Alastair Humphreys » RoundTheWorldByBike

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.

Guest Blog: Musings Before a Big Journey

Al Humphreys — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 09:08:07 +0000

Emily is writing bloody well and she hasn’t even begun cycling round the world yet. I sense that this is going to be one bike journey that really holds my interest. Follow her blog here and read her great post below:

Almost as soon as I decided I was cycling round the world, I started to speculate about how I’d feel during the last few days before my departure. I predicted a queasy mixture of nervousness and excitement, spiced with a horrible sinking dread at the prospect of saying goodbye to my family and friends for four years – and in some cases, no doubt, forever.

And now, with less than two weeks to go, I find that’s not so far off the mark. But what I hadn’t expected was that I’d feel quite so bored with the whole thing. Some people relish the planning stage of an expedition as much as they do the expedition itself. But not me. The daydreaming phase, where you pore over atlases and travel books, and make long lists of all the expensive kit you can’t actually afford to take with you, is quite fun. But the planning itself is unremittingly tedious and stressful. For the past three months I’ve had at least three To Do lists on the go, and a big grey cloud of guilt hovering over my head. Whole days would pass with nothing being ticked off any of the lists, and I’d berate myself for being so lazy, since the only person I was letting down was myself. If I left everything too late, and the whole enterprise came to nothing, it would be entirely my own fault.

I’ve been told by many long-distance cyclists that, setting out on a trip like this, I’d merely be exchanging one routine for another. Although the trip as a whole will be an incredible adventure, the day-to-day reality will be a simple matter of riding, eating, riding, eating, sleeping, and doing the whole thing all over again the next day. What they didn’t tell me was that the planning stage has its own tiresome and repetitive routine.

I go through regular – and ever more rapid – cycles of self-doubt and over-confidence. One day I believe that I can’t possibly do it, worry that I’ve bitten off far more than I can chew, and feel very sincerely that I want to give up on the whole idea. The next day I’ll be bursting with optimism, desperate to get on the road, and convinced I’ll be the greatest cyclist since Dervla Murphy. As my departure date draws closer, I find I can go through several of these cycles in the space of a single conversation.

And I have the same conversations over and over again.

“How are preparations for the trip going?”
“Oh, erm, OK I suppose.”
(Or I tell them how guilty and stressed and behind I am and they wish they’d never asked.)

And of course, there are still people who don’t know I’m planning to cycle round the world, and have to be told. And just about all of them will say:

“Oh my god – that’s amazing!”

And I protest that it’s really not, or at least, it won’t be till I’ve actually done it, and right now I’m just a person sitting in the pub talking about cycling round the world. And then they say:

“Gosh, that’s very brave of you.”
“But isn’t it dangerous?”
“Well, I have to say, I’m very jealous.”

And I remind myself that I have to be nice, and answer all their questions politely, because this is still new and exciting for them, even if it isn’t for me. After nearly a year of planning, of reading all the books and blogs of people who’ve done it already, of imagining and researching and writing contingencies for all the things that might go wrong, of designing a bike and a website and a route from scratch and of battling through the longest To Do list of my life, the idea of cycling round the world is old, tired, over-familiar and distinctly unexciting.

Until, that is, I get on my bike. There’s no surer antidote to the stress and tedium of planning. After twenty minutes in the saddle, feeling the wind in my hair and the rain on my skin, hearing the road humming by beneath my wheels and seeing it curving away into the distance, savouring the freedom and grace of swooping down hills, and relishing the power and discipline of soaring up them, I find I’m grinning from ear to ear. Suddenly I remember that, quite simply, riding a bike makes me happy. This is why I lasted for three years as a cycle courier, and could easily have gone on for another ten. Despite all the trials and tribulations and injustices of the industry, ten hours of cycling a day meant that it was the most satisfying job I’d ever had.

And that’s how I remind myself that I’m doing the right thing. No matter how much admin and bureaucracy I have to fight my way through – and no matter how many thousands of times I’ll have to answer the same old questions – over the next four years, the majority of my waking hours will be spent riding my bike. The very thought of it is making me smile.

A day in the life of a long distance cyclist

Al Humphreys — Mon, 11 Jul 2011 13:28:31 +0000

A day in the life of a long distance cyclist. Or should that be a life in the day of a long distance cyclist? For once you embark on a long journey time and distance all warp rather weirdly. A 10 mile climb up a mountain pass may take an eternity to complete, the camp at day’s end and respite from a gale seems to arrive with glacial slowness, and yet in the blink of an eye you realise you have been on the road for a month already, you’re thousands of miles into the experience, and you’re rightly feeling smug, competent and proud.

So you’ve made the decision to undertake a long cycling expedition: what can you expect from a typical day on the road? Although the thrill of a big bike trip is the freedom to be spontaneous and do whatever the day inspires you to do, and although you will have odd and memorable and frustrating distractions galore (the memories that will live with you for ever), most days on the road are founded on a framework of routine so rigid it will make the life of a commuting accountant appear wildly bohemian. All long distance cyclists will feel comfortable with their own specific routine (a point worth noting for those not planning solo journeys). Here is mine.

Whilst I would not set a morning alarm (indeed I never even wore a watch), I did rise early. I enjoyed the cool, peaceful dawns, the feeling of having the world to myself for a short while, and I was also quite a mile-hungry cyclist unlike some.

So I’d normally be up at first light. As I would have been asleep since dusk this early start was not a painful one. What happened next depended on the climate. If it was cold I’d pack my tent, stuff a couple of things into my panniers (I always tidied most things away the night before – a relic perhaps of a brief military phase), jump on my bike and ride hard to warm myself up. Once warm I’d stop for food. In warmer places I would be more relaxed. I’d pack, eat a banana or a jam sandwich, and then get riding. I used to brush my teeth as I pedalled: I read once you’re meant to brush your teeth for two minutes. Only on the road do I ever have patience to make it through the full two minutes. Plus two minutes concentrating on brushing is two minutes not having to think about something to think about!

For the rest of the day my routine was pretty standard. I’d ride for an hour or two then stop, relax for a few minutes and eat, then ride again. Repeat until sunset…

My round the world ride was not a race. If I saw something interesting I would stop to investigate. If I met someone nice I would stop and chat (I tried to say hello or wave to every single person to pass the time) and perhaps accept an invitation for tea or lunch in their home. If I saw a river I would swim. If I saw a shop or a petrol station I would stock up on food and water.

And that’s about it. It’s not a complex life. I would daydream a lot, plan logistics, dream of girls and food and football. I’d calculate miles and speed and average speeds and ETA’s over and over. I sang songs and learned poems. I listened to music and shouted at the wind or idiot drivers. I moo-ed at cows (in all languages), waved at children, practiced riding with no hands. I daydreamed of home and wished I was anywhere but “here”. I looked around and felt privileged to be out “there”.

As the sun slowly sank across the sky I would start looking for somewhere to sleep. This was almost always wild camping or serendipitous invitations into strangers’ homes. When wild camping I would start looking for a good spot about an hour before nightfall. The art of wild camping is essential for long distance riders. It’s fun, liberating and free. Ideally you find a spot out of sight of the road, away from houses, with a bit of flat land. If you’re lucky there may be grass. If you’re really lucky there’s water – a lake or river to wash in, and there is always a sunset to enjoy and stars to stare at as you gobble down a filling pan of pasta, write your diary by the light of your headtorch, read a couple of pages of your book to generate tomorrow’s toilet paper, and then you’re falling asleep. And before you know it the dawn is breaking and you get to do it all again. Repeat a few hundred or a few thousand times and you’ll have made it round the world…

This post was originally written for Tim Moss.

Ten Things I Learned While Cycling Round the World

Al Humphreys — Wed, 22 Jun 2011 11:26:11 +0000

Not including all the big, valuable lessons that long journeys in foreign land teach you (independence, humility, gratitude, sociability, flexibility, patience, self-confidence and so on), here are ten things I learned while cycling round the world:

The Middle East was one of the kindest, most welcoming regions I have visited. Not only do people consider it polite to share food with strangers, they actually give the guest all that he can eat before even beginning to think about themselves
This proved to me that preconceptions are dangerous. Most countries are not. Lay aside your preconceptions and go visit almost any place on Earth. You’ll be positively surprised
I would never go back to Egypt as a normal tourist: I found the tourist areas to be extremely annoying, whereas the non-touristy places were far more relaxing, genuine, and interesting
Being cold is worse than being hot. Unless you are too hot and therefore dreaming of snow. I think the real answer to this conundrum is that the preference lies in that which you are not currently enduring
“Mealie meal”, “pap”, “sadza”, “nsima”, “ugali”: call it what you wish, but the staple maize meal of Eastern and Southern Africa will never win a recipe contest
Georgian food, on the other hand, is wonderful. Arriving into Georgia after a grim few months of a Central Asian / Soviet diet of fat noodles and greasy lamb was a revelation! Khachapuri saved my soul
Communication is king. The single best thing about the year or so I spent in Latin America was getting good enough at Spanish (mas o menos) to be able to talk properly to people
America has a lot of critics, and for many good reasons. But spending 6 months there made me conclude that I would prefer to have an American hegemony than any of the other main candidates (China, Russia, India, the Ummah)
I love travelling through China, Russia, India, the Ummah. So don’t get mad at me for point number 8! In fact I could make a good argument for these four regions to be ranked as the most fascinating places in the world to visit
In Bulgaria nodding your head means “no” whilst shaking it from side to side means “yes”

This post first appeared on the As We Travel blog

Photo Friday: Morning on the open road

Al Humphreys — Fri, 10 Jun 2011 06:17:37 +0000

Today’s Photo Friday comes from Verena and Luciano Lepre.

“In 1996 we quit our jobs and got on our bicycles heading in the general direction of Nepal. We had no set route and no real itinerary, in other words, no definite plans. After travelling in this manner this freedom has transformed us and continues to be an essential part of our lives.

We looked forward to each day’s new adventure, wondering who we would meet and which way we would go. Perhaps at the end of the day we had made some new friends or had had a meaningful conversation or just shared a beautiful smile. Whatever happened, we became certain, despite all the uncertainty, that every stranger could be a friend and that every unknown could be an interesting opportunity.”

Do take a look at their super photography.