2018 in a nutshell…

Total distance cycled in 2018: 11,141km/6,844 miles. Unidirectional equivalent: Bergen(Norway) to Vladivostok (eastern Siberia)

img-20181028-wa0002I have to admit, I am in a phase of regression…..

At a drinks party over the festive season, I was in conversation with a contemporary about my habits of travelling on two wheels. By way of response to some of the things I said, I heard the following:

“Really, you travel all by yourself? What happens if you get sick or have an accident?…… You don’t have a support vehicle to carry your kit? But you must have hotel rooms booked in advance at least? No? You mean, you have no idea where you are going to stay each night? Aren’t you worried about your own safety…….?”

And so it went on. And this is only one example of dozens of similar conversations I’ve had with people of my own generation over the years which, not surprisingly, pigeonholes me as some kind of weirdo, a man out of synch with his contemporaries. Years ago, adventure travel for me amounted to nothing wilder than staying in youth hostels, travelling economy class, and eating at the cheapest restaurants. But I now find I am wanting to push back the boundaries, back to my penniless days, to experience the simplicity of independent travel, finding the food and drink I need wherever it is available, laying my head down where nature allows me, and accepting kindness and hospitality whenever it is freely proffered.

I will never aspire to be a desert-crossing, Antarctica-sledging, Himalaya-scaling kind of adventure traveller, but my comfort zone is definitely in long-distance solo cycle-trekking, with minimal luggage and few concrete plans other than knowing my general direction of travel, the pace of which is governed only by the date printed on my return ticket to the UK. For some, enough to inspire fear and anxiety, for me, liberating and energising.


The magnetism of fishing

After chewing the fat with a crowd of cycling buddies over coffee and cakes at Elton Hall Garden Centre, I headed home via the ancient village of Fotheringhay, with its legendary connections with Richard III and the execution of Mary Queen of Scots.

As I crossed the ancient packhorse bridge, I passed this group casting lines with metal discs into the water. And yes, I had to ask what they were up to…..and discovered they were ‘pescatorial detectorists’ doing what is commonly called ‘magnet fishing’. And no, that doesn’t mean fishing for magnets, but using strong magnets to fish for metal objects, preferably of a historic and valuable kind.

The only catch of the morning had been a rusty old horseshoe….but they continued casting their magnets with enthusiasm.

Riding the winter solstice

I celebrated the summer solstice this year by cycling out to a decommissioned church and spending the night in its hallowed emptiness. This was followed by a ride home as the sun’s orb rose above the north eastern horizon at 04.44am.

A few days ago, on the 21st, as the northern hemisphere reached the nadir of its tilt away from the sun, I set out on a symmetrical ride to observe the winter solstice, and found that Santa had solved his transport problem in the event of a snowless Christmas…

…he misses nothing in his forward planning…very impressive. Present deliveries are now assured…

I wish you all a very happy Christmas, and many happy miles in 2019….and thanks for your company.

A Christmas song recycled?

No comment….

No comment, either on the spelling or the sentiment….🤔

The story…..

I have just finished preparing an illustrated account of my adventure riding from Vancouver to Mexico.  It’s a fascinating story (well, I think so!), and I will be taking it to a couple of local groups in the near future.

If you are a member of one such group, or know of similar groups, that like to invite speakers to their meetings, I am happy to entertain locations around West Cambridgeshire, East Northamptonshire and North Bedfordshire.

The story will be of interest to both cyclists and non-cyclists alike. It is principally the story of a journey, with only passing references to riding a bike.

Contact me via a ‘Comment’ on this blog…… (look for the ‘Leave a comment’ icon at the bottom of each post.)

First slide pp


With the sun on our right: Tim Moss

sun-right-3D-300Unlike many memoirs of long journeys, Tim Moss’s narrative of cycling around the world with his wife, Laura, is a real page-turner. Long journeys, by their very nature, provide a lot of material of a repetitive kind, so finding your voice as an author and keeping the reader plugged in is a fine balancing act. The narrative needs momentum, it requires twists and turns, and variations of speed……just like a bicycle ride in fact, except that the really interesting things often happen off the bike, in the variety of vignettes that pepper the journey, giving us an insight into the lives and personalities of the travellers themselves, as well as a flavour of the terrain and people they encounter en route.

Being a long-distance cyclist myself, I know what it’s like to be 8-10 hours a day on the road. During those long lonely hours your mind is filled with inconsequentials like: ‘how far till the next stop, where’s the next foodstore, will this hill never end, should I sleep in this wood or look for the grounds of a temple?’. Your attention, in fact, is entirely focused on survival……which in itself doesn’t make a great story. It’s when you stop thinking about yourself and survival, and turn your attention outwards…..that’s where the real story is, and Tim has created a narrative that keeps you turning the pages.

A great read, for both cyclists and non-cyclists, and a great 5 minute trailer below.

Above the Dove….and beyond

The ultimate in self propulsion is not the bike, but putting one foot in front of the other…..and for me, it’s a pace I have to adapt to…..but the rewards can be rich….especially in the Peak District, hiking the Dales….

From meadows (and mud) and a riverside trail along the Dove, to a rocky stumble up Biggin Dale and the sheer slopes of Wolfescote Dale, this had a bit of everything….including being besieged by a yapping pack of hunting hounds that seemed to materialize from nowhere.

Add to all this an unexpectedly cloudless day (which in Derbyshire is akin to a drought), and you have all the ingredients of a perfect ramble….

In Derbyshire, if you can’t see the hills, it is raining….if you can see the hills, it is about to rain.

And of the Derbyshire born person, it is said: “Derbyshire born, Derbyshire bred, Thick in th’arm, Thick in th’head”. Don’t tell Jenny that…🙃

Carpe diem…

Waresley Garden Centre cafe, where I met up with one of my mid-week groups, has the best scones in the area, and today they were offering an unusual raspberry and chocolate variety…..but I resisted the clotted cream…..don’t ask me why….I must have been on a mission to appear virtuous.

And the quality of the cafe offerings was matched by the perfect autumnal weather, the countryside bedecked in the orange, gold and crimson of a soon to disappear seasonal feast. Carpe diem…..


Has the UK got it right?

Ah, the familiar highways and byways of home, and remembering to ride on the left…..

You see, we Brits know we’ve got it right by driving/riding on the left, but most of the world just doesn’t agree with us. I mean, did you know that riding on the left owes its origin to ‘dexterity’ (right handedness)? Approximately 85% of people are naturally right-handed….so, if you were a knight in medieval times travelling the country, which side of an oncoming knight would you pass? Of course, to their left, so you could defend yourself using your right hand.

So my question to the rest of the world is….how do you defend yourself if you drive/ride on the right? Learn to be ambidextrous?

Bad ass….!

The evolution of words like ‘superb, fab, cool, wicked, dark…’ is fascinating. Here is the latest iteration in southern California:”You just rode from Vancouver? Really? Bad ass….!”

Vancouver to Mexico: the statistics

Vancouver to Mexico: the statistics

Distance: 2705km/1681miles

No. of cycling days: 34

Rest days: 3

Average daily distance: 80km/50 miles

Longest day: 105km/65 miles

Shortest day: 35km/22 miles

Nights camping: 23

Warmshowers overnights: 11

Monastery overnight: 1

Motel nights: 3

Best parts: the giant redwood forests of northern California, and the dramatic coastline in Big Sur.

Least interesting: endless managed fir forests in Oregon.

Toughest climb: Mt Tamalpais 2,500ft, average gradient 7.4%, maximum slope 15%.

Best navigational tool: Google maps

Worst phone service provider: T-Mobile

Mechanicals: 1 new chain, no punctures, replacement lock.

Items left behind and recovered: 3 (barbag, lock and phone)

Items lost: 1 (gilet)

Rain: 2 hours on one day, once overnight. Amazingly dry.

Days of sunshine: 30+

Wildlife encountered: harbour seals, spouting whale, elephant seals, pelicans, egrets, cormorants, kestrels, hawks, foxes, racoons, skunks…should I go on?

Bananas eaten: about 80

Cliff bars eaten: about 60

Beers: about 30 (give or take….)

Worst coffee: French vanilla

Longest ride to my first coffee of the day: 26 miles

Longest stretch without services: 55 miles

Spontaneous assistance from passers-by: numerous occasions.

Encounters with traffic cops: 1….🙃

And as a postscript, if you have been following this journey via my webpage or Facebook, thank you for your company. My blog logged up over 10,000 hits during the journey, which made the effort of writing the posts so worthwhile.

México: The muted arrival

Yesterday was the last gasp. A final fling to get to the San Ysidro Transit Centre was met with an impenetrable wall of security, on this the busiest land crossing in the world. I coincided with a change in shift, passing hundreds of border security guards on their way home, all wearing bullet-proof vests. No way could I get near the border crossing and expect to retrace my steps back the way I came. So getting this shot standing next to the nearest sign was all I could expect.

But….the job is now done, time to relax, have a few beers, eat a few tacos, burritos and enchiladas, and pack the bike for the homeward journey.


Why cyclists should warm shower…

On long cycling journeys, I love to camp. It’s simple, cheap, convenient, sociable, and it adds to the sense of adventure, especially when you pitch your tent in remote rustic spots. However, that is not to entirely eschew the comforts of a bed, a shower and a home-cooked meal…..because there is a worldwide organisation called Warmshowers, where cyclists host cyclists in their own homes, and the only payback is to open your own home to passing cyclists who are full members.

So far on this journey, I have been hosted 7 times, by 7 very different people, with different backgrounds and circumstances, but sharing a common love for cycling, whether competitive, triathlons, off-roading, commuting, or long distance endurance. In one case, my hosts rarely used their bikes, but just love the company of travelling cyclists.

In the last few days, I have been hosted by Weej (Louise) and her son Jack in San Clemente

…and had my arrival caught on camera (oops, haven’t learned how to switch it to portrait)

…then in the morning, was accompanied by Weej for the first 20 miles of my route.

The following night, I was offered a bed and pasta meal by Gregg

…a man thoroughly informed about local and national affairs, had cycled around the world in his 20s, and was busy building a computerised irrigation system for his back garden. Fascinating.

Then today, I was met by Julie, 20 miles into my ride…

…and she rode with me on the last leg to her condo in Pacific Beach (San Diego), and again I was caught on camera, this time struggling to the top of a long climb. And no, that is not a smile on my face, but a grimace of pain!

I pretty well had a guided tour of the beaches en route, and over lunch, she introduced me to the art of craft beer appreciation….especially of the variety of local IPA beers….and what an experience that was!

Julie is away on business next week and has kindly offered to let me stay in her condo until my flight home on Saturday.

Believe me, the combination of camping and Warmshowers make perfect ingredients for the long distance cyclist.

Check out: http://www.warmshowers.org

Hot, hot, hot…..

Well, the wink and smile from the campground host last night meant what I thought it had meant….I got a 100% discount on the $55 fee. I had pitched my tent behind his palatial RV, on a spot that overlooked the ocean….and the sunset (no, I won’t bore you with yet another sunset shot…).

But the campground had several prominent alerts posted about rattlesnakes in the area….and guess what was uppermost on my mind as I got up in the night for a pee…..? Just as well there had been a full moon to light the way…

Despite the heat during the day, the dew was extra heavy last night, so I spent a lazy hour talking to other camp residents this morning while my tent dried. But as I set off mid-morning, the temperature was already in the mid-30s, and as I tumbled through Laguna Beach, I was ‘bullied’ by this sign…

into stubbing out my cigarette (no, just kidding!)….can’t ever remember going through a smoke-free city before….I wonder, does that just mean smoking in public places?

Tonight, I am being hosted in San Clemente by Weej and Chris Baggely (both keen off-roaders) and their son Jack, and as I arrived (having toiled up a 5 mile climb to nearly 800 feet) I was given a beer and ushered to relax a while in their backyard……..

…could it be any better?

Ah yes, the Queen Mary..

Last night I got back from LA after dark, and walked the 2 miles from the metro station to Ken’s house, through unfamiliar neighbourhoods. Ken had given me a key to his house, so when I got back, I opened the door, only to see a little boy on the other side. I was very puzzled, then I heard voices, and then shouts, and the phrase “call the police” rang out resoundingly.

Damn, I’d just tried to enter the wrong house! And now they were going to call the police…… The father came out, a tall strong looking chap, and mother opened the window….I pleaded my case, told them it was a genuine mistake, ladled on the English accent, told them I was a simple confused Brit, and, magically, they calmed down, and even started to make moves to help me….if I’d prolonged the subservience, they might even have invited me in for a beer…. Phew, another neat side step out of trouble.

The next morning, I rode with Ken for a couple of miles, he on his way to work. He is a therapist, with a speciality in helping victims of addiction, and he put me on the road to visit the old Queen Mary, docked in Long Beach harbour, and now serving as an event centre and hotel. I asked one couple who were coming off from having spent the night on her, what it was like. The unadorned answer was “Well, it was another thing to cross off the list”. The ship had been decommissioned in 1968, and from the outside, it certainly looked old and tired.

On the last lap of this epic ride, I am winding down the pace, cruising along beach trails, along endless beaches….

…past artificial islands that had to be built to mask the unsightly oil drilling platforms put there in the 70s….

…and when I got to Crystal Cove campground, to be told that tent camping would cost a whopping $55 a night, my jaw dropped to my knees. So, summoning up, once again, all the Englishness and old school refinement that I could, coupled with an expression of genuine shock, the camp host paused….then said: ” Go to site 30 and pitch your tent behind my RV”.

Did I detect a wink and a smile when he said that….?

City of the Angels

Even when you stop pedalling for a day, your whole body remains in constant motion forwards. Ken, my host and his partner, have very kindly let me stay a second night, so that I could catch public transit to downtown LA for the day.

When you look at the sheer size of LA, and how far apart some if the whiz bang attractions are, you have to ‘trim your cloth’, and plan something less ambitious. So I took the metro to the most central station and explored the square mile at the very heart of the city…..and I was not disappointed….in fact, I did rather well.

A guided tour of the Central Library was a gem, including exhibitions in the Getty Gallery, followed by a spectacular interactive journey up to the 70th floor of Skyspace,

and a chance to grow wings for take off….

This was followed by another guided tour, of The Broad this time, the LA museum of contemporary art (absolutely fascinating…and free!),

and this was literally next door to the Guggenheim-esque Walt Disney Concert Hall….

And all of this within a mile of my station, when the majority of tourists would be out at Universal Studios and visiting the Walk of Fame and such, leaving these central gems quiet and largely unvisited.

Santa Barbara to Long Beach 203km

Over two days, along this largely flat coastline, I was able to forge ahead, sharing time on the road with people like Tim, from Norfolk

who has done a series of long rides, like the TRANSAM when he was 17, and the 5000 mile route around the coast of Britain.

And Mack, from Oklahoma, on the other hand, was doing his first major ride, and found himself getting stronger and more confident as the ride progressed, but had yet to find out that riding on sand requires much fatter tyres to stay upright….!

Breaking the two days of riding was an overnight at Sycamore Canyon campground, largely deserted, and enjoying a primitive remoteness that I liked. Coming out of the campground shortly after sunrise, the light and the mist played eerily on the ocean…

and we followed the beach’s winding cycle trail for miles till I found myself at the doorstep of another cycling host, who gave me a very warm welcome.

Tomorrow, I will take a day off the bike, and take transit into LA, and discover some of the wonders and quirkiness that normal trippers find in this vast city.

Into rattlesnake country..

This was a timely reminder in a rest area off the highway as I dropped back down to the coast near Santa Barbara.

Did you know that a rattlesnake can still administer a lethal bite some time after it has been beheaded? Best to do the Clint Eastwood thing and just shoot it…

Some of the bridges have an extra layer of security for cyclists. By pressing the button you trigger the lights that tell the traffic to give you a fighting chance of getting across safely….and some will very considerately refuse to overtake until you have crossed. Very impressive…

And should you ever exchange your tent for a motorhome, don’t forget to take your car in tow so you’ve got something to get around with while the bus is parked up in an RV park. I mean, we wouldn’t want to see you walking, would we?

After a fairly tough 88km, that included a long climb to 1100 ft, and a rip roaring descent of 2 miles…

….I stopped in Santa Barbara to be hosted by Antoine, from Grenoble, but seconded by his company to work on a project that incorporates the use of lasers in fibre optic technology. Now that this brief summary has made me sound very knowledgeable, I want to make special mention of Antoine’s home made pasta…..supreme!

But, of course, only to be expected of the modern Frenchman these days…they are all Michelin starred, aren’t they?

Best of friends, worst of enemies…

I decided to delay my start this morning to do my laundry in the campground laundromat, when two gentlemen came in clutching their own bags of laundry. They eventually decided to share the same machine, and when I heard their accents, I said: “You’re not local lads, are you?”.

One, in fact, was a Kiwi and the other an Aussie, and they were on a rental motorhome holiday together. I expressed my surprise to see that an Aussie and Kiwi were that friendly, when the Aussie commented:”We’re not that friendly really, especially on the cricket field. This lot are just a bunch of Sheilas on the cricket field”.

The Kiwi came back with: “Yeah, but when it comes to rugby, the Wallabies are just a bunch of prissie Wannabees”

“You see why I hate him” said the Aussie.

As they overtook me down the road, they gave me a friendly toot on the horn…and I reckon they’d been sharing a few jokes about stupid pommies, especially ones that ride bikes wearing lycra.

On my way to Lampoc, I stopped to rest in Guadalupe, and a lady called Dorothy, in a wheelchair, came up and said: “You stopping or just passing through?”.

Within 2 minutes I had a full description of her extended family, then she remarked: “Of course, I can walk, I just need this (wheelchair) for longer distances”.

I replied: “Yes, I too can walk, I just need this (pointing to the bike) for longer distances”. She liked the humour of the comparison….

When I got to Lampoc, after a fairly tough 80km, the only campground had closed its section for bikers like me, and forced me into a motel room. Bring a humongous RV or motorhome, and they’ll let you stay…..but no, not a one man tent, even if you pay the price for an RV site. Is this unsubtle discrimination?


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