Alastair Humphreys » Cycling

Meeting an Old Flame

Al Humphreys — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 09:47:49 +0000

A strange feeling, isn’t it, when you suddenly meet an old love again. The bubbling of different powerful memories and emotions. Even when they’re gone, you never forgot those days, of course. You think back sometimes, a guilty longing for rose-tinted days mingled with a tempering reassurance that, when all is said and done, things are probably better now than they were back then.

This happened to me last week. I heaved up the heavy garage door, and there she was: the bike I rode round the world. I’ve barely glanced at her since I finished that journey. But I had a cyclist staying with me, a young punk about to try to take on the world. She was eager, but nervous as hell. Just as I had been.

Her bike was gleaming and lovely. But it was only a bike, a collection of shiny stuff that you get in shops in exchange for dirty money. It didn’t have stories or character yet. She wanted to see my bike, to try to get a feel for what awaited her out there in the world. Maybe she wanted to glimpse her future, maybe she wanted reassurance, maybe she wanted to scare herself.

I wheeled the bike outside into the light. The tyres were bald, the paint job I’d done one idle afternoon in the Yukon was scratched and chipped. The racks were lashed together with string and cable ties. Everything else seemed to be covered in gaffa tape. I had nearly chucked it in the tip a few months ago, but something stopped me. The memories rushed back now. But what struck me most was not how much I remembered, but how much I had forgotten.

As the front wheel turned the bike computer sprang back to life, a ghost from my last day on the road. I scrolled through the display: the day’s average speed and distance; the 73000 kilometres I had ridden between leaving my front door and returning to it four years later.

Still looped over the handlebar was the hairband I’d worn in the final few months to tame my mad mane of hair. Hammered into the end of the handlebar was the champagne cork from the bottle I popped when I made it to the end of Africa. I remembered that. But I didn’t remember the girl’s bracelet twined around my seat post. When did I put that there? Who was she? How different things could have been. Someone else had signed their name on the frame in black marker pen, but I could not remember who.

It was unsettling to see how memories and the biggest moments in our lives fade, in the end, to nothing. How long will it be before I have forgotten more about that journey than I remember? And, because those days were mine and mine alone, once I have forgotten them then they are gone forever. Once I have forgotten them it will be as though they never were. That can either be a melancholy reflection on the futility of striving to do great things with our lives, or a liberating incentive to look forward and to charge eagerly forward towards plans and dreams that do not yet exist, but will exist if we make them happen. The past no longer exists. The future, however, still awaits its moment to become real.

I pushed the bike back into the garage. Perhaps I’ll take another look in a few more years and wonder what else I have forgotten. I pulled down the heavy door. I gave the cyclist a big hug and wished her well. And I look forward to seeing her again in a few years’ time when her bike is bruised and battered and oozing more stories than can ever be forgotten in one lifetime.

Photo Friday essay: A Canine Ride Through Romania

Al Humphreys — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 08:59:36 +0000

Once upon a time, my husband and I (writes Tara) cycled through Romania.

Along the way, we fell in love with the remoteness of its mountains…

…and the generosity of the kind folk who lived in its small villages.

Perhaps most of all, we adored the stray dogs that roamed the streets in droves.

Many cycle tourists are wary of dogs, but we, perhaps imprudently, couldn’t help but develop a fondness for them. They rarely chased or barked for long; instead, they would sidle up to us for some attention. We happily fed them our leftovers and rubbed their bellies on many occasions.

One day, after a long ride, we stopped by the roadside in search of a place to sleep, just as we had every other night. What happened next was unlike any other evening we spent camped in the woods. Just as we were setting up, two pint-sized border collie pups pranced out of the woods and into our camp, as if out of thin air.

Much to our delight, they quickly made themselves at home with us.

“Where did you come from? Where is your mama!?” we asked them, as we petted their soft, fluffy fur. Even as the words escaped our lips, we knew full well the most likely answers. Their mother might be dead along the roadside, one of the many canine corpses we passed. Or perhaps she was chained up to a barn, barking her brains out, with just three feet of tether in which to live.

Life isn’t easy for a Romanian dog.

As night fell, a bitter cold descended on the Romanian countryside, and we knew we had to do something, or the pups would likely be frozen by morning. So, we brought them into our tent, where they slept like babies, breathing softly between us.

By the time the sun rose the next day, we knew we couldn’t leave them. Though we weren’t equipped to be traveling with animals, we decided to take them with us anyhow. So, that morning, I cooked them mushy pasta while my husband emailed anyone he could think of that might connect us to some Romanian version of the Humane Society.

Without a plan, we fed them a starchy breakfast and packed them each in a backpack, which we wore facing frontwards.

…and then we set off, with precious cargo against our chests.

We wound our way up hills and mountains, stopping often so the doggies could run around and play. The tough climbs were followed by precarious and nerve-wracking descents. With one hand on a brake lever and the other trying to calm a squirmy, panicking pup, we sped down the slopes as semis blasted by us on the shoulder of the road.

In each of the villages we passed, we stopped, looking for a friendly person to adopt them. Every time we were turned away, we felt more desperate, hopeless, and utterly unequipped to care for these two small lives.

And then our phone rang. It was a lady from the Daisy Hope Foundation. She put us in touch with the AULIM, who would send a veterinarian to meet us at the nearest city!

It was a small miracle when the four of us rolled into town, exhausted and sweaty, but safe and sound. We cheered to celebrate our success, and then we waited anxiously for rescue to arrive. Not long after, a blue van showed up—it was the good doctor, and it was time to say goodbye to our little puppies.

With final hugs, we bid them farewell, tearfully happy in the knowledge that they’d be well cared for, but very sad to be letting them go.

Our little border collies were loaded into a dog carrier…

…and driven away, to be vaccinated, neutered, and adopted by a loving family.

It’s been over a year since those pups waltzed in and out of our lives, and the experience remains one of the most memorable of our two year adventure across Europe and Asia. Though we’ve tried numerous times to find out how they are doing, we have yet to hear word.

I like to imagine that the pair are happy and healthy, and that somewhere in the deep recesses of their canine minds, there exists an inexplicable, dream-like memory of the wind in their faces, and of the reassuring hands of two cyclists who loved them.

Photo Friday essay – the contrasting experiences of long distance bike travel

Al Humphreys — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 08:51:39 +0000

One of the things I love about travelling by bike (writes Ryan) is the sheer number of contrasting experiences that are encountered from day-to-day and month-to-month. Here are six different areas that have provided plenty of variety over the 15,000km that we’ve cycled so far:

1. Landscape

A bicycle is possibly the best method of transport to see the changing landscape as you cross the world. Exposed to the sounds and smells, connected to the distance in a way that just isn’t possible from behind a bus window, and yet still fast enough to be able to cross continents. We’ve watched the world morph between flat green European fields, snowy Turkish plains, endless Kazakh steppe, deserts and mountains in Central Asia and lush green paddy fields in Southern China.

2. Religion

Religion is central to life all over the world and the changing influences are unmissable when crossing continents. The dominate religion across the Eurasian landmass changed gradually through varying degrees of Christianity, Islam and Buddhism, with plenty of other beliefs mixed in along the way.

3. Emotion

Life on the road produces extreme highs and lows from everyday situations. A relentless headwind and an expiring Turkmen visa combined to produce one of the worst weeks of the journey, whereas conquering the final winter mountain pass in east Turkey resulted in ear-to-ear grins that lasted all the way down the freezing descent.

4. Bread

Usually the cheapest and easiest way to fill a hungry stomach, bread is the staple of choice for many a long distance cyclist. We’ve enjoyed sampling the bread in every country we’ve cycled in: the baguettes of France, the dark and heavy brot of Germany, the flatbread of Iran and the circular loaves of Uighur bread in Xinjiang. My favourite? Without a doubt the simits of Turkey – shaped like a bagel and best served hot, these delicious treats fuelled 2,000km of cycling across Turkey (washed down with the obligatory cups of tea, of course!).

5. People

Most of our fondest memories are of the people we’ve met. Some cities, otherwise anonymous, are remembered with great fondness simply because we had a fun evening with new friends. The incredible hospitality of the Iranians, cups of tea from friendly truck drivers, the vodka loving Uzbeks, the impenetrable language barrier of the Chinese, crowds of kids wanting their photo taken with the weird foreigner – all memories that will remain long after our saddle sores fade.

6. Bed

The need to find a new cheap or free place to sleep every day conjures up plenty of interesting situations. The appreciation of a bed and shower is in direct proportion to the level of discomfort experienced the night before! Swift and unexpected changes in fortune were one of the best things about cycling through Turkey and Iran in winter – one day we’d be sleeping in a sub-zero tent in a tunnel under the road, with hastily cooked camp stove slurry for dinner. The next, we’d find ourselves with a warm bed, hot shower and delicious meal, surrounded by the friendly faces of the family who had invited us into their home for the night.

Rebecca and Ryan are cycling from England to New Zealand, they left in September 2010. To find out more visit their website.

Cycling to the Rugby World Cup

Al Humphreys — Sat, 10 Sep 2011 08:28:02 +0000

Excited about the Rugby World Cup?
Love travel and adventure?
Then you should have cycled to New Zealand like Jodie and Tom…

And while we are on a rugby theme have a quick look at this blog post: This is Your Everest, Boys.

400 seconds from Mark Beaumont on riding round the world and climbing high peaks

Al Humphreys — Fri, 09 Sep 2011 10:19:14 +0000

Mark Beaumont shares stories from his round the world cycle and his latest ride down the Americas at the recent Scottish Night of Adventure.