Tag: adventure

Categories
Adventure Philosophy

It’s All Relative

The following is a guest post from Emma at Gotta Keep Movin’. She writes about that age old question of what an adventure is. My view on this is unreliable and changes more than a regularly rotated hourglass, so it’s nice to read that Emma has a way more solid approach.

Anyway, it can be easy to get drowned in a sea of supposed-meanings, and to fall into the trap of thinking too much about ‘what people will think’ or ‘how does this stack up to someone else?’. Those concerns in many areas of life can be toxic.

So there’s a primer. Take it away, pal!

– – –

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Let’s Stop Trying to Define Adventure: It’s All Relative Emotion

I read travel journalism on an almost daily basis, and lately I can’t help but notice the influx of snobbery. While there are a whole host of ways in which this affliction rears its ugly head, it’s rating the validity of adventure that I find the most tedious. Fueling the increasingly competitive nature of travel, words like ‘true’, ‘meaningful’, or ‘real’ are applied to adventure, often referring to more physically demanding expeditions, traversing of uncharted lands, or the never-been-done-befores. This neatly stacks travel experiences into stiff umbrella categories of ‘more’ or ‘less’ adventurous. If you’re not near the lofty heights of daring adventure, you’re swiftly discarded onto the pile of mediocre travellers, excluded from the elite super-club of nomads who are obviously doing a much better job of travelling than you are.

The word ‘adventure’ has been traditionally defined, in the literal sense of the word, as something that gives a sense of thrill, something that involves an element of risk, or an activity one feels to be exciting. With the way we’re presently talking about adventure, it’s as if these have been put on a ladder — my thrill is better than your thrill, my risk is larger (and therefore more valuable) than your risk.

Since when were these emotions measurable and ordered into better or worse, admirable or laughable?

Why have we put adventure on a scale?

My firm belief is this: adventure is a horizontal spectrum, not a vertical hierarchy. It doesn’t fall into a single category, or risk level, or thrill factor, and it certainly doesn’t have winners or losers. Adventure is an infinite variety of emotions and reactions, something that is sparked off in each of us in many different ways. Like the beauty in everything else that makes us unique as human beings, there is something to be celebrated in the fact that each of our senses of adventure is personal and individual.

For some, it’s the intrepid feeling of stepping into new places, the unknown and obscure. For others, it’s a change in routine, not necessarily related to moving far from home but more a sense of any activity out of the ordinary. It can be what makes you happy, or what terrifies you. And yes, some people find it in challenging their minds and bodies under the most testing conditions on Earth. Our stereotyped view of adventure is still valid, of course, but it stands shoulder to shoulder with so many more, blending in with some and opposing others.

For me, the important part is the emotion rather than the activity. The only length I would go to in order to define it, if I had to say it was anything, would be this; adventure is something that makes you (personally you) feel adventurous.

As travel journalists speaking about adventure, it’s our responsibility to avoid exclusivity. Adventure needs to be accessible, and if we continue to pin it to levels of more or less, better or worse, we’re in grave danger of alienating the people we’re trying to reach. Our mission is to inspire, not impose — and we’re teetering dangerously on the edge of imposing a definition of the activities that are counted as adventures, thus belittling and excluding any other way of travel that sits outside of them. With our constant need to push and push at more extreme ways to travel, traditional means seem to become less valid, a fact that saddens me and could easily dishearten many future travellers.

It’s time to encourage a new way of looking at adventure, a way where legitimacy or authenticity don’t come into it. In fact, a way that has no concrete definition at all. It’s not okay to tell someone else how to enjoy the things they love in any other aspect of life, so it’s also not okay to tell someone how to adventure. It is about feeling thrilled, excited, a little scared but nevertheless exhilarated, or whatever other emotion that leads you to one thing — it is about feeling adventurous.

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Emma Higgins is a travel writer from the UK with a penchant for people. Wandering the globe for 4 years and counting, she’s found value in travel by talking to people and seeking out individual stories, as well as venturing through our planet’s most incredible spaces. Her website, Gotta Keep Movin’, documents the tales she’s collected on the way, and her Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter offer more snippets from her life of travel. Most days, you will find her with a cup of coffee in one hand, and a pen in the other. 

Categories
Adventure Interviews

An Interview with Andy Kirkpatrick: The Dark Side To A Life Of Climbing

Andy Kirkpatrick is a climber, an author and a comedian. His draw to suffering in hardcore, vertical and freezing locations, combined with the technical and mental skills to get by in such places, and an ability to tell the story of those experiences in a relatable and funny way, is unique. 

There’s a dark side to big trips that doesn’t seem to get talked about much. Whether that’s climbing, cycling, rowing, walking, pulling a sledge or whatever else. Maybe it’s not even exclusive to outdoor-type things, and is present in anything in which someone spends a long spell doing the same thing. Perhaps the reason for it not getting talked about much is because it’s scary to put too much of our true selves out there for anybody other than ourselves to see. But I guarantee, that if someone is on a solo trip their mind is not always full of metaphorical butterflies and rainbows.

Of course those moments are real too. There’s happy times when rainbows shine and a butterfly lands on your shoulder. However, sustained periods of time spent in your own head can make dark thoughts seep in through the cracks, and the negative mental side can drip and drip like a leaky tap. Self-doubt, selfishness, lack of confidence, uncertainty about why you’re there and whether you’ve made the right life choices up to this point, can become a huge weight – like a bucket that’s been out in the rain overnight. Maybe that’s type 2 fun and is part of the appeal, but it doesn’t make it any less of an issue in the moment.

Andy has a way of talking honestly about the dark side. His books, Psychovertical and Cold Wars, are amazing insights into much more than climbing. They do have vivid descriptions of things like rockfalls and sketchy gear placements being the difference between staying alive or falling to a horrible and gruesome death, but they’re way more than that and talk about (with often brutal truthfulness) life outside climbing – stuff like going through a divorce, cash troubles, being a parent who’s a climber and dealing with the risk vs reward dilemma, etc.

Recently he joined a team last-minute to climb a first ascent in Antarctica, and without much of a break went off to climb Moonlight Buttress in Zion with Alex Jones for BBC Comic Relief. Sounds awesome, right?  We spoke about both sides – positive and negative – to the life of a climber. Hope you dig it.

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What draws you to a life of climbing / trips?

I’m actually more of an indoor person, and probably spend more time not doing stuff than most people. What I like is saving up all my time then having a big blow out of an adventure, and really stretching myself. 

Do you ever struggle with contentment – the grass is always greener dilemma?

I’m never content, and always feel I should be doing something differently to have that ideal life, and that nothing is ever good enough. But then I think that the truly happy people are either too stupid to realise, they aren’t happy, they have low standards of happiness, or their happy life is a sham! 

Can you describe your happiest memory on a trip?

I’ve had so many it would be impossible to pick a single one, but the evening on top of El Cap with Ella [Andy’s daughter] after we topped out was very special, and I did a trip with Karen Darke – kayaking in the Patagonian archipelago – that was very tough, and I remember the last few minutes of the trip trying to make it to a remote beach in a gathering storm. That was one of my happiest memories. The end was in sight and I just felt so in control of the kayak.

And the time you were most scared? 

Again almost too many to mention. I don’t get scared too much in the mountains (I got scared jumping into the sea yesterday though). People often ask me how many times I thought I was going to die, and I replied it’s not when you think you’ll die, but when you know you’re going to die that means something. Trying to solo the Troll Wall a few years ago, I had a car sized flake I was on move a few centimetres before stopping, leaving me just hanging there waiting to die. That was scary.

What’s going on in your head during a ballsy solo?

The level of attention, focus and awareness of everything around you is incredible, very much like a bomb disposal man must feel. When you’re climbing, there is only that. 

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Your post about The Real World – seems like you’ve had a tough time recently. People might look at your trips, Antarctica and Moonlight Buttress a little while back, and think of them as being the stuff of dreams, glossing over the other impacts big trips can have. How do you view the less glamorous side?

I think the more someone seems to be doing the most amazing things, the more their real life is taking the strain. When you are in a normal relationship with someone who has plenty of stability, then going away adds a lot of strain. As long as you don’t take the piss, and you have a solid relationship, then it can work for a while at least. I think there is some kind of understanding, that you can follow your dreams as long as your dreams allow your partner some level of normal security over time. It’s fine if your dream is being a heroin addict but just don’t expect your partner to support you in it. In my last relationship I thought I’d found the perfect match, in that we both liked doing crazy trips, and joked we were like heroin addicts, so it was all fine. The problem is, a heroin addict, no how much they love you, will always put their fix first, so once we began doing our own thing we just applied too much strain on the relationship (if either of us had been ‘normal’ then it would have worked I think).

Which do you get the most from; solo trips or group trips?

I guess I had a long period of soloing, and I suspect that, partly, it was because it was both easier to do things without people, and that I didn’t feel up to climbing with others (I have very low self-esteem but incredibly high self-actuation – a perfect mix for a soloist!).  But in the last two years I’ve climbed with a lot more people, and have found it incredibly rewarding, even if it sometimes means we’ve failed when I think I’d have done it if I was soloing. Stalin used to say ‘No people no problem’, but I’ve come to the conclusion that, although true, it’s the difficulties and differences that give the experience it’s colour and texture. 

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It seems like a majority of people living big-trip careers portray their expeditions with ever-present positivity but gloss over any negative stuff  – whereas in reality there’s probably a lot at play – loneliness, head-games etc. You have a way of putting it all out there – everything from your innermost personal life to the honest mental side of expeditions. 

I have a real problem with being way too honest, which is fine when it comes to me, but not when it comes to others (this has put a lot of strain on relationships with those I’ve mentioned). Most people are very private, and the ones who are public either only want to show their filtered selves (sort of an Instagram version of themselves), or are just too self obsessed and don’t filter anything at all – but can’t express it in a creative way.              

What’s it like writing in such an intimate way? (Speaking of that strain you mention, your posts sometimes reminds me of a climber-version of James Altucher, who admits his pieces can be so personal that he’s lost friends and family over them and people worry he’s going to kill himself)

I think that’s very true, and often what you write is what’s really going on inside you, and what people see at other times is just a mask. There is much I don’t write, and blogging takes a while as well, so many good ideas/experiences just get forgotten. But having the balls to write a tweet about the sadness of removing your partner from your favourites on your phone, is as raw, honest and insightful as anything a hundred times longer.

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Do you think the raw honesty has been a positive or negative, overall? 

It can come across as being ungrateful or winging, when you tweet something like “Las Vegas is a depressing dump” – and people say “I’ll swap and you can go to my 9/5 job”. But then I don’t ask people to visit my site, or pay for what I write – it’s there, take it or leave it. I know that some people do find it uncomfortable to read (one guy said it was like an episode of Grey’s Anatomy), but that’s the beauty of the web, you can just hit the back button.

“Sure there are many things that are right, stuff that people always point out, like lots of amazing climbs and trips, books and shows that mean something to people, but sometimes I feel like the king of experiences sat on a throne of ashes”, does the self-doubt that you talk about stick around for long?

The self-doubt is always there, and I do feel like I wasted much of my life not just getting on with things, neither being present in this world or the other. The bottom line for me remains what I achieve as a father – that’s how I should be judged, and I think I came to understand this just in time.

What’s going on during the hard times of a trip vs that same moment in retrospect?

I’m always aware how lucky I am to be having hard times – in fact maybe that’s why I seem to be able to cope, as I want these tough times on a trip. It’s like when I skied across Greenland in 2006, it was bloody boring for 24 days, and it was only on the last three days, when things got almost impossibly hard (due to the broken ice and rivers) that things got fun. When you are being squeezed the hardest it’s like one of those bath toys you had as a kid – as soon as you let go it sucks everything in – and on a trip this rush of life/peace/chocolate hobnobs is transformational.

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The mental vs physical challenge – which is most appealing?

Mountaineering is 80% mental, 20% physical – and fitness means nothing when you’re playing the long game on a trip.

Any type 2 fun going forward?

I’m hoping to squeeze in another crack at El Cap solo in a day, Denali in Winter and the Eiger Direct in the next six months, so same as usual. I’ve been signed up by Montane who have kindly agreed to support me financially (I’ve had plenty of kit from companies but no cash for many years), which I hope will help give me a bit more balance in my life (I’m 43 now – so need to get a move on stupid-trips-wise!).

Thanks Andy. [If you enjoyed reading this, hopefully you’ll enjoy this film we collaborated on a couple of years ago at Visual Collective.]

Categories
Adventure Interviews Philosophy

Nights and Mornings (AKA. Creative Rejuvenation, Insights & Spontaneity)

During that time a while back of living on a bicycle, one of the best parts was talking to people about things like finding a path in life, being content, ambitious, happy, making big decisions and all that good stuff. Those conversations were a consistent positive in a state of heavily fluctuating moods, mentalities and motivations. There’s a few reasons why those moments stick out. One is that it’s cool to relate to people and realise that everyone, no matter who they are, deal with similar thoughts. Another is that sometimes other peoples views can affect our own, and offer insights that have perhaps been overlooked and may be useful/actionable depending on our current circumstances.

To be honest, it seems like an age ago now where talking about these topics was a regular thing, and I’ve been missing those conversations, as well as missing making images just for enjoyment. So I’ve been wondering about simple ways to rejuvenate that. That’s where a new blog project – Nights and Mornings – comes in. It’s pretty simple really, and involves teaming up with an individual or small group, or solo, going somewhere with fresh air, chatting about the stuff mentioned above and someone’s story / taking an unconnected time out, sleeping in a sleeping bag on some grass, waking up somewhere epic, taking a bunch of photos and posting it all here as and when. Hopefully it’ll be fun, a kick up the ass to get away from the computer and stop letting everything else get in the way, and maybe insightful to read. I’ve done it a couple of times recently and it’s been really helpful, so if you’re in a rut I would highly recommend grabbing a sleeping bag and getting outside. Doesn’t need to be anything fancy. (I’m a big fan of Alastair Humphreys’ #microadventure movement)

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For the first one, I teamed up with Ben Robinson who’s been a good pal for years. We grew up in the same village in England, got into lots of mischief, rock climbed (he’s also a lightning fast belayer), bunked off school to rock climb, rode bikes, travelled to cliffs in the US and Europe, and generally spent a bunch of time in the mountains or on pedals. For a couple of years he’s been working in Thailand, as operations manager at an outdoor centre in the jungle, and before that he was living and working in New Zealand in a variety of roles. He is really good at going somewhere for a long-ish period of time and becoming fully immersed in that place and community. A couple of weeks ago he returned to the UK and for the first time in a while, we were in the same place at the same time, so on a whim threw some stuff into his van and headed to an old stomping ground in the fells. (ps. first person to identify the location gets a mars bar in the post.)

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On the draw of going somewhere to start from scratch, and the challenges of returning.

“You can go away and be who you want to be. You can make your life what you want it to be without any external factors. And that’s really refreshing, but then when you come back, and you’re now set a lot lower than what you may have been in another country, and your job might not be as good, or you might feel more pressure, it’s difficult to come to terms with. Everyone gets on with their life, and if you go away for a year or more, everyone’s moved on. No-one stops because you’re not there, and coming to grips with that, at first, was a bit weird.”

On being shy and solving that.

“When I first left to travel on my own, I found it really difficult to go and talk to people. I was really shy at that time which I’d never really felt before, because I’d always been somewhere I knew or with people I knew. Now after a few years of being used to those situations, I enjoy talking to new people, anywhere, but it wasn’t easy. I’d never thought of myself as a shy person before. I lived in Bangkok for a few months, and a lot of that time was by myself, and I didn’t have a big friend base at that time. I felt like an alien. But all it took was time and confidence, even before learning to speak Thai, and now it’s really no problem.”

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On escapism, progress, and perceived reality.

“At the moment I’m just really enjoying being back. Part of me feels like I should be developing here as well, so I’m not just always going away, then coming back to the same situation. Now it’s easy, in the grand scheme of things and logistically, to leave tomorrow and go almost anywhere with just a bit of cash. But maybe it is a way of escaping your situation, and maybe it’s an easy fix to go somewhere new. One time when I came home from Asia was because of the feeling that everyone else was progressing, and feeling pressure that I wasn’t living in reality, where in fact, in retrospect I was making my own reality, just in a completely different way to a lot of other people I know. And I’m not saying that what I do is a really good way to live. For most people it’d be shit never having anything set. But ‘don’t worry so much’ is what I need to tell myself. And I do get worked up about it still, having to have a plan and knowing the next step, but sometimes if you’re always worrying about the next step, then you’re going to worry yourself to death. Obviously you have to be driven and not get stagnant, but you don’t have to get stressed out.”

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On ambition and contentment.

“I’ve always known people who have been very ambitious, about career or education or outdoors. I struggle with not knowing which direction to put my energy. I don’t have an ambition to be a doctor, or climb the highest mountain in the world. I think it’s important that you have things you want to do though.”

“If I think about what I’m ambitious for in life, it’s maybe a bit stereotypical, but I want to have a job that I like a lot, that isn’t like working but is something I’m happy to put energy into. It’s not like ‘oh man I’ve gotta go to work’. If you’re happy to do that everyday, that’s gotta be good. And good people to share my life with as well, and I’m not just talking about a girlfriend or wife, I mean everyone. I’ve learnt now, and it’s obvious looking back, but I’ve realised I thrive by being around other people. I’m not good on my own. So having good people around, sustaining a nice lifestyle, that’d be a happy life. And obviously learning to say the alphabet backwards.”

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On giving advice to a younger self.

“Be happy with who you are. Don’t worry about what people think of you. Have the confidence in yourself to talk to people. It’s not a big deal, it doesn’t matter where you are. You have the power to spark conversations. You can’t wait for other people to do that for you. You’ll probably meet a few assholes, but you’ll meet a lot of wicked people too. There’s so much pressure now, but don’t worry if what you’re doing now isn’t what you want to do forever.”

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On a quote that has been influential.

To be truly challenging, a voyage, like a life, must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest. Otherwise, you are doomed to a routine traverse, the kind known to yachtsmen who play with their boats at sea… “cruising” it is called. Voyaging belongs to seamen, and to the wanderers of the world who cannot, or will not, fit in. If you are contemplating a voyage and you have the means, abandon the venture until your fortunes change. Only then will you know what the sea is all about.

“I’ve always wanted to sail to the south seas, but I can’t afford it.” What these men can’t afford is not to go. They are enmeshed in the cancerous discipline of “security.” And in the worship of security we fling our lives beneath the wheels of routine – and before we know it our lives are gone.

What does a man need – really need? A few pounds of food each day, heat and shelter, six feet to lie down in – and some form of working activity that will yield a sense of accomplishment. That’s all – in the material sense, and we know it. But we are brainwashed by our economic system until we end up in a tomb beneath a pyramid of time payments, mortgages, preposterous gadgetry, playthings that divert our attention for the sheer idiocy of the charade.

The years thunder by, The dreams of youth grow dim where they lie caked in dust on the shelves of patience. Before we know it, the tomb is sealed.

Where, then, lies the answer? In choice. Which shall it be: bankruptcy of purse or bankruptcy of life? 

– Sterling Hayden

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Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel Philosophy

Brain Versus Body – A Tale of Roast Beef

“When the first snowfall comes, that’s usually it for the rest of the winter.”

The Winnipeg resident’s advice echoed at the forefront of my mind as the heavy snowfall fell to the ground in Sault Ste. Marie, on the eastern side of the grand Lake Superior. The falling powder, low visibility and the baltic chill showed no immediate signs of letting up. It was going to be a glove day, once I’d drummed up enough motivation to go outside.

There was no real reason to not be motivated, as I’d spent the night in a motel. Hardly hardcore but needed sometimes. It hadn’t been a cold night and there had been no suffering, but opening the door and being hit by the chill was a shock, even after all this time experiencing the seasonal change each day. It was enough of a reason to close the door, rustle around in the pannier bags, and find more layers.

After leaving the room and setting out, I rode for twenty minutes. Along the snowy pavements, with the rain jacket hood done up tight over the shell of my helmet. It was a balancing act performed at a slow pace. In the snow, it would be easy enough to fall and slide along the whiteness, especially with the bald tyres that were currently on the bike.

It took focus. Cars would drive by, their lights bright to tackle the fog, and the spray from the snow and the sleet would fire up from their wheels to land on the pavement. Offsets of that spray would hit the few exposed parts of skin that were left, and every time a chill would run down my spine as though someone had poured ice cubes down my shirt.

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It wasn’t a smooth start to the day, and acting on those initial signs had become a bit of a superstition. Over time you lose perspective and in the haze things like superstition seem to hold more weight.

Thank God – the big red logo and the cars in the drive through lane. That would be a good place to drum up motivation. A happy place, a familiar place, a warm place. A place that, like motels, if visited too much, makes you feel guilty that you’re not truly living the ‘adventurous nature’ of a trip like this. But the roast beef sandwich combo at Tim Hortons would warm me up and for a brief while there would be no guilt. There was motivation inside those four walls, there was time to get fired up.

It was only the end of October, but whoever was in charge of Tim’s music selection had decided that they would try to encourage some early Christmas spirit, by playing the corniest of songs to match the fresh Lapland-esque scene that was now on display outside the window. One in particular struck a chord that day. “Baby It’s Cold Outside”.

In the comfort of Tim’s hospitality, some lyrics of that song seemed to sum up exactly, word for word, what was running through my head, like an internal monologue, brain versus body.

{I really can’t stay} – There was a narrow window of time left.
{But baby it’s cold outside} – It really was.
{I’ve got to go away} – Time was a fuse, like it was two lines ago.
{But baby it’s cold outside} – The roast beef combo was looking up from the plate like a mindreader.

The realisation that you’ve not set out on this journey to sit in a Tim Hortons listening to terrible pop songs whilst eating roast beef doesn’t take long to reach. It was time to go. MAN UP YOU BIG PANSY – the monologue was going off – an anti-pathetic alarm.

Once I’d put every layer back on and wrapped a doubled up bin bag around the leather saddle, I finally did set off, precariously rolling along the snow-filled sidewalks. The spray that was being kicked up from the spinning wheels made me long for the wheel fenders that were now long gone, left behind when in the summer they had seemed completely obsolete.

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It’s still a sweaty game, regardless of the cold. Sweaty enough for a wool shirt to become damp at any rate, even if it was flat. Pedalling away from Sault Ste. Marie, the landscape was for the most part level. Had the sunshine been out, there would be little to separate here from those long days in the prairies.

When it began to get dark, the landscape had turned remote, in the kind of way that would be perfect were it not reminiscent of a scene from The Snowman. There was plenty of land, and most land owners would surely be tucked up in their living room for the night. What’s not to like about that kind of stealth-camping freedom?

It wasn’t the kind of day where night riding would be fun at all, yet it also seemed like it would be wise to choose a place to sleep carefully, rather than just rush into it and pitch the tent at the side of the road or in the middle of a field. Pedalling towards the horizon, constantly scanning the farmland, it seemed like there were a couple of options.

One was to pitch in a field – maybe in the corner of one it would be possible to find shelter from the elements. Another was to find somewhere that was truly sheltered. The latter would be good, as it was clearly going to be one hell of a cold night, both water bottles now frozen solid with no liquid inside them, silently attached to the bike frame instead of the normal slosh, slosh, slosh.

What is that? It looks like a barn. It is a barn. Far ahead, slightly off to the side of the road, there was a wooden barn with a green roof. It had three walls, and was open at one side.

As it was still a distance away, there was a few minutes of cycling time to consider a) whether it was trespassing and b) because it clearly was trespassing, whether I was willing to trespass for the benefits of shelter.

A question of morality and legality. The private land dilemma had come up many times before, but this felt a little different because a barn is actual shelter – it’s not like sleeping in the corner of a field. To decide became an internal role-play exercise. Brain versus body yet again.

If I was a farmer, and it was freezing outside, would I care if someone camped in my barn?

The answer was: not really, as long as they didn’t burn the place down or steal anything.

With a decision made, I pedalled over to the barn, finding that inside was a bright orange Hesston combine harvester and some other heavy-duty farming machinery. The ground was dry, and the roof was solid. It was still going to be a cold night, but it would be a sheltered one, at least on three sides.

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You know when you just can’t get a song out of your head? The second verse of that song was running over and over, an irritating loop, impossible to drown out as the dusk disappeared and nightfall arrived.

{This evening has been}
Been hoping that you’d drop in.
{So very nice}
I’ll hold your hands. They’re just like ice.

Under the roof of the barn, nestled in the space between the machinery, shivering as my hands were sandwiched tight under each armpit, the last line seemed appropriate. Half of it, anyway. Just like ice.

Surely it had been a foolish decision to not upgrade to warmer sleeping kit, even if it would only make these last few weeks more comfortable and nothing more? The right gear would change this situation completely. I didn’t have a good reason for why, but enduring these nights seemed like a challenge that was worth taking on. Maybe it was because it was these kind of shivering moments, that didn’t involve motels or Christmas music or roast beef sandwiches, that were the ones I’d been looking for.

On a continent where it can seem like ease and comfort is never too far away, there is value in these moments of relative suffering and isolation, and in a twisted way, they are cherished times. 

With two weeks of this way of life left, this had been the coldest night. It wasn’t the Antarctic or anything. At -9 Celsius, my army pal might laugh and wonder how it compares to the time he skied into a cut out hole in the middle of a frozen Scandinavian lake, however I tried to think back over the previous 11 months – there had been plenty of freezing nights, extreme weather, solid water bottles – but nothing that seemed as brutally cold as this.

It can be easy to lose track of time when days and weeks blend together like they do when travelling by bike for a long time. Time in general becomes a blur. When I woke up in that barn the following morning, and touched the merino wool t-shirt which had become rock hard in the night as the moisture froze, I realised the cyclical nature of this journey (excuse the pun), and of long journeys as a whole, whatever kind they may be.

The bike ride had gone through every season, each one bringing challenges and opportunities. I’m not going to pretend that waking up in the barn was a particularly pleasant one, but it was worth it. Winter 2012 to Winter 2013. 4 seasons ticked off like the boxes on a questionnaire. That full-circle nature had made the trip more vast than it was ever imagined to be. Anything that takes a chunk of time to endure and which, at times, can seem overwhelming to take on, is worthwhile.

Ignoring the frozen t-shirt and perhaps cursing it just a little bit, at that moment, there was no doubt at all that this would be a valuable chapter to look back on once it was over.

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Categories
Adventure Interviews

Moments of Adventure

An unusual, exciting, or dangerous experience. Most of the time these blog posts fade away quickly and it’s hard to know if they’ve been read much, but very occasionally one gains a bit of momentum and gets shared around. A few weeks ago ‘An Open Letter To Self-Proclaimed Adventurers’ caught a little pace and it was surprising to see a few reactions. In hindsight the cloudiness of that post is a bit cringeworthy.

One reaction was “That’s an idiotic piece. Getting kidnapped is not an adventure, going over Niagara is a gamble not an adventure. The only one of the 3 stories that is an adventure is ‘No Picnic on Mount Kenya’.” It was tempting to write back with ‘ur an idiotic piece’ but this is the internet and adding fuel to the fire never works well. Another reaction was “I don’t get it. Does it mean we should all just stay at home because everything’s been done already?”. This was saddening as that conclusion is the opposite of how it was supposed to come across. Oops, sorry!

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Adventure, going off the dictionary definition, is: an unusual and exciting or dangerous experience. Seeking those experiences is totally worthwhile, for everyone. Doing the thing you’ve wanted to do for ages helps you grow. Ticking off that trip or that thing which frightens you but calls out to you anyway. Has everything been done? No, that’s impossible because it’s subjective. From getting over your stage-fright and walking onto a standup comedy stage for the first time, to riding a bike a long way. It is infinite, it is for everyone, it is worthy, it is real, and simply embracing adventurous experiences has a positive impact.

The intended meaning was: If you want to go and have an adventure, go and do it. Don’t be put off by titles, or inexperience, or lack of ‘the best gear’. Do the thing that calls out to you. If you’re a receptionist – you can have an epic adventure. If you’re a teacher – you can too. If you work in insurance – you can as well. And you should! I really hope that anyone reading this will at some point pursue their big adventure (whatever that means) that is close to their heart.

Finally, one person said: “so are you saying that people shouldn’t write about their adventures?”.  No, who is anyone to say that? Crumbs, this blog does just that! Quite the opposite – if you like sharing stories, that is awesome! And reading about people seeking out new experiences is brilliant. From people who frequently go on trips as a career, cool, but everyone else too. Say a caretaker who just ran a fell-race, a student who launched a satellite, a fisherman who plucked up the courage to take part in a rap battle. (Basically, the original post was an ill-thought-out vent about seeing a small few act like they owned something that can’t be owned.)

Moving on to the cool stuff!

If you were asked to choose, can a single moment rise to the top of many? I asked some peeps who’ve chased experiences that called out to them, one thing. To describe their most adventurous moment. Their responses are fun and insightful and sometimes unexpected – enjoy, then get planning!

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Leon McCarron:

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“I’ve had my fair share of pretty ‘adventurous’ (or downright stupid) moments – listening to bears sniff at the flysheet of my tent in California, teetering over precipitous cliffs in Chinese mountains, capsizing a packraft in a remote Iranian gorge… when it comes to doing silly things in exciting places, I’m a pro. But I also know that without a doubt my most adventurous moment of all was very different from those higher adrenalin escapades.

The bravest and more daring thing I’ve ever done was cross the George Washington Bridge out of New York City on my first big trip. Physically there was nothing hard about it, nor logistically – there was even a bike path all the way across. Mentally, however… man, mentally it was a war zone. Every fibre of my being was terrified at the prospect of leaving behind all that I knew; swapping the familiar and the comfortable for a heavy bike, a cheap tent and an endless white line heading west. I would have found it so easy to give up right there, to turn around and make plans to fly home to the UK. Somehow – through stubbornness, stupidity and a small but growing realisation that things don’t always have to be fun to be worthwhile – I pushed on over the bridge, into New Jersey, and into the adventure of a lifetime. Since then, I’ve never looked back.”

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Rachel Atherton (photo: Laurence Crossman Emms)

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“I suppose people would think that racing mountain bikes down mountains at speeds of 60mph every weekend all around the world for a living was adventure enough but I disagree!

You get so used to whatever you do day to day, no matter how adventurous it may seem, so adventures to me are things that I don’t get to experience, days out on the sea in boats, inflatable kayaks through quaint towns, but my most brilliant adventure that I still love thinking of was taking myself to Europe when I was injured and having a year off, I must’ve been 19, I camped for weeks in my tent with my bike, at lakesides and up mountains, the thunderstorms from the tent were amazing, I rode every day exploring the mountains, collecting wild strawberries and bilberries to go with breakfast, washing in the lakes and waterfalls, stealing vegetables from gardens (!!) and making friends with locals who plied me with homemade alcohol.

It was one of the most exhilarating, free, happy times I’ve ever had. A real adventure because I was away from the normal, away from technology, away from comfort, it was real living, being as close to mother nature as I could be, to me that is what an adventure should be.”

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Tom Allen:

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 “I was dragging my bike through a thousand kilometres of sand towards Dongola in northern Sudan. The Nile lay to my right, shimmering, tempting, as I sweated in the midday Saharan heat. I wondered what was on the other side of the longest river in the world. (Nothing, according to Google Maps.) The idea took hold, and when I arrived at the next Nubian village I tracked down the owner of a small boat and convinced him to give me a ride. And so it was about halfway across the world’s longest river, outboard motor sputtering, cool water spray on my sunburnt face, that I realised that not only did I have absolutely no idea where I was going, but that this leap into the unknown was precisely what made me feel so damn alive. This, right now, was my most adventurous moment to date.”

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Sarah Thomson (photo: Kate Czuczman):

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“To me an adventure means taking a risk. Sometimes you run into trouble, and sometimes it turns out to be the most epic moment of a lifetime. One of my most adventurous moments was whist backpacking with a friend of mine in Indonesia. We awoke early, packed our rucksacks and headed off with no idea of direction. We passed peaceful lagoons, chilled out cafes and tiptoed through local farmlands, attempting to climb coconut trees for refreshment on the way. We walked for hour upon hour until we reached what we believed to be the end of the world! A huge of bank of black sand saw the end of the ever growing palm trees and we both stopped in awe. We laughed and told stories the whole way and yet when we reached this bay of black we had nothing to say, but just sat and soaked in the love of a wonderful adventure.”

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Charley and Sophie Radcliffe:

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Charley: “I am constantly challenging the title of most adventurous moment but they keep having one thing in common: being somewhere I didn’t know I could get – whether I’m leading a hard (for me!) rock route, or running London to Brighton across fields and country paths. The moments that get your heart rate up, make you worry, and then break through the other side.”

Sophie: “For me adventure is all about trying something new, embracing the unknown and having the faith in myself that I’ll get there but also knowing that failure is part of the journey. It’s about sharing the highs and lows with friends, making new bonds, strengthening existing friendships, feeling like you’ve shared something you’ll never forget. It’s about the rewards and how well deserved they feel! The accomplishment, feeling of confidence, the beer and eating of cake. It’s about living and feeling alive.”

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George Foster:

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“I used to think I was adventurous but the furthest I’ve been from civilisation in the form of say a phone or a car or whatever would be a few days camping in Scotland or a couple of days on a mountain in the Indian Himalayas. Not exactly Ernest Shackleton. I guess I may have done adventurous things to those uninitiated with fell running or those whose definition of adventure is markedly different to mine. It’s all a matter of perspective.

If it’s what you’re into, then all my adventures in running have been adventures of the mind. Many hundreds of people have run further or faster. Maybe not so many have done so at night, over hills, in the wind and the sweeping rain. Then again, maybe you have, in which case skip to the next guy!

This is the closest I’ve come to a real adventure. Something where the outcome is far from certain. Running towards the mountains without a headtorch to see what it’s like. The feeling when you float up the steepness and come face to face with the moon. Uncertain starlight giving way to a flood of brilliant radiance and you are able to pick out instantly a boulder here, or there, a puddle left from the evening downpour. All that was invisible moments before, now open for your private viewing.

That doesn’t have much to do with the mind on first glance. I’d argue that it’s experiences like that which remind you why you race on the fells. I need reminding sometimes when I’m racing. Legs melting into screaming lungs. The challenge in a lot of these isn’t to win but often just to finish. That’s the mental side. The not knowing is the adventure. The not letting your body give in when you do know. I think it takes a lot of courage to run up a hill into a gathering blizzard. Courage… and stupidity.

Anyone can have an adventure, though. As I said it’s a matter of perspective. When I’m 94 I’m gonna relish the not knowing if I’ll be able to make it to the toilet without pissing myself. How adventurous is that?!”

– – –

What is an adventurous moment you look back on?

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[p.s. Leon’s book is out on the 7th July and involves getting chased through cornfields from a gun-toting alcohol-soaked rancher, and Tom just released a technical ebook that anyone interested in bike touring should check out.]

Categories
Adventure

Three Epics

1) It’s October 24th 1901, at Niagara Falls. It is Annie Edson Taylor’s birthday. She has decided to attempt to be the first person ever to survive a trip over the Niagara Falls in a barrel. The falls are 156 meters high. She just turned 63 years old. She is a widow. She’s had a custom barrel made out of oak and iron and put a mattress inside it for comfort. She tested the concept two days before now by putting her cat inside it and sending it over the edge. It was a kitten and it survived and 17 minutes later posed for a photograph with Annie. 

Today Annie gets in the barrel, along with a heart-shaped cushion. It’s her lucky charm. Friends use a bicycle pump to fill the barrel with air, and then put a cork in it in the hope that it’ll remain pressurised at 30 PSI. She is set free from the side of a rowing boat upstream and the current carries Annie over the falls.

Rescuers find the barrel with Annie in it a few minutes later. People are doubtful, of course. If you’ve seen the falls then you know how ridiculous the thought of floating over them in a barrel is. But like her cat, Annie is alive and relatively unscathed, other than a small cut to her head.

She would later say, “If it was with my dying breath, I would caution anyone against attempting the feat… I would sooner walk up to the mouth of a cannon, knowing it was going to blow me to pieces than make another trip over the Fall.” Some people would argue that she needn’t have gone over the side of Niagara Falls in a barrel to come to this realisation.

~

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2) It’s 24th January 1943 at British Prisoner of War Camp 354 in Nanyuki, Kenya. When the clouds break, Mount Kenya appears in the distance. Three Italian prisoners, Felize, Giovanni and Enzo, have for months been hoarding food as rations, sewing makeshift rucksacks and clothing, and scavenging for scrap metal to use as homemade ice axes and crampons. They’ve become sick and tired of the monotony that prison life offers. Life in camp is boring not brutal. They leave a note saying they’ll be back in two weeks and set off to attempt to climb the mountain, using a map they’ve sketched on the back of a food tin.

They escape by taking advantage of the relaxed vegetable gardening duties they’ve been tasked with, and using a key that’s been moulded in tar. They dig up supplies they’ve buried in the tomato patch. No-one notices them leave, so no guard fires a bullet into their backs. Then they begin the journey to the base of the country’s highest mountain. Days up riverbeds and through dense jungle, precariously avoiding animals like rhinos and leopards and charging elephant bulls. When they make it to the mountain, they risk freezing to death with inadequate equipment, and starving to death with an inadequate amount of food. Enzo gets too ill to continue so the other two carry on, leaving him at the base. On the climb, they face rotten snow and mini-avalanches. They can’t communicate with each other because the wind is so strong.

They reach a part of the mountain and realise they can’t go on anymore because of fear of death. It’s Point Lenana, a small peak just 200 meters below the summit. They plant a homemade Italian flag and begin the descent in the same conditions, back to the POW camp where they’ve come from. When they return 18 days later, there is no glory waiting for them. As punishment, they are all sentenced to 28 days in solitary confinement, until the camp commander reduces that to 7 days because of their ‘sporting effort’.

~

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3) It’s August 12th 2000 and four American rock climbers are climbing on The Yellow Wall in the Kara-Suu valley of Kyrgyzstan. Tommy, Beth, John and Jason hear the first gunshots rattle past them at 6.15am. They shout 1,000 feet below, but the gunmen order the group to come down immediately. They draw straws to decide who should go down but John volunteers. From the portaledge, the group watch what happens through a 200mm camera lens. John radio’s up and tells them that the gunmen are requesting that everyone comes down. The group sense that something is seriously wrong.

The two gunmen are Abdul and Obert, who turn out to be rebel soldiers in the Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan. All the climbers descend and are marched to base-camp where they meet two more people. Su, another rebel. And Turat who had pleasantly checked their permits a few days ago. He was a Kyrgyz Army soldier, but had been taken prisoner by the rebels. The three colleagues Turat was originally with were executed in front of him by his captors.

Abdul orders they will all walk to Uzbekistan, where there is safety for the rebels. It’s 50 miles north. They walk over valleys and up ridges, until at 3pm there’s a gunfight between the captors and local Kyrgyz soldiers. During this fight the captors execute Turat in front of the Americans. Tommy accidently sits on his lifeless arm and the rebels laugh at him.

For four more days they continue through the mountains. Hunger turns to cramping. Jason and Tommy come to the conclusion that they’re now prepared to do whatever it takes to get out of this situation because after Turat’s murder it’s clear negotiation won’t work. The rebels leave Su in charge of keeping the Americans hostage. The group climb a ridge. The plan is for everyone to rendezvous on top. With just one rebel now, Tommy climbs up to Su, grabs the AK-47 that’s strung around him, and throws him off the rock. Su hits a ledge 30ft down, and then rolls off the 1,500 ft cliff into the darkness.

Tommy can’t cope because he thinks he’s just killed a man. He asks his girlfriend Beth ‘how can you love me now? After I did this?’. They stumble 18 miles back to a Kyrgyz army base. They’re shot at by rebels again, but eventually are greeted by Kyrgyz soldiers who hand them tins of food and water. They have escaped.

~

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~

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 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
Philosophy

Sabotaging The Future

“When I was starting out, and I was struggling, and so stressed and freaking out, and I felt like I was muscling everything through, everything was through the force of will. Nothing was being given to me. I had to fight for every single thing, and I was broke and I was just bummed and frustrated and so ambitious. But it doesn’t happen overnight.

So many people that were more veteran than me would just tell me ‘dude, just cherish these moments, because it’s never going to be like this again, and you’re doing cool sh*t, and just appreciate everything that you’re doing in the moment, because whether you make it or not, you’re doing it. You’re trying. You’re having fun. You’re making stuff that you believe in.’ Now I look back on those times of finding it, and the struggle, so fondly.” Ruben Fleischer, director of Gangster Squad.

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Do you ever put your headphones on and walk down the street with Eminem – Lose Yourself on full blast thinking about the future? No? Oh. Me neither.

The vibrations of the motors, rain on the train windows, buzz of the TV’s, jingles on the radio. The commuting eyeballs that stare at the ground and only occasionally glance up, and a sound of static if we’re not careful. Sometimes this is like being an addict, searching for that forgotten sense of clarity, creativity, flow that a few months ago came so easily. Everyday life finds a way to take over and those things we desire are pushed to the back. The classic struggle. If we’re not careful, at the back Clear is chilling with Inspired, and at the front Mediocre is getting chummy with Secure. It’s up to us to bring what thrills us and gets us excited back to the front.

The last few weeks have been full on. There’s a Vague Direction book churning away in the background. It’ll be worth it, but it is becoming apparent how much of an undertaking it’s going to be and how much longer it will take than first anticipated. Classic tortoise and hare, but that’s fine – it’s gotta be good. Why rush if taking a little longer means better quality. Pushing that to one side, real life requirements have meant at the forefront of my mind has been to find sustainability and regularity that comes with a pay slip that someone else gives you. For a moment I fell off the self-employed horse and tried to jump on the wagon of becoming a full-time employee, being employed by somebody else, working on their mission, and getting their paycheck. The mission was irrelevant and I was irreverent.

It was a worthwhile test regardless of the outcome, in one way a confidence boost. As someone who’s just come back from ‘a year off to go on a bike ride’, to an outsider my CV probably looks like it has a gaping hole in it and a hint of this-guy-will-probably-leave-after-two-months, so I was pleasantly shocked at the ease in going from interview to offer. With two full-time offers on the table, and the prospect of settling down in England’s capital, committing to the hustle and bustle was imminent. In one way it was quite an exciting thought and in another something wasn’t sitting right, so I went to chat with two trusted comrades for advice.

They’ve both carved their own paths and built their own foundations. I told them about what was about to happen and they looked at me like a crazy person. One said “you’ve done part of it but you’re not done yet. Can you imagine saying yes and looking back in 6 months to what could’ve been?”. The other said, “These are the seeds. You don’t know it yet but eventually you’ll be able to trace back and it’ll be these moments that count.”  They were both conversations that were very similar to the chat 10 months earlier that’s quoted at the top of this post. The meaning applies to anyone on their own mission who has doubts about the struggle and their ability to see it through.

From the earliest stages of this project, the mission was to create a foundation. It’d be a standalone epic experience, and there’d be a good book that would be worth reading as a tangible output, but more than that it would be the beginning of a sustainability that would allow new encounters, moments to remember, location flexibility and more adventures. So the advice from the mini-mentoring sessions resonated and internally I knew it was true. It was a relief in many ways when, whilst many people would’ve advised the obvious option, their advice went the other way.

They were inspiring. It took moments for my priorities to shift to what deep down was the only way. I’d do everything possible, any freelance work, any video contracts. Anything that would provide a way of getting by with enough flexibility to finish this project and see what comes of it. Any other option was the wrong one.

A common thread that came up when chatting to folks on the road last year was that lots of people give up too soon. Saying yes to one of those offers wouldn’t mean anything. No output or change. It would mean working on someone else’s mission all week just because they’d provide a comfortable way to get by, and then trying to pluck up the motivation to work on everything else in occasional spare moments, probably under the haze of stress. Striving for perceived security would be giving up and letting go of any momentum that had been built.

It’s not all slotted into place yet, but I’m grateful to talk to people who have opted for the potential rewards of the unconventional route themselves, because sometimes it seems like those trying to build a path of their own are the few who realise why it’s attractive in the first place. Of course we all have different circumstances, needs, requirements and desires, and it’s not for everyone, but working towards a mission you believe in, creating something, seeing the progression of your work and taking ownership of it is one of the most worthy things I can think of. Maybe it’s ignorance, immaturity, ego, selfishness or a cracked sense of drive, but it seems like a bad idea to let ambition slide just because there’s an easier-for-now option on the table.

Perhaps this will hit a dead end. Perhaps a year spent on the road and the immediate impact was all it was. Perhaps being a full-time employee will become the most desirable option. Fine. But not yet. Right now is time to play the grit card. It’s not a decision about sabotage, it’s a decision about fidelity. The sabotage would be quitting too early, not getting through the dip, and not getting this to a stage to see what could come from it. There’s few secure paths now anyway. Every day people who think they’re on the secure route face insecurity. The only guarantee left is in great work that only you can do, and you can only make great work if you believe in it. This is what I believe in. What about you?

Categories
Philosophy

Time, Lessons, Reset, 4 words.

2014 is here. How crazy is that? A simple minute, 11.59 to 00.00, but with it a switch from one year to the next. Even though in reality it’s just a brief moment, the new year is a great marker – a catalyst to wipe the slate clean, reset, change.

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I suppose the first part of this post is just an attempt to personally distill and clarify some thoughts by writing them down. The second part is a fun goal-setting exercise that hopefully you’ll join in with.

Quickly looking back, last year was amazingly crazy, and it brought with it a lot of learning. There’s been specific questions on my mind recently, which are: What did it mean? How, specifically, did it change me? What can be applied from those lessons? It’s easy to look back on 2013 and come up with attempted half-answers that are loose, vague and un-actionable. But there’s also real, actionable, tangible stuff that I would not be aware of were it not for last year. Some of the main lessons that I took away from the year of living on a bike are:

Stop Being Intimidated

Intimidation is in our mind. Obviously there’s times when there’s good reason to be hesitant and nervous, but so often those moments are fabricated within ourselves and by missing out on the things that intimidate us, we miss out on great, unforgettable experiences. It’s a disservice. The things that scare us are those we should face in order to grow. Finding a way to turn the anxiety into excitement is a massive game-changer.

Don’t Stop

Grit beats skill. Determination and stubbornness beats experience. Literally and metaphorically, it’s really easy to bike a long way – you just have to keep going and eventually, lo and behold, you end up in the right place. But more generally, it’s the number one lesson I took away from talking to people like John and Martha. Keeping going is the easiest way to make something happen.

Build a Routine

If you wake up and think “I’ve gotta ride today”, then you’ll probably fail. But if you wake up, know that the bike ride is part of the routine, and think about how – even though it might not be that fun setting off into the cold or the dark – by the end of the ride you’ll be refreshed and loving it, then suddenly it sounds much more tempting. The way we frame things in our minds affects our chances of success.

Roll With The Punches

Sh*t is probably going to go wrong. Whether that’s a puncture, a snapped chain, or a run of bad luck in life. It sucks but it’s already happened and time machines aren’t real yet (maybe 2015). Move on and work it out – the process of working it out will probably be intrinsically worthwhile and may lead to a hidden gain.

Set Ridiculous Goals

Most people set goals that are based on past experience, and on what they know will be a guaranteed success. Setting moonshot goals, that seem so far removed from something you have experience of, is a great way to learn quickly by default and do something that might shock you. Diving in at the deep end, acknowledging that you don’t know it all, and being cool with that can be a valid approach.

With the festive season, some of those have fallen by the wayside recently, but with 2014 acting as an incentive, it’s time to implement these lessons and embrace the future. What can be done in 365 days?

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AN EXERCISE: FOUR WORDS

If you had to base the next 365 days on four words, what would they be? Chris Brogan posted recently about taking three words and using them as a central focus for goal-setting the coming year. Not enough range, buddy. Settling on four instead, it was fun to think about which words to choose, and which areas to step into the new year with. Give it a try! In the end, an in no particular order, these four came to mind:

Consistent. Adventurous. Build. Adapt.

Consistent – Blogging and building a great site relies on consistency. Specifically with this site, the aim is to press the publish button consistently, every couple of weeks or so. Simple really.

Adventurous – Last year was epic in so many ways, and experiencing that kind of lifestyle has shifted my values and mindset dramatically. It’s an aim for this year to contain more adventures, and for that type of learning to continue for the foreseeable.

Build – Disposable things aren’t appealing anymore. I’d love to use this year to build the foundations for a committed future (relationships, business, adventures, lifestyle etc).

Adapt – Tom from Tomsbiketrip recently published a new post and a sentence grabbed me. “There is sometimes — not always, but sometimes — an air of desperation around ‘post-trip’ blogs.”

It’s totally true, it happens all the time, and it’s something that’s been on my mind for a while. There’s going to be a pivot in the coming months on VagueDirection.com which will highlight some adventurous content that isn’t directly connected to last years ride or even cycling. It will introduce you guys to some fascinating people and their stories, which I hope will inspire, amuse, teach, shock and maybe even move you. Adapting beats going stale.

So that’s my four words. What are yours? It’d be awesome to discover what you’re aiming for in 2014, what adventures the year has in store, and which words you’ll focus on this year. Let me know in the comments down there ↓

Happy New Year!

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