Category: Adventure

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Adventure

Your next trip.

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Hey everyone,

Looking to partner up with a few readers on a cool trip.

Using some exciting new tyres from Shwalbe (Marathon++’s) , we will set off from the west coast of England, and cycle across the Atlantic to land in South Carolina if the tides work out (maybe French Guiana if the seas are a little rough). From there we’ll continue across the land and, depending on how peoples thighs are doing, continue into the Pacific and see what happens next.

There’ll be some fancy kit involved. All brand new prototypes.  Tents from Marmot, Panniers from Ortlieb, great cuisine from these guys.

The pencilled-in start date is this time next year, so there should be plenty of preparation time. And it’ll probably take around a year to complete, finishing in Japan at the beginning of April 2016.

Should be lots of fun. Must bring your own inner tubes. No upper age limit. Safety partially guaranteed.

[EDIT: If you didn’t notice the date, this was an April Fools post. Did it work?]

Categories
Adventure Interviews

“I will never, ever walk the desert again… I’ve done it 4 times since.”

“It’s a bitch, to walk from town to town, and climb these mountains, and to get caught in these hailstorms and rainstorms and snowstorms and sleet-storms, and all the things that I’ve been caught in, and pitching my tent and hearing the sounds outside that just aren’t right, and in Utah I had a mountain lion stalking me, and that just scared the bejesus out of me. And in Montana I pitched my tent, and after I pitched it and was getting ready to go out I see grizzly bear tracks. And after I walked across the desert the first time in June, July and August, I swore up and down – I purposefully told friends – “I will never, ever walk the desert again”. I’ve done it four times since…”

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It seems like a lot of people go on big trips after some sort of moment tells them to go – a catalyst that puts everything else into perspective. Steve Fugate is one strong, driven dude. He’s walked over 34,000 miles and crossed the United States 7 times. His walking story is astonishing, and the cause of it is incredibly sad. Take 6 minutes out to watch the film below.

“There’s no such thing as world peace. There’s only peace within, that if we obtain, then you’re at peace. And if everybody obtained it, then you’d have world peace, but that’s not going to happen.”

Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel

When Adventure Travel Goes Wrong & Why That’s A Good Thing

There’s been a rare collision-of-awesomeness in the UK recently in that the Northern Lights made a spectacular appearance for a bunch of people to see. I missed it, but looking at all the incredible photos that came from it made me think back to seeing them for the first time in Canada. There was a subtle electric buzz in the air and the colours, oh crumbs, the colours. That moment of first seeing them really epitomised the appeal I’ve got for adventurous journeys, and maybe it’s the same for a lot of people. You see stuff that you’d never usually see, make real what you’d only seen in photographs, and encounter things that you’d previously just imagined.

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So many of those moments happened on the bike trip, in the evening after riding all day and then camping somewhere subtle. Waking up on lake shores, next to the ocean or in redwood forests. Or in the sand dunes, the green farmland or the top of a mountain. That’s surely a big part of why people are drawn to the wilderness and to getting away from it all. It can be breathtaking and it can be so freakin’ FUN. That’s adventure travel when it all goes perfectly. Shooting stars, owl noises, leaves. All that good stuff.

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What’s talked about less on these kind of trips though is the moments that don’t go perfectly. It’s kind of taboo. The dark side. The times when you sleep in a village post office because you’ve been rained on for days and can’t face another night outside, and you just hope no-one will come in to pick up their post and find a human-filled sleeping bag blocking their box. Or the nights when you’re on tenterhooks and you’ve hidden a knife in your sock just incase. Or the times when you’re worn down and literally believe a bear is going to eat your arm ↓

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Then there was the following moment caught on video. Trying to camp discretely in an urban environment became a rolling theme throughout the trip which often lead to less-than-perfect moments. Flicking through a hard-drive from the trip a couple of days ago I found this footage. It was a night when I wasn’t functioning at all and ended up in an all-out battle with some pesky and powerful garden sprinklers. Yep. True arch-nemesis stuff. Whilst many wiser people might not have found themselves in the same situation, I’m sure they have at some point experienced the darker side of adventure travel. Something that many people might relate to. Actually scrap that – everyone can relate to. Those moments when it all goes wrong.


‘Time heals all wounds’. Time shifts perception, and that’s really cool. That was a moment where it all got a bit much. The routine had become sloppy and it was showing – persistent fatigue had built up to the point where being solo on the trip was starting to make me a bit loopy. There was little that was ‘stealth’ about it. Looking back it’s doubtful that was the worst nights sleep ever, but it felt like it. I definitely still look back on that as one of the roughest nights on the trip, and there were a few. But it doesn’t take long for everything to change – now I look at this footage and strangely long for it. Maybe not actually getting soaked again – let’s be realistic, that sucks – but what it represents. These journeys shift views, open doors to new experiences and rad people, create memories and new foundations, and have their own unique set of ups and downs. That’s the most important part of what you can get from going on an adventurous journey, and that’s why people should stop talking about their ultimate journeys and make them happen. No-one looks back on them and regrets them, even the rougher moments.

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Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel Interviews

Anna McNuff’s Epic 50 State Journey

“America is just like the UK, only… bigger, right?”

I’d like to ask you all a favour. If you ever happen to be within earshot of such a comment, please make a beeline for the offending individual (even if it requires a Starsky & Hutch style roll across a car bonnet), cup their face firmly between your hands, lean in and scream “Nooooooooo.” Anna McNuff’s ace new blog.

I first found out about Anna when she set out in solo-mode to cycle all 50 US states in a single trip. It turned out to be – as you’d expect really – a bit of a crazy ride. The mission was clear: to have an epic adventure, encourage kids to get active, and raise valuable funds for a children’s charity committed to giving every child access to games, sport and play.

What was less clear going into it though, was what else it would bring. Spectacular generosity, super sketchy situations involving flipped cars and 911 calls, grizzly’s and moose, and learning about priorities.

She’s recently finished that journey and a few days ago we caught up to find out what the draw was, what went down, and what she learnt from spending 7 months on a bicycle. Let’s go!

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So you’ve just come back from The Big Five-O. What was that all about?

That was an 11,000 mile journey through all 50 states of the US of A. It was just me, a beautiful pink touring bicycle called Boudica and three missions: 1) To have a huge personal adventure, 2) To get local communities and the kids within them active, inspired, and on bikes and 3) To raise as much dosh as I could for a marvellous charity called Right To Play.

Can you briefly describe the rough route?

Sure thing, I’ve got this one down pat now. The first question everyone asks you is always “Where are you headed?” So I had to get a sub fifteen second answer nailed early on. Here goes: I started with a little pedal in Alaska, from there I flew to Seattle, went down the West coast to San Francisco. Across the Nevada desert, into the Grand Canyon, up the Rocky Mountains, into Montana, and across the the North until I hit Maine at the Atlantic coast. Down the East coast, via New York, Baltimore and DC, then into the panhandle of Florida, before doing a dog leg back up the Mississippi to Memphis, then heading across to Dallas, via Kansas. Phew. How did I do?

Amazingly – that’s a crazy long list. How on earth did you plot the best route to hit all the states?

I drank a lot of coffee, ate a lot of Haribo and stayed up many many nights into the early hours. I started with a blank map of the US and put a star at every place I wanted to visit – that was really important to me. Adventures are all about satisfying your own curiosities after all. I checked out the weather averages in each state, for each month, and decided that I needed to go West to East to make it over the Rockies while the passes were open, and North to South, to make it out of the Northern tier states before the snows hit.

That done I got hold of the Adventure Cycling association routes, and followed them as much as I could. That left me with a route that was 16,000 miles long. So I began the soul destroying process of scribbling and hashing out sections to save time, finally arriving at one that I felt was realistic to complete in the timeframe.

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What made you want to do it? What were you doing before? Was there a catalyst?

There wasn’t one particular catalyst, but there was definitely that ‘ah-ha’ moment – which happened one night as I was standing in my living room. I’ve been working as a marketing manager for 5 years and I’d had that suffocating wanderlust feeling creeping up on me for months. I just couldn’t help but feel that what I was doing day in day out wasn’t what I was put on the planet to do. I felt I had more to give, the world I mean. I know that sounds cheesy but it’s true. If we’re not making a meaningful contribution to society, then what exactly are we doing here?! So I just decided, then and there, that I had no ‘real’ excuses and that I was going. Somewhere, anywhere, and probably by bike. It was an incredibly liberating and exciting moment.

Was it anything like you expected?

Yes and no (I’ve always wanted to say that). I thought it would be incredible. I dreamed for a year about that moment I’d wake up and have nothing but 7 months of cycling ahead of me. But it was even better than I’d hoped. I had different challenges to the ones I’d in envisaged. I didn’t get as lonely as I expected, or as tired or frustrated. I hit far more dramatic weather though. And people were far kinder, I mean so beyond kind it was ridiculous. The country was more diverse than I knew. And above all (I know this sounds incredibly blonde), but the USA a lot bigger than I thought. There is so much open space. I think you really need to cross a country like that to appreciate this tiny (wonderful) island we live on.

What was the draw to America – it’s just like the UK but bigger right?

I’m going to start up a swear box for comments like that one from here on in. Joking aside its probably that comment that made me want to go and explore the US. That and having been on a few trips there as a kid. I’d done the usual tourist spots, but I’d often look at a map, see that big ‘ol space in between California and New York City – and realise I had no idea what went on there. As I did a little research I came the conclusion that it’s an incredibly unique place. No where else is the world was there a country that had such a range of culture, religion, politics, wildlife and geology. The bonus being that the language is common too. Definitely a plus if you’re linguistically challenged like me.

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Are you ready for the typical unanswerable question – favourite place and why?

That is an impossible one! Lucky for you I have a top ‘area’ – that would be the South West corner of Utah, and into Arizona. You can do Bryce, Zion and The Grand Canyon National parks within 4 days of each other. Each one is spectacularly unique, and like nothing you’ve ever seen before. It’ll seriously blow your mind. For a state-surprise, I’d also pull  out Wisconsin – it’s just so bike friendly. And Alaska and Hawaii have to get a mention too –  for their sheer out-of-this-world, off-the-chart sensational scenery. If you ever want to see Grizzly bears and moose (who doesn’t), they’re guaranteed in Alaska.

Is there a moment of incredible generosity that really stands out?

That would definitely be the 4 days I spent holed up in a ranch in South Dakota. I met this girl as I rode into the town one day. It was a tiny place, just 300 people, up in the boonies. We got to chatting and she invited me to come and stay with her family. Thank goodness she did. A huge blizzard blew in the following day – bringing 4ft of snow in 24 hours. I was stuck fast. They were just the must wonderful, down to Earth family I’ve ever met. The older sister would come in from all day wading through snow drifts, rescuing cows, and begin looking after her elder relatives and making sure I was okay. Me, who’d sat around inside all day doing nothing except babysitting her 18 month old nephew. I’ll be friends with that family for life.

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Was there a time when you were scared or you felt in danger?

This one is right at the front of my brain. I attempted to leave Colorado and got stuck in the middle of their ‘1,000 year flood’. I came across a road that had crumbled away completely, which was frightening enough, but as I turned around a car came down the road toward me. I tried to wave and shout to slow then down, but they actually sped up and flew off the road, and flipped into the river. I had to pull the couple out and call 911. I thought for a moment they were gonners. That shook me up a fair bit for the next few weeks. I’d just never seen anything like it, and I wasn’t entirely sure how to process it.

That sounds awful. Shifting gears a bit – in your new post you say there’s a difference between being lonely and being alone – can you explain?

Absolutely. And ironically, I think you have to have spent a fair amount of time in your own company to know the difference. Being lonely is 100% down to your mind, and the way you feel. It stems from you feeling mentally isolated. Like no one understands you, what you’re trying to achieve or cares about what you’re doing at the moment in time. You feel your life lacks purpose and can’t see how anyone could help you. That’s loneliness in a nutshell for me. Being alone is a physical thing. It’s not having anyone nearby. To be honest I’m a massive fan of the alone time. You’re forced to confront any demons you have and you also learn what makes you happy far quicker than if you constantly seek to distract yourself with other things. By the time I’d finished the stint through the West of the US, I’d had just about enough of being alone, I sought human contact, but I wasn’t necessarily lonely.

Did it happen at all – a time when you experienced loneliness whilst on the road?

Yes, but only a few times. And far less than expected. I wasn’t even lonely on Christmas Day, or New Years Eve, which I think I upset my mum by proudly announcing. I had to explain that I’m not lonely is different from “I don’t miss you” . The days I got lonely were either when something dramatic had happened – like the Colorado accident. Or when I lost sight of what I was actually achieving with the trip. I felt selfish or foolish for indulging myself on this big adventure…. Did it really matter what I did? Was I inspiring anyone? Was I actually doing anything particularly physically difficult? On those days I’d just crave a good old hug. Someone to say – “On you go, chin up chick.” Thankfully they were few and far between – I  probably only had five or so spells of loneliness in the whole 7 months. Most would last a day. The final one lasted a week or so – and that was really just homesickness.

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How did you find the whole “being connected” thing? I know some people think ‘adventure needs isolation’. What positives did being connected bring and what negatives? Did you ever get frustrated with it?

I loved being connected! I cannot imagine doing a trip without it. For me it was such a huge part of the whole mission – to involve as many people as possible in an ‘armchair adventure’. My view on travel in general is that it promotes understanding and diminishes prejudice. Being able to share what you see, hear and experience as and when it happens is huge. If you can plant one small seed that makes someone else want to go off exploring – then it’s mission accomplished. I guess the negatives are that it’s addictive, and you are often thinking about what might be interesting to others – but I’m not even sure that’s a negative really. I’m not sure it’s for everyone, but communicating frequently and with gusto tended to suit my personality.

Why do you think more people don’t do these kind of things? And what would your advice be to those who want to do something similar but haven’t yet?

You have to make it a priority. There’ll always be reasons not to go, of course there will. All that happened for me is that I decided there was nothing more important in my life than the trip. I had a job (they gave me a sabbatical), I have a mortgage (I rented the house), I was broke (I got a second job). Every obstacle can be overcome if you want to go badly enough. And so for those who don’t actually go – I’d wager that the burning desire just isn’t there…. yet. For those thinking about going… Just go! Stop making excuses, make a plan, and go. When have you ever heard someone say “Oh gosh, I really regret going on that enormous adventure.” (Never). More often you hear people saying they wished they’d worked less, and lived more.

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Do you think the journey changed you at all?

The biggest shift has been realising that everything you do is a choice. Yes, sometimes we have to do things to pay bills that we don’t want to do, but it’s always a choice. I’ve realised that everything is a possibility. Nothing is set in stone, and I can always change direction… No one else is going to do it for me. Coming back from the trip into a normal working life has been tough – I’ll not lie on that one. It’s sucked a fair amount on some days. But I’m beyond excited about the rest of this year and the one after that, and after that. Because I know that whatever I wind up doing, whatever path I take – it will be a passionate one. Once you’ve experienced what truly makes you happy, you just can’t pretend it’s not there. It took me 28 years to discover that, and I don’t plan on going back to the old ways.

What happens next?

I’d like to tell you that I’d ‘got it out of my system’ with this one, but that’d be a lie. I’ve opened a gigantic can of worms and the worms have gone AWOL. I’ve come back with a determination to see much more of the UK, so I’ve a host of mini-adventures in planning for 2014. As well as a few in Europe. Then, once the bank balance is… errr… balanced again. I’ll trot off and do another epic in 2015. It won’t be bike bike – I like running, swimming, kayaking, roller blading too… So I’ve got the map out and am currently exploring a few ideas. Whatever it is, it’ll involve a physical challenge, me exploring a place or places I’d really like to learn more about, and above all getting others involved as much as I can.

Sounds mega! Thanks Anna.

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Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel Philosophy

The Phrase ‘Real Life’

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It’s been over three weeks now since finishing cycling. I thought things would settle down fast, yet the post-ride days have been manic with no slowing down whatsoever.

After the last blog, a few people who’d done big trips got in touch with a warning that adjusting to ‘real life’ would be difficult, but having just finished at that point I brushed it off thinking it would be totally fine. It’s not like I’d been cut off in the Amazon Rainforest – why would it be hard to adjust? 

Thinking it would be a smooth re-entry couldn’t have been more wrong.

When I pedaled onto the bridge to New York, the final city, I was psyched. Psyched that the trip had come full circle. What a feeling – the goal that at first seemed a bit ridiculous came off. And what a relief – a little bit of normality could ensue. Settling sounded great, and for once I was ready to embrace it.

Then New York was, well it was New York. The busiest place in North America overrides the senses and the mind. Millions of people, traffic, noise. I’m fond of that place, but after a few days there I had a realisation that this wasn’t simply another city that I’d become adept at ‘just passing through’, rather it marked the end of the previous year and with it a completely unique way of living had stopped too. That was like a metaphorical sledgehammer to the face. Smashing.

There was a mental conflict. Between stress and simplicity, and reality and over-ambition. Life on a bike is not stress-free by any means, but it is simple. You’re on your own for the most part. Inevitably that means a lot of time in your own head, with nothing but your own thoughts (or very loud music in an attempt to drown them). You don’t have many choices to make or people to answer to. Decision making is often selfish and it’s easy.

It’s a blessing and a curse. Being solo has a strange effect on idea-generation and confidence. It’s not like a brainstorming session where everyone throws their hat in the ring. There is no risk of mediocritising your own thoughts by watering them down through a but-they-mean-well people filter. There’s no pessimism. The ideas, the motivations, the next moves are all 100% pure.

But here’s the conflict – maybe that purity leads to a false sense of how realistic, or valid, those thoughts actually are. They are untreated, untested, without feedback. To get a true sense of how realistic they are, we need feedback. It’s there to lead to things that are at least a bit grounded and semi-achievable. Is realism the enemy of optimism?

On the trip, and especially when reaching the wonderfully awesome ‘zone’ – that place where hours of pedalling puts you into a meditation-like state – creativity and clarity flowed. Next steps seemed obvious. Projects were formed. It felt possible that single-handedly, mountains would be moved and maybe, at last, a secure horizon wasn’t far away. But a week or so after finishing – all goals, all creative thoughts, all positive thinking, halted. I hit a wall. Unable to concentrate. Unable to make stuff. Unable to have decent conversations. Unable to follow up on those ambitious ideas. After such an epic time away that had ended in being glad to make a dent in ‘real life’, what had gone wrong?

In the two weeks following the final day of riding, I began questioning how removed from reality some of the next moves generated on the trip might have been. And I couldn’t stand that. Being conscious of the realisation that maybe all the ideas, the concepts, the guarantees, were nice in theory but potentially worth little.

So I ran in an effort to ignore it. Screw reality. For a while it seemed like the best thing to do was to keep moving, stubbornly grasping on to the ways picked up over the previous year, forming new ideas and ignoring the potential that they might merely be worthy of getting knocked over. I landed back in the UK and spent a week bouncing around, not doing much staying still, and then at the drop of a hat took 4 days’ work in Chile. What an odd thing – to wake up in South America after only just finishing in North America and only just touching down in England. Was taking that gig a way of escaping? Of easing, or putting off the transition from the momentum of perpetual movement to something slower? In hindsight I think it was. Being on the run and striving for intentional discomfort, felt more comfortable than staying still did.

Upon hearing about the bumpy transitions back to normality that others had experienced, I thought it would be nothing, but now the opposite seems obvious. Of course there’ll be transition pains. How would there not be after last year?

In these most recent days, a desire to stay put for a little while has become appealing. To embrace the long-forgotten noise and bustle of normality and to remember how to crack the productivity puzzle in conditions that unlike ‘the zone’, don’t make it as easy. Day by day the transition glitches are getting less. It’s been a while now but finally the better ideas, and next moves are rising to the top of the pile. They’re surviving feedback and getting stronger, and the pieces of the puzzle seem less scattered than just a fortnight ago. One of the things that has survived intact is making something epic from the stories collected over the trip, and those wheels are now starting to turn which is exciting.

The phrase ‘real life’ is as vague as ever, but it’s certainly providing an adjustment.

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p.s. this road bike video has just dropped today – it’s the most epic thing you’ll watch all year.

Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel

368 Days Later.

And it’s done! What a week. 363 – 368! Ithaca to NYC.

It’s been odd, this week more than most, knowing that it’s coming to an end in the coming days. There were moments of About time! excited, and moments of Maybe just one more loop? apprehension. The biking’s been good. Nothing has gone wrong and closing in on the end goal provided an easy way of falling into that dreamed-of zone where cycling becomes effortless. That’s not to say there weren’t crazy climbs, because there was (looking at you Pennsylvania), but with the momentum of a year coming to an end they weren’t enough to cause any delays.

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Being in gung-ho mode, necessary to make the end in time, there’s been a lot of saddle time. That’s often lead to nights in the farmland of NY, PA and NJ states, riding at night on the empty roads. It was surprising how remote it can be considering how close it is to the biggest city in the US. One of those nights lead, by coincidence, to a roadside invitation to crash at a lakeside cottage where Marianna and Elizabeth, two Buddhists, were staying. They were awesome, insisted on making some amazing food, and it was an amazing place to chill out when most moments recently had been a bit of a head-spin.

A few days of cycling later, and it was the final day. So close to being done. So close that something was bound to happen. ‘Course it was. I got sloppy and stumbled onto the highway. In parts of North America you’re allowed on the highway, in others you’re not. In New York you’re not. It was a blast – flying down the shoulder, knowing that this was the fastest route, seeing the New York skyline for the first time and realising it was so close.

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Oops. The police weren’t happy. Fortunately the officer was hilarious and other than an insistence to get off at the next exit, he wasn’t all that fussed. 90 minutes later I rolled into New York via George Washington Bridge and met my folks. It was like an ultra high definition skype call and amazing to see their faces after so long. And it was the end. 

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If you’re reading at this point, thank you! The emails and blog comments in the tough parts were a massive motivator, it played a huge role in seeing the trip through to the end. So thank you. And to everyone who donated or helped with a place to crash along the way or agreed to be featured in this project – I’m still blown away by how awesome you all were.

So that’s it. So much has happened that it’s a flurry, but it’s clear this was something special. The one-more-loop-thought has faded (for now) and it’s exciting to think about what happens next. Hopefully you’ll stick around as the blog will now get pretty fun – snippets of unpublished interview, retrospective articles, footage of getting blasted by sprinklers at 3am – but that’ll all start in a couple of weeks – for now I’m off to catch up on a years worth of half-sleep and wonder around the city until the flight home. And if anyone knows where to get the best slice of pizza here do just shout. Because pizza’s great. Thanks!

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Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel Philosophy

Moving The World?

Last week I drafted a post that talked about how contentment and future questions and all that stuff was on hold as with only a couple weeks left everything was simple – there was only one thing left to do. Then I backtracked because approaching the finish, doubts and questions are actually churning away more than they ever have. This is one of those posts where I held off and held off and didn’t push the button. Wasn’t sure why. Then this video came along ↧ (link), and Neil Gaiman sums up the fear:

Neil Gaiman Addresses the University of the Arts Class of 2012 from The University of the Arts (Phl) on Vimeo.

“The moment that you feel that, just possibly, you’re walking down the street naked, exposing too much of your heart and your mind and what exists on the inside, showing too much of yourself. That’s the moment you may be starting to get it right.”

So let’s try it.

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“It reaffirmed that I could do anything I put my 100 percent effort into. When I got back, I felt like I could move the world.”

I read this article months ago straight after finishing the section from Florida to California. It’s about Jackie Loza’s ride down the West Coast of the US. She was let go from her job and her trip was a way to figure out the next move.* And because of that it was more than a bike trip – it was a time that real decisions were made. Decisions that influenced where she is right now.

After the ride she described feeling like she could “move the world”. You know when you read something or watch something or hear something and can’t get it out of your head? I’ve thought about that article ever since. Finishing the ride across the southern tier, I could totally relate to the moving the world thing. You get into trouble or have a bad day, you fix it. At the end of each day you know it’s been a good day. That adds up and over time really makes you think that much bigger things are possible and that hurdles are made for crushing.

To end the trip there maybe would have been ‘the sensible option’. It would have been a euphoric end, all highs. The cross country trip had been a success. Mountains would have been quivering at the thought of getting moved. Just kidding. But of course that stretch marked a small part of this overall journey. Reaching the Pacific, I thought – if you feel this bold / upbeat after three months, jeez, imagine what it will be like after 6 or 9. This is gonna be rad.

But it’s not like a 45 degree graph where the good keeps rising. It rose to 90 days and then the ruler stopped working or the drawer got bored and decided to start a squiggle-spree. It hits the top of the page then the bottom, bottom then top. As the weeks and months go on you go from empowerment / bring it on, to fuck this / what a loser, back to mountain moving / boulder lifting in this bizarre cycle of being confident and determined, to having no confidence and wanting to hide in a cave for 10 years, back to being stoked.

I could relate to Jackie using the trip as a vehicle to make big decisions. Over time, especially after a long day pedalling, your mind clears and you begin to slot pieces together. If I do x then maybe y will become a possibility.

In those high ‘move the world’ moments everything seems amazing, really like anything is possible. Like the cards on the table going forward shine more than they ever have before. Nothing is intimidating.

And then on the down days I’ve felt literally sick about time spent away, debt and potential irresponsibility (the trip was originally meant to be 6-9 months), and whether there were opportunities left behind. But so many of the people I’ve spoken to started by going all in and taking a shot, taking a risk in the hope that opportunities down the line would bring more value than staying still. I should remember to cling on to that.

I haven’t got the faintest idea what happens next. It’s kind of wide open. Some days that’s a scary thing, and other days it’s really invigorating, despite the questions that sometimes kick in.

But we all have doubts – whether what we’re doing is what we should really be doing. That’s natural. And those questions are good, because they make you think and possibly change.

The cliche’s are true – journeys like this do open your eyes. In tough ways and in the best ways.

My head’s all over the place at the moment, processing the end of a bizarre year. How squiggly can a graph get in five days?

Today, the thought of finishing this thing is strangely nerve wracking. There’s an anxiety there for sure.

Tomorrow might be completely different – it has a tendency to be. Holla’ at ya from NYC. Here we go. [UPDATE: THE TRIP IS COMPLETE!]

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* “Overall, people who do these trips are people who are at a turning point in their lives. Or, they have a lot of spare time, which usually means one thing… They are involved in some challenge in their lives that they want to overcome… When I look at the last few years, I’ve heard stories of people’s trials and tribulations, of people reinventing themselves.” Winona Bateman, of the Adventure Cycling Association.

** Wanna shoot the S about work/projects/publishing?

Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel

Explosions, Kindness & Waterfalls

355 – 362: Toronto, ON – Ithaca, NY

The ticking clock meant I didn’t stick around too long in Toronto. The bike had issues leaving the city (someone should design a bike that doesn’t break). This time a split tyre near Hamilton. Tried to blag it and ride to Niagara Falls anyway. It didn’t work, at all. Should’ve known.

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Do you know what happens when you ride with a split tyre and your inner tube sticks out? The split gets bigger. And bigger. And then it EXPLODES. It shocks you and anyone nearby. BANG.

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So it exploded. But if you believe in fate, it then made an appearance. Glumly walking along the side of a quiet road on the outskirts of St Catherine with a post-explosion flat, the night drawing in, a car pulled up. Turned out to be a Niagara Falls local called Mike, an avid cyclist who spotted the tyre and offered a lift for the 10 miles to Niagara. So yeah, fate? He never drives home, this was an exception. On the rare times he does, he doesn’t take the route through St Catherine’s. And to top it off they’d taken the seats out of the car the night before, so by chance there was space for a broken bicycle.

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During the ride to town Mike invited me over for food and to meet his wife Heather and his British mother, who in a weird ‘it’s kind of a small world’ moment, used to live in Workington, England. She lives with Mike and Heather and after 40+ years in Canada still has a strong accent.

They offered up their spare room for the night, and I woke up the next day to a bike with a new tyre, oiled chain, you name it. Totally unexpected. You guys are awesome. Pretty cool. We found out later that, coincidentally, it all happened on ‘International Random Act of Kindness Day’. Huh.

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After checking out Niagara Falls (a weird cross between epic, amazing nature and Blackpool pleasure beach depending on the time you visit) and getting grilled at customs, I was on US turf once more. Big sigh of relief whilst ignoring the freezing hail. [thanks to Portage House Motel in Lewiston for a room, awesome place] Out of any markers / state lines etc, this was the biggest. It meant the Canada section was done, and there really wasn’t much left. Kind of weird to process.

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Day one of riding back in the US was a shock. Upstate New York is incredibly colourful at the moment but the clocks went back the previous nights, and Canada to US means a switch from kilometres back to miles. That doesn’t sound like much, but it took some getting used to. An hour less light and distance mind games. You forget that riding 10 miles is harder and takes longer than riding 10 kilometres.

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It’s been a few days of riding along through Rochester, sections of the Erie canal, and through NY wine country with another (different) tyre explosion. There’s still a bit of pedalling to go yet but it’s getting close. Approaching the end there’s some definite and unexpected internal havoc going on right now. A new article is taking shape around that so hopefully there’ll be something new to read pronto.

Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel

Horror Movies and Frisbee Trickery [VIDEO]

348 – 355: Sault St Marie to Toronto. 

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Spooky moments. There’ve been a few over the last few days. It snowed a lot leaving Sault St Marie, and several hours into the slowest ride ever it was obvious that rather than make minimal ground and camp in the open, it would be wise to seek shelter if any became obvious.

Being in farmland there weren’t many options, other than a single barn on a side road. It looked like it didn’t see much action so I resorted to the age old tactic of – ‘as long as you pack up early enough it’ll probably be fine’. Luckily it worked and the combine harvesters didn’t slip.

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It snowed on and off for a couple of days, but other than that the ride was pretty much plain sailing (except for a bizarre night in the town of Espanola which is a story for a separate post coming soon). To make up some of the lost snow time, I opted for a train ride again to increase the chances of being able to cycle into NYC to finish up. It would suck after so long to finish by train or hitchhiking. As always seems to happen, it’s the time off the bike that provides most of the stories. Fittingly, being halloween and all, what happened next wouldn’t be out of place as an introduction to a horror movie.

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The train was scheduled to leave a small station on the outskirts of Sudbury at 1.30am, and looking at the map, there was a 24 hour Tim Hortons a few km away. Seemed like as good a place as any to wait until the early hours, so I left downtown Sudbury and began cycling to Tim’s. It was late, and at a traffic crossing I very briefly bumped into an older gentleman out for a walk. Then a few minutes later in the cue at TH, he was there too.

“Are you travelling somewhere?”, he said.

We chatted for a while and it turns out he’s a friendly chap called Bruce who’s been based in Sudbury his entire life, except for a 10 day hitchhiking trip he took around the Great Lakes as a 24 year old. Since then he’s been living with his wife and they’re content in the city, scratching any travel cravings with online photos and by chatting to people who are passing through town. He’d been working night shifts so this was his afternoon, and he generously offered to go get his van and then drive me to the station as it’s hard to find. We started walking to the his house to pick up the van and somehow the conversation turned to movies and axes.

“You know, I gave my daughters boyfriend a fright a few months ago. We watched a movie, and the main character is sent a message from God that he has to remove some evil souls from the Earth. One day he’s driving along a country lane and see’s a beam of light land on a barn. He goes in and it’s shining on an axe. The movie is about the guy’s task to kill various people.”

It’s 12.30am. We’ve just met and are walking back to Bruce’s house, where he’s going to pick up his van and drive me to a train station on the outskirts of town. He’s explaining the plot to a movie where a man is tasked to kill people with an axe. Anything suspicious going on here? Then came the kicker.

“Oh, by the way I’m not an axe murderer or anything. Although I could be. You’ve just met me. Or you could be a murderer. It’s hard to tell.”

Hmmm, where’s that bear spray? Should I just leg it? Had a moment of woah-this-is-a-bit-intense, which is laughable now because it turns out Bruce is a truly awesome dude, with a lovely wife called Brenda, crazy kindness, a real van, a knowledge of out of town train stations, and no axe in sight – you had me there for a second Bruce!

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The train showed up at 3am. On at Sudbury, quick snooze, off at Toronto. Magic. Quite convenient timing as far as trains go because it meant waking up and starting the day in the city, instead of arriving at night with no time to explore properly. And what a place. Incredible downtown architecture and amazing graffiti dotted around. Had a fun morning getting lost and then stumbled across a park where there was a bunch of people walking dogs and taking lunch breaks, and in the corner there was a guy doing insane tricks with a frisbee.

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Jolan Canrinus is a freestyle frisbee expert, and in this Vague Direction People video we chat about how he ended up learning such a unique skill. It was frickin’ cool. (If you’re reading this in your email browser, click here to watch the video)

Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel

A milestone, a thanksgiving, a dog attack & a train.

338 – 346: Thunder Bay to Sault Ste. Marie, ON

As each day goes on, it’s more and more obvious that the jaws of a harsh Canadian heavy winter are approaching, snapping away and closing in quickly. Holy smokes it’s getting cold and the prospect of a snowfall that lasts increase daily. It’s one of the first times where I’ve felt like this project has come full circle, with the days now being similar to those first few setting off from New York during 2012’s Nor’Easter snow. Speaking of which, I looked at the remaining route on the map closely for the first time in a while yesterday, and it was a bit of a milestone. There’s less than 1000 miles left, which is kind of insane to think about. Suddenly the scale is more akin to a small island like the UK than a hefty continent like North America.

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The last ten days have been intense. Spent a few of them in Thunder Bay, and managed to get a tune up from the folks at Rollin’ Thunder as the gears had been playing up and as everyone knows front derailleurs can only be fixed with dark magic. The results were amazing – the bike ran like new again and suddenly there was a range of new gears to ride in which had been previously forgotten about.

Leaving Thunder Bay, you pretty much instantly hit hills. Brutal hills. Not as lengthy as some of the previous mountain sections but much more intense, on a par with Big Sur in terms of steep climbs, fast descents, more steep climbs. It’s not a bad thing, if anything it was quite refreshing, but it definitely took some getting used to after so long on the flats. Much more physically demanding than the prairies. These hills take you around the edge of Lake Superior, which provides an amazing setting when the dense trees open up and other than the fresh water the scale of the lake makes it hard to tell the difference between it and an ocean.

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Something that was unexpected setting off on this trip, was the occasional curse of public holidays, and it was Canadian Thanksgiving the day after leaving Thunder Bay. It’s not a day we celebrate back in ‘blighty, so it wasn’t a big deal really, but when you’re camping rough in a rest stop whilst it’s literally freezing outside, and your main company is the peanut butter sandwich you’ve just made, it’s easy for the sighs to begin and flashes of depression to reach your mind when you know that close-knit groups nearby are celebrating with a kickass Turkey dinner. Of course there are small perks to these days – it’s super quiet on the roads, there’s no distractions etc, but still it’s a part of road life that I doubt will be missed much when it’s done.

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Nearly got attacked by a dog which hasn’t happened for a long time. Casually riding through the woods with the familiar, almost-getting-annoying sound of overplayed hip hop in my headphones, and in the corner of my eye there’s a blurry four legged creature coming in FAST from a wood cutting yard across the road. Is it a horse? A moose? No it’s the mother-of-all big dogs, not sure what kind but one of the frightening ones that you don’t want to mess with. It was kind of a sketchy situation in that the dog ran straight across the road and three cars had to stop suddenly, and it was soon resolved when the owner was honked repeatedly by the held up traffic, but nevertheless that minute-or-so provided that days adrenaline kick (maybe too much because a few hours later a chainring snapped in half).

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Reading other cycling blogs, there’s a lot of talk about the Algoma Central Railway linking up nicely with the sparse section between Wawa and Sault St Marie. It’s a railway line that goes through Agowa Canyon, and is mainly used for hunters and summer tourists to take them to log cabins nestled in the depths of the Shield where roads don’t go. The train or a floatplane are the main options. It’s not a frequent on-the-hour deal – it runs 3 days per week, but it happened to be running in the right direction on the right day so I jumped on at Hawk Junction after an intense down-to-the-wire burst from Wawa town. It’s a fairly short trip, covering 155 miles and shaving off two days, and knowing that this trip means you don’t get the reward of a huge downhill is tough, but like the reports suggested it was a great mini-journey well worth taking if you end up in the area.

Being winter the train was deserted. In fact that goes for general road life at the moment too – people are inside now the temperatures have dropped so it’s mainly a quiet and isolated existence. Occasionally a hunter would jump onto the carriage and soon jump off at a lone cabin (once carrying a moose’s head), but other than that it was a quiet, slow journey through some amazing territory under rainy skies. After 6 hours (told you it was slow), the train pulled into Sault Ste. Marie station around 7pm – the transition from heated carriage to bitter city air briefly shocking – and that was another section of the journey ticked off.

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It’s a race against the clock now because of flights, and whilst relatively speaking this trip is nearly over, there’s a lot that can happen in 20 days, especially at this time of year. Here’s hoping the heavy snow holds off a while longer.