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I spent a lovely week in Barcelona getting know my little niece Emilia. She’s lovely, a little angel, and I had a great week getting to know her in person. She really likes bouncing and swinging in her bouncy swingy thing. She is trying solid foods now, many for the first time, and her reactions to salmon, avocado, cooked pear and white fish, seem to indicate that she has working taste buds.

Then I cycled over the Pyrenees via Puigcerda, camping at about 1700m with temperature dropping below -5 at night. Brrr. Then down towards Toulouse. In Toulouse I thought about just getting a train. There were a few little irritating things wrong with the bike (chain and brakes) and a few things wrong with me (cold and sore knee). And the weather was lousy. But after I'd polished off a croissant and a coffee, and warmed up a tad, I fancied taking a look at the canal path. I followed for the next two days.

With running repairs my bike was in reasonable shape, and my knee and runny nose improved too. I continued up through france. I struck a route taking pretty much straight line. There are loads of quiet roads and at one point I followed a great marked cycle route that I stumbled across. I wild camped all except one night. Mainly in picnic areas, laybys, in woods or in fields.

In Tours I realised I was running out of time. In fact I had somehow forgotten a whole day. So I hopped on a train and nailed it to Caen in time to catch the overnight ferry to Portsmouth. I met up with a group of mates for breakfast and we all cycled up to Hambledon to my Mum's house.

We celebrated with a beer and I took a much overdue shower!


So that's it for this bike ride! A life-long ambition fulfilled. I thought I might write a post linking back to some of the highlights (so stay tuned...) but perhaps this is a good chance to say a few thank you.

I never would have fulfilled a dream if I hadn't of had it in the first place. So firstly I must say THANKS to Mum and Dad who always encouraged me to dream big ideas, to be open-minded, determined and, with all the stories, gave me insatiable wanderlust. When Dad died, one of the reminders was that life is short and you must take your opportunities when you get them. That was maybe the spur that really got the trip under way.

Next, thanks to my sisters Penny and Caroline and Ben, my brother. They were all really supportive and helpful

Ben: Thanks for helping to put Mum at ease when I first broached the idea. And thanks for the camera and all the enthusiasm about getting good photos.

Caroline & Alejandro: Thanks for making me an Uncle and a Guardian, and thanks for all the help along the way, and when I was planning.

Penny: Thanks for opening my letters, sorting out banks, and being "HQ", thankfully I didn't have to turn to you for too much emergency help but it was fantastic peace of mind knowing you were there to help if it all went tits-up.

Many thanks to everyone who cycled with me. Especially...
Russ: Wish you'd been there the whole way, man. Thanks for joining me, being a delivery service, for great conversations, ipod filling, pizzas, and inspiration.

Also, "Rocket Scientist" Mike, "Bullshit" Brett, "Iron" Mike, Monika and Thorsten, "Bird Shit" Chris, M,J&C the "Plastic Sheet" Chileans, Ray "El Chino", "Bus Stop" Frank, and "1000 Mile Stare" Dot.

Also my friends at Sacred Suenos and everyone I met out and about...

All my climbing and hill walking and tour group companions, particularly>>>>> Ashley, Sam, Dave P, Dean, The Hyuana Potosi Gang, the Villaricca Girls, Los Llanos Gang, Maricabo german girls and and guides...

Thank you to the musicians who I recorded along the way, particularly Nick, Carlos and El Camino.

Thanks to the many many people who gave me a place to stay or food. Especially Josmir, Sergio, the Casa de Ciclista people. S&K and the warmshower and couchsurfing people. Flacco, Jordan and other equally generous Colombians.

Thanks to everyone who supported me and kept in touch via email, phone, facebook, etc. Thanks for all the comments on my website and on facebook, especially thanks to my CAAC friends.

Thank you to Chas Roberts for my fantastic bike, stanfords, edinburgh bike coop and crosso for sponsoring me with great quality maps and equipment.

And everyone else I have forgotten, sorry...if you fancy donating a few quid to the Mother's Union please do, I will leave the donation thingamy up there.

What a great trip, eh?!

Airport Ugliness

"It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on Earth has ever produced the phrase, 'as pretty as an airport.' Airports are ugly. Some are very ugly. Some attain a degree of ugliness that can only be the result of a special effort."
-from The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul by Douglas Adams



I feel increasingly despondent about air-travel. The worst bit is airports. They are hollow, soul-less places. As I stood looking out of a house-sized pane of glass in Caracas airport, I watched the baggage handlers loading up the plane that would take me out of South America. I was watching for my bike, but I happened to notice that about half the suitcases whizzing up the conveyor belt were wrapped in cling-film. Indeed, as I walked in the airport I had been acosted by several people offering their services to wrap up my stuff in cling film. But why? For security, to protect your precious bag, for waterproofing? I don't see how it does any of these things really. This is a fairly new thing, which seems to be popular, but I'm pretty sure it is a swiz. A waste of time, money and, in the end, a lot of cling-film.

Wastefullness is part and parcel of air-travel. The microwaved food comes in disposable containers, with plastic cups and plastic cutlery which can all be ditched. The headphones, to listen to a film on a post-card sized screen on the back of the seat in front, are disposable. The plane itself is burning through who knows how many gallons of fuel, churnning out waste gasses.

I'm in Barcalona now. My bike (she's a hardy thing) and I survived an overnight bus, overnight flight, and overnight train. I will be glad to sleep in a bed that doesn't move.

I will take flights again. I like to travel and, unless I get into sailing in a big way, I will have to put up with air travel as a necessary evil.

Venezuela Safaris!!

After I got soaking wet yet again in a walk in the mountains I decided to sign up for a tour to Los Llanos. This is a flat land area with tons of animals and birds. First stop was Barinas to collect a Russian couple from the airport (strong silent types) and go rafting down a big bouncy river. Next morning we headed to the camp in Los Llanos but before we even arrived there were animals to spot.

Junior, our guide, spotted some howler monkeys in some trees. When we piled out of the truck to take photos. Later, near the camp, we saw a load of caimen surrounding a lake.

The camp was a collection of homely shacks with numerous children, an anteater and a very humourous parrot. We looked forward to slinging ourselves up in hammocks for the night but first we climbed on the roof of the truck to go caimen hunting. The goad was to catch a caiman: just for a laugh! Junior and Ali, his friend from the camp, set off into the fields, and after a few false starts came back carrying a bundle of baby caimen. We oohed and ahhed, took photos and had a little race. Then Junior and Ali (AKA the black dolfin) set off to find some bigger ones...

The following morning we fished for parahnas (despite looking really easy...I caught nothing), hunted for anocondas (and found a little one) and went on a fantastic boat trip to spot fresh-water dolphins, capivaras and many exotic and beautiful birds. Then back for an eight-year-olds birthday with dancing (for everyone), rum (for adults), piñata (for kids) and cake (for those who lasted that long).

After a painful attempt to hang on to a cantering (or trotting?) horse, we piled back into the truck and drove back to Merida.

I was lucky enough to have a fantastic group: the Belgium stallion, two chain-smoking Germans and a couple from the UK.

After all that excitement I ended up back in Merida, it was still raining so my hope to climb Pico Bolivar was out. I was thinking of having a day at a natural hot-spring, but a recent land-slide had filled it in...So I booked on another trip.

This time I had a pair of very pretty young German girls as companions and the trip was to see the famous Catatumbo Lightning. I guess it isn't that famous really. Odd though. We stayed in a house on stilts right in the middle of the lake and watched this silent lightning going on all night. We also took in a night safari on the speed boat and spotted loads of birds of prey. The next day we visited a village built on stilts. This was a real highlight for me, a very strange and wonderful place of fishermen and more children than you would imagine. They all get about by boat. Kids paddle around on bits of polystyrene, plastic buckets or anything else that will float. There are two pubs, a church, a school, shops and about 800 people live there. There is also a power plant which fires up in the afternoon for the telenovelas (soap opreas) and then in the evening for the lights.

And that was it for Venezuela, and for South America.

Shivering In El Cocuy

Getting to the Sierra Nevada del Cocuy isn't an easy thing to acomplish by bike. I had anticipated it taking me a day or two from Bucaramanga...But then I did get a little waylayed by some paragliders, a surprise birthday party, some basketball fans, a man in a wig, a maricahi band and something that I recommend you never drink called "aguardiente".

Then came the toughest stretch of road I've cycled sinse the Careterra Austral. Stupidly steep, narrow, ugly gravel and crossed by gushing rivers on every bend. I arrived at the little village of Guican almost a week and a half after leaving Bucaramanga. A small pueblo perched on the side of a mountain valley with a steep sloped central square.

At five-thirty in the morning, at the corner of this square, I found myself waiting along with 5 or six locals, for the lechero. This is an open-sided truck that drives a loop of the mountain roads, collecting small pails of milk from tiny farms and moving about various things like sacks of potatoes, kids going to school, boxes of tools, cowboy farmers (in thick woolen ponchos, ganster hats and welly boots) and a weirdly dressed gringo who wants to go hike in the mountains.

Well, after a very cold ride (for those poncholess idiots), getting stuck in the mud and stopping every five minutes to pick up milk the journey to Cabañas Kanwari took five hours. I could have walked in three, but I guess it was a novel experience. By the time I reached the cabañas it had began to rain. I scutled into a hut and downed a few tintos (coffee) and ordered a slap-up lunch. This would be the last decent meal before the hiking rations of pasta, rice and oats. It was still raining after lunch but I began the walk.

Once I'd hiked to the end of the road, I continued along a track up to a pass and down into a valley. By this stage I was in the mist and couldn't see much at all. The valley was waterlogged and vegetated by the strange, triffid-esque cojine plants unique to this mountain range. Just as it was getting dark, with the rain still lashing down, I found the first lake and put my tent. I was in for a cold night. My sleeping bag has now lost a lot of its feathers. With a wet me inside it, it doesn't provide much warmth. Also, I wasn't well aclimatised and insomnia is one of the first symtoms of altitude sickness for me. But the cold was the worst thing. Every few hours I warmed up the tent by boiling up some water. Unfortunately I couldn't make tea as I forgot the tea bags so I just had bowl after bowl of hot sugary water.

I was packed and walking as sunrise broke. I didn't see it as it was still misty. The terrain switched from bog to rocky trails. I climbed another two 4000m passes with towering cliffs disappearing into the clouds with Laguna del Isla in between. At mid-day I reached Laguna Avellanal and stopped to cook some pasta for lunch. Just as the water came to the boil a hail shower started pelting me. There was no shelter but I decided to wang the tent up by the lake double quick. Then I moved my bag indoors and clamboured over the boulders with the furiously bubbling hot stove in my gloves. Inside it was quite plesant as the hail bounced off the flysheet. I settled in to eat dinner and read "Flashman".

With the rain still hammering away, and being tired after a sleepless night and seven hours hiking, I decided to stay put and spend the night here. However, as it got dark outside, I realised that water was starting to seep up through the groundsheet. I had put my tent in a depression that was filling up like a pond. Within a few minutes everything in the tent was soaked. I did my best to move about and find a dry spot but it was hopeless. Moving elsewhere was out of the question. It was pitch black outside with a craggy path to follow in mist and heavy rain. I would twist an ankle in minutes. So I rolled over and tried to avoid touching the soggy clumps of icey wet sleeping bag. No sleep. Cold. Shivering. I put my headtorch on and looked at my thermometer: zero degrees. It was time for a cuppa. Got the stove out, and sat up (heat rises). I thought about burning the tent down, and carbon-monoxide poisoning, but really my only concern was warming up. I downed the water and left the flame burning as I laid down and turned out the torch. I still didn't sleep and after a few hours I put the torch back on and finished Flashman. That was supposed to last me for bedtime reading for the whole walk...

By morning I had made up my mind I was going to just turn around and march a nine hour slog back to the cabañas and give up on this hiking lark. But when I got out the tent the mirror flat lake reflected the surrounding mountains. The mist had risen, not completely, but enough to encourage me. I packed and set off. Even so, I wasn't keen on too many more cold nights in my clapped out sleeping bag. I put in a 10 hour march, rolling together two of the planned days.

It turned out to be quite a nice day, and by lunchtime the mist had risen quite a bit. I crossed Valle de Cojines a swampy place with rows and rows of triffids. I didn't bother to pick a careful route through the marshy ground. My feet were wet anyway so I just stomped through spashing mud. I had a quick bowl of cold oats for lunch, an insurrance measure against rain. Rain that began shortly after I put the pan back in my sack and started on the next day, if you see what I mean.

Now I was back to mist and rain and after 4 hours I reached Laguna de la Plaza. It looked like a sea, the other side disappearing into mist. The map said an hour walk to the campsite. It was 2:30pm so, although I was cream-crackered, I assumed I would have time to walk the further 3 hours to the nearest Refuggio. Ha.

The walk round the edge of the lake was more like a scramble on a series of wet terraces which sloped a hundred metres above the lake, with a film of water running over them. I slipped up several times and decided that going slow was the best course of action. I'd been walking nine hours and hadn't slept for nearly sixty. There was no trail and the cairns were far enough apart that you couldn't see the next one in the mist. My photocopied sketch map was next to useless.

And then came the reward.

The skies cleared. The mist rose. The rain stopped and the view opened up. Laguna de la Plaza was revealed in all its glory. Unreal. Snow capped mountains loomed over the lake. I stuck up the tent and walked around snapping off hundreds of photos. Fantastic. (it would be another night of shivering but who cares, eh?)

This post relates to my bike trip in South America in 2010.

I now offer guided walks and walking holidays in the UK in Northumberland, the Pennines, the Lake District, Scotland and further afield.

I'm always keen for outdoor adventures to help people learn the skills to explore! My particular focus is mountain skills such as navigating with a map and compass and wild camping for expeditions.

Find out more

How to Open a Coconut

I'm sure some of you are sat at a desk, as autumn sets in, and that nagging thought is bothering you again...How do I get my hands on a tasty snack and refreshing drink if I happen to be lazing on a Caribbean beach? Well fear not, for here is How.

Firstly, you need a machete. And if you don't have one a hand axe. Failing these a knife of some kind. A heftyish fixed blade sort of knife or at the very least locking one. I saw a dude open a coconut with a Swiss Army Knife. He succeeded... but there was blood.

Next, you need to find a coconut. Look under coconut palms. But beware these things fall down without much warning and can kill (also worth bearing in mind when putting up your hammock). Look for greenish ones of a fair size. Avoid old rotten looking ones.

Step One: Remove the husk. Make three lengthwise cuts in the husk on the flat parts. Then, cut out a smaller segment. This should give you a hand hold to pull of the first third of husk. The other two follow quite easily. The fiberous stuff that makes up the husk is quite easy to cut through but it is grabby so watch out.

Step Two: Drink the milk. Clean up the coco and drill a hole with the point of your knife through one of the black "eyes". Drink up.

Step Three: Crack shell. Twat the coconut against a log or rock until it cracks. Don't obliterate the thing, just make a crack. This can be levered wider with your knife to prise open the coco into several peices.

Step Four: Get the meat out. Use a small sharp knife to score the meat and cut it out. Put in your mouth. Eat.

Cali to Cartagena: ¡Bienvenidos Caribe!

"Mi interés fundamental es pintar una naranja más naranja" - Ferdinando Botero

Cycling through Colombia is a joy. The scenery is beautiful. The people are the most open, friendly and generous of my trip. Especially as you travel north. Also the girls get slimmer and prettier, the weather gets warmer and even the traffic seems to ease off. Most days someone will offer me some fruit, beer, cake, or share their lunch with me. Many cyclists or motorbikers will slow down and accompany me for a chat.

I camped at the Casa de Ciclistas in Cali and Hernan, who is a great guy, showed me a map of Colombia that had elevation profiles. I copied these out into my note book and it has been fun to watch the last few hills roll by. I tried to leave the large, long and complex city. Navigating out of a South American city is no easy task. Firstly, there are little or no road signs. If there are signs they are not necessarily acurate. Then, there are road works, often with a single diversion sign. It seems to say: turn right into the barrio and fend for yourself.

But back on the open road things are simple again and the PanAm winds up and down, loosely following the course of the Rio Cauca. I swerved the Pereira and Manizales conglomoration and stopped in Chinchina which is in the heartland of coffee production. This is the sort of place that comes alive at night. Street vendors selling arepas con queso (a fried maize bread, stuffed with melted cheese, and dribbled in honey), girls gossiping on benches smoking cigarettes and men laughing their way through cans of Poker beer in cafes.

Before long I reached Medellin. Another stretched out city. Tower blocks, built on a hillside, continue for mile after mile. I took a rest day and visited an art gallery which has a lot of stuff by Botero. He makes paintings and statues of thick people (but not fat because it doesn't hang - just looked it up and the arty term is "exaggerated proportional deformation"). I think they're great fun. His pictures are a bit of a game too. It takes a while to spot some of the things he does. The security guard told me that doors and windows in his pictures are always open. You notice there are lots of horses often with humourous expressions. There are lots of hands and feet too.

Enough of that, time to hit the last hill. Very cold and raining. I needed waterproofs and thermals again for the first time since Patagonia. Also, I got a bit of a dodgy tummy again so I checked in to a swankyish hospedaje and visited the phamacy. Then down down down. The Cauca was huge when I rejoined it and full of brown mud. It whips along at a fair old pace too. The coconut palm lined valley is full of people living in shoddy shacks and eating fruit whilst lazing in hammocks.

The fruits are fantastic and juices too. Zapote, Lulo and Cheremoya are some of the best. Once, when I was leaning against a tree reading my book and munching some bread, an old man walking past threw me a fruit. I have no idea what it was or what it is called. It was green outside, pink inside, not sweet but very flavourful and delicious.


It is very common to see people walking, or cycling about, even quite far from towns. Often they have a machete sheathed on a belt with colourful leathery tassles. Sometimes you see 8 year old children hacking away at stuff with a machete taller than them. There is also a distictive straw hat here, sort of like a cowboy hat but with black and white weaving. It's pretty neat.


From Caucasia the road takes you away from the river and through mainly flat and hot countryside. Then I reached Cartagena and my first view of the Caribbean sea!

Good Things on the Internet Part One: Blogs

Here are a few blogs that I have enjoyed reading...

1. Alastair Humphreys

Who is he? Al Humperdink is a round-the-world cyclist who is now eeking out a living for himself as a writer and motivational speaker. His abition is to be a sort of proffessional adventurer. His recent adventures have been on a smaller scale (six week walks) but include several interesting approaches such as using carrying an inflatable pack-raft in his rucksack.
What does he write about?
He writes about his expeditions with a focus on photography, motivation, and his emotional response to the journeys. He often quotes from literature, poetry and old duffer explorers. Many of his posts refer to other adventurers and he has contributions of photography and guest posts. He writes a huge number of posts, almost one a day.
Some good posts
Make a living doing what you love

Work hard

India

2. Andy Kirkpatrick

Who is he?
A very very funny man. Also a mountaineer with a penchant for hard, dangerous big-wall climbing. His mountaineering lectures are more like stand up and well worth seeing.
What does he write about?
He writes about climbing, writing, his life and things that amuse, iritate or interest him. He writes informatively about climbing and outdoor equipment and techniques. He writes about his hatred for William Shatner, Ben Fogle and Bear Gryls. He often will dwell on the humourous and uncomfortable aspects of climbing.
Some good posts
Rock Me Sexy Jesus

Closer

The Balance

3. Ride Earth

Who is he?
Tom Allen is a cyclist who set off on a round the world trip but became entangled, and married, in the middle east.
What does he write about?

Cycling in some out of the way spots like Sudan, Iran, Yemen, Syria and Mongolia. Ranting about life, polotics, the environment, culture, history, and also practical stuff like photography, equipment,
Some good posts

Tenny

How to wild camp

Finance for a big trip

Building an expedition bike

4. The Hungry Cyclist

Who is he?

Another Tom. This one is a bit of a foodie. His cycle tours are often spent searching for local recipes and the perfect meal.
What does he write about?

Food, travel and cycling in the Americas, Europe and SE Asia. He's pretty handy with a camera too.
Some good posts

Faces

Discover your inner...tube

Energy Bars

5. Dave McLeod

Who is he?

A Scottish climber who put up an E11 on Dunbarton Rock in Glasgow at the time the hardest rock climb in the world. His trials were made into a really good film called E11. Dave comes across as the humblest bloke you can imagine but his hard work is inspiring stuff. He is an all round climber going for hard trad climbing, bouldering, sports climbs and winter climbing.
What does he write about?

Climbing. Particularly about the physical training, the mentality of climbing and philosophising on the risk. He is an advocate of setting and acheiving goals.
Some good posts

Cheesecake

Devistation

Oversimplification

Anubis