

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At the moment we haven’t decided what is the best option but we’re going to have a beer now and talk them through. If anyone has a good idea then feel free to let us know.

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So we decided to give it a good rest and were fortunate to meet Mike and Colleen, who invited us to stay at their house during the recovery. So that’s pretty much what’s happened for the last week. Tom’s become an Xbox 360 addict. I’ve read two crap books. We’ve sneaked into the local pool a few times. We’ve been to the cinema. I went for a run (ironman in 6 weeks). We bought two new inner tyres. Tom’s creaking saddle may have been fixed. I wish I had something more to tell.

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Tomorrow morning we will be back on the bikes again. The next sizeable town is Watson Lake. It’s about 300 miles away and will be our next stop. We’ve both seen black bears now and are hoping for grizzlies: as a wise man once told a guy that told us “you don’t have to outrun the bear, just outrun your friend.”

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After a break in Glennallen we rode up to Tok, which was our most northerly stop in the Americas. Another day’s rest and we were ready to head to the Canadian border. It happened to be the fourth of July but neither Tom nor I are American and so we weren’t too bothered about missing the celebrations. We did get to ride down the parade route just ahead of the parade though and enjoyed wishing people a “happy fourth of July” in our English (redcoat) accents. We were making pretty good progress until Tom got a puncture (his third in four days). Unfortunately we had elected not to cycle the extra four-mile detour from Glennallen to get a new inner and as the puncture was on the valve we couldn’t fix it. We messed around for about two hours in vain with patches and gaffa tape and then saw two cyclists approaching. They gave us a new inner, which we were grateful for even though it was the wrong size. Then Tom put three holes in it while trying to force it on his wheel. So we then had to fix the new punctures with used patches from the other tyre and after another couple of hours finally managed to finish our shabby job. Overall it was a five hour job to sort out a flat, not bad. We were determined to push long distances but were lured into a bar in Northway by the promise of cold beer. Northway is a very small, very inbred community that welcomed us warmly once they found out we were Australian and not English. We celebrated independence with them over our warm beers until the family feud started (which involved everybody but us).

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We crossed into Yukon territory, Canada, yesterday morning and cycled through incredible scenery, stopping in Beaver Creek for dinner, which was bought for us by a great couple that had enjoyed hearing about our trip. After dinner we cycled on through some pretty miserable weather, which has continued today with a consistent headwind, sometimes gusting strongly enough to bring me to a near-standstill.

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We’ve been pushing some pretty long days so far and it has been a shock to both of us (though I feel especially sorry for myself with the additional element of breaking in a new saddle). Soon we will be in Whitehorse where we plan to have a decent break and drink some beer.

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Update: 08/07

I just read through the blog myself and noticed how very flat it sounds. The tone is directly correlated to the ride. Earlier that day Tom’s achilles tendon had started to ache - because we were about 40 miles from anywhere and not wanting to agrevate it he hitched a ride ahead to Haines Junction (for concerned parents it is not the tendon that snapped a few years ago and he has seen a doctor and it should be OK so long as he lowers his saddle and rests a couple of days). So I was then riding alone into the headwind. I found a computer to write the blog on after 50 miles, and having just found out that a bag of Haribo would cost me eight dollars. I clearly struggled to muster much enthusiasm at the time, even for the guy that bought our dinner, which was really quite fantabulolistic of him. I left without Haribo at 11pm and cycled for another three and a half hours, covering a miserable 25 miles. Luckily the next day was much easier and by early afternoon I had caught Tom up in Haines Junction. So, Tom is now resting here a couple of days and will then hitch back up the road so that he can complete the ride. That means I’ll get a few days here to catch up on my beer intake, which is nice.

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There is no direct ferry to Anchorage and so we got a ticket to Ketchican. We were sleeping out on deck and with our case of beers and two litres of rum made quick friends. Among the group we made were Andy, Steve, Nick, Kellie, Kate, Rochelle, Rishana, Bill and Amanda. That’s not to say that everyone liked us. For example there was the guy that would have preferred if we could have been a little quieter or further away, and he felt that strongly because one time he said “I’ll fuck you up” (sorry mum but it is true). There was also the guy who objected to my objection to his assertion that there is no such thing as an atheist. He was further peturbed at my refusal to read the book of John and walked out in a huff at the mention of evolution. Then we heard through the grapevine that we were officially on our third strike, although by then we had already passed Ketchican anyway and so were traveling for free. Our second strike had come when we were caught drinking alcohol, although forutnately we had in fact just finished the rum and the last of the beers so the guards probably felt foolish taking away our empties.

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Tom and I got off the ferry in Juneau, and followed some of our new friends to a campsite. It was still early in the morning and so we hiked up to Mendenhall Glacier, which was awesome. I think we had hotdogs for tea that night and were back on the ferry the next afternoon. Both ferry journeys were spectacular and we saw lots of whales and dolphins, including killer whales (which are actually false killer whales here, which are actually dolphins anyway). Of course I lost my battery charger on the last ferry and so wasn’t taking any photos of them; Tom was struggling with the delay on his camera and has a number of cracking shots of the waves.

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We arrived in Whittier this morning, which is as close as you can get to Anchorage on the ferries. We had been told repeatedly that bikes weren’t allowed in the tunnel between Whittier and Anchorage but it got annoying and so we didn’t listen anymore. The only train leaves once a day, we would have had to have waited 12 hours for it and paid $80 each and anyway we didn’t want to. Just as we were leaving an Australian made one last attempt to refrain us, he told us it was absolubtly forbidden, impossible. We asked him if there were guards and he was silenced. We rode, following the motorcyclists, steering to the right of the CCTV camera.

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Of course the answer is yes there are guards, and about 80 CCTV cameras. On arriving on the other side of the tunnel we were greeted with a flashing light, then taken in silence to the “no cyclists” sign. We responded with silence, unsure really. The guard then said “it doesn’t matter, you made it through OK”. I don’t think we gave that Aussie our website address but if we did – told you so.

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So today we rode in to Anchorage, it was a great ride and we had a huge tail wind the entire way. We plan to stay here for another day and then will begin our ride. Mike and Courtney (see paragraph 1) are getting married in August and invited Tom and me to the wedding. It is on August 9th and is near Seattle. We really hope to make it, which will be about 2,200 miles in 6 weeks. The ironman is in 9 weeks.

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One of the highlights of my stay was definitely not the four consecutive days picking rocks out of a field. On top of the four mentioned rock-picking days were another three rock-picking days. It’s not a very fun way to spend a day and is only barely tolerable once you’ve drunk a few beers. A close second last was the day I spent picking sticks off a bank. 150 years ago some Scottish bloke brought over three seeds of ‘broom’ to remind him of home. The seeds were so successful that they have spread to southern Alaska and northern California; those three seeds have created well over a week of work for me here on Salt Spring. After a while I became quite narcissistic about it, traveling great distances to kill another plant. Anyway, yesterday was my last day there. I was working there for five weeks, the good part is that I made $80,000. Did I mention what we grow there?

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One day a little while ago I joined the Salt Spring critical mass ride. I was told off in the early stages for cycling too far out in to the road. Then we went down a big hill and had to brake all the way down so as not to come out of single file. People here have to be a little more courteous because the driver behind them is probably a friend or a sister or a wife, or quite plausibly all three. There were about 20 cyclists on the ride, which is a better turn out than on the Tokyo ride. Back when Tom and I were in California we had met a guy called Luke, who gave us a copy of Into the Wild, which I never got to read, which is a good story in itself but wait, there’s more. Luke was on the critical mass ride here on Salt Spring. He told me that after talking to Tom and me in San Fran he decided he wanted to push the limits of human endurance in a similar way and has just bought his bike ready for a year-long trip.

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Last monday was the inaugural swim around the island. It was a swimming event around a small island from one of the beaches on this island. I was the event coordinator as well as the only competitor. It probably says something about the island that my swim was deemed worthy of an article in the local paper (out tomorrow). Other than a couple of swims in lakes on the island and a small amount of cycling that was my only training since Vancouver. The ironman is in 10 weeks now, I am a little nervous.

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Tom and I are finally getting a ferry up to Alaska on the 20th. If all goes well then we will be in Alaska on the 26th and on the road soon after. I’m very excited to get going again, although I really love Salt Spring. Work is work and will never be a passion for me but I have a cool group of friends here now. Tonight is the last supper, I’m going for the arms out pose for photos.

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Neil recently acquired 93 acres on Salt Spring Island . At the moment he lives in a caravan, while I sleep in the shed behind the VW beetle. He plans to turn half an acre in to an organic crop this year, so we have been working the land. We have also been clearing and landscaping about 2 acres of land around where his house is soon to be. That’s why there are photos of me driving an excavator, although that was just a publicity stunt. The real driver later had to rearrange the log piles and I went back to my trusty rake for the remainder of the afternoon.

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So I have been working here for 2 weeks now. The plan had been for Tom and I to take a ferry to Alaska from Bellingham on the 23rd of this month. However, Tom had a mishap in Seattle, pouring a pan of boiling water and al dente pasta on his arm. To complicate things, the burns then got infected and so he will have to stay in town a little longer he says. This is either to have the dressing changed or to better reap sympathy.

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Thus, I will be staying on Salt Spring a little longer. The next ferry is not until June 20th but Tom says he may be able to get us on a tug all the way to Anchorage in early June. So, with my increased time on the island, perhaps I will accept my invitation to join the island’s chess club. Or perhaps not, it does clash with my poker night after all. It is just Neil and me on the farm but we have a pretty decent group of friends now and so life here is great. Plus, of course, I am earning money at last.

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There have been a string of things keeping me here, most recently the bike shop (the one that replaced my position with someone better) took ages to get my parts i, and even then failed to get some of it. And then I had to wait for my cold-weather clothes to be sent back out in preperation for Alaska. They arrived here this morning and in all probability I will be cycling back out of Canada tomorrow morning. The only thing that might stop me is the chance of a few days work on an organic vegetable farm, but I doubt it will come through.

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Since I left Cici’s I have been camping in various spots around the city. Typically I would look for the most inconspicuous spot possible but sometimes it’s fun to not do it that way. On Saturday night I left a bar in the wee hours with a nice warm beer coat on. As I cycled towards a park, I found a small hillock in the middle of a very nice (posh) part of Vancouver. It was just too inviting and so that night I slept in my little green castle on the top of the hill, overlooking the marina. Another night I was trying to be less conspicuous and ended up in my bivi just inside a hedge: I was woken up as a mower passed extremely close to me. Another night I slept in the middle of a roundabout (or as near to one as it comes in Canada). Another night I was hidden by the branches of a weeping willow. Another night I didn’t bother sleeping and stayed up reading ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’, which is a very good book.

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Unfortunately my brother’s friend (inconsiderately) moved to Colorado and so I no longer have someone to visit in the San Juans. So, I plan to cycle back to Seattle, stopping in Bellingham on the way. I’m almost as excited about leaving for Alaska now as I was about leaving for Newcastle last April.

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This morning I cycled the three hours back to the north shore because this is where my new bike parts are coming in to. Hopefully I will be able to make my bike new and beautiful again, collect all my things from the places I’ve left them in Vancouver, and be ready to leave here by tomorrow afternoon. I am going to cycle back down to the states, then I’m not sure where yet. I could head back to Seattle for a couple of weeks, or (more appealingly) go and stay with my brother’s friend, Peta, in the San Juan islands.

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Since my appearance at Gage’s lecture I received a number of emails from attendees who disaproved of me and then was proverbially forcibly removed from their email list. I know it’s for the best, the long-distance would have been a strain and it could never have worked, but it still hurts.

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Who wants to learn? Okay, here are a few fun facts from a book I just read:
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Humans have 4 nostrils. The highest mountain we know of is on Mars; the tallest one on Earth is in Hawaii (Everest is the highest on Earth). The largest living thing is a mushroom in Oregon. No man-made artefacts can be seen from the moon. The telephone was invented by Antonio Meucci. (Bell happened to work in the lab where Meucci’s sketches and models were later sent; the models and sketches mysteriously disappeared.) Kilts, bagpipes, whisky, haggis, tartan and porridge are all from somewhere other than Scotland. Chicken tikka masala was invented in Glasgow. It is Britain’s most popular dish; in a recent survey of different CTM recipes, the only common ingredient was chicken. The English invented champagne. And the guillotine. And baseball, although US baseball authorities were so paranoid of this fact that in 1907 they fraudulently invented a US inventor in Abner Doubleday. Mary Antoinette never said ‘let them eat cake’. Thomas Crapper sadly did not invent the flush toilet. The moon smells like gunpowder. Earth has seven moons. Marmite has been suggested as a solution to the Arab-Israeli conflict in the middle east. The largest diamond we know of is ten billion trillion trillion carats; it is eight light years away in the star ‘Lucy’. This nickname ’Lucy’ came from the Beatles’ song, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, which was named after a picture drawn by John Lennon’s son of his friend Lucy Richardson. The speed of light varies, in 2000 scientists brought light to a complete standstill. The majority of tigers live in the USA. The European earwig has two penises incase one snaps off. Napoleon was once forced to retreat by rabbits. You are more likely to die from an asteroid impact (1/6,000,000) than from being struck by lightening (1/10,000,000). According to the newest translation, the number of the beast is 616; this will upset Russians who renamed the 666 bus route as route 616. The universe is beige. Mars is butterscotch (-coloured). Water is blue. Your brain is pink. There is no word for ‘brown’ in Welsh. Light is invisible. Chameleons don’t change colour to blend with the background (changes reflect emotional states). Nome in Alaska is so called after a ship’s officer scribbled ‘Name?’ next to a point on the map, which was later mis-read. Edison invented the word ‘hello’. The hottest part of a chilli is in the central membrane, not the seeds. The hottest chilli known of is from Dorset, called the ‘Naga’. The crack of a whip is created as the tip breaks the sound barrier, making the whip the first man-made object to reach this speed. If a cat falls from a window, it has a better chance of survival if this window is on the 7th floor or higher. Dogs don’t mate ‘doggy style’, this is a dominance gesture, they mate tail to tail. Stomach ulcers are caused by a bacteria, not stress or spicy food. Henry the black was the first man to circumnavigate the globe. The flat Earth theory is fairly modern, originating in the nineteenth century; today’s International Flat Earth Society claims NASA’s lunar landings are hoaxes. Columbus thought Earth was a quarter of its size and pear shaped, he died convinced he had reached Asia. Columbus’ preferred nickname for himself was Colon. Teflon was discovered by Roy Plunkett, in no way associated with NASA. Hitler was not a vegetarian, nor was he an atheist. Shrimps are the loudest things in the ocean. There’s no such thing as a panther. Red does not bother a bull, but movement does. Today’s carrots are orange because we eat a type patriotically bred in Holland to match the Dutch Royal House of Orange; the first carrots eaten by humans were purple on the outside and yellow on the inside. St. Nicholas, among other things, is the patron saint of murderers. Rudolf the red-nosed reindeer is female. The late elephant bird of Madagascar layed an egg nine litres in volume. Mosquitoes have killed around 45 billion people; marmots have killed over a billion. Marco Polo, from Croatia, almost certainly did not bring pasta back from Asia. The United States of America (named after Richard Ameryk) has 46 states.

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Five days ago was 4 – 20, a special occassion and called Canada day by some. 4 – 20 comes but once a year and twice a day. It’s celebration is strictly observed my many. I recommend people in England looking it up and writing it in for next year.

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One evening I cycled in to the city centre to go to a lecture. (It was given by Richard Gage, who is an architect that promotes the conspiracy theory about 9/11. I was in a minority – Gage: “who here still believes the official theory, put your hands up high” [my hand the only one up high out of a room of 450 people]. Gage: ”are you taking the piss?” Me: “No”. It was quite good fun to be so outspoken.) There were some friendly people there so I went out for some beers afterwards. At about 1am I returned to my secret spot, the place I always locked my bike when I was in the city centre. Only instead of my bike there was a homeless guy. I wasn’t laughing this time.

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After about an hour I managed to find a security guard who let me in to the carpark, to my incredible relief my bike was in there. It could have been moved by security but the guard knew nothing about it and suggested that a thief had moved it there in the evening and were planning to collect it in a van when the carpark opened in the morning. I actually didn’t care who had moved it, I checked it over (it was fine) and cycled home on an incredible high, waking up all the residents in Kitsilano.

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Tom and I left my house on the April 23rd last year – we’ve been a year away from home and are both still alive, which is quite good. So, I am still in Vancouver but plan to leave pretty soon, heading back to Bellingham, the San Juan islands, Vancouver Island, Seattle or pretty much anywhere. I actually quite like Vancouver as cities go but am getting pretty restless now. I looked up the ferries and Tom and I should be able to take a ferry to Alaska on the 23rd of May, I am very excited.

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As you know, Tom has been earning some money in Seattle while I came up to Vancouver to do the same thing here. But I have been fairly unsuccessful in my attempts and so while Tom will be eating at restaurants on our next leg, I will be eating road-kill. I have used my abundant free time up here to begin my ironman training. I swim most days at the local pool and have been running and cycling around the north shore. My bike computer says that I’ve nearly covered 5000 miles now since home and the bike doesn’t sound as good as it once did. So, on Monday I’m going to the bike shop to fit a new chain, front rings, rear rings, a new gear lever, new tyres, new bar tape, new brakes, a new bottle cage and a new saddle. Most of these replacements were inevitable but needing a new saddle is not good news. The leather saddles we started with are meant to last for life but mine broke a while ago so it is no longer moulded to a perfect fit. Long-term, a new saddle will be an improvement but I will have to break it in from scratch again, which is a very uncomfortable process.

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Life has been very enjoyable in Vancouver, and Brent and Denise have been incredible hosts to me. With my continued failure to find work, I have had little restriction on how I spend my time. So, I have made the most of my new library membership and read some pretty good books along with a couple of quite bad ones. I entered a short story competition with a piece about a bearded tramp but didn’t win (yet). I played golf at the seaside par three course and got a hole in one on the challenging 70-yard third. I commiserated with the rest of Vancouver when the Canucks failed to make the playoffs. I went to a lecture on aliens, UFOs, crop circles and the new world order, I found it very amusing, which probably wasn’t the point. I engaged in prolonged debate against the 9/11 conspiracy movement - among many other accusations, I am suspected of being a government agent.

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My plan now is head back to Seattle fairly soon in a last ditch effort to find some work before Tom and I head north.

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Solace and refuge came from Denise and Brent, who are wonderful people and good friends of my parents. They generously took me in on March 2nd and I have been staying with them since. On my birthday they gave me a book called ‘Stanley park’, which is the story of the permanent residents in Stanley Park.

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To celebrate my birthday I decided to go for a nice long bike ride, which admittedly shows a limited imagination. Still, it was a glorious day, topped off with a swim in the sea and being taken out for a meal by Denise and Brent. I also managed to arrange a job in a bike shop I passed in the afternoon.

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Work in the bike shop began the following day, I was to construct the bikes ready to go on display. I thought I was doing a pretty good job of it but two weeks later they ‘hired someone full time’ and I was surplus to requirements. So for any Canadian tax inspectors, the shop was… actually no, they kept my email address incase they need me again.

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So, I have been settling in to life on the North Shore, I have a home, a family, a membership to the local library, a membership to the local leisure centre, and used to have a job. Not bad. With my unexpected amount of time I have been starting my proper training for the ironman. Sometimes it’s fun.

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I noticed Tom hasn’t written a blog recently so I will fill you in on some details from Seattle. Tom is still in Seattle. He has trimmed his beard back pretty heavily and cut his hair. He was promoted from veg chopper to sues chef briefly and then promoted again to stripper. He is still cleaning toilets for keep at the hostel.

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Tom has had his back waxed (it was a highly entertaining experience for me and I have photos that will be on here soon) but Tom said the experience was phenominally painful and has declined to have his chest waxed. But the target was hit and so as compenstation for this failure to please we will go ahead with other challenges in its place. I hope this is OK with viewers (although I suspect many are very disappointed).

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I have no witty stories to tell, which is pretty sad. Must try harder.

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Mary Ann and Sydney had set up a spare bedroom for me and cooked spaghetti ready for my arrival. My only job was to select my beers for the evening, it was a fantastic moment of unexpected luxury. Mary Ann is also a keen cyclist and will be celebrating her birthday this year with a 7-week cycle trip across the USA. So as I left their house in the morning she joined me for the first 15 miles. She asked at one point if she was holding me up and I simply said no because I was too proud at the time to admit she was killing me with the pace. I arrived in Bellingham that afternoon after a beautiful ride up the coast, tired from my first 75-mile day since Japan.

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I really love Bellingham, I think it’s my favourite town on the trip so far, it has a mellow atmosphere, it’s surrounded by mountains and the ocean and is also home to Katie and Khale, my hosts for the next few days. It was great fun again hanging out with them and their housemates: playing frisbee, getting baked in the sun and going for hikes. I stayed for about a week before getting back on the saddle and heading to Canada.

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At the Canadian border I was interrogated about my financial situation, I told them I was flush with money but had no evidence to prove it. The guy was quite cross about it but let me though anyway. The truth is I’m really not all that flush. It’s pretty hard to spend money around either Katie or Khale and I was also given food, beer etc. by Courtney and Mike and their other housemates. Nevertheless, I managed to spend my last few dollars of cash (borrowed from Tom) in Bellingham. I think I do have some money left somewhere (although I definitely have more debt) but I don’t seem to be able to access it in any way at the moment. I have three cards, one of which was helpfully sent to Southampton after my wallet was stolen, and the other two just keep saying no. So when I reached the border I had just 16 dollars to my name, which was in my pocket, which was from Katie.

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Through the border and five miles into Canada I had my first collision. As I was approaching a set of lights, a woman in a convertible overtook me, cut infront of me to turn right, realised she couldn’t make it, panicked, slammed on her brakes, turned round, watched me ride into the back of her and shouted “watch where you’re going”. I then explained at length how she was being ridiculous, she eventually apologised, I admired my tyre mark on her car and cycled off undamaged.

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Five miles later, as I headed towards central Vancouver my attention must have been distracted because I realised just too late that I was cycling off a curb, which isn’t smart when you’re carrying a lot of weight. Soon after I heard a spoke snap.

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So here I am, I walked into Vancouver two days ago and have been camping in the park. I managed to get a new spoke for a dollar and have replaced the broken one. Then, as I was contemplating the best way to make the last 10 dollars last I (disappointingly for everybody I’m sure) finally got access to some money. So I am applying for jobs and looking for somewhere to live and things look like they’ll be OK.

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Sunday 3rd was, of course, Superbowl Sunday. It was the second most-watched programme in US TV history, beaten only by a 1983 episode of MASH. Advertising was sold at over $5 million per minute and in one of these Madonna received $10 million for a 5 second appearance. Tom and I were invited to a superbowl party to watch the game and soak up the American experience. Normally, so we were told, the game is crap but the food is great and so people just concentrate on that. But this year not only was the food fantastic, but the game, which was meant to be a whitewash, was won in the last seconds by the underdogs. To top the experience, I took a 10 dollar bet on something I didn’t understand and won it.

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Back at the hostel, life has become rather stagnant. Tom and I are still cleaning toilets for our keep. Most of the time it’s an easy job but there are the occassional ’surprises’ to liven up the work. Tom has found a job chopping veg in a ‘burlesque’ dancing club, which is actually a strip bar although he denies it. I decided against trying to find work here as my stay was meant to be fairly brief. So, I’ve been running, had political debates (they’ve just had primary elections here), played many games of Chess with Rachid, read a lot and talked to plenty of people at the hostel. But as much as I’ve enjoyed all these things I really do need to move on now and so tomorrow morning I am making my second attempt to leave Seattle, cycling north to Bellingham and then on to Vancouver.

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Really there isn’t much more to tell about the last week or two. I could tell you about one of the pub quizes we’ve gone to, and about how I only knew one answer and that Tom then overruled me on it, but it’s probably not a worthy story even for this blog. Despite the fact I just told it.

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But, seeing as the blog was short I might use a little space here for a rant that’s been building up inside me. It’s about the tipping system in the US. If you’ve been here recently then you’ll know that you are expected to tip on virtually everything you buy. You can imagine the origin of tipping, where somebody was so happy with their service that they wanted to offer an extra gift to their server. Somehow, that has gone from a one-off to common, to expected. The amount has also risen – in a bar or restaurant here, a 15 to 20% tip is typical (and expected). The place for tipping has also spread so that you now have the ‘option’ of tipping a food trolley on a train. But, to me the worst part of tipping is that it has become not only expected, but even necessary in many cases. In many cases the worker’s wage is below minimum on the expectation that they will make it up on tips, in other words tipipng is effectively a semi-optional tax, and the real benefactors are the employers. The good thing about the system is that service here really is fantastic, the negative consequence is that you can never know if someone’s doing something out of generosity, or just being helpful, or if they’re doing it to get a better tip. For example, in England, when I had a minor problem with my bike I took it to the shop, they fixed it quickly and didn’t charge me. When Tom had a minor problem here the same happened but Tom then felt compelled to offer a 5 dollar tip, because you just don’t know. It’s a truly bizarre system, where boycotting is actually an immoral response!

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As a brief extra note. Tom and I sat uselessly through another quiz tonight, without helping our team on a single question. Fortunately they were pretty good though and somehow we finished tied for the lead. The tie-breaker was on the viewing figures for the Superbowl, which I happened to know exactly having looked up the MASH thing when writing this blog earlier and so all was forgiven for our poor performance and I became the self-proclaimed hero.

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As a second brief note, today (14th) is Darwin’s 199th birthday. I met a proud Brit recently who told me of his visit to ‘the South’. While there, conversation turned to currency and so he pulled out a British tenner and said ‘that’s a real note’ (OK, so he was very proud). But then a woman looked at the man on the back of the note (Darwin) and exclaimed - hysterically so I was told - ”that is the single most evil man in the history of this world”.

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The ship is called Hanjin Lisbon, she has a capacity of 7550 TEU, which is boat jargon and equates to being nearly 300 metres long and 40 metres wide. On board there are 2 bars, a gym, a 4 metre long swimming pool (empty), 2 messes (officers and crew), the cabins, engine room etc., bridge, 3000 40-ft containers, there was also a captain, 6 officers, 24 crew, Evan, Tom and me.

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The gym wasn’t huge but it did have two exercise bikes, great! On the first day I was cycling along to some Rage (Bullet in the Head) and accidentally snapped the handlebars so then there was just one bike, which had a broken seat post so that one’s knees kept hitting one’s chest. Tom nearly fell off once when the swell was getting bigger but skillfully converted an ‘endo’. Actually the seas were remarkably flat for the time of year - maybe we wouldn’t actually have enjoyed big seas but we all wanted to see them and were disappointed when captain took a detour to avoid the storm. 

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Evan is from the states and was returning from 2 years in Japan, he was the only other passenger and fortunately he was cool. We also made good friends with the second mate, Pablo. His watches were from 12 to 4 (twice a day) and so we spent a lot of time on the bridge during his shifts. One day when I was up there we spotted whales, I’m no oceanographer so couldn’t say what they were but they were big. Pablo says they were the biggest he’s ever seen but he was just being nice. I also spent a few nights on the bridge too, one night Pablo gave me manual control of the ship for about 40 minutes and I was awesome. The previous night he had also given me controls but I was tired and drunk and rapidly steered us 30 degrees off course by mistake. The captain doesn’t know of course.

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Overall the trip was a lot of fun - I am now master of the Wii, sporadically good as a pilot and much better acquainted with folk music (thanks to Pablo). We arrived in Long Beach on the 14th, where the customs officials graciously allowed us ashore after a polite interrogation. So far we have slept by the beach one night, on a pier one night and in Bernard’s house one night (Bernard is a great, eccentric guy we met in a bike shop, who invited us to share his house with his 72 bikes).

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So we are now in Tokyo, we got here last Saturday in time for the big critical mass ride I was telling you about. Well, there were only 14 of us in the end and so `critical mass` wasn`t really achieved. But it was great to meet the cyclists and their bikes; there were fixed wheel bikes, mini-wheel bikes, racing bikes, touring bikes, folding bikes and a recumbent. It was a good sight-seeing opportunity for us and afterwards we were invited to join them all for a meal and drinks. After the meal, drinks and a visit to the public baths we bivied in the park, which was very comfortable. In the morning just as I woke up a big bird shite landed on my bivi just under my chin (I don`t zip it up at night so it was a close miss), when I then got up I saw there were 5 other ones all scattered around where my head had been and began to suspect I was being targeted. It`s not like I was under a nest (I checked) and they didn`t seem to mind Tom so I was just the victim of their `funny` games. As I was rolling up the bag yet another one came flying down and narrowly missed me once more.

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Anyway the following evening we made our way back to the park and having made sure we were in a clearing were just setting down for sleep when someone walked over to us. It was dark so I`m not sure how he saw us – maybe the birds told him - but he did, and came over to see if we were alright. After talking to him for a while he said that we would be much better off sleeping at his flat rather than in the park and we agreed. His name is Leonard, he`s from Papua New Guinea and is here teaching english, he`s very easy going and we`ve been sleeping in his flat for the past week. His teaching is for the church on a voluntary basis, which is why `GOD is Good` is written on the wall of his flat in luminous letters.

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During the day we have been cycling around the city quite a bit. One of the best parts of Tokyo is Yoyogi park, which we are right next to (and where we camped the first night). At weekends it has a carnival atmosphere, when there are numerous hopeful bands, yet more hopeful karaoke singers, jugglers, frisbee-ers, badminton players, toy aeroplane pilots and so on. Electric city is another favourite spot for us and we`ve been looking at the video cameras as our last one broke in Norway. Anyway, there`s lots of interesting places and so we`re not getting bored. Our ship should be in dock here tomorrow and then we will cross to the USA on the calm seas typical of the Pacific in December.

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This bit is an add-on, an after-thought if you rather but it is too brief to take up it`s own blog and so here it is. The ship is in dock and will leave tomorrow morning at 6am our time, hopefully we`ll be on it. But the purpose of this extra-curricular part is to say that anybody wishing a Christmas card from us should write their name and address in our special place here. And if anyone wants to send a card for us to hang on our handlbars then there is a secret Christmas address that you can get from my mum (01494 862001) or my bro (only1rich2@NOSPAMyahoo.co.uk with the NOSPAM removed of course), it`s Jessie`s house – where we will be eating our turkey this year. Yum yum.

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Of course I was buying Tom`s birthday drinks but as some bugger had pinched my wallet while I slept the night before, I was doing so using Tom`s cash. I won`t dwell on the wallet-pincher too much except to say that apparently “crime is really rare in Japan, it`s really surprising”, which I found consoled me immensely. How am I going to get a replacement out-of-date student card that I so need for discounts?

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Our search for cheap passage to the states has been fruitless and so it looks like we`re going to pay dearly for voyage on a freighter at 850 pounds each. Of course that`s a lot more than an air fare but it does include bed and board for 12 days and it could be a lot of fun. We`re not sure yet what we`re going to occupy ourselves with until the ship leaves (in 2 weeks) but you can be sure that whatever it is, however mundane, you can find out about it in the next blog.

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Tomorrow we`re cycling up to Tokyo and are joining a “critical mass” bike ride there in the afternoon. Here`s a bit about them. Critical mass rides are where cyclists take to the streets en masse in a celebration of cycling, usually taking up most, or all, of the road. They are leaderless events and specifically not protests or demonstrations and so can proceed legally without permits (although in England the case for required notification is now going to the House of Lords). There are hundreds of events around the world, varying in size – Glossop, UK had 14 people turn up to it`s first ride in September whereas in April over 50,000 riders took part in the Budapest ride.  If you want to join one too then there is a list of rides here along with more information about them and then there`s also stuff on Wikipedia. The bit I`m nervous about is often there is a bike-raising at the end, mine`s heavy.

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Today I was in a shop looking at a waterproof jacket as I have lost my one. I was thinking “I really do need a new jacket I suppose - but I can get a better one when I get to the states – but this one is only 12 pounds - yeah but 12 pounds is quite a lot - yeah but what if it rains before you get to the states? – do you mean me? – yes.” So I bought it. At the same time Tom found that when he tried on a certain cap and a certain pair of sunglasses together he looked like a trucker and so he bought them.

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The next day was our longest climb to date. We had decided to head to Mt. Fuji, the climb from Fujinamiya to station 5 (the end of the road) was 22 miles long, which was all uphill with the single exception of a 10 metre stretch (sorry to keep switching between metric and imperial) which was flat, or even a little downhill. Our average speed for the day was 4.6mph (there I go again), which is painfully slow, especially for Tom who started getting cramps half way up. 

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We spent the night at the station, in the doorway to the south on the second level,  and slept well. In the morning the sun was shining, there wasn`t a cloud in the sky and I decided to climb up. Tom was still suffering from cramps but was determined to join me. Station 5 is at 2,400m above sea level (I`m doing it deliberately now), the summit is at 3,776m with the top snow-capped. At just over 3,000m Tom was totally at his limit and after a decent rest started to make his way back down.

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I had seen a couple of other climbers up ahead so decided to keep going, the fact that they were wearing boots and crampons and I was in cycling shoes didn`t really occur. The walk from there was tough, at times I was literally crawling and one time I was sliding the wrong way but at 12:58 I made it to the summit, tired but delighted. The wind was gusting at atleast 1000mph but there were no clouds and the views were incredible - and panaramic of course. But it was a bit chilly so I didn`t really hang around to take photos, anyway I was looking forward to going down. It had taken 4 hours to climb up, it took an hour and a half to get down, bum-sledging and running and sliding and skidding (as taught to me by JeanMarc).

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Tom and I were too tired even to freewheel back down the mountain that afternoon and so we found our doorway again and got some sleep. When we woke up the next morning we were in a cloud of mist and the temperature had dropped to -2 (degrees centigrade). I found that I couldn`t find my jacket and further discovered that I had lost my second pair of cycling shorts, which is pretty gross. Oh, also my air matress now deflates overnight and I still have a coat hanger holding up my tent. End of whinge. Anyway, as we began our descent it was still misty so my sunglasses were in their usual place wedged on my handlebars. But, as you may have seen coming, I hit a bump and I heard them land on the road. I came to a stop and turned round just in time to see a car appear out of the mist and crunch them. The driver didn`t even stop to see if they were OK. That really is the end of my whinge.

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From there the descent was fantastic – my sunnies were mended although one of the lenses fell out again, the mist cleared and the bends were smoother. We went as far as we could without having to pedal and that`s where we are now, overnighting in an internet cafe again. We`ll be in Yokohama pretty soon but probably not tomorrow - we`re still hoping to find passage across the Pacific when we arrive at the docks.

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This last bit is mainly for dad. We left my house 7 months, 3 weeks and 4 days ago. I have cycled 3692 miles (about 5,500km), Tom has cycled a bit less, around 3000 miles. We have spent 81 days traveling by bike, 54 days traveling by other means (including the Mongolia trip) and 81 days resting. I have spent 79 nights in my tent - of which I have had to pay for 5, 25 nights in my bivi, 5 nights in empty buildings, 100 nights in a bed – of which 46 were paid for (train bunks, hostels etc.), 5 nights without sleep and 2 nights in an internet cafe. It will be similar for Tom but not identical. We have now had one puncture each.

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We were following route 1, which was just about the only road on our map going in the right direction but which turned out to be fairly busy. On the 10th we were still on it, heading towards Shimizu, which is where we had arranged to stay with Maggie (through Couchsurfing). It was 80 miles away from our spot outside ‘Cannon Bowl’ and so we cycled most of the day, taking turns at the front. At the front you are taking the wind and the cycling is harder; at the back you are sitting as close to the leader as you can without touching wheels, you can’t see the road because of him and so have to rely on him being aware and telling you of bumps etc. and you are the one who will potentially get hit first should a car not want to pull out to overtake.

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Route 1 was same same for a long while – busy but manageable – then the road became narrower, the number of beeps increased and we were pulled over by the police. Apparently we had found our way on to a bypass, bad, and were escorted back on to the proper ‘1′. We followed it for a while, the road got narrower… and 2 more policemen pulled us over, very cheerful about the situation but nonetheless explained our error about the bypass and put us back on the real ‘1′. We then realised that as we approached cities a little bit of Japanese saying ‘bypass’ appeared on the road sign and at that point we were meant to take evasive action. So, next time this hidden message appeared we were on our game and took a left but the road ended up taking us on a long detour, which wasn’t ideal as we still had a long way to go with little light left. So at the next city we ignored the bypass sign, the road narrowed, we were beeped a lot, we went through some long tunnels and another police car pulled us over. 3 in a day! They were also very friendly and explained the problem to us poor, ignorant foreigners before escorting us back to a more appropriate road. Of course we had been naughty but I don’t think we really upset anyone, well I thought that. Then today we met a guy whose friend was late meeting him yesterday, he explained that he was had been in a long queue of traffic behind 2 a***hole tourists who were cycling on the damn bypass. Sorry.

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Anyway, we eventually made it to Maggy and Fuzz’s house and were invited out with them to go to Aya’s birthday party. We went to a bar for Nomi Houdai, which is where you pay entrance (10 pounds) and then for 2 hours eat and drink all you like – a perfect setting to make new friends quickly. It was a really fun night and somehow made it back to Maggy and Fuzz’s.

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This morning we gratefully accepted an invite to join them at a barbecue, saving us from getting back on the bikes. So we spent the day drinking beer and struggling with chopsticks. There’s about 170 km left to Yokohama now and tomorrow we will try and reduce that a little, although I think we will take some quieter roads, maybe try and avoid the police. By the way, Tom and I love the cycling and the camping too, but people like Maggy and Fuzz (and Woody and Harry and Matti…) have made our trip awesome.

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The cycling here is great, we weren`t sure how much countryside there would be here but there really is some and cycling through it is spectacular, like being back in Norway.  On the first morning out of Osaka we cycled along the river path with the sun on our backs (November is still topless weather here [but sadly only for us {please refrain from calculating that as we were heading east, the sun would have been in front of us (actually if we were in racing poses then it could still be on our backs - ha)}]), and for about 15 miles passed side-by-side games of baseball, rugby, football, golf and tennis.  It was such a happy scene that we relented to just one quick game of Japanese-style pitch and putt ourselves.

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Also, the people here have been incredibly friendly and generous to us, when we ordered a drink we were given cakes with them, when we were looking for somewhere to buy a map (is that irony?) a guy escorted us there in his blacked-out Merc, when we asked to pitch on someone`s land they brought breakfast out to us, at the top of our climb today 2 hikers gave us their rations. Everybody, come to japan.

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So, our next big challenge is to find a freighter ship to take us across the Pacific. So far we have found one, leaving in a month, that will cost us 700 pounds each. We hope to find something nearer to free. Anyone reading this with knowledge, especially inside knowledge, of that kind of thing - we welcome your advice.

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By the way, I have added some photos from Japan as well as a few more from China and some more signs we`ve spotted. The new albums (ie. Japan) are now near the start of the list so if you can`t find it then, well you should be able to.

We had arranged to stay with a couch surfer, Woody, in Osaka. Alex is also a cycle-tourist and had passed through Japan earlier this year (and speaks Japanese) so he offered to guide us there. I had expected a 5 minute ride from the ferry but Osaka is a huge city and it was actually nearer 2 hours – without Alex I doubt we would have made it.
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Japan`s another crazy place, where Lorry drivers cover their vehicles in chrome and the books open up the wrong way. It is also an incredibly polite place – at metro stations passengers always let people off first and also queue up to get on, when you expect someone is just about to push you out the way they just wait there until you`ve gone. That comes as a real surprise having come from China – in a lot of ways Japan reminds me of China, only it`s done better.
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Alex had planned on staying at a hostel but Woody invited him to join us here. For Japan, this is a huge flat, and while there are only 2 people living here it`s always filled with people. Tom and I have stayed here 2 days and loved it but today we are heading out, on the bikes once more. Today`s destination is Kyoto and from there it`s another 500km to Yokohama.

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We have spent our extra time well though. For example, today we went to a driving range and hit hundreds of balls at the guy in the ball-collecting buggy and then played table football until I hurt my wrist. Yesterday wasn’t so hectic.

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It’s great to see some more donations coming in. I didn’t mean for people who have already donated to do so again (mum) but thanks anyway. If anyone has any good ideas for how we could raise money, like busking with me on vocals and Tom on bongos, then let us know them. Don’t suggest that one though.

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We did, of course, go to see the Great Wall. Having got up the steep hill and on to a watch-tower on the wall, I took out my camera, took off the lens cap and dropped it over the edge. It was now on the wrong side of the inpenetrable defence. I thought it was lost forever but after a while happened to find a way through. Immediately I was verbally attacked by a feisty woman, screaming ‘no, no, no’ at me, I told her I had no idea what she was talking about and trotted past with her ‘no, no, no’ echo behind me. Anyway, the point is that I found a way through the wall (and got my lens cover back after a long, slightly hairy walk) and I think it’s very lucky for the Chinese that the Mongolians didn’t happen upon the same weakness.

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Some more sight-seeing and other touristy things and then last night we took another train from Beijing to Shanghai and arrived here this morning. Our first job on arrival was to build our bikes. Yey! We’ve both really missed cycling (it’s been over 2 months) and it’s great to let the bikes carry us again for a change. Putting them together drew quite a crowd, some eager to help Tom by unscrewing all the wrong screws and all laughing at our silly little pedals. Then, with bikes built and loaded, we wobbled off into the Shanghai traffic hoping to stumble across our hostel. They have good cycle lanes here but they are so crowded that they are often more dangerous than the road, it’s supposed to be one-way but that’s more of a suggestion than a rule - Tom had a very close shave with an oncoming moped while he was distracted by pot-holes. Anyway, with a helpful moped escort part of the way we made it, we will take a few days here to recover from today’s 3 mile ride and then we’ll be on a ferry to Osaka, Japan.

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This last bit is a little off subject. I was having a look at our charity pages and noticed that we’ve reached somewhat of a plateau at 3 and a bit thousand pounds. That’s a lot of money but we had made 10,000 our aim. So we got to thinking and have decided to set a challenge, or offer, depending on which side you view it from. It’s a bit like a Dale Winton game-show where the more money we manage to raise, the more pain we offer to put ourselves through. So, here’s the sheet:

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4,000 pounds – Tom will have his upper body waxed

5,000 pounds – Tom and I will compete in a 600km audax event

6000 pounds - Tom and I will compete in an ultra-marathon

6,500 pounds – Tom will compete in an insane marathon 

7,000 pounds – I will compete in an ironman triathlon

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This is genuine, if you want to see photos of our grimaces then find someone rich and get them to donate to our chosen charities (there are links here [MSF - FOE] or on the homepage).

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Here are some details for those who want to know more. First of all, with the need for preperations and so on, entries will close at the end of February. Now the events.

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Tom getting his upper body waxed is no small feat – evidence.

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I have mentioned audax rides (AKA randonneuring) they are long-distance continuous rides, there are loads of events in the states. The 600km version is usually over 2 days and we will have to complete a 200km ride before it to qualify.

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 We will both compete in the Siskiyou outback trail run, which is a 50km (about 31 miles) run in the mountains of Oregon.

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Tom hopes to compete in the ridiculously grueling Pikes Peak marathon, which includes a 6,000-foot climb. It’s an event which claims to be America’s toughest challenge. Entries haven’t opened yet.

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An ironman triathlon consists of a 2.4 mile swim, a 112 mile bike ride and a 26.2 mile run – you must get to the line within 17 hours to officially complete it. The event in mind is the Louisville, Kentucky event in late August, entry is limited but I have a place reserved, just in case.

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The festival was held over 2 days, I won’t tell you all about it because some of it was boring but the highlights were: the eagle calling, where riders made a variety of funny noises in an attempt to get their eagle to come to them or to a goat skin they were dragging; the camel race, having tried to get my camel beyond a plod a few days before, I was immediately impressed but there was one rider even less competent than me, having walked round the first lap his camel then refused to continue and lay down instead, we all laughed at the silly man; the man and woman race, I don’t understand why any of the men agreed to it, the couple gallop along while the woman hits the man as hard as she can with a whip, apparently they also have ’secret conversations’ while he takes this beating; the coin picking practice, the actual event was much less impressive than the warm up when guys were galloping along with a hand scraping the ground; the mounted wrestling, a 2 player game where the object is to wrestle a goat from the other one’s grip, tactics used invloved plentiful crowd charging and some galloping between vehicles, sometimes they fell off too.

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On the long drive back from the festival we stopped at some hot springs, a place of complete luxury and our first showers for 2 weeks (3 in Noah’s case). It snowed again over night so under the influence of our Swedish friend, Jacob, we went from the hot water to rolling in the snow and back to the water, under my influence we also had a snowball fight, the photos are somewhat misleading.

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Anyway, we made it back to Ulaanbaatar just in time for the rugby, we’ve eaten plenty of vegetables after our 25-day mutton diet and are leaving tonight for China, land of the free.

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So, we left Ulaanbaatar not so early in the morning and headed south into the Gobi desert. At the end of our first day we were fairly close to a couple of Gers (kind of like yerts but a letter short) and enjoyed the company of their highly friendly dog in the evening. That night Noah and I camped out without tents as it wasn’t forecast to rain for another couple of years at least. It was at 5 in the morning, with the stars bright overhead that Dog came to me, he jumped on my face, licked my toothbrush and stole my sock. He brought it back though.

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As we got further into the desert and then west the nights grew colder and so my tent was back in action, my faithful trusty tent. Unfortunately it was handled roughly by someone, quite possibly me, when being put on the roof of our eco-microbus and one of the end poles came a cropper. No worries, Baida – our driver cum mechanic – found a thick wire coathanger at a flee market, which is now cut to size and seems to be working well. At the same market Tom bought a new hat in an attempt to blend in more successfully with the locals. At some later date you will see for yourself but for now be patient.

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On day 5 of our trip we met two Belgian girls called Ingrid and Nicole. They are roughly halfway through a trip around the world, traveling by various forms of non-motorised transport. In their own words on their website, ‘they will experience thereby only of not motorized transport own to the countries true to them to cross’. This has included a pony across Iran and a camel across Mongolia, until now that is – they are also on a ”holiday”. I offered them ‘Around the World in 80 Ways’ but they rejected it, perhaps they would rather re-word it.

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Outside of Ulaanbaatar Mongolia is still a truly nomadic land, and proud of it. So the majority of people live in gers miles from the nearest neighbour, which they move (the ger) 4 times a year. They have a deep love for travelers in general and this extends to westeners. As such they are happy to accommodate and feed anyone passing through and so we have spent a couple of nights with families in this fashion. A highlight of the trip for me was a couple of nights ago when we were staying with a Kazak family when the grandfather (most respected) came over to tuck me in with a blanket. So today we head to the western border, where winter has set in now, for a spot of trekking.

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There was a bit of an issue with the train from St. Petersburg to Moscow, time got away from us and we arrived at the station with just 2 minutes left before departure, we were ushered on the train by the conductor and then kicked off again when she showed us how we were there a day early. Fortunately it was possible to pay an on-the-spot fare directly to her to be allowed on the train. On that subject, one place where we anticipated a bribe was on the train journey to Irkutsk because we knew our bags were too big. But on that occassion we only had to pay a genuine fine of 4 pounds between us when if the conductor had been a bit more experienced she would have spotted the oppertunity to rinse us (about 7 pounds). The journey was good fun although quite quiet, other than the ch-ch ch-ch ch-ch ch-ch choo choo.

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I think I mentioned that Noah has joined us for a while, he’s still with us. Yesterday I went with him to lake Baikal while Tom stayed in Irkutsk. Lake Baikal is the biggest freshwater lake in the world. I have to say ‘lake Baikal’ and not just ‘Baikal’ because Baikal is the name of the dog that lives there and I don’t want to confuse anybody, Baikal is medium sized for a dog. When we got there we met a group of Russians who were going to camp for a few days and they invited Noah and me to join them for the night. They cooked our dinner, which we ate at 3pm, by which time we had finished the first bottle of vodka. We then moved on to our donation to the party of Absolute vodka, which wasn’t Russian but they graciously drank it with us anyway before going back to the real thing. We decided not to tent because we had notions of a starry night, as it was we were too drunk to pay attention and anyway it rained all night on us.  We just about managed to get to the station on time this morning having woken up at 4 (quite wet) and hiked for about a couple of hours to get there. It didn’t go all the way back to Irkutsk, but Noah and I didn’t know that and so after sitting there for 15 minutes at the last stop we were kicked off by a policeman. I then took a photo of the trains and the same policeman came over and demanded to see our passports before frog-marching us to the station. Apparently taking photos of the tracks is illegal. We were there for over an hour, not really being interrogated, just having a chat. They did probe to see if we had any money with questions like ‘what work do you do?’ and ‘you have lots of money?’,  our answers were ‘we have no jobs’ and ‘no’. So we were allowed to go, no charge, no bribes. Result. I was told I had to delete the photo and all others of trains but I didn’t because I am naughty.

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This evening we are leaving Russia, I’ll miss all this attention from the authorities, I wonder what Mongolia will be like?

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So, it was a pretty interesting start to the motherland for me. Tomorrow we are going to the hermitage museum.

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Since we got back here we have been staying with Anu, and then with Harri and Virpi. Except the first night, when we hadn’t bothered to sort anything out and didn’t have our tents, bivis or sleeping bags, just the silk liners. So we stayed in a bar until 3am to avoid the rain, then tried to sleep in a set back doorway, which was OK for a while but at some point I woke up to see a drunk guy about to piss about a metre from Bish’s head, then he changed his mind or couldn’t go or something and so left. Anyway, since then we have been well cared for. Tonight Harri and Virpi gave us a send off dinner and then presented us with leaving presents too. Really they are amazing people - if any of you reading this ever come to Helsinki then we owe them some beers.

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Tomorrow morning we’ll take a train from Helsinki to St. Petersburg, presumably swapping to a steam engine at the border, where electricity stops. So we’ve been told anyway. I’m not too sure if they’re joking so I’m writing a blog now, just in case. Alas, we are shortening our cycling leg as we were planning to pedal there. Sorry. It would have been pretty tight with our visa, which is just 2 weeks for all of Russia. At least we got the visas though, they didn’t even mind that Tom had mis-spelt his middle name on the application form.

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So, our bikes are dismantled and crammed into a bag and from here we will be travelling at a slightly better pace for a while. Roll on Russia (that’s pretty funny if you think about it).

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The next day we made an appearance on the signature show of Finland’s national TV station. We were given free orange juice before our slot. OK, so it wasn’t totally professional and even if all of Finland had watched it that’s still only 5 thousand viewers. They made us cycle the same piece of ground about 20 times in the worst storm of the summer that morning to get some insert footage and then on the actual show the opening question was ’so you’re cycling the whole way around the world, what’s the next leg?’ Tom said ‘train to China’ and I nodded.

Anyway, we made a second attempt to leave Finland and this time succeeded and so now we are in Stockholm. Tom has had a hair cut and a beard trim. I would have done too but my manicure over-ran. I make no comment but feel free to share your views on his new look (bring out the gimp).

Helsinki is a pretty lively city and it is very possible to go out on a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, well every day. We should know. The trouble with the Finns is that after a 9-month winter they live it up in the summer and many stay out until past 4am while others get up at 8am for a stroll through the park, inconsiderately close to our tents. We are fast becoming sleep-deprived.

Before the weekend we got in touch with a guy called Harri, who we had met in the north of Finland but lives here with his wife Virpi (I hope I’ve spelled that right). On Saturday we visited their summer cottage and spent a really fantastic weekend there. Of course there was plenty of alcohol and delicious food and of course we were not allowed to spend a cent. The cottage is on a smallish island with no neighbours within about a kilometre. Tom and I took a swim over to a nearby island and have claimed it as our own as Brits do. The natives may not be thrilled by this acquisition but after all they don’t have a flag, and so the world is that little bit pinker once more.

We are still waiting for the lovely Russian folk to process our visa and so decided that we should visit Estonia in the meantime. The problem with our plan is that our passport is with said lovely Russian folk, this had escaped our attention until we were at the ferry port. I felt like I was 16 and trying to get into a pub ‘have you got a passport?’ ‘Yeah. Hang on, Damn, I think I left it at home. And so has Tom. But here’s my library card.’ ‘No’. I then had a similar conversation at the next desk.

Actually the Russian visas are a little more tricky to get now (through no fault of the officials) and we are only able to get a 2-week visa. So we now plan to go to Stockholm on the 23rd, to Tallinn on the 27th, back to Helsinki on the 31st, get a train to St. Petersburg on 3rd September, spend 3 days there (and get a ticket for the transmongolian train), get a train to Moscow, spend one day there (and get a new Mongolian visa) and then get on the train to Ulan bataar, entering Mongolia with a few hours left on the visa. What could possibly go wrong?

Mum and Russian officials, that is the end of my blog.

One night not so long ago Tom and I were experiencing Finnish culture and I ended up at an after-party. I left in the not very early hours and was about to head to the park when I realised that my bag was still at the party. The door was locked, the buzzer didn’t work, there were no windows in sight and no stones to throw, there was no other door, my bag had my camera, money and passport in it. So, after a while I spotted an open window, not to the flat I had been in but to what looked to be a communal kitchen. It was located one floor up and right next to a drain-pipe and so I entered, planning to then go to the party flat, recover my bag, go to the park and get half an hours sleep before the walkers arrived. As it happened the inside door was locked and so my plan failed, also it didn’t look much like a kitchen after all but I was too tired to care, I decided to wait until morning to get my bag and laid down to sleep for a while. I woke up as I heard a key turning and stood up just as someone came in to what turned out to be his unfurnished flat. I think it’s fair to say that we were as surprised as each other, he didn’t say much and I mumbled some incomprehensible apologies as I left. If I had been more awake I may have been inclined to claim squatter’s rights.

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By Monday we couldn’t find any more excuses to delay our departure from Turku and so we left. Our to-be cycle companion was too hungover to join us but we managed to find him en route that evening and so two became three for a short while. We took the King’s road, which is a great route and gets its name from a recent tour of Finland by the Kings of Leon, for which the road was built especially. We got to Helsinki on Wednesday.

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We should be here for about two weeks while we wait for a new Russian visa (behind schedule – old visa expired). Apparently it takes a while for them to do a thorough background check on each applicant, which I don’t begrudge in the slightest, they have a job to do and they do it very well, I love Russia.

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While queueing for our Russian visa (I love Russia), we met a guy called Timo. We got chatting as so often happens and he said that while in Helsinki we really ought to go and have a look around the fortified islands. He went on to say that he happened to have a boat himself and would be very happy to take us over and show us around that evening if we liked. We did like. It was great actually, a rare cultural moment for us and Timo and his boyfriend made great and very entertaining tour guides.

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We’ve been hanging out with Jenny and Roger for the last couple of nights, Roger is a reporter, I am a photographer, Jenny is an interpreter and Tom is an editor (photographer was taken). Clubs have been very accommodating to us, of course not charging for entry and often offering us a drink on the house while we undertake our research for the upcoming article in the Independent. My favourite bar was Lux, well not favourite really because it is very exclusive, it has a strict dress code, with no exceptions, well other than for press that is, who are OK with shorts and flip flops and I liked that bit.

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P.S. People often ask what I’ll do after this trip and mostly I say get a job but really that’s quite unlikely and so I have been thinking about future trips, starting with a name. I have two ideas so far, one is ‘Recycling the world’, which is a good name but not very appealing, the other one is ‘Around the World in 80 Ways’, which would mean using 80 different forms of transport. Just ideas, thought you should know.

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The reason for our delay is that we recognised a familiar face on our ascent, there aren’t many 2-year beards around. The man beneath this prodigious growth is Matti and he travels by rickshaw. When we saw him, he had just arrived in Turku to work transporting artists between hotel and venue during a music festival. It may sound to you like there are a lot of festivals in Finland, the reason is that the winter is so bleak (so we hear) that everything is saved for the summer, which lasts about another month. Anyway, Matti assured us that this was the best festival in all of Finland and that leaving would be a ridiculous decision, he also said he may be able to get us cheap tickets.

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When we went to collect our tickets, our friend presented us with passes for the weekend, explaining that somehow he had got ‘Cyclists from Cambridge’ on to the artists list and so entrance was gratuis. Incidentally, if we are to be artists then my name is ‘Red Rider’ and Tom shall be ‘Cyan Cyclist’. The weekend was great; this time we danced to drum and bass, electronica and rap. One bad thing about the smoking ban is that in an indoor venue with hundreds of people sweating, the smell is rancid.

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We have been pitching our tents in the city parks most nights but last night we once again met friendlies, called Natalie and Jussy, who took us under their wings, fed us and beered us ready for a long cycle today. We hope to have company on the way to Helsinki, from a guy we met last night. He had come here with his bike for the festival and plans to travel back on the same route at a similar pace. He is meant to meet us today at 1 O’clock although he did confide in me that he was very drunk and quite possibly wouldn’t be awake in time – I’ll find out soon enough.

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So, we arrived in Turku yesterday, we came here because we had been told that as a very old city, the architecture is fantastic, there are some great museums and it is a must-see for all tourists. So far we have been to the library, Rex’s pizza buffet, a small supermarket with a fantastic selection of cereals and the cinema, we also plan to go to the swimming pool this afternoon.

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Once further south I was  again lucky to be offered a free pitch at a campsite in a place called Himanka. When I got there I set about the important task of having a shower, which I sometimes forget to do. But this was not going to be straight forward, as soon as I found the shower block I was thrown into 2 days and nights of party courtesy of my new pal Marko who had heard of the arrival of  ‘the englishman’ and found me before I even had a chance to find the shower block. That evening I was treated to an evening of finnish karaoke and then told I had no choice but to participate as Marko and his friends had already announced that ‘the englishman’ was coming to sing to an audience of expectant campers and caravanners. I was told that I was to sing ‘Delila’ and that my new stage name (a name I was given for the next 2 days across the campsite) was Tom Jones. What I had not been told was the lyrics on the screen were all in finnish, I tried my best and sang what I read, which was probably a load of Finglish. Luckily the audience didn’t notice I couldn’t speak a word of finnish (or so they told me) and they seemed to like the strange take on this 60’s classic. The karaoke debacle was followed the next day by a traditional finnish sauna (with lots of beer) and a naked swim in the ice cold river running beside the campsite to freeze off . So I didn’t need a shower after all. Super.

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But of all the things that have happened in the past couple of weeks, it was on a sunny Sunday afternoon that we had our best time. Tom and I had arrived in Pori on the Friday (20th July) and found we had come during the biggest jazz festival in Finland. We got hold of a leaflet and found that ‘jazz’ meant anything from heavy rock to reggae and the final act of the festival would be Ziggy Marley. Of  course we had to go and arrived early and sat through dodgy rock, then old rock, then experimental jazz and then at 6 in the afternoon Ziggy Marley arrived on stage. It was a great atmosphere, with about 5,000 people filling the outdoor arena. Tom and I were at the front, dancing our best, sometimes losing balance and falling off the bench. What a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon, suddenly the Caribbean has become a possibility on our tour.

 

You may wonder why on a world cycle tour I have decided to write about my beard, and the answer is: even big cycle tours have their not so intresting bits. So I’m going to carry on talking about my beard. It’s my first proper beard, and although I quite like it, it will probably be the last, as unlike Henry VIII I haven’t got loads of castles or a navy or even loads of money, so the beard wont attract 6 possible wives or even a mistress. One thing the beard does do though, is add a pseudo layer of authenticity to our biker look, making us look like a cross between a tramp and Scott of the Antarctic with a bit of fisherman thrown in for good measure. Anyway, one day I will have something interesting to write about.

 

Oh yeah, John wanted me to add this pun: we have passed the Finnish line.

 

Other than the music and some drunken nights courtesy of Harri and Kalle, things have been pretty slow and there’s little to report, which is why I will now discuss the weather. I don’t like to complain but I am English and so it comes naturally. I have heard from a number of people in England that it is rainy (normally in a whinging way) but I don’t sympathise, Tom and I are suffering blue skies all day every day at the moment. OK, so that doesn’t sound too bad, let me try again. We are in a heat wave and now it’s hot enough that I sweat just from standing in the sun - remember that we have just half an hour without the sun each day. Inside our tents the temperature increases and so sleeping is a difficult and sticky affair (sleeping outside the tent isn’t an option because of the mosquitoes) and cycling behind Tom is like sitting behind a water sprinkler. But not all is bad, in such heat swimming is an incredible pleasure and Finland is called the country of a thousand lakes for good reason – there are a thousand lakes and it’s a country.

 

By the way, we are currently in a city called Oulu and from here will head down the coast towards Helsinki. This wasn’t our original plan but it looks like we’re going to need a new visa for Russia as we are a little behind schedule.

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Tom and I were invited by our most fantastic hostess, Victoria, to join her and her friends at Johan’s farm, and of course we accepted. Johan lives in an area so deserted that he has only seen two police cars there in all his life, one going to an upturned snow-mobile and one (possibly the same one) coming back from that way half an hour later. Anyway, we arrived at the farm at about 2pm and started with a few beers. Over the next 18 hours we ate barbequed food, had a teeny weeny bit more alcohol, swam in the lake, danced like frogs, chased sheep, sacrificed a small child and played croquet (with made up Swedish rules). All in all a great party with yet more cool people. Our trip has been full of cool people with the exception of 2 dorks (only a dork says dork).

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But the party is over and so once again we have to leave when we really don’t want to, we’re about 300 km from Finland now and should be there within a couple of months.

 

Christer spotted me from his caravan as I sheltered from the rain, he invited me to join him in the warmth and put on a fresh pot of coffee. He then mixed it 50:50 with vodka and we drank. When the vodka was gone, we drank tequila and after that his last beers, my mood was lighter and I was pissed. 12 hours later, I met Ula, who was another train conductor but a far superior one to my previous encounter. He took pity on me and allowed me on the train, an act for which I would have liked to hug him except I was too scared he might kick me off again.

 

So, I finally made it back to Jokkmokk, where Bish had really settled in (I talked about getting a pizza and he gave me the low down of the best and worst ones in town). Two days later, we dragged ourselves from the hospitality of the Forsbergs and are now just down the road in Boden, I am happily and firmly back to easy cycling days. We will soon be in Finland but tomorrow is midsummer and is celebrated throughout the day so we are almost obliged to stay.

 

I left Jokkmokk at 12:45 in the morning on the 9th June, I had meant to leave 45 minutes earlier, I had not meant to drink 5 beers. The first day was actually pretty uneventful, there was a very annoying headwind and I ate a grapefruit, which was nice. By midnight I had been in the saddle for 17 hours and had covered 209 miles, I was well on my way.

 

At 5 the next morning (day 2), I was shattered, I had been awake for 44 hours. I started having strange thoughts and I may have hallucinated, then at 5:30 I fell asleep whilst cycling. Luckily I woke up within a few seconds and hadn’t fallen off, in fact I was still pedaling. But in those few seconds I had started dreaming – there was a massively long table and giant mice were sitting down to it for dinner – in a way it was a shame to wake up after such a promising start to the dream.

 

I lay down and slept for a while but was back on the bike again witin a few hours. By midday I had reached 290 miles, going well, but I was about to slow down. The 291st mile was the first time I felt a new pain in my right le. It was in the quad muscle and increased in intensity and regularity. 5 miles later I could feel it in every pedal stroke, which is about 400 times a mile. That afternoon was ridiculously slow and at 6 O’clock I eventually decided to stop for the day, having increased my distance to just 306 miles. I was lucky to meet a couple of Swiss doctors, who looked at my leg and gave me a patch to put on it, I think it was a placebo.

 

Well, it worked a little and the next day I could cover some better distance again, I also had some truly spectacluar scenery including my highlight so far – a 5 mile descent though a deep canyon with a raging river beside me and waterfalls everywhere I looked. So, I cycled 10 or 20 miles, then slept or ate for 20 minutes and cycled again. That day I spent a lot of money on food – that was the trick, convincing myself I could have hot food if I went just another 10 miles, sometimes I didn’t even keep my promise but while cycling I fell for it every time.

 

At 6:30 O’clock in the morning on the 4th day, I was on the island of Mayeroya, 10 miles from Nordkapp. The island is ridiculously mountainous and the road deliberately goes all over the place so it wasn’t until 8:45 that I finally reached Nordkapp, relieved. The total journey was 498 miles and it took me 3 days and 8 hours, I was and still am shattered.

 

I chose to return to Jokkmokk by ferry and train, the boat was incredible, I had a massive buffet breakfast and then went up to the the top deck with 2 open air jacuzzis. I was the only one to go in them, I was lying in the hot water watching the fjords pass by while all the German and English tourists were standing on deck in all their clothes, looking at me as if I was mad.  One women was just walking laps around deck, I can only imagine she had been naughty at breakfast, I would have leant her my bike if only she had asked. I stayed in for literally hours, it was the cleanest I’ve been for a very long time and it’s probably fair to say it’s the dirtiest that jacuzzi water has ever been.

 

Tomorrow I will get a train back to Jokkmokk, hopefully that’s where Tom is.

 

I managed to gun my way through 3 rounds against some really big students – well they were big for their age – but alas, my Sly Stallone luck ran out as some really massive guys, with arms (yes arms) like tree trunks stepped up to the challenge. Unfortunately I could see no tins of spinach lying around and I knew the next match was going to hurt. Wham, my knuckles hit the deck and my competition was over. With my man pride severly dented I made my farewells and hopped on my bike with an aching arm and pedalled off. Still, I enjoyed the experience and had I had my weetabix that morning I could have taken that guy. Yeah, whatever.

 

Bish and I pushed our pace from Ostersund, including a 100 mile night ride towards a town called Storuman. Storuman was the last time I saw Tom.

 

We had talked about going up to Nordkapp (if you’re looking for it on a map now, look further up) but eventually decided against it. Our visas for Russia have become a time constraint and Nordkapp was too much of a detour. But cycling gives me plenty of time to think and having agreed not to get to Nordkapp, that became the thing I really wanted to do. Tom and I looked at a map again that evening and although he still wasn’t tempted, he agreed that I could go so long as I was quick about it. So I’ve gone ahead to make time, I plan to get to Jokkmokk (180 miles) in 2 days time, where I will shed weight fro the bike, then I hope to get to Nordkapp (a further 500 miles) 4 days later. From Nordkapp, I will get a ferry through the fjords down the west coast of Norway and then a train back to Jokkmokk, where I will meet Tom.

 

I’m actually looking forward to the trip, long days and nights, mid-night sun, a swim in the warm seas and a beer or two on arrival. The thing that concerns me is what Tom will get up to without supervision, just before I left he went into the supermarket to get milk for his morning cereal and came out with a pint of cream, saying that the milk cartons were too big.

 

Well, I can’t hang around, I’d better keep going. I’ve arranged to meet Tom back in Jokkmokk on the 15th (June), and from there we will start heading south, through Finland and towards Russia.

 

My alarm sounds at 7, in preparation to hit the road at 8. I call Tom, he grunts. We usually get up between 7:30 and 9. Once awake, I change into my cycling gear, stuff away my sleeping bag and roll mat, put everything away that’s out, launch my full panniers out the tent, take down my tent, and load up my bike. That takes about 20 minutes, and I’m ready for breakfast.

 

Breakfast has varied from cakes to ceareal but recently has taken a turn for the worse, we have been eating cold porridge oats with water and a cube of sugar (taken from Lillihammer)crumbled on top. Eating this also takes about 20 minutes.

 

Bowl washed and teeth brushed, I have about half an hour to kill before Tom is ready. In this time I might manage 5 more pages of J Roberts’ 1200 page history of the world. We leave camp, sometimes at 9, sometimes even 8, but usually about 10:30.

 

We normally cycle in 10-mile legs, taking a break between each one. The tiiming of these breaks is not strictly regimented and so 8 hours on the road will often only invlove about 4 hours or less of cycling.

 

The rest of the time is mainly put towards eating, reading and stone throwing. Stone throwing contests could be in skimming, distance or accuracy depending on the environment. At least 1 hour a day is also spent on a ‘quick’ supermarket shop, where we will leave with a phenomenally large quantity of food, fit as much as we can into our panniers and eat the rest. Time is also spent by Tom adjusting his bike; this could be saddle height, saddle angle, brakes or gear tuning. In fact it matters little what he changes as the following day he is sure to change it back anyway.

 

So, assuming we have had no accidents or stopped for a midday beer(s), we will reach camp at about 5 in the evening, having covered 40 miles. With tent pitched, I then read the same 5 pages of my book.

 

At about 7, 8 or 9, depending on how our stone-throwing goes, we start cooking. 10 minutes later we eat, regardless of the condition of the food, I have to prevent Bish from adding barbeque/chili sauce to our flavoursome food again.

 

We wash up, dry up, brush teeth and go to bed, agreeing to get up at 7  and cover a better distance tomorrow. We both try reading for about 2 minutes and then realise that sleep is a more attractive option. We are unconscious by 11 (up at 8:30).

 

But fear not, it’ll be different tomorrow.

 

We started off yesterday with a slow pace the morning after leaving our most excellent couch surfer host, Ola Zatterstrom in Ostresund. In fact we went 10 miles in the wrong direction when our intended road out of the city just ended abrubtly in the middle of a forest. We turned around and slowly carried on along another route, stopping for a protein booste of moose casrerole for lunch at a small cafe. Aftrer 6 hours of eating, and feeling 2 stone heavier, we decided to burn some calories, or more importantly, some rubber.

 

We took turns to lead our 2 man pelaton after every 10 miles to keep our speed up, allowing the rear cyclist to slip stream the front one. Eventually we got to Stromsund having kept a blistering pace and taking no stop breaks (of course this is not our usual tour biking style but the moose caserole seemed to propel us along). At the end, our beer in Stromsund could not have tasted better. So if you’re sitting in a pub and your cold beer isn’t quite hitting the spot, maybe you haven’t earnt it in the eyes of the God of beer. Do something to keep him smiling. Cheers.

 

Most of the time there are plenty of grassy areas to pitch our tents and pitch up we do, whether it’s by small stream or by a busy trucker’s route. When really stretched for space, we resort to our bivi bags, which enable us to get our kip in a space 2 metres by 50 centimetres. But opportunists we are and the porch of an empty house is fair game when passing the ghost towns of off-season ski resorts. But passing into Sweden we have found an even better spot, in most towns, there is a communal shack, which used to be used by the communities in the past but now tend to go unused. So we are currently taking a rest from our saddles in a town called Idre, taking up residence in one of these log cabins we found in the town centre. We have stayed now for 3 days in our house on the pond, it’s well equipped with a door, windows, benches for sleeping on, a fireplace should we feel a chill and a picnic table on our porch for meal times. The locals are well aware of our presence and use of the shack (our clothes line gave us away) and they seem to have welcomed us here, greeting us by name as they pass in the mornings.

 

The drinking culture in Sweden has a close resemblance to that I remember in England (from stories told by my friend[s]). So, on Friday night, we were invited to join the locals as they sought to get Lillihammered. It is a cheaper affair in Sweden, with beers once again affordable. Actually we weren’t allowed to drink our beers in the end anyway, the locals prefer their home-made moonshine and so they threw away our beers so we could join them. We finally got back home at about 8:30 in the morning, half an hour after we had proposed to leave. That became another rest day.

 

But we have recovered from this encounter with the Swedes, we are up early (writing from Helen’s house) and will be back on the road shortly. Whilst you’re here, Here is a sound clip from a recent plateau.

 

Despite these negative gestures, some locals were friendly and helpful, giving us tips about the road ahead. But riding out of Lillihammer, we decided to ignore this advice, warning of possible road closures up on the mountain track we planned to ride across. This route was the most direct, and as our advised alternative meant riding along a busy main road we took to the snow-capped peaks.

 

The road was mainly composed of sand, to start with at least, not ideal for our thin tires. As we climbed the surface deterriorated, we found ourselves sinking into deep patches of gravel and silt, making us wobble precariously. But that wasn’t all, we found pot holes where we could see mountain streams running below. On the plateau itself, we met with parts of the road still 3 foot deep in snow, for patches up to 200 metres in places. After walking our bikes at a snail’s pace through this snow, we concluded local advice is better than foreign ignorance.

 

So, yesterday we were in a funny little town called Dokka, and by funny I mean that there were dirt bikes and rally cars racing around a track 50 metres from our tents in one direction and 50 metres in the other direction there was a dog show being taken very seriously (by the people) in the pissing rain. The supermarket there was also individual, selling tins of dog and offering free coffee and chocolate, Bish and I stood there for 20 minutes having that as our lunch. It’s not that we’re frugle with our money but we are. This is the reason that we’ve tried the tasty-looking, cheap snack called lefte or something similar. To describe it I ask you to imagine 2 slices of stale, nasty bread, dipped briefly in a petrol tank, then filled with butter found in the petrol tank and a thick layer of chocolate spread in between, now forget the chocolate spread. Of course Tom ate it all.

 

One thing Bish and I have missed since Bergen is meeting people. There are some excpetions of course, like Ole, the shop owner in Geilo. Ole was a great guy, he let us use his phone to call home, eat our lunch in his lounge and drink his coffee, but above all, Ole gave us lots of beer to drink, he is a true hero, aware of our needs. But sadly these encounters are rare and whilst Tom has some interesting political views, it is nice to have some variation. That is why we have started couch surfing (CS to those in the know). CS is a world-wide community of benevolent folk offering their couches to sleep on to the likes of Bish and me. In return we offer a place in our tents but so far have had no takers. So last night, we stayed with our first host, Piyush, in Lillihammer. Piyush is an Indian techie on work placement in Lillihammer, his is a name to remember because if the ideas he told us about come good then he will become very wealthy and famous very quickly. He was also a fantastic host and so he insisted on taking the couch himself and letting Tom and me sleep in beds. So, today we are ready for the hills Tom went on (and on) about.

 

Actually I have something to add about the hills myself. We were told to expect hills in Norway and even advised against coming here for that reason, this made Tom a little nervous, but not me – I live on a hill. The hills we know about aren’t too bad, it’s the ones we don’t know about that get us, as Tom explained with the lack of contours on our maps. It also doesn’t help when we pass signs saying ‘hill, 0 – 9km’ and interpret it as ‘hill, 0.9km’. When this happens, there are 8.1kms of false summits, we relieve our stress with name calling of the Norwegian sign making authorities. We did feel silly though when we realised our mistake, not enough to retract the names, but silly.

In our first week in Norway we had our biggest piece of Nordic mountain cake, a 1400 metre behemoth of a climb onto the Hardanger plateau, 100 miles east of Bergen. With a wind chill factor at the top that would make even Ray Mears consider wearing an extra pair of long johns, this was going to be a tough, over cooked cake, of a mountain. Just before the summit we decided to find shelter for a camping spot as driving rain turned to snow blizzard. We found an ideal spot in a ghost town of off season ski cabins. Under the roof of a porch for one of these log cabins we set about creating our humble abode for the night. Using our bivi bags and wearing enough thermal clothes for us to resemble the Michelin man, we got some well deserved kip. But as morning arrived we saw our path over the plateau disappear as 6 inches of snow had fallen over night. We were stuck near the highest point and the weather was deteriorating. We ate our last rations as we stuck it out an extra day, making a fire to keep us warm. The next day when the blizzards had calmed down enough we made the final push over the plateau. If I didn’t already have them, that experience would have put hairs on my chest. We loved every minute.

 

My Norwegian vocabulary comprises of bonk el burga (touch wood) and jeg har det som plummen i eggert (I am having the time of the yolk in an egg), so beyond such formalities, English has been the language of choice. But last night, we met up with some authentic locals, speaking real English. We originally met them on the ferry from Newcastle. They were the only other people on the whole ferry  between 16 and 40, and that’s really true, to the best of my knowledge. Most people on board were retirees enjoying a ‘mini-cruise’ and the rest, except us and the authentic Norwegians I mentioned, were on a school trip.

 

Anyway, we met up with Beate, Nina, Andrer, Siri, Celia and others in a bar. One thing about Norway in general is that alcohol is ridiculously expensive, so I was relieved when Beate told me we were in a cheap bar. In fact, when my round of 3 pints of lager came to the equivalent of 16 pounds, I was so relieved to be in a cheap establishment that I almost said ‘thank buck’. So it was an expensive night and from now on we’ll pretty much stay away from bars but it was a cool evening and of course all the girls are gorgeous.

 

Today, we are leaving Bergen, we haven’t worked out yet if we’re going up the mountain to the North, East or South but whatever we chose it’ll be a long day. But, whatever goes up must come down. Except age. And helium balloons.

 

Writing this blog I can say with about 99.25% certainty that we have made it to Norway, as I’m sitting in an internet cafe in Bergen and have already sampled some Norwegian pickled herring. Mmm. However, I do not want to tempt fate, with our track record Freddy Fate is always just around the corner ready to sneak up on us. For all I know this could be a pleasant dream and we are actually still in Newcastle. I think we will be seeing a lot more of Freddy Fate in the coming days.

 

Anyway, the ferry crossing from North Shields, not South Shields, was very agreeable. The views of the fjords as you are funnelled towards Bergen are breath taking with pine forests that seem to comprise shades of green I didn’t know existed. This is accompanied by snow capped mountains, which are a little daunting as we need to cycle part of the way up them to escape Bergen. This morning we gorged ourselves on board the boat, treating ourselves to a buffet breakfast. One of the ferry stewards said that we should eat until we feel embarrassed, but when it comes to food I’m always willing to blush. Anyhow, it’s twigs and leaves from now on, no more continental breakfasts with lashings of fresh fruit and Danish paistries.

 

At the moment, Norway looks ripe for trail blazing, in a couple of weeks time, after climbing numerous mountain roads, I may report otherwise. Ciao for now. Chin chin.

 

We were staying at my cousin’s flat yesterday and planned to leave at about midday for the ferry port. Tom had already booked our tickets and had them in his safe possession, our passage to Bergen from the South Shields. Of course everything took longer than we expected and Anna insisted on cooking spaghetti carbonara (which was lovely) so we didn’t leave until 4:30.

 

We decided to take the metro, which would be quicker and keep us off some pretty unattractive roads. But, as we got on the train, the driver jumped out his cabin to politely tell us that no vehicles were allowed on the train and no exceptions were to be made. Tom and I had a little chat and decided to wait for the next train out of sight and then jump on and hope not to be seen. But then the station guard came on over the tannoy,

“Passengers are reminded that bicycles are not permitted on any of our trains. Will any passengers with bicycles please leave the station. Please leave the station now. Leave now.”

 

The time was now 5:15, we were outside the station, about 16 miles from South Shields. Obviously a taxi was out of the question so we got on the bikes and started pedaling. We were flying down the roads, taking it in turns to draft for 5 minutes and then grimmace hard for 5 at the front, we felt like riders in the tour de France. Our normal pace has been about 10 miles an hour but for the next hour we averaged nearly 20. At 6:10 we reached the ferry terminal at South Shields, 20 minutes early and knackered. But when we looked at the pier all we could see where small ferries.

“Where’s the ferry to Bergen?” I asked.

“Over there”

“Over where?”

“Over there, on t’other side”

“Bugger.”

 

There was a ferry crossing the Tyne in 5 minutes so we got on. The skipper phoned the Bergen ferry for us to say we were on our way, Tom checked the tickets and found that he had indeed made up South Shields as our departure. We got off the ferry, back on the north side of the Tyne, ran up the ramp and pedalled even harder than before over about 2 miles. We could see smoke billowing from the funnels as we approached the ferry and pedalled harder. Finally we got to the gate, and nearly fell off our bikes with exhaustion. The port guard asked,

“What’s your names?”, we told him we were Bish and John

“Right yeah man but like you’ve missed the ferry like”.

He was not to be persuaded on the issue, the ferry was there but the ramp was up. We would have to come back on Tuesday. We were beaten this time by the clock, we missed our ferry.

 

We had now lost our bikes, fallen off and missed our first connection, we were starting to feel we might be losing credibility. To top off our day, on our way back we had to pass through Byker, or somewhere equally nice. We were cruising down a hill and there was a group of pikies (charvers up here) at the side. As we approached they started calling us all sorts of names, of which I assure you none were founded. And as we passed we heard ‘pew pew pew’ as the little critters sniped at us with bb guns (don’t worry mum, we weren’t hit). I learnt from my brother that a wave is far more effective than a finger and so as we cycled away we both gave them a friendly, slightly camp wave. They were really pissed off and we felt a whole lot better.

 

We will try to leave England again on Tuesday.

 

Geoff recently lost or quit his job (I forget the details), sold his house, bought a caravan, told his wife Pam and left on a round the world trip, they gave us a wind-up radio in order to “shed weight”, a really lovely couple. Then there’s Luke, who is in training to become a motorbike racer, apparently pretty good for a 6 year old. He’s also really good at frisbee but then he’s crap at hide and seek. Paul Gerbert didn’t strike us as a cyclist when we met him but assures us he is, he’s also a musician and plans to hold a benefit gig for our charities. We met a 65 year old who competes in 800km audax races, which is orienteering on a bike, the race is held over 48 hours. Nearly full praise goes to the anonymous man but number one place is reserved for Tom Walker, a 77 year old who still regularly cycles 50 miles in the moors, he also takes his wife, Shiela, out for shorter rides. Shiela gave us money to buy and send her a postcard from China. While we were in the Yorkshire Moors, we met a guy called Tony, who is probably the hardest and therefore scariest guy I’ve ever met. He and his wife Carol very generously took us in for the night and fed us Gammon steaks and potatoes, which saved me from eating the tinned macaroni cheese Tom had decided looked tasty in his delusional state of illness. Tony and 7 friends are leaving in 2 weeks to do the 3 peaks over 3 days, cycling between mountains, which includes a 200 mile first day, I told you he was hard. I can also proudly say I met a guy from shipwrecked. I didn’t know who he was of course and he didn’t appreciate the fact when I told him, the big-headed arse.

 

Finally, I am under strict instructions from Tony to tell all that Cleaveland is a horrible place in order to keep the southern fairies away, Tony isn’t a guy I’m going to disobey. I am also to say that Newcastle is the best place in Britain because Anna thinks so.

 

Right, I’d better go and get this ferry, au revoir England as they say in Callais. probably.

 

We had been waiting around for my new bike for so long that even the Bishop’s were glad to see us leave (I jest of course). It was on the 30th that we eventually left Cambridge, stopping in town for a quick TV interview. Actually, it was Tom giving the interview, I was told to ’stay in the background and fiddle around with your bike’. I did as I was told, changing the set up of my bike so successfully that I then had to put it all right again when we had finished the interview and cycled round the corner.

 

On our leaving day, we had made it about 4 miles down the road when we were overtaken by Rory McGrath (please google if unsure). We caught up with him with such ease that I won’t describe it, when he had stopped at the traffic lights. We had a little chat along the lines of ‘hello’, ‘hello’ (I was the first hello, Rory following soon after), then I told him about our trip and he seemed interested, which was nice. Then he left. Not a great story so far I grant you. 30 seconds later, Rory was waiting for us to catch up, and when we did he said the this, ‘I would join you but I just had my hair cut’, which seemed a bit weak for a funny guy, maybe I just don’t get it.

 

So far the cycling had been pretty good fun, it helps that it’s been sunny the whole time although we have had a headwind, which isn’t so nice. Camping has been fun for me too, Bish did have a little drama on Saturday night though. We were struggling to find a decent site to pitch a tent and so instead resorted to the tree line of a farmer’s field, which meant using our bivi bags. Tom’s bivi is slightly different to mine because of my lankiness and his relative stumpiness and he was complaining about the lack of movement in it having had to slither inside through the tiny opening at the top. He was just saying that the bag would be a whole lot better with a zip down the side when he rolled over and ripped straight down the side, at that he went quiet and presumably fell asleep. In the morning we inspected the bivi and found that the rip was about 6 inches long and the zip had fallen off that side. On the other side of the bivi Tom had actually jammed the zip on the material rather than open it fully and there was about 12 inches of unopened zip beyond it. The zip was so thoroughly jammed that in trying to open it, Tom actually ripped the bivi that side too so unfortunately for Tom, he now has a bivi with only 1 zip (jammed) and 2 rips.

 

I haven’t been totally without mishap myself and wouldn’t want the reader of this to think I am perfect because according to some I’m not quite. And so today, while Tom and I were on a minor road we passed a sign saying FORD, which seemed interesting but little more at the time. As I turned the corner I saw that there was indeed a rather large puddle on the road but I was going pretty quick (although Tom says it was all in slow motion) so I decided to plough straight through, creating an impressive wave before me, delighting onlookers. What actually happened is that my front tire slipped away on the algae and I was totally underwater very quickly. The good news is that my bike and I came away practically unscathed, I say practically because I did think I had cut my ankle until Tom pointed out that the ‘blood’ was green and so more probably algae. My bike now has a few scratches on the brake and gear levers, I like to call them speed burns.

 

All in all we’re having a great time so far, we’ll upload photos when we’re somewhere other than Caistor library, where the computers can’t compute a wire. Tom will also write here soon but at the moment he’s ordering a new bivi bag, like mine this time because that last one was way too cramped.

Station Cycles in Cambridge read about our misadventure in the Cambridge news and have offered to order in 2 more of the same bikes at greatly reduced prices, also throwing in a couple of new, stronger locks. We have an interview with BBC Cambridge tomorrow morning (8:15) and Mix 96 in Bucks (6pm), which may increase support for the trip and hopefully increase donations to our charities.

Unfortunately we won’t have time to continue with our mini-tour of southern England as we are waiting for more bikes and keeping to our leaving date on the 23rd. However, we do intend to travel to a few places by train to meet some of the friends we had arranged to, this will probably be Bristol, Southampton, Hastings and London.

So, things are looking up, sponsorship is coming in regularly now and hopefully we will have our new bikes fairly soon. Unfortunately we will have to start ‘breaking in’ the saddles from scratch again – a painful process.

Thank you to everyone who came to Tom’s house yesterday to send us off and to anyone following our progress. We apologise for our clumsy start but endeavour to keep to our leaving date on the 23rd this month. We are looking into getting new bikes today. And bigger locks.

P.S. If anyone happens to see 2 newish Dawes Ultra Galaxies riding around, give us a ring.

Our mini-tour route will be as follows: Amersham – Cambridge – Warwick – Hereford – Bristol – Bath – Southampton – Brighton – Hastings – Sevenoaks – London – Amersham. We have failed miserably with trying to find a good venue for a leaving party and so will have a smaller-scale leaving party every night of this tour for anyone in the area. We should know our exact dates for this fairly soon.

Our official leaving date for the real thing is now set for the 23rd April, we will be leaving from Amersham and cycle up towards Newcastle on our first leg. There is a day-time party planned for Saturday 21st at my house (Amersham) for anyone who wants to come.

Finally, thanks very much to Howies, who are our first official sponsor.

We’re planning a mini-tour in March, when we hope to visit a few friends in the south of England. We also have plans for a party sometime in March, although we haven’t yet found a suitable venue. If you know of one where we can camp overnight please let us know.

Finally, my magic virtual statistician tells me that there have now been over 1,000 visits to this website. Incidentally, it can probably tell me which friends aren’t visiting regularly.