I had a long way to ride after leaving Chistochina, but I was fresh and energetic after a few days off the bike (and a handful of hearty meals), and…
A cold snap
You won’t mind if I’m not strictly chronological about this, will you, dear readers? The problem is, the rhythms of cycle touring are such that one generally has a lot…
Of motels and chance encounters
I ended up staying in a motel when I got to Glennallen, for reasons I won’t go into here (mainly because I’ve vowed to avoid that old cycle touring cliche…
Rediscovering the glow
The morning after Caitlin and Reese took me in, I woke up to the smell of petrol, rolled out of my emperor-sized bed, and realized that my stove pump had…
Period drama
I almost wrote a blog post about menstruation last night. But then I talked myself out of it. I don’t always think very much about who reads my posts –…
The opposite of paranoia
Over the years I’ve spent on the road I’ve got used to the fact that when I need help, help will appear – although I’ve never stopped marvelling at it….
Whiteout
Summer’s at its height, and until a thunderstorm cooled the air a couple of hours ago, I’d been sitting sweatily at my desk for what felt like days, wishing generally…
Valley of the Cold
The other night, sheltering from a blizzard in Reykjavik’s youth hostel, I ran into the only other cyclist I’ve met on this trip – a cheerful Bahraini entrepreneur called Yassir,…
On being human
There’s a receptionist in St James’s who continually mistakes me for a man. As I walk in he greets me with “hello sir!”, then does a double-take and speedily backtracks:…
Don’t go to Balochistan
Note: A few days after I wrote this post, the cyclist concerned gave an alternative version of events. I currently have no way of knowing whose account is more accurate,…