Velo Love - Danny Bent

Last Chapter

2010-08-13T02:06:00.001-07:00

I switch on the video camera with bleary eyes for my last video diary. The usual red light flashes to let me know it is recording. I’m sitting on the edge of a checked mattress with the usual stains I’ve come to expect engrained within the fibres. A couple of mosquitoes are circling me with intent. There is a commotion outside as a man selling pots and pans is escorted away by police. I look back at my camera and still the light is flashing. I get as far as “This is my last…” before emotion dries me up. I couldn’t speak. Choking down a sob I grab the camera and sweeping the room I notice the fact that I’m starting the last day in the same manner I did my first. Surrounded by kit. Just like me it looks a little older, sun blemished, and in need of a deep soak but it’s made it 14,900km half way across the world crossing 14 countries, in six months and two days.

There are only one hundred kilometers to go, meaning I’ll be in Chembakolli this afternoon. I should be celebrating tonight. I wonder whether in the heart of the jungle I will be able to? Who will I celebrate with? I don’t know anyone and who would be interested anyway? Passing through the jungle I haven’t been able to contact anyone for over a week. I worry about interrupting the schools education program and wonder how I will introduce myself if I visit the classrooms. What will I say? I can’t speak one word of the tribal language used in the area. I begin to question my motives for doing the ride. What it has achieved? Does anyone care?

For the 188th time I ram the kit into my panniers and drag my bike down the stairs.

Sitting outside the hostel with Shirley by my side I felt I needed to talk to her; let her know how I’m feeling. Will she and I find ourselves in this position again? Will she forget me now the adventure is coming to an end? I casually flick a bit of dirt off her handle bars, she looks so pretty cloaked in flowers. “This is our last day together. Our last adventure.” I run a finger along her top tube. I know every dent, every scratch, every curve, we have been through so much together, Shirley and I. She says nothing but I know she is listening. Her lack of outward emotion does nothing to deaden my own as I swung my leg over her for our last assault; the final leg of our journey.

The air in Mysore is rich with the smell of spices and herbs of the street vendors setting up shop. All creatures great and small came out to see us on our way. Workers knee deep in road waved and cheered as we cycled by. A gaggle of monks cheer and bow as the wind from Shirley makes ripples in their robes. Boys on their way to school on single speed bikes that are far too big for them race along side. “Mr, Mr” before dropping back. My constant companion, the swift, returns to surf my slip stream for a few hundred yards before flying off into the Maharaja’s Palace under the radiant blue sky.

After thirty kilometers a car stops and in faltering English a lady with a pea green and luminous pink sari says, “From Chembakolli” before draping a flower reef made of yellow marigolds round my neck. For the second time today I’m struck dumb and can’t say a word. I fumble to push emotion aside to allow the words out and eventually manage a pathetic, “Thank you,” but she has already jumped back in her car and is driving off in the direction I’ve come from hooting her horn and waving in the rear view mirror.

A few hundred meters on a group of monkeys sitting in the road show their teeth and hiss as I come closer but as I drive by they break out in a playful game of chase through the trees above my head. A large male sits with his knuckles on the floor shaking his head watching the white man cycling a bike looking like a horticultural show on acid through the open jungle. “Is this how people behave in Europe? How very uncouth.”

I’m beckoned over for tea by a group of men who take the opportunity to down tools and get some much needed rest and entertainment. As we sit on hand made stools round a table with each leg different lengths causing our tea to slosh from cup to saucer I imagine I’m Alice in Wonderland, or am I the Hatter? And who’s the March Hair? I saw no Dormouse; only a rat the size of a small dog. The men don’t speak English but this doesn’t stop them telling me their life stories in Kannada and me thoroughly enjoying the accounts.

I finish off my cup and sup what remained in the saucer. I’m torn; I want to stay and chat and savour the taste of tea on the road because I don’t want my journey to end, but at the same time I have the utmost desire to complete my task, get off my bike, and never cycle again.

I’m also worried about the next leg of my journey through the Kalakad Mundanthurai tiger reserve. Do I want to see a tiger or not? Of course I’d love to see the fiercest animal of them all, the most intricately beautiful, my favourite creature. All those people that have rubbed my nose in it for not having seen one yet when they have come across two or three still bugs me. I’d love to post a picture home of a real one after dressing as a tiger at the party in Goa. But now is not the time. Probably best to see them through a jeeps window rather than up close and personal.

I begin to see signs advertising the reserve. I’ve read that it has the highest concentration of tigers in any part of India, and that it’s common to see them prowling by the sides of the road that pass through the park. I start imagining what I would do if confronted by the two tonne beast. What if it has cubs that are hungry? Shirley shudders beneath me – I know she can feel it too.

With my heart beating and dry mouthed I make my way up to the park entrance. A very kindly spoken man with a well groomed white beard and kaki uniform instructs me that it’s too dangerous. I say I don’t mind and that I have to go through. A shake of the head and deep sorrowful eyes say, “No way”. He follows this up with “Tigers, elephants. Too slow” pointing at Shirley.

I look at my map and there is an alternate route. It’s about a 160km diversion. I’ll never make it too the school today. I hang me head, and let the exhaustion flow through my body. My hopes of arriving today have grown wings and disappear off with the parquets that are disturbed by the motorbikes revving their engines in the distance.

The motorbikes are driving through the park at a tremendous pace kicking up a dust cloud that follows in their wake. As they get closer I can make out four men – all riding in black leathers, with black helmets, tinted visas on black Royal Enfields. I’m not the biggest fan of motorbikes but these classic machines turn my head. They are sleek and curvy and exude testosterone. The most popular motorbikes in India and every westerners choice of machine for engine powered touring. They tear past and I return to analysing my map whilst spitting dust and expletives. The screeching of rubber grabs my attention as the bikes turn and accelerate back towards me. The scream of the engine subsides to a low chug as they pull to a halt by my side. The dust clouds catches up with them blinding us momentarily before passing on to trouble someone else. A visa is opened and a dust encrusted face is revealed. As he smiles his dust mask cracks and pearly white teeth light up his face.
“Danny?”
“Yes”
“I’m Stan and this is your Royal Escort”.
I’m stunned, I can’t believe it. Who? Why? Where? What?
My questions have to wait.

Baksheesh is handed over to the park guard who takes it with the practiced flick of the wrist that has you questioning whether a transaction actually took place. With one bike on my left flank, one on my right, and two behind guarding the rear they guide me into the park.

My pupils are dilated as I search every inch of the undergrowth looking for Tigers. Stan pulls along side me and above the roar of his Enfield he asks why I look so concerned.
“How often do tigers kill humans?”.”
He replies that I don’t have to worry about tigers, I sigh with relief, “It’s the elephants you really need to worry about.” I remember the story of the tourist killed in Chembakolli one month previously. “But you won’t see them at this time of day.” With only slightly less anxiety I carry on.

Two minutes later the motorbikes hit the breaks and I run into the back of Stan’s making his already loose number plate fall to the floor. As he leans over to pick it up and pop it into his pocket I notice why we have stopped. Ahead of us in the distance they point to the herd of elephants by the side of the road on the left hand side.
“Problem,” he says wobbling his head from side to side. His three colleagues all mirror the wobble of the head enthusiastically – that pretty much means it’s serious. Great!
They form a huddle and I wonder if they are talking about there insurance and risk management policy towards cycle tourists.
Stan walks calmly up to me and states, “We’ve decided, you need to stay right and go fast”.

Motorcycles go fast, cars go fast, jeeps go fast. Shirley is a plodder, she doesn’t go fast. That’s one of the reasons I care for her so much. I bend over and ask if she thinks she can make it. Stan stands patiently and waits for me to answer. After a moment I respond, “I’ll give it a go.” Stan smiles again and flips his visa down again.

As we set off towards the elephants they look up and notice us, I imagine we’ve locked eyes and take up the challenge, like a completely skewed boxing match weigh in. Keeping to the right I put the pedal down. My lungs and thighs screamed in a harmony that would have been beautiful had I not been in excruciating pain. I passed by the elephants so closely that I could smell a freshly laid dung the size of a football that lay at the feet of one of the larger elephants. I imagined them turning and charging, small saplings crashing to the floor, stones jumping as the ground rumbled under their weight, the thunder as their rounded feet pound the earth. The motorbikes had accelerated on. I didn’t want to die, not this close, not now…..

As the undergrowth flew by a familiar noise caught my attention and as I look to my left I see four motorcyclists in hysterics. I look back and the elephants are still calmly grazing on the finer tips of the fresh bush.
“You should have seen your face,” they snigger.
“I wish I could have seen yours,” I retort.

As I leave the park and continue I am joined by more cyclists and motorcyclists, our number is increasing as is the number of flower wreaths round my neck. I am surprised by how heavy flowers can be as they pull me towards the earth. Gudalur is generally a very quiet area and the commotion brings people from their houses some of whom without reason grab there own bikes to join the procession. Poking fun at each other the convoy drifts on at a steady tempo only the motorbikes accelerate and brake rapidly showing their status amongst the other bikers.

Shirley is the centre of attention. Everyone wants to touch her, to flick the switches of her gears, stand on her pedals, stroke her flowers. But she is mine for now, I’m savouring every last moment.

As we pass an opening in the bush I can hear a regular drum beat in the distance and wonder if it’s my heart in my ears or the fast approaching monsoon? Within weeks this road could be like a river, the houses flooded, stock washed away.

I’m told there’s about a kilometer to go as we round a sharp bend. We pull out of the turn and I can see in the distance a huge crowd gathered. Children, men and women all dressed in colourful traditional dress, singing and playing drums. Another festival. It makes me smile as I wonder what it is in aid of this time. As I get closer the noise increases and I can see the drummers become more frantic in their efforts.

I can see their faces now. They are made up of mostly tribal people but there are others in western dress. When I get close enough to read the signs I see it is some sort of birthday they are celebrating. It seems strange to see them using the Roman alphabet. ‘Happy Birthday’, ‘Congratulations’. A little closer and I can make out my ‘Velo Love’ logo in the hands of every child. Some held it upside down, others on its side but there was no mistaking!! These people were here for me!!

In all the excitement of the journey I’d forgotten it was my 31st birthday – twenty years since I had first dreamed up the idea of cycling round the world to help people. I was greeted by a carnival of thronging bodies. School children danced and weaved, tribal leaders waved flags, local journalists shot pictures as mothers, fathers, visitors and workers drummed, sang, cheered, and held banners. I picked up a boy no older than six and placed him on the seat of my bike and we danced all the way up the red clay road through the tea plantations to the local school where cake was to be handed out to one and all.

As we arrived I could see the simple school has been decorated with more posters, signs and well wishes. I wanted to be articulate, to thank them for everything they have done, to tell them of my adventures, and to pass on messages from the children in England. All I could do was crouch down beside Shirley and cry. Tears of joy were rolling down my cheeks. I’d done it. I’d cycled fifteen thousand kilometers from England to India. I’d lived my dream.

Chapter 1

2010-08-13T02:05:00.000-07:00

My heart races. There is no way on earth I’d thought I would be here, not now, not ever. A trickle of sweat sweeps down my cheek winding in and out of the red bristles that come from days without a mirror or razor. Pakistan is laid out before me in all its splendor.

A country at war on two fronts. I didn’t think this was a trip for this lifetime. The question was whether it might be the end of it?

To the west lies the border with Afganistan where staying alive isn’t easy. Pakistanis can be ousted from their homes at breakfast by the Pakistani army who then proceed to blow up their dwellings in search of targets, at midday have to dive for cover narrowly avoiding misguided US missiles falling the wrong side of the Afgan border, only to be blown up at tea time by suicide bombers.

To the east is India where ever since partition sixty years ago military conflicts and territorial disputes have been rife. A country brutally cut in two by Britain, the scar is yet to heal and blood still weeps from the wound.

Looking past all this is a country shrouded in a Burka of beauty. In the south miles of golden beaches meet hot dry deserts etched with flowing rivers of life. The rich alluvial plains of the Punjab are joined by aquamarine rivers flowing from glaciers enveloped by the three highest mountain ranges in the world. Symbolising the war, violence and the power struggle taking place in Pakistan the Himalayas, the Karakoram, and the Hindu Kush all collide in a monstrosity of power and grace that puts the military powers of this earth to shame. Pakistan has so many mountains soaring above the clouds at over 6000m (18000ft) that reaching this height is not always a guarantee that they are worthy of so much as a name.

I’m balanced on two square inch pieces of rubber, my legs are spinning at one hundred revolutions per minute, the wind is tearing at the clothes that cover all my body except my face which is decorated with sparkling crystals of frost and ice.

The mountains fill my field of vision, in front, behind, left and right. They fill my every thought, my conscious and subconscious. If it wasn’t for a rough road following the valley I’d be lost, and without shelter would be dead by nightfall. One lapse in concentration on the way down could see me repeating my fall in France; but this time the drop is anything from 300ft upwards. With jagged rocks protruding from my falling place ready to impale and smash my body to pulp. My remains would probably be fought over by the numerous brown bears wolves and the rare snow leopards that frequent these mountain passes. My only company. Otherwise I’m alone.

How on earth did I find myself traveling alone on a bicycle in what the national press, media and travel organisations describe as the ‘most dangerous country in the world’? What possesses a man to enter such a country? To put his life on the line? To pit his wits against murderous conditions and men? Can one lone man survive?

To start answering these questions I need , without the help of a DeLorean DMC-12 and the Doc, to take you back in time….

I became a junior school teacher in the leafy suburbs of London in Richmond. I cycled the Thames towpath to school where I’d be greeted by thirty happy smiling faces all longing for the education I had been graced to give them. I guess I wasn’t your stereotypical teacher. I didn’t tell the kids off, I didn’t use a marker pen and a white board, didn’t dress in tweed with arm pads. I drank juice not tea, hung out in the playground not the staff room, ran in corridors, played pranks on other teachers. I was affectionately known as the “naughty kid at school”.

I would always get put in the box classroom far away from everyone else to avoid disruption. Be it throwing paint at teacher in art, dressing in helmets and harnesses and climbing trees in maths, or creating plasticine stop frame animations in science. I wanted my classroom to be alive. Not just a buzz, or a heart beat. I liked the tiles on the roof to be vibrating, some days I even liked to try and blow the roof clean off (I got into trouble for that one). I was one of the pupils and they were all teachers. Their knowledge and ideas were as valuable as mine.

A particularly confident nine year old, Lucy, used to put her hand up and say, “You’ve gone too far this time Sir,” before the head teacher bustled in looking fraught and agitated wondering what all the commotion was about. I loved it.

So when in Geography I was struggling to make the subject of Chembakolli, a rural village in India, as exciting for the kids as it was for me I was troubled. I met up with a friend, another teacher, Louise, a girl I’d met on my course, to ask ‘How I could bring this subject to life?’ She was a teacher who danced her way through class with smiles, laughter and enthusiasm, the perfect person to consult. In a world of home computers, DVDs, MP3 players, the latest video games, interactive TV and numerous other exciting, entertaining gadgets we agreed they needed something they could relate to. After a bit of thinking, and a few too many beers, she stated that kids needed to see a figure they could relate to out there, a figure they knew, respected; living in a mud hut in the village, collecting water and washing in the local stream, hunting for food with a bow and arrow, and taking the long journey to school each day through the jungle avoiding the local wildlife.

As tequila hit the back of my throat and more brain cells bit the dust an idea suddenly emerged through the dulling cloud of alcohol:

“I could go out there?”

Lou gave me her very best disapproving teacher face. “You’d have to be stark raving bonkers to do that…….. no shower, no hot water, no X Factor, teaching at a village school with no books, no boards, no pens. Eating brains, maggots and chicken feet.” She stopped her tirade. “You’re right!! You’d be perfect.”

******

“You are what?” It was Lucy again, I was telling them I was leaving to go and live and teach in Chembakolli, “Oh, you’ve gone too far this time, Sir.”

The next moment will stay with me for the rest of my life. A memory burnt into my retinas. The only problem with giving children an open playing field in which to work where they are confident to speak their mind without the fear of retribution or teasing is that sometimes they can really catch you off guard!

Jasper, a boy normally with his head in the clouds but with an amazing aptitude to relate subjects to real life, pops up his hand and asks, “How will you get there?”

In my head I’m thinking “I’ll fly, how else would I get there silly bean?” until following his gaze I see where he is looking. My eyes fix on the back of the classroom. Our Green Awareness poster. I look back at his eager face waiting for an answer. The rest of the class turn in anticipation. I take two steps forward and then one back towards my desk. There’s a big red cross next to the plane partnered with a sad face and a fact card written by my own hand telling the children that air travel pollutes more than all the power plants in China; that it produces more CO2 than any other business. Another smaller cross sits next to a picture of a train and a bus. The next on the list is a child on a bicycle with a big happy face and a big tick.

I am left with a choice - unravel what I have taught them about green issues over the past year or ... the other choice is unthinkable. I shudder.

Just like a school sweater, I know that if I allow one thread to unravel, by lunchtime their whole education will be sitting at their feet like woolly spaghetti. Sarah, Jasper’s seating partner, drops her pencil and as it hits the ground I’m brought back to reality.

One statement, four words: “I’m going by bicycle” changed my life forever.

******

After speaking to the bewildered school in India to explain that I would be a little late I was left with just two months two organise a trip fifteen thousand kilometers across half the world.

I’d like to say everything was meticulously planned. With the route engrained on my mind after poring over maps into the night with only a cigar and a brandy to keep me company. Knowledge of the history, the culture, the languages of each country I would cycle through saturating my grey matter. Erecting my tent time and again whilst timing myself until I could do it blind folded. Spending days elbow deep in grease taking my bike and equipment to pieces and putting it back together again so I knew exactly how each and every bit should be used. However, every night until the end of term I had activities on. An open evening for new parents, class performances, orchestra, sports days, cross country club, drama club. I had no time to plan anything…. so I didn’t…..

Cotswold kindly offered to organize all my camping gear and Bicycle built me a bike that we hoped could cross mountain ranges and deserts, and handle forest floors, roads and tracks so I had some peace of mind.

******

On the 17th July all the teachers at St John the Baptist school were drinking a glass or two of wine to celebrate the end of the school year. Exhausted and suffering from the illnesses that a thousand sneezes and snotty noses generate. It was time for teachers to put their feet up, relax, time for holidays, lay ins, and catching up with friends. That was all teachers but me. I was drinking to forget. I was leaving bright and early tomorrow on the expedition of a life time. I’d organized to meet friends at my local café at 7.30 tomorrow morning for coffee and cakes which I hoped would power me on my way.

When I staggered back to my flat too many glasses of wine later the front door lay slightly ajar. Pushing through I should have been greeted by four panniers neatly packed, my bike, a neat pile of clothes ready for tomorrow. My possessions were everywhere, boxes had been turned upside down, drawers hung open, belongings scattered about the floor crunched under my feat as I ventured further in. As I switched on the light I could see that my most expensive piece of kit, my tent, was missing. I held my head in my hands. Burglary? Oh, no, no, no. Sorry to worry you. This was just the state of my affairs the night before I left. I was surrounded by unopened boxes, papers, and equipment. My tent hadn’t arrived yet. Some problems with deliveries meant the tent was still in the post to the Cotswolds store. They were hoping it’d arrive tomorrow and then be delivered somehow to me whilst I cycled to Dover.

By midnight nothing had moved. I was sitting on my bed sewing a present onto my shirt that a girl at school had given me. It was a tiny silver lucky star. It had already become significant to me – a symbol of hope, new beginnings, faith. For someone devoid of religious and spiritual beliefs it was a strange to be putting so much belief in such a little thing. By the time the sun was rising on my first day of my new life I decided it was best to shove everything into my panniers and hope for the best. An emotion I would learn to rely on quite heavily in future days, weeks and months. I was setting off in three hours time.

I woke after a couple of hours sleep to my screaming alarm. I rolled over and pulled my pillow over my head.

I wanted to hide, ignore the fact that a steal framed bike christened Shirley packed with what I hoped were all the basics that a man needed to survive in any situation was sitting at the bottom of my bed. She was chewing at her bit ready to get on the road for the first time, I was chewing my bottom lip hoping that Scotty would beam me up.

Pulling on the lycra I would soon become attached to – literally – I pulled the bike upright and made for the exit. I lived on the second floor and had to get Shirley down two flights of stairs. With all the baggage it weighed about 50kg not far off my own weight. I tentatively dropped the front wheel over the first stair before being dragged down the stairs by my feisty companion, falling to a crumpled heap at the front door. My concerned neighbours opened their door to find out what the commotion was about. Lying at their feet was a thirty year old man lying underneath a bicycle. Laughing they said, “Good luck Dan” opened the front door and shooing me out.

Friends were supposed to be coming to see me off. In the café I was alone barring a camera man who fluttered around taking video footage of me looking awkward, scared and lonely. As the smell of roast coffee swirled through the air my best friend from Junior school arrived with a smile that lifted my heart. She was so proud of me I realized I’d already made a difference. My chest expanded and as teachers, pupils, family and friends arrived all dressed in pink with their bikes at the ready I started to get excited. Could I do this?

A cheer rang through Richmond as those without bikes cheered off about 50 mad folks who’d pledged to cycle one hundred miles to Dover with me to raise awareness of the charity and show their support for what I was doing.

I’d chosen to ride the fifteen thousand kilometers for ActionAid a charity who’s pledge is to “End Poverty Together”

Within five miles we were stopping for a puncture. Not mine, my bike was still intact. I felt smug. I used the opportunity to throw sickeningly sweet energy bars and drinks down my throat, hoping these would give me the extra energy to cross the hills. Carrying all the extra weight in baggage, the hills that I’d once raced to the top off pounding my fists as I summited first, were slow slogs. Sweat dripping off my nose onto my bike, legs burning as though they were laced with glass. These I have to mention are hills. The highest one being two hundred meters above sea level. I would be climbing mountains more than forty times bigger than this in the coming year if everything goes to plan. Friends pushed, dragged, provoked and encouraged me to get my sorry ass to the campsite where we were to rest before my ferry left in the morning.

Once there it was the first chance to air my Ukulele. Others had brought guitars, drums, bells, tambourines and we sat round a campfire playing music and singing until it was time for us all to squeeze into our tents. Mine had been handed to me as I cycled along by the wonderful people of Cotswold who pulled out all the stops to get it to me on time. This was convenient for all those who’d forgotten their tents who now squeezed into mine.

******

Sunday the 19th

This was my day. The day I’d dreamed off since I was eleven. The day that changes the course of my life forever. The sun was shining, the grass shone electric green, lambs in the nearby field played gleefully under the birds that soared through the salt drenched sea air.

I crawled out of my tent looking like a monster from the deep. Swollen eyelids, tongue lolling to one side, hair encrusted after not showering after the grueling ride yesterday.

Sports coaches will tell you the best way to recover from a long hard day in the saddle is protein shakes, plenty of carbohydrates, gallons of water and electrolyte to replace the lost fluid and minerals. Possibly the worst recovery is five pints of lager and pie and chips. But quoting Bear Grylls “Survival means doing what you have to do.”

My mouth tasted like I’d been sucking used cat littler all night and my gut rolled and gurgled. The sun burnt my eyes with its brightness and the beautiful noises beat against my eardrums like thrash metal. Luckily I only had a few miles to the port of Dover where my vessel awaited me. She was a fine beast. The Olympic Spirit was her name, weighing in at over thirty-thousand tonnes. Her spirit rubbed off on me as we dashed and dived across the English Channel to take me across the seas and my first border, to France. The start of my solo trip!!

The white cliffs of Dover were drifting away engulfed by the sea mist and spray by the time I was up on deck. As the water spattered my face I knew that people were waving so shouted out goodbye, the sea-gulls echoed my call, and carried it to my friends and loved ones waiting at the shore.

What do I do now? For the first time in 2 months I had nothing to do. I sat and I waited. When the boat docks my adventure really starts. I imagined the glory of it all. Riding down the plank, finding the road out of Calais and heading off into the sunset.

I did ride the plank but I couldn’t find the road I needed. I just couldn’t get out of the city. My pigeon French got me nowhere whilst jabbing my finger at my map “Où est ma route?” In response my French friends raised their shoulders in a shrug, held up their hands, stuck out their lower lips and said “Bof”.

Round and round I went. One hour after I’d arrived I was beginning to ask myself how on earth I was going to get to India? After two hours I think I’d traversed every road in the city and was beginning to ask myself if I’d even make it out of Calais.

After three hours I decided to bite the bullet and rode up onto the motorway. Cars peeped their horns, drivers showed me that my understanding of French expletives was better than that of normal conversation, and I was comforted to see that hand gestures meant the same in any language.

I didn’t care, I was on my way. Until the police pulled me over and told me to exit at the next exit. They followed behind all the way with their lights flashing. My first police escort!! Awesome.

Prologue

2010-08-13T02:04:00.000-07:00

The rhythmic hum of wings beating as birds fly overhead fills my ears. I can hear the sea breeze blowing up the valley, playing with the leaves on the trees. I can hear the pounding of the waves beneath me slowly eating away at the rock formations. I can hear the terrified screams of my friends echoing around the mountainside and I can see their tear-stained faces peering over the thirty foot vertical cliff.

I’m at the bottom of the cliff, I can’t speak and I can’t feel my body.

Thirty seconds ago I had been cycling with friends in the Cote d'Azur in France, climbing from turquoise blue sea to snow capped peak repeatedly to train my legs and lungs to be able to cope with the pain during race season. My cleanly shaven, white, freckled legs were becoming honed machines, pistons that fired without the slightest effort. My lungs were able to suck in and process liters of the thin mountain air with each gasp. I was feeling strong, pushing harder with thoughts of glory in the back of my mind.

Suddenly my super light carbon wheel clipped a rider in front, my best friend and arch enemy on the bike, Stephen Bell. If ever there was a man built for cycling it was Steve. Arched back, narrow piercing eyes, thighs like tree trunks and a competitive edge that could slice diamond. We had been rivals since my introduction to cycling with the dominance switching from one to the other as the years passed by. We had crossed the finish line with exactly the same time in our previous race and I was starting to feel the balance tipping in my favour again.

The contact flipped my bike throwing it to the right, towards the cliff edge. Catapulting me and the bike clear off the road, down the vertical face of the abyss.

I remember the fall in slow motion. The first moment as I left the road; the faintest smell or burning rubber; the floating sensation; making to grab a lone, straggly weed growing between the cracks in the limestone rocks, the sight of it coming free in my hand with only the tiniest amount of force; the sensation of falling forever. And then nothing.

There are more eyes looking down on me now, some I recognize some I don’t. The screams are still ringing in my ears. A single tear falls through the air, the sun reflects off the shimmering surface as it falls to earth like a tear from heaven. It lands on my left shoe which triggers a tingle in my big toe. Initially it just sits there in my toe as if wondering what to do next, contemplating it’s options, then the sensation spreads up my right leg and down the left. I can move my legs. It rushes up my spine, splits and zips down both my arms. My fingers are wiggling. With an almighty bang this sensation explodes in my brain and voice box. My mouth opens and I shout back at the onlookers.

“I THINK I’M ALIVE”

******

This is a story about love. It is also a true story. Our main character is a boy born in the Peak District amongst the bubbling Buxton springs. Nestled in a green and thriving valley he was born into a simple household where his cot lies. Two pairs of eyes look on him from above, one set blue the other hazel brown.
The eyes belong to his parents, two people who formed a bond and gave their genetic structure to our boy and then their lives. They struggled to afford to furnish their flat but lavished him with undivided love, attention and care. Albino blonde, spattered with freckles, ears that his head will eventually grow into, with his mothers blue eyes, and a strong jaw line adorned with a cheeky grin he lies quietly, like a bomb waiting to detonate.
Placing him in a backpack his Dad, an international athlete, would take him orienteering before he could walk. Running from point to point, through rivers, over fells, climbing rocks, how could our boy not pick up a bit of this adventurous spirit along the way? An attitude that no experience was a bad experience was shaped. His Mum found him drinking from the toilet bowl at the age of one, rather than tell him off she asked what it tasted like, whilst reassuring him that the water from the taps was nicer.

As soon as he could walk he would climb tables, leap off sofas, clamber into streams, chase frogs. He’d run up and down the almost vertical steps outside their house. When he was two years old his family finally had the money to see what was outside our tiny island, and they all went camping in France. On a ferry crossing a wise man in a dark overcoat with a fashionable moustache watched him run around, overexcited and without a care in the world and stated, “He’s like an accident waiting to happen.”

At four years old he undertook his first adventure on his bicycle. Having just removed his stabilizers he decided this was it; no more help. Having opened the front door he sat on the stairs that lead from the hallway. Mounted his bike; wobbling at first but then cheering wildly as he managed to stay on; gripping the handle bars so that his knuckles were as white as his legs were shaky. He passed the dressing table, the chest of drawers containing all the muddy shoes and maps, the coat stand whizzed by as he picked up speed, passing through the front door he didn’t want to stop and proceeded to cycle down the steep steps that ran up to it before flying over the handlebars.

The 'poorlies' on his knees and the lump on his head did nothing to deaden his adventurous spirit which was nurtured and allowed to grow with time. The scars that remained were treasured - he was the first boy in his class to ride a bike without stabilizes. He was back on in no time and he was fast. The fastest kid in the street. But he couldn’t turn corners and wasn’t much good at stopping.

When the family moved to a house just up the road from their flat a cycle workshop was created in the cellar where his Dad would use parts of wrecked old bicycles to fix his wrecked new bicycles.

When he was eleven during a junior school leavers assembly in front of all the Mums and Dads his headmistress asked his classmates what they wanted to do when they left school. Footballer, doctor, film star, politician they replied one by one. His answer was no surprise to the audience who had grown used to his quirky optimism and spirit, "I want to cycle round the world and raise money for charity". A big 'Ahhhhh' resounded around the school hall. “So sweet.”

Before he could start realizing dreams he had a few more lessons to learn.

He graduated and left Southampton University with the highest honours in tomfoolery, indulgent buffoonery and mathematics. Educational establishments having rapped him in cotton wool for the past fifteen years, protecting him from growing up, armed him with a solitary piece of paper rolled and tied with a ribbon, a degree certificate, and told him to get out there in the real world; find a job; build a life; start a pension; acquire life insurance; marriage; a family.

“What?” he remembers thinking, “I didn’t sign up for this.”

He was lost in the big ‘grownup’ world. Friend’s values and opinions changed over night, “about turns” were made but he didn’t hear the sergeant make the order. No one wanted to be silly any more. Trips to Toys R Us to check out the cool toys Geoffrey had released this month seemed to be over, cycling to work in the same clothes you went out in the previous night was deemed a no no, protesting against the violation of human rights was out the window, trying to outdo each other with bad taste outfits from the local Oxfam shop didn’t add to your street credentials anymore. It was all designer frocks, Chelsea tractors, mobiles, 2.4 children, second house in the country. Under friends arms he saw briefcases not surf boards, suits were the new shorts, consumerism was the new Marxism.

Lost, and disorientated, he was like a child ripped from its mother’s bosom and left in the heat of the savannah. Out there he was easy prey for the predators. Those that stop at nothing until you are between their jaws wringing the life from you. Financial institution after financial institution snapped, gulped and dived - he had to leap high to keep out of their reach. He did his best but was no match for their craftiness, their cunning. In the end his world became part of their world: the trading floor. He was told to ‘get up to speed fast’ so that they could start ‘singing from the same hymn sheet’. Moving at speed and singing were things he enjoyed; working in an office was not.

Without the slightest interest in what he was doing and without a single care for the money that was mounting up in his bank account he was promoted to supervisor and then manager. With his tie slung low, shirt untucked and blonde shaggy hair resting on his shoulders he would fly all over Europe telling people how they should perform, what his firm expected, the results which were fundamental to the business when it was clear to see that he wasn’t following his own advice.

Walking like a Zombie from bed to train to work and then back again. He was miserable, unhappy, his energy lost. His one release was his bike – taking it away on holiday and flying up and down mountains without a care in the world.

The boy in question is me, Daniel Bent. Not exceptional but not quintessentially normal either.

******

At that exact moment, as I was falling to what should have been certain death in the Alps, I was more alive than I’d been the past five years.

Instead of closing them for eternity, it opened my eyes. How could I have been given so much and not give something back? I didn't need to think of me - enough people were doing that already. I wanted to think of someone else, something else

Back in the office one week after my fall I packed my things into a small box, told my boss I wouldn’t be coming back and within another 24hrs was sitting in a classroom surrounded by happy smiling faces. I was taking my next pedal rotation on my journey through life….

Few extra pics

2010-04-20T04:25:00.000-07:00

Remember you can still donate on www.dannybent.com

Curry night went with a bang!!! raising almost £900 for charity!!! Thanks everyone!!

Curry Night

(Click for all pics)

Also here are a few pictures that I liked giving you a general feel for the trip:

Summed Up

Is this the last one?

2010-04-20T02:52:00.001-07:00

Rubbish movies, rubbish food, and a few tears later I was arriving in england. As soon as one toe touched the tarmac it was as if the previous 9 months had been a dream.

Picking up my precious bike and panniers I popped them together and cycled through customs and out the door to banners and cheers. Mum and Dad, Steve and Fi and someone that looked like a friend of my mums, were standing there cheering. Many hugs later the friend of my mums walked away and I asked mum who it was. Before she could answer someone walked up to me and said "do you want a picture with the princess?".

The airport

(Click for more pics)
Princess Fergie had seen Mum and Dads banner and hung around after her plane landed to cheer me in. What a lady!! One last amazing moment on a trip full of them!! We had a cuddle and a few pics and then she headed off with her last statement ringing in my ears.

"Us red heads have got to stick together" - fingers crossed she wants to help with some of the plans i have for the future!! :) Charities, PhDs, cycle teams, book writing.

My dream was over..... my new life, after a 9 month gestation period, is about to begin....

Roger that. Over and out!!

(Almost) The Last Blog

2010-04-20T02:14:00.000-07:00

I'm home now surrounded by the most wonderful people in the world. Family and friends. I'll say for one last time on this blog - I am THE luckiest man alive.

Home sweet home

(Click for more...)

But there's a few loose ends to tie up before I submerge myself in the beauty of my life in England......

Firstly, what happened at the end of the trip?

The sickness had kicked in, I'd been savaged by bed bugs and treated like scum in the most popular hostel in all of mumbai. So i decided to pack up and move to the slum. Dharavi slum is the biggest in all of Asia, played a crucial role in the book Shantaram, and is home to some of the biggest smiles in the world.

White man staying in the slum. And their was a festival. Two things to drive the crazy juice into every male in town. Everyone wanted to shake my hand and as ever in India a cup of tea needed to be drunk in every house - with 1 million people living in the slum that's a lot of cups of tea. I was almost torn in two by people wanting to show me different things, but I was loving it!!!

Night in the slums

(As ever click for more)

I ended up hanging out in the evening with the young men sitting in a makeshift hut -I had the only seat. I was introduced to everyone's nicknames - which all related to their profession. "Bike boy", sold niknaks on his bike, "samosa" sold, you guessed it, Samosa to commuters. Everyone was fluent in English. They wanted to see me dance. And then regretted it. They wanted to hear me sing. Then regretted that too. What can this stupid English guy do?? I smiled.

We all walked back to my house together and sat on the steps chatting. My last night in India and I'm surrounded by the people that made the biggest impact on my trip, the memories that would stay with me as others died, the way of life that would most influence how I lived. I didn't want to go to bed I just wanted to sit there with these wonderful people soaking it up!!

But I had a long journey ahead and long journeys require sleep. So we crawled into our room. No bigger than a cupboard under the stairs where 3 of us would sleep on blankets on the floor. It was roasting hot but I quickly slipped into dream land to the sounds of the slum lulling me softly.

After that it was to the airport... Oh goodness i'd forgotten... I thought this was the end of my journey. It wasn't.

I got there and BA wanted to charge me a lot of money for my bike. I didn't have a lot of money. I changed up every last piece of currency I had, withdrew my last penny and didn't have enough. The boss lady said I'd had to leave my bike. I explained my journey and story to her with a tear rolling down my cheek. She said "You'll have to leave your bike". I couldn't believe it - I was heart broken. I said, "I've spent every last penny I own to raise money for people in your country". No effect.

The last contact I have with the amazing Indian people was going to be a bad one. It felt like I'd chased the icecream van all the way through town to finally catch up with it and to be knocked over by a speeding truck as I crossed the road.

The gate was closing..... Then the guy behind the desk started checking my bags in. I said, "No, no you can't check me in I haven't paid..."

With a face full of passion and love but a sterness that said don't argue, he looked up at me and said, "I'm paying".

Back to mumbai for a flight....

2010-03-23T23:14:00.000-07:00

So if I was at all worried about coming home 5 days of serious diarrhea, a body swollen with bed bugs bites, temperatures soaring well over 40 degrees and the only rude people in all of India (of course I'm talking about the owners of the Salvation Army hostel in Mumbai) are making things a little easier.

Some of it was my own fault - going to a wedding in the slum and dancing my head off for hours without having eaten anything for days can cause the human body to give up on itself the next day. 36hrs of fevered, sweaty, hallucinogenic sleep though and I'm able to eat a little bit.

I was due to be a dancer in Bollywood but just before I was introduced to the female heroine I had to dissapear to the toilet urgently. Bummer. And never returned to do any filming. :( Tonight I hopefully move into the slums for one final stay with my buddy and family there.

Here are a few pics

Mumbai and goodbye

Protests and fun

2010-03-17T07:40:00.000-07:00

Protest and trip to Delhi

(Click as normal for more...)

Other than playing music every day going hard core at a protest to free tibet and teaching English to monks life's been very simple.

I've started on my way home now.... 8days to go.

And I thought I wouldn't get to see Tibet

2010-03-08T04:21:00.000-08:00

MCCloud Ganj

(As ever click and view all.....)

My last few weeks in India have been dedicated to purification. Yoga every day, cycling in the mountains, eating Mo mo’s the food of Gods and the Deli Lama – who’s ever present in his adopted new home after the Chinese occupation of Tibet, Mcloud Ganj.

Snow topped mountains surround this bustling village with monks flowing like a river through the centre in their blood red gowns. It’s not the first time these monks have seen rivers of blood – slaughter, torture and assault were daily life in Tibet and still is to an extent. Most refugees here have a harrowing story to tell.

My 2nd day here a monk ran into me saying he’d had a dream about me the previous night – a guy in yellow on a bike – and the Deli Lama told him to find me. He invited me to dinner and told me of his days of torture and then gave me a bag full of gifts that I couldn’t refuse. I still have no idea what on earth happened for those few hours – very strange indeed.

My other exposure to the Monks was cycling up the huge hill – the monks gave me high fives all the way to the top!! Awesome!! And motivating.

Other than that I’ve been playing small instruments with a cool gang, helping out a little with programs here to help the refugees (I start teaching English in a few days).

Yoga continues to be pain upon pain, as do the continuous hills on the bike. But I’m looking fresh and feeling fresher and really beginning to look forward to seeing everyone back home. :)

Holi Sh*t!!

2010-03-03T02:30:00.001-08:00

Holi Shit

(Click to have your brains blown away with colour (and smiles)!!!)

Holi Monkey Dingle Danglers – was today the day I was born for? I think so.

A festival of colour and water. Oh what fun. It was like a colourful snowball fight. In 35 degrees heat.

I was up way before the students so took the time to paint my nails and add eyeliner – it’s not traditional but I thought it’d be fun. I could hear the kids screaming outside and ran to grab one of my pump action water pistols – I’d bought 7, slowly finding bigger and bigger ones as I travelled north, and also spent the morning filling up balloons with water so equipped myself with a bag of those.

I charged outside with a few bags of powder attached to my belt ready to do a Rambo on these kids. I underestimated their ability and grace. I was on the floor covered in every colour under the sun and soaking wet before you can say – Tally Ho!!!

The commotion raised the dead and students alike, and together we fought. I’d been looking forward to playing with the kids in the slum I’d met the previous day and formed a small band to tackle them.

Boooom!!! We hit them hard – in their poor state without the money to buy paint and with little water we had the upper hand until we shared our goodies. Then the slum erupted in the brightest display since the Big Bang. (Talking of Bang – marijuana milk shakes is traditional fuel for such a fight, bang lassies – everyone young and old take them, served from the uni canteen and numerous stalls across the town)

I don’t think I need to mention any more…. Just look at the pictures. As normal there are one or two smiles amongst the pictures…

Brilliant India!!

2010-03-03T02:29:00.000-08:00

Awesome India

(Click on pic for more....)

Leaving the school for the last time this trip was tough. I found myself crying at my last assembly watching the faces laughing, singing, smiling, dancing.

But new adventures await. Not least getting public transport again. The worst kind of adventure. Stress heaped upon stress. But I got through it and found myself in Ahmedabad – a city not renowned for its tourism or fun loving nature.

I was meeting up with a fire fairy, the French Connection and friends at the National institute for Design where they all study.

The first night I wanted to see the town for myself, before I was cooked delicious French Cuisine, and headed to the old part. In typical Indian style there was a festival going on. A Muslim one this time. People were drumming and dancing themselves into a frenzy and when I joined in with both it got totally out of control. I was being grabbed by everyone and pulled in a million directions. I could feel my clothes tearing and my joints loosening.

This was fun to begin with but as more and more people got involved and breathing became a struggle I started to get scared, my smile fell away and I started to fight. Pushing, shoving, pulling, tugging myself free of their grasp. I saw a window and moved swiftly up a street. The carnival was heading in the opposite direction so I felt I was safe – but no…. the carnival split in two. The people in front of me headed in the direction they originally planned and the half behind me changed and followed the white guy who plays drums like Phil Collins and dances like an angel. Right?

It was like a movie chase scene but at walking pace. I took a few lefts and rights down side street wide enough for just 2 or 3 people and eventually found myself lost but free from the crowd.

The day after I took the toys Angela designs to the slum for a photo shoot. Welcomed into houses for tea, and milking the goat had to be done first but then the shoot began. Awesome!! Check them out!!

Toys

(Again click for more.....)

That night we danced round a fire with the slum children then students – I, dressed in my white Lungi and Kurta that I’d bought Dad for a pressie, played with the Fire Sticks. I managed within the space of about 3 seconds to set myself alight without noticing!! Angela came running with fear on her face, I had no idea why, and ran into one of the sticks setting her jumper alight. I then realised my naughty bits were getting warm and saw that my lungi was alight!! Rolling in sand and patting helped immensely.

Finally at the end of a chaotic day, that’s quite normal for India one of the boys who’d been drumming came and rubbed a few handfuls on coloured powder onto my head and beard. Holi had begun!!

Sorry Dad – the white Lungi is smoke black with mud on the bum, and the Kurta is pink. Still want it??

Bent invasion (ohh naughty)

2010-02-22T03:36:00.001-08:00

Back at school

(As ever click for whole load of new pics)
After a week away it was back to the school. Within the hour I’d milked the cow, sung and danced tribal songs, learnt to play the drum, been invited on another schools camp and generally tired myself out again. This continued for a while longer until it was time for a holiday again. This time with the folks and my little sis.

As you can imagine there were lots of hugs and smiles, but plenty more besides.

Within 30 minutes we found ourselves on a perfect beach being welcomed by dolphins, and as the days progressed saw wildlife galore on a safari, stayed in a treehouse 40ft above the ground, were welcomed to a wedding, another engagement party and a Festival at an ashram. Helping at school, visiting the tribal village Chembakoli M&D&Nat will sleep for the next month.

Either my luck is hereditary or the closeness of family meant it rubbed off on their arrival. Every step taken led us somewhere new and wonderful, surrounded by people who radiate love and affection. This luck was only emphasised by the unfortunateness of some of those you see along the way.

Beggars, victims of severe disabilities or injuries. We had to drive round a guy lying on the road looking like a child pretending to be a dead cockroach on his back with his arms and legs rigid above his torso – only difference being that this man was dead and allowed to lie on the street with no help at all (another victim of the Indian roads - highlighting how dangerous my cycling through India was – no one stops when they hit people as the villagers are known to come out and savage the car and occupants if the victim is one of their own).

Then you see those making the most of what they’ve been given – disabled and blind, a band came to the ashram and sang and played music that made your emotions rise and fall like a ship riding a storm ridden ocean.

Nat is back at school but Mum and Dad decided to stay at the Ashram – I wondering whether they'll ever leave India?!

Super Cool

2010-02-05T03:19:00.001-08:00

Verkala

(CLICK PIC FOR MORE....)
Taking the few lessons at the school and having to make a decision whether to sign up for dinner the night before was starting to get too stressful for me so I packed a small day pack and headed for the coast and some spiritualisation and cuddles with Amma – the ‘Mother Hugger’.

I mentioned I’d been doing some stick martial arts on the beach. It’s quite beautiful and graceful – like dance – but you do get a few more bruises and fat lips!!

It started with 2 of us (Lucy – awesome, me – bruised) then numbers started to swell.

One particular night Natalia (Ukraine beauty) and Rafi (India beauty) came and said they’d join us after laughing therapy. What? Laughing therapy. I couldn’t miss this. So 5 minutes later I was with some equally bonkers folk on the beach and we laughed for five or ten minutes (I think it was the first class I’ve excelled at???). Rafi and Nat are bundles of energy that seem to light up anyone they come across. I then returned to stick feeling thoroughly invigorated. Even now I am laughing – it works!!

The next day it was suggested that we meet at 4 and give sweets out on the beach – spreading love and happiness. I’d just bought a orgasmatron (head massager thing) so brought that along too. So we traversed the beach bringing smiles to peoples faces and sweetness to their bellies – whilst promoting laughing therapy later in the afternoon.

That night I’d been asked to lead a class in Animal balloon making (the second class I have excelled at). Monkeys, elephants, guitars, flowers, it was beautiful!! About 15 people came including Rafi and Natalie – such a compliment.

The next day I was off to see Amma. A spiritual leader all over the world – she gives her energy in the form of a hug – I had to check it out.

Entirely sceptical, Kathleen (Geordie originally from Hong Kong) and I stepped into her Ashram. Temple like thingy watsit. Lots of westerners and a few Indians were there. All dressed in white, looking like their farts don’t stink, and looking down upon those who arrive with animal balloons all over their new bamboo stick dressed in every colour under the rainbow with feral ginger beards. (Yes Kathleen has one too)

In a strange way it looked serene and we whipped out our paperatsi cameras to capture the moment.

“Please put your cameras down and delete your pictures or you’ll have bad Karma.”

Some hard noised women (let’s call her ‘Bitch Face from Hell’ or ‘BFFH I’) in white was clearly not impressed with us.

“Forget about it” I told Kathleen. We knew it was going to be a bit like a circus and had kept telling each other that we were there only to experience one second – the hug.

We entered the hall where she performs her Dasham to be greeted by wonderful live music and gorgeous food to fill our bellies after our long journey, and then joined the huge queue. We were allowed to queue with the Indians as we were just paying a day visit and not planning to stay. Something which had turned up the noses of those in white further.

In the queue I whipped out the Orgasmatron and proceeded to spread some Danesh (my new Indian name) love. Even those who aren’t being touched smile and laugh watching. But no. ‘Not allowed – you are obstructing my view of Amma” – we’ve pissed off ‘BFFH II’. Amma’s a spot in the distance at this point but after 2 hours we were getting close and I was getting excited – hence louder. Add to this the fact that I’d made Amma a bouquet of flowers out of balloons and once again I was being told off by BFFH III, IV, and V. These guys are so at peace!!??

All the BFFH’s (I, II, III, IV and V – plus a lot more) are fighting each other to be part of the entourage that sit behind Amma – struggling to get a spot within about 5 metres of her and then digging in with tooth and nail not to be pushed aside by another BFFH whilst slowly pushing knees and elbows into other peoples backs to get that inch closer as the 1000’s of people came to have their hug. I was wondering why we were there whilst we passed in front of these people – all this for a second – 2 seconds if she takes a liking to you.

Finally it’s my turn and I get onto my knees as everyone else does and then handed the flowers to her beaming face (later Kathleen heard that she’d asked for them to be taken to her room - awesome). She put her arms around me and I have to say – it felt wonderful (but I do love hugs). She sang soft Mantra into my ear. Surely my time was up but she was still holding me in her arms. I started to feel awkward as eyes bore into my head but it was too nice to let go. Then someone I’d been chatting to told her that I’d cycled from England and she let go. I stood to leave but was forced back to my knees by hands behind me. She touched my head, then fed me chocolate, putting it into my mouth as if I was a Greek God. She then summoned everyone around to give me a a cheer and a clap. Wow wow wow!!

Finally I was allowed to get up and I self consciously made my way back as Amma spoke to one of her colleagues who then came up to me and told me Amma wanted me to sit next to her. So people (BFFHs) were pointed at and told to move to allow me through and next to Amma to share our energies.

Bad Karma my ass!!

Stop Thief

2010-02-05T03:18:00.001-08:00

People warn of the potential for thievery in India. Slum dog millionaire reiterates the risks faced. I think, ”What a load of rubbish”. I don’t lock my room at night or when I go out, I have left my bag open with all valuables visible outside my room in busy cheap hotels by accident, my wallet fell from my bag and about 5 cars stopped to tell me, cleaners come into my room with 1000’s of rupees (months of salary) lying on the bed amongst the mess, wallet, passport also, and they just stack them all nicely and I’m sure the idea to take it doesn’t even enter their heads.

I got it into my head that everyone was honest and decent.

So I was devastated to be blatantly robbed whilst on the beach. I left my bag open on the beach with my wallet in, SLR camera, video camera, $200, 10,000 rupees. I was planning to do some stick martial arts so left my bamboo rod next to it.

I was only away from it for maybe 1 minute. I was just having a look at the fishermen and when I got back it was gone.

I searched everywhere, asked anyone nearby if they’d seen the scoundrel who’d taken it. I could see its imprint in the sand so hadn’t somehow got disoriented. After hours of fruitless searching I had to face facts – my stick was gone forever. (Everything else was still there)

Chembakolli

2010-01-24T23:43:00.000-08:00

Chembakolli

(Click on the pic to view the album)

So there is a village that inspired my trip, where the children come to the Vidyadaya school. Westerners aren't allowed in the tribal area.

1 month ago a tourist ventured close by and was killed by an elephant so security is high and it's no no no to any questions about the village. Shame.

So when i'm told we're going I'm totally dumb founded, apprehensive and excited!!! The village leaders and elders and spiritualists got together and decided in one day of talking I could visit, the next they said i could have a 'sleep over'!!

And they want me to cycle in......

So it's on to Shirley (the wife) I get again and head off into the jungle. Villages get simpler, then simpler still and then we are in the jungle and my guides on motor bikes have to leave their machines and follow by foot.

After a few minutes the undergrowth parts and opens to a small clearing where there are 2 buildings. A nursery and a temple. Both made of mud with straw roofs. In the distance I can hear children and make out houses dotted into the hillside. women carry water from the stream up to the houses - some of which are miles away. If you have seen Avatar then it has many similarities.

Visiting the families I was welcomed with tea (as usual) and smiles. Some kept their distance form the 'strange one' others were transfixed. I saw some children with scabies but the hospital funded by Accord - the partner of Action Aid in India - has given the medicines needed to cure it.

Night was drawing in so we made our way up the hillside climbing roots and avoiding vines and palms. At the top the chiefs house is the same as all the others. Simple, clean and friendly.

We light a fire immediately to keep the wild animals away and after chatting for hours by fire light (there is no electricity) I am brought a gourmet meal cooked over a fire in the kitchen.

Lying down on the mud veranda the head teacher and I settle in for the night and its surprisingly cool after the heat of the day. The cool of the wild lulls me to sleep as birds and beast make their nest or begin to hunt by night.

I am woken in the pitch dark by the chieftain who says - listen - I can hear a calling. He says 'Tiger'. Oh my goodness their is a tiger close by. He says it is some way off though.... thank goodness. The only protection I have is my sleeping bag and I've even forgotten my mosquito repellent - not much use against the king of the jungle. I lye and listen a bit longer but the tranquility has me at its mercy and I'm asleep before I know it.

A few hours later and I jump out of my sleeping bag - the dog is going crazy - I switch on my torch and see a Leopard disappear into the jungle.

A leopard has become attached to the chiefs cow - I like to think 2 creatures from seperate worlds have fallen in love but the reality is probably a little more gruesome. The leopard unlike the India human population wants beef on the menu.

This wildest of creatures was one pounce from having Mr Bent ala carte.

Again I slip off to sleep lying on the hard floor with wild ideas in my head.

When I wake in the morning I am surrounded by children and a godzillion balloon animals and flowers later they are all happy and I'm allowed to go for a tour.

We walk down the steap hillside stopping in at many of the 150 houses the constitute the village. Lots of tea and smiles again.

Then by another simple temple we meet another chief who has his bow and arrow on him. We practice shooting my shoes (they are off my feet at this point). After a while a youth takes the bow and wants to show what he can do - he fires one shot and a bird falls from the canopy way above us. The young children scamper off to retrieve but the tiny bird and the arrow.

I felt a bit guilty - did a bird have to die just coz I'm here, "What will you do with it?" I ask.

"Eat it" they respond as if I'm an idiot. A fire is rustled up and the bird after being plucked i\and gutted is just thrown on. it's barely larger than a wren but we all take a piece. I had both breasts (about the size of a penny) as guest.

The second bird to fall I plucked and then when it was cooked I didn't want the most succulent breast - so they said take the head. I was told to remove the beak and gouge out the eyes. After doing so, very proficiently I have to say, I was left with this skull. What do i do with it?? Eat it. What the whole thing.

Man, they're thinking, this white guy has no idea - of course all of it!!

I pop it in like a boiled sweet and bite down. The brain oozes into my mouth and tastes like cream cheese. Yummy.

Before I know it it's time to leave - they invited me to stay for a week in the future - I'm keen!! very keen.

On the way back to the school we had to avoid the elephants again. This time I'm on foot coz the head teacher has taken my bike (after lowering the seat a lot) and is flying around like a kid at a fairground!! His eyes are wide and his smile is bigger than ever. He comes back to me and says, 'This is soooooo coooolll!!!'

So I'm back and teaching at the school - I have to force the children out the door of each lesson. It's wonderful, they're wonderful, you're wonderful, life's wonderful.

Again 'luckiest man alive' doesn't come close to me. And add to that Mum and Dad are coming out soon..... so lucky!!

The last push...

2010-01-20T23:39:00.000-08:00

The End

My last day of my old life. The chrysalis is starting to tear and I’m vulnerable to the elements and predators as I spread my wings for the first time.

This day is surely my most dangerous – Taliban, wild dogs, stone throwing kids, crazy truck drivers, pan fueled nut jobs – they pale into insignificance as I enter the wildlife park on my bike. Containing the highest number of Asiatic elephants rampaging through the jungle destroying everything in their paths and containing the largest number of Tigers of any other park.

As I’m coming down a hill I halt suddenly as elephants are spotted. What to do – wait and be easy prey for the tigers or risk being crushed to death beneath tonnes of elephant. I decide to go for it – a motorcyclist says “go past on the right and go fast!!”

I’m here and hence safe but man I think that 1hr was risking it a bit too much!!

As I continue I am joined by cyclist and motorcyclists, our number is increasing as is the number of flower wreaths round my neck – it’s starting to get heavy. With 1km to go I see in the distance a huge crowd gathered. Adults children men and women all dressed so colourfully and bearing banners. As I get closer I see they are wishing someone a happy birthday and congratulations. A little closer and I can make out my logo ‘Velo Love’ in the hands of every child. They’re here for me and the tears begin to flow.

Cheers, claps, drums rolls, singing, dancing – it’s a carnival as I walk my bike towards the school with a 6 yr old on the seat and hundreds of people from the village and the school following behind.

Singing and speeches follow, tears follow that. Not just from me but from the teachers, the pupils, the media crowd that have gathered. I think something very special happened today in this little Adivasi village. Wow – I cut a cake, again bearing the ‘love’ logo and now I’ve lost it. My head in my hands as they sing happy birthday in English with their beautiful accents and then sing again in Tamil.

For the second time in India my life has changed forever.

Last evening.....

2010-01-20T23:31:00.000-08:00

The final push

So I have one evening of my trip left, what better way to enjoy it than learning to roll Beadies (the leaf cigarette – no smoking though), making incense sticks, testing every oil until I smell like a flower shop and then ripping up Mysore behind the wheel of an Auto Rickshaw – with the driver taking a backseat shouting to his friends as we cruise past like the rude boys on Southend Seafront.

My life is up in the air and I have no idea how it’s going to land. I bump into a Spanish spiritual lady who I connected with within 10 seconds of small talk. Embarrassed about our embrace with so few words spoken we went our separate ways only to bump into each other later and start chatting deeply. She reassured me that I was on the right lines and without knowing my issues at all said she felt clarity was coming my way in the next week. In love I had to be patient. Sweet.

A few hours before I was due to leave, lying listening to music, each word connecting with my every thought, she asked if I was spiritual. It was one of those questions she already knew the answer to.

“Nah,” I replied, “I’m not into that kinda stuff”.

“The kinda stuff we’ve been talking about passionately for the past 8 hours” she replied smiling.

“Oh?”

I’m Danger Dan – nerdy, clumsy, loud, ungraceful, stupid. My farts stink. Spiritual? Come on, get real – I like bikes. No?

Few more pics from the slum - Mumbai

2010-01-18T21:24:00.001-08:00

Slum II

1 day to go........

2010-01-18T21:24:00.000-08:00

It's one day till my 31st birthday. Some young wipper snapper said to me today that it's all down hill from here. Thank goodness for that. Down hill is easy and fun if a little extreme!! I'm looking forward to it.

Also hoping for some downhill on my last day before arriving at the school and chembakolli but I'm promised more mountains!! 1 day of this epic journey. 1 day. Then what..... A new year, a new school, new experiences, new love, new challenges, a new life.......

These last few days have been some of the toughest. The heat is outrageous and although the map says everything is below 1000m (goody I thought) what it doesn't tell you it goes from 0m to 999m on regular intervals - it's tougher than the Himalayas.

I partied a bit too long in Goa which meant I was left with massive distances which means cycling in the midday heat. At points I wobbled on my bike as my brain cooked, I'd arrive at a restaurent and fall asleep with my head on the dirty tables for 30 mins before being woken by a customer wanting to eat and off I'd go again. Headaches, heat stroke, sun burn.... all part of a days work.

And man I'm gonna miss it!! Way too emotional right now...... 1 day to go..... 1 friggin day.....

International man of mystery

2010-01-18T18:48:00.000-08:00

Here's the article from the Indian Express about my trip.... (not sure if you can see pics??)

http://www.indianexpress.com/news/bicycle-diaries/568247/0

Not sure if I posted this one too (From the Times)....

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/travel/holiday_type/green_travel/article6932336.ece

New pics loaded onto "Long and Winding road" and to the "Christmas in Mumbai".

2010-01-11T00:34:00.001-08:00

Pics from Mumbai

2010-01-11T00:32:00.000-08:00

I really feel a connection with this city.

Mumbai

Also see Slum pics on older mail

Party time excellent

2010-01-11T00:13:00.000-08:00

After breaking two floorboards of the dance floor on Christmas day we were on a roll. It was time to forget about the fact I was missing family and friends, to forget the pain of the cycle saddle, the suffering in all the countries I have visited – the homeless, the dying, the deformed, the handicapped, the diseased, the repressed, the child labour, the starving, the torturers and the tortured.

I left the bike in Mumbai and with a gang we head to Goa – the Ex Portuguese colony. People flock in thousands at this time of year to enjoy the cheap drinks, the parties, the sand, the blues seas and the coconuts. I had decided I wasn’t going to miss one piece of it.

Clubbing to horrendous techno on New Years Day – jumping around like the monkeys I’d seen in the trees on the way down, making friends, sillyness, makeshift break dancing on the sand, the domestic tourists were getting some well earned entertainment in the shape and form of a Spanish fire fairy, and Papa Noel (my new nickname). I ended the night lying in a fishing boat with a motorcycle helmet on catching some much needed sleep as the sun rose above me.

But this was just the warm up – the big party started when Michael Jackson (reincarnated) came out to visit me on the 4th. Carnage.

The day started with Indian Olympics – what? You don’t know what that is? Track and field with an Indian twist. First event was the 3 legged race, then throw the chapatti (a flat bread), Onion Barge and spoon race (a variety of egg and spoon race), then the elephant riding race. My team won – no thanks to me – I was useless.

After this we had booked a club for our gang to have a bad taste party. You can imagine everyone dressed in a variety of Indian coloured clothing – the scary thing was that I have clothes like that in my Rucksack to wear on a daily basis.

With a bit of help from my mum I’d managed to get some decent ingredients and with the fire fairy being an artist I was in luck. Just as the food was being served at the party a Tiger roared on the beach - people were climbing palm trees to escape, grabbing their children and running to their beach shacks, pushing boats out to the water to put a barrier between themselves and this fierce looking tiger, dogs howled, cows ran from their comfy sand seats. The tiger then entered the party – Angela had painted me from head to foot as a tiger and I have to say – I looked awesome!!

Mucho dancing, free beers, congas, singing and photo’s with everyone in Goa ensued, then I managed to bump into a super sexy Swedish girl who wanted me to use my hands to paint her body in the same fashion. It was a tough job but someone had to do it!! :o) So the tiger had a tigress and that meant more photo’s and more free drinks.

The next morning I woke in my Hammock (Angela and I had been living in the trees for some time by this point) surrounded by a group of people – through blurred eyes I couldn’t work out what was wrong. They were all starring at me – I looked down and saw the paint and realised I should have washed it off last night. I strolled or should I say prowled down to the waters edge to the surprise of sunbathers and joggers to take a bath. Oh dear. It wasn’t permanent but lasted a few days!! :o)
It hasn’t all been partying though – we had some tough times too. Swimming with dolphins, surfing, kayaking to rocks to jump off (mucho urchins pins in my hands), jogging on the beach, cycling to perfect juggle towns, jamming on the beach, climbing palm trees, back waters, gorgeous fish buffets…. Should I stop there? Did someone say ‘snow’??? Ho Ho Ho Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!

Love you all, Papa noel xxxx

(My camera is broken!!! Arrggghhhhh.... but at the menders. Lots of pics from friends to come - watch facebook and I'll post them on here too)

Christmas in India

2009-12-28T01:48:00.000-08:00

Slum

(Click for more pics - professional ones to follow)
Tears were rolling down my cheeks, I had my hand over my eyes to avoid peoples gaze as they looked on awestruck, my spanish friend had her arm around me to comfort me, they think I'm sick.

I was in the biggest slum in Asia.

I'd met some photographers here for a shoot for the national press and had had to leave my bike as the paths between houses narrowed so much the handle bars were just pulling down corrugated houses. My senses were on overload, incense mixed with raw sewage, banging house music deafened all conversation but you turn another corner and the music dies and you can just here the kids playing cricket on the rubbish dump. Squealing and arguing whether it was LBW or not, saris flash past you and kids dirty colourful toys are hugged intensely.

We're invited into a house which is no bigger than a store room. Anything from 5 - 10 people can share a room. Kitchen, storage, beds are all in a space about the size of a queen sized bed. A girl lies in the tiny bed. She is so skinny she looks like the mummy in the British Museum. Just skin and bone. A tear rolls down her cheek with the effort it takes to look up and see the aliens that have entered her home. Angela has a bright tattoo down her left arm and piercings, with the looks of a well practiced model, I obviously have the brightest ginger beard ever and blue eyes that can only be associated with something from another world and a stupid grin on my face.

But this is the only low point of the whole trip - the charity have really tried to give an insight into what life is like in the slum. I'm impressed how well they live in these buildings (if you can call them that - they look like a strong wind would flatten the lot (luckily I'm able to handle curries a bit better now so my wind wasn't going to be a problem!!)) the children are all happy and enjoyed climbing on me like a climbing frame and chasing the balloons that I fired all over the slum.

My tears are falling because I'm back in the office of the charity and they are telling me how the money I have raised is being used in the slum. Abi translates what the women are saying piece by piece. Part of it funds a trade union run by women for women. Initially i hear graphic stories of how the women were beaten and verbally abused by their husbands for joining and creating such a thing. Bano (the team leader) is speaking again with emotion I can feel. Abi translates "These women stuck with it and kept working and then the results came..." - it feels like a movie... I know what is coming next and burst into tears. all the emotion I felt from the trip rips through me. I'm uncontrollable. I try and pull it together because i want to hear the rest.

The results came and the people realized these women were getting far better results than the men ever had and the husbands changed there tune too. They would stay at home with the kids on the days the women needed to work. There status in society is sky high.

Tears are still blurring my vision - I am sorry but i can't put into words what I was / am feeling. The squalor these people live in, the disease, the lack of education, the way children and women are treated in India, and what a difference the charity are making. What a difference we have already made through donating money to Action Aid - I pound here travels 100 times the distance it does in the UK. 5 pounds is enough for a months wage for one of these workers.

It's after Christmas, everyone is skint, but if you do find a pound under the sofa please think about the children and women in this slum, and think what a small amount of money can do for them.

www.justgiving.com/dannybent

PS Will try and get a computer than is strong enough for pics soon.....

Long and winding road

2009-12-24T02:48:00.000-08:00

Bundi - Udaipur

(More india pics - click and enjoy)

‘Show me the real India’ I call to the new quiet road I have taken from my last town filled with foreign tourists, Indian tourists (“domestic tourism is very popular these days” – said with lots of waggling of head in sing song voice), and locals who would sell their own mother to a tourist for the right price (“best mother in all of India – I give you good price” – with more head waggling)

First there’s the dusty red roads cutting between rock formations that wouldn’t look out of place in the Australian outback. Somehow bright yellow rape seed (Canewdon’s finest export) manages to flourish here leaving a wonderful smell and contrast with the red rocks. The red turns to bright lush green as agriculture kicks in – extensive and complex irrigation streams are cut into the earth to make it possible. A friend camped in one of these fields – at two in the morning his tent was floating in half a foot of water :o) he just lay back down and enjoyed his waterbed – us cyclists get tired you know. It then turns to palm tree jungle bejeweled with pink and red flowers.

I stop to get coke and crisps (this constitutes my breakfasts after recent bouts of sickness of the ‘oh no, how do I get to reception to call the ambulance without leaving a nasty trial’ variety) and all business in the village stops. Grown men simply stop in the street and stare, motorbikes pull over with anything up to 4 additional passengers, children practice their spattering of English – these villages don’t see westerners very often. You can normally tell how long it is since a foreigner has been around by the age limit of the children that burst into tears at the sight of the ‘white devil’. Normally 3-6 yrs. “TV?” You ask. “Money is for food, time is for working in the fields”, I respond – yes, unfortunately the kids too.

For someone who loves children and often finds their company more appealing than adults I find this experience surprisingly rewarding. I’m the only white man these children have EVER seen. Normally a few massive smiles and songs can prise them away from behind their fathers legs but any fast movements on my behalf sends them scuttling again.

Whilst I chat to the kids the gathering gets bigger and bigger. By now I can’t see anything other than eyes peering at me. If I eat lunch it remains this way until I pick my bike back up and push my way through, being as polite as possible in my basic Hindi. Having people watch you eat – not the nicest thing normally – if they weren’t there I’d be lonely nowadays!!

On one occasion in a very small shop in the middle of nowhere I’d made friends with the girl and boy (after the crying stopped by giving them both polystyrene aeroplanes). I was sitting back enjoying watching them play nicely in the quiet when a man appears on my right. He’s staring at me but in a slightly different way. He seems to be looking in my ear. ‘Dirty?’ He pulls out his little wooden box and before I can say ‘Please don’t put that painfully long needle into my ears he has already pulled out his first potato. After several more potatoes – it’s been a good harvest this year – he says I need medicine, pours it into my ears and then shakes my head one way and then the other – tweezers are then extracted and he pulls something looking like my ear drum out. Repeated procedure in the other ear has given me 20:20 hearing :oD – now when the bus hoots it’s horn it hurts my head even more – great! All the while the kids were throwing planes at me and the ‘super long needle near my eardrum’ man.

At another I stop for a quick rest a cow in front of me does the dew right by my feet. I woman whips out of the nearest hut and scoops it up and makes it into what can only be described as a huge chocolate button. It’s then left on the house or road side to dry and used as fuel in the houses. Particularly keen gatherers have villages that look like something from Hansel and Gretel – chocolate button houses!!! They look good enough to eat!! (Dad, when you come out you are forbidden to try and throw one as a discus – you (or unlucky bystanders) won’t be so lucky the second time!!

Then (7 or 8 days later) I find my way onto a highway again. 6 lanes of traffic. The outside lane normally for the speeding vehicles is filled with cows (with horns as big as there legs) – it’s a cows life here in India – if they want to hang out in the fast lane they damn well do it and no amount of hooting of horns will budge them. The next lane is fairly normal – for an Asian road. Just very fast moving traffic swerving left and right. The third and outside lane is the most interesting. Really I should say there are 8 lanes, the outside lane is used as two way traffic. In one direction (one would normally say the wrong direction) you can see herds of cow / goats / sheep, bikes, tuktuks, rampaging buses, trucks, motorbikes, industrial vehicles, camels, the odd elephant and carts, in the other direction (the correct direction) is the odd tuktuk, banished from the faster lanes by a careering bus, and a lone English cyclist fighting tooth and nail for his little strip of tarmac, and his life. Kicking, pushing, and punching other motorists to keep his pathway clear. Then you have the boys throwing stones, the loads falling from trucks, the trucks themselves toppling, people jumping into the road on pan fueled craziness (these guys normally get a very fine hand-off or shoulder in the chest (bike rugby is big in India)). Yes, this is the main highway between Delhi and Mumbai.

I’ve got a good spot and I’m charging ahead at about 30k – I’m feeling great. Coming in the opposite direction a guy on a motorbike pulls over. ‘Stop Stop Stop’ he says. I drop my shoulder ready, but no this sounds serious. ‘Stop stop please’. I pull up – ‘Has someone been hurt? Can I help?’ A pause for a moment…….. His voice is no longer high pitched and panicked but turned a little meek and mild………… ‘What country?’ What friggin country? – I’ll box your ears boy!!! And get back on the bike.

Festive greetings everyone!!

2009-12-18T00:11:00.000-08:00

Boring art lesson

2009-12-13T19:58:00.000-08:00

Another quick link to keep the smiles on Year 3 (now 4's) faces

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=281239&id=593540073&l=b6d0cdf3a1

Colour of India

2009-12-13T06:08:00.000-08:00

Colour of India

(Remember to click on all photos to see more...)
India continues to keep me on my toes. I sat for a moment in Agra only to be greeted by a holy man who blessed me, kissed my hand then went to kiss it again and bit it!! Drawing a little blood. Before I could even begin to decide whether to be cross or thankful a monkey jumped from high above onto a electric power pylon. The pylon exploded sending lightning all around and 3 very large explosions (luckily the monkey scampered off) and when I looked around the holy man had disappeared. A group of school children dressed in beautiful blue uniforms caught my eye and we walked up the steps near by to the school taking pictures and conversing in separate languages. When I got up there a group of men 5 metres away beckoned me over but I was too busy with the children and monkeys to py them any attention. The school had a wonderful view of the Taj Mahal, I thought how lucky these children were, but on closer inspection they also had a great view of the men injecting heroin into their crutch and legs. The above happened within the space of about 2 minutes.

One minute India is beautiful, A Ma Zing, magical, tantalising, the next its nasty, repulsive, vile, angry but before you know it it’s back to being mystical, tender, wonderful, breathtaking.

Men on motor bikes think it’s fun to ride into my handle bars and wheels, buses play with our lives like a baby with a ragdoll, children throw stones at our heads, men make dirty homosexual hand gestures towards me.

These men grow up surrounded by men, starved of female attention, then are forced to marry a women they don’t even know, who could end up being a bit of a minger, or not your type at all. Totally different interests they end up despising each other. Is it any wonder they turn to each other for affection and love? And I guess a white, milky bar kid is a new delight.

In fact we’ve noticed an inverse correlation between the number of women in a village and the levels of aggression in the men. More women less aggression and visa versa.

In Pakistan the women were not allowed to leave the house. In India they are forced to do all the work. They mix cement, they carry huge burdens on their heads (whilst men walk along side), they work in the fields (whilst men sit and chat reprimanding them now and again for not working hard enough).

A super attractive girl blew me a kiss today. What a highlight. It was my closest encounter with the female form in months and it felt GOOD!! I was ready to settle down, get married and have kids within the month :o) Kevin (irish guy cycling round the world) dragged me away (be it kicking and screaming) and got me to our current destination Bundi – I’m glad he did. A bustling town drenched in colour, surrounded by a ancient palace in the hills and a putrid lake on the other side.

We went tiger hunting yesterday. Shooting only with cameras. We saw monkeys, all sorts of birds, deer, a leopard kill, crocodiles – but no tigers.

I’ll keep my eyes peeled except when I’m camping. If I hear a roar when I’m in my tent I’m going to hide in my sleeping bag and hope for the best. (After kung fu chopping the little blighter and then giving him a judo throw to the ground of course – I’m a tough guy, you know that).

Never put your camera down, never take your eye of the road – India is very much alive and not afraid to show it.

The sickness....

2009-12-13T05:52:00.001-08:00

I stop at a café. As soon as I do the flies descend upon me dragging themselves away from the cocking pots and utensils. Birdlife freely pecks at the food lying around.

During the day I’d seen the meat hung from pegs in the midday heat. Do they wrap it in flies to preserve it? I’m suddenly vegetarian again.

After washing the pots with the brown water, the cook brings over my food with his thumb in my dal. He removes it and wipes it on his ‘never been washed’ apron.

There’s nowhere to wash your hands and my soapless spray mum bought me is deep in my panniers, buried beneath everything I own. As I dip my hand into my food to take my first bite I think of the hundreds of hands I have shaken since waking today and the number of people I have seen doing number 2’s by the side of the road (no toilet paper – this is a hands on approach). I’m repulsed for a second but my hunger from a days cycling gets the better of me.

A mouse scuttles from beneath my chair and a swollen pussing rat lies in the gutter along with the rubbish, that is also covered in flies, which is being eaten by the cows that are also covered in flies.

It’s hard to believe I know but I’m sick.

What is even harder to believe is it’s not vomiting and diarrhoea. I have man flu!! How? Why? When???

Last border crossing and India so far

2009-12-07T00:51:00.000-08:00

India so far

The Pakistan / India border is a very fragile one. Both countries claim Kashmere as there own, killings are common, fighting is continuous and both refer to the other as ‘the enemy’. There is one border post on a 2000km border for crossing from one country to the other.

You can imagine the tension that a traveller feels when he approaches this border. The adrenaline that runs through his veins, muscles tort, eyes watching every move, ears listening for the trigger being cocked……

It’s the feelings I experience when watching horror films…. waiting for the blood to flow. What one doesn’t expect when you get to the border is a carnival atmosphere and circus enacted with school boy competitiveness. It’s more like a Disney cartoon.

It’s nuts!!! Who can kick the highest, who can make a single note without breathing for the longest, who can put up the flag the quickest. It happens every day. And it’s so friendly you’d think the two sides were best buddies. But underpinning all this frivolity is a deep undercurrent. To the North especially people are being killed in gun fights and both sides are blaming the other for explosions in cities – it’s a nasty situation.

So through border control you go and when you pop out the other side you a greeted by green lush foliage, birds flying - i wanted to go back and see if the grey Pakistani side had changed too? One thing remained the same – the friendliness of the people. 5k down the road we were at a wedding singing and dancing with the locals. The colours of the mens turbans intoxicated me, or was it the whisky they plied us with? Men wearing colour – I hadn’t seen this for some time now and it felt wonderful.

We then stayed at the golden temple for a night, I had to wear my first turban today. Thousands of people are welcomed to this temple every day. It doesn’t matter what your faith is, it doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor, it doesn’t matter what colour you skin is. You are fed, watered (all prepared by volunteers), allowed to wash in the holy water (that others then choose to drink??) and then invited to sleep there. This is my kind of religion.

That feeling that I was in love reappeared – the country is sumptuous. One day later you can see a totally different side. Getting to the cities you pass through the slums where people are living in huts erected using sticks and polythene bags, sifting through rubbish to find food, or to collect enough plastic to sell to earn enough money to get food. People lying in the street sleeping – it’s getting warmer but it’s still very cold at night here. These people take hours to stop shaking the following morning. (Please please help by giving any spare change to ActionAid so they can help these people www.justgiving.com/dannybent)

The previous night we had a rat in the room which clambered up the curtains and jumped from point to point. Then there was the bed bugs. Biting and savaging our bodies. We’ve also had lizards which we welcome to keep the mozzies at bay and mould of the scariest nature – it’s tentacles could grab you and drag you to your doom??! Ergh…

You then enter the cities and the smog is unbelievable – it was like sucking an exhaust. Maybe worse. You could perhaps see 5m ahead and make out shapes up to 50m. Cars lights are like lazers in discos cutting through the smog like light sabers. The setting sun was snatched into the mist like a fish catching surface flies. I have a gas mask which is now blackened, we wore then all night… we even tried poking cigarette filters up our noses to filter the air.

This night I couldn’t sleep. The bugs were bigger than ever (everything is big here – the cows are frighteningly large like dinosaurs – truly, no joke. They are huge!!), they kept jumping on my face (the bugs not the cows), landing in my eyes sockets, into my beard and hair. I would grab them and crush them between my fingers with tremendous force making sure they didn’t bother me again. I guess I was a little used to them and i was sharing a room with Sander (my buddy from Kyrgyzstan, Pakistan and now again India), Nisa (Gorgeous Turkish girl with enough energy to power an India city – with no power cuts) and Aron (an Estonian who maintained the most caring and happy nature even when projectile vomiting) – so I didn’t want to switch on the light.

The next morning I dashed to the loo and then on the way out caught my reflection in the mirror. I had maggots in my beard and hair and on my face. My pillow and bed was covered with them. They had been dropping from some rotten woodwork just above my pillow. They hadn’t been jumping they’d been falling.

On a lighter note, when biking it is also typical for the people to stop and stare. They don’t speak. Eyes on us, they just stand there and watch. It made me a little uncomfortable as though we were supposed to entertain them. So that’s exactly what I did. I’d do a little jig, some juggling, whisk Nisa off her feet with some ballroom dancing, sing a song – then take Sanders cap and ask them for money. There reactions were hilarious. Some fled, some crossed there arms to protect themselves. But the majority just kept watching. We tried a second method of getting rid of them – swine flu. Bursting into coughs, sneezes, wiping our nose whilst apologising for bringing the flu into their country. It worked a treat!!! :o)

Explaining that Sander and I are Albanian brothers from the circus has also been fun. Sword swallowers, knife throwing (I only sometimes make mistakes). Or escaped criminals - bank robbers and murderers. Sander never fails to remind the local people that if the monkeys start falling out of the tree it’s too hot.

All in all I’m really enjoying India but am looking forward to cycling through the nature reserves in a couple of days after Agra and the Taj Mahal for some clean air and some peace and quiet.

Music and nature (few videos)

2009-12-07T00:50:00.000-08:00

A few videos for your perusal.

The beauty of Northern Pakistan, and then a couple of videos of the Sufi music that is so famous across the country. Note the lesson in turban wearing, a grown man crying, raining money, a very handsome man in a striped chalwa camiz, and some friggin awesome tunes.

Few videos from Pakistan

Bikes in India

2009-12-06T00:53:00.000-08:00

There are hundreds of cycles in india. The majority being the 3 wheeled Rikshaw. Hence there are lots of bikes shops - not quite Bicycle standard or Sigma sport but they do the job (welding, adhoc screwing etc).

We took a ride with a rikshaw driver in one of the cities but it was too much pain watching him struggle with Sander and I, so I made him stop and to his bewilderment pushed him into the seat at the back and jumped on the pedals. Chaos ensued as people fort to watch the idiot in a skirt with a bad hair cut cycling a local bike. But no different to normal road conditions really!!

Big cities, little danny

2009-11-26T21:59:00.000-08:00

Lahore and border ceremony

After the media frenzy of Islamabad it was real nice to get out of town and down to Lahore and the cultural capital of Pakistan.

One rule in the cities of war torn Pakistan: stay out of crowded areas and be careful at night. My first night I found myself surrounded by 1000's of people in a passionate mood in the pitch black.

I had an invite to a Gypsy festival, only one hour away. Why not? 3hours of driving later I am still on a bus squeezed onto 3 seats with 8 people, our legs and knees entwined. If the bus had decent breaks and had tried to stop it would have been 'goodbye dans future children and hello agonising pain!!' - luckily the buses breaks didn't work so it just swerved left and right round any obstacles.

(I've got a lively Pakistani next to me who's singing at me and talking to me none stop in Urdu - it's really hard to concentrate!!)

I was given prime positioning to the right of the spiritual leader as the singing and drums started (dad you would love it!!!!) - my hair stood on end and my body convulsed with the energy and passion of the music!! I can see how it plays a massive part in the religion. I was given a wedge of 5 Rupee notes to throw over the singers before the big guns got involved and threw them into the air - falling like rain all around me!!!

Yesterday we went to a Sufi night of music with additional dancing - if you can call it that. The music wasn't a touch on last night (still awesome) but the dancing was out of this world. The Sufis are religious icons and relax and become the music. The most prominent feature being the wobbling of the head - they started slowly and then increased in speed some the features blurring to make them look featureless - occasionally making your eyes feel as though they have faces on both sides of their heads. I had to look away when they really got going coz it looked like their heads were going to fall off. The music went on to have a real 'drum and base' feel and the Sufis danced very similar to the big 'house' nights of my past.

One person in the whole crowd was asked to get up and dance with them. Who? That's right. Little Danny. So i did a bit of spinning, then tried the head wobbling. they were impressed with my head wobbling - relaxing all muscles and throwing it around whilst keeping shoulders still. I had a head ache for 1 hour afterwards and felt a little sick. The pressure they put on the Brain can only be compared with whiplash in a road accident or going a round with Mike Tyson. Is it any wonder some of them were losing their hair in chunks and seemed a little brain damaged.

I'm off to India today - the final country of my trip. It feels like I'm almost there but I still have a quarter or a fifth of my miles to go!!

A bit of 3B action....

2009-11-24T01:06:00.000-08:00

I thought I'd liven up the blog with a bit of 'stop frame animation' from the legendary 3B and 3C.

Whilst we're at it I'd like to say a congratulations to Olivia Moore for breaking the record for the number of Bushy Park 5k races completed. How did the school Cross Country go? Did you and Holly kick some butt?

And a belated happy birthday wish to 'cheeky chap', Kasper, and an early bday cheer for the 'terror', Charlie B.

Big guns - and I'm not talking about my Biceps (this time)

2009-11-22T08:25:00.002-08:00

Long and dirty road

(Click on photo for rest of pics)
Soon after M&D left my poo started exploding again. Which was quite nice timing as election fever really took hold, with accusations of rigging and bribes fervent. Tires were set on fire to block streets and there were a few minor clashes. These clashes between the Shiites and the Sunnis had got a little out of hand a month before – with a grenade being thrown into a shop and then, in retaliation, someone opening up with a machine gun into a packed mini bus. On my final day in Gilgit the results were announced by the government, we were locked into the hostel (a good excuse to get us to spend our money there) as bullets flew through the air. We were assured they were in celebration but I couldn’t help feeling some of them screamed with malice.

The next day I set off south with Sander, a Dutch guy I’d met in Kyrgyzstan months before. That night it started to get dark which was a bit worrying due to the fact that the area is well known for bandits and the police guard foreign workers in case of Taliban attacks. Again the police (who I have always found lovely) welcomed us into their camp, feeding and watering us and telling us all about life in the area. Women are not allowed to leave the house, if you have a lover without marriage you will both be shot, one man in the area has 4 wives and 25 children.

The following morning I was allowed to fire off an AK47 into the air without any bullets and use the officers revolver. Neither touched me in any way. Guns are common here and having it in my own hands was neither exciting nor scary.

Next day was very slow going, Sander was already sick and with the rough road with rougher traffic he was left coughing blood due to the diesel and dust. We finally made it to Chilas – our last stop before the police bundle you onto a bus – the next 200k are real tribal and bandit country. In Chilas itself a bus had been hijacked leaving the driver with a bullet hole in his forehead and all the passengers without belongings and the bus, smouldering in pieces on the road.

The bus ride was typically Pakistani – a few seats with a huge amount of people. My legs were horribly twisted, my shoulder was embedded in my lung and my other arm was coming out of my behind. Surprisingly I managed to drop off once or twice in our 12 hour journey, but it was punctuated with primitive tire changing using rocks to jack the car up, meals stops where human sewage decorated the floor and also a delay caused by a crash at the end of the swat valley (Taliban area) – the delay was partly due to the 100’s of police that had arrived just in case it was a trap.

We arrived in Mansehra where me and Sander parted ways – he’s still there now and not allowed to leave the hostel unless he has police escort – gun fights are common in the street.

I took the road to the capital Islamabad. 2 lanes for traffic are filled with six – with the outside lane – your usual cycle lane used for traffic coming in the opposite direction. 50k away a dome of smog started to show on the horizon – it got bigger and closer and soon I plunged headlong into it. The mountains disappeared as did the cars in front. Dust and diesel coated me inside and out. My boogies are still coming out solid and black, whilst I have to cough up the muck each morning.

Despite this Islamabad (or Pindi – where I’m staying) is quite beautiful and colourful in it’s own special way. Flocks of eagles swoop left and right, whilst Pan is spat colouring whatever it hits red, cars hoot, goats casually graze on the piles of rubbish in the street, Tuktuks swerve round the traffic, calls for prayer are drowned out by break beat Indian tunes emanating from the shops, beautiful material is used to cover the women and the men chatter round burning rubbish to keep warm. What am I doing? I sit in the juice shop. That’s it. Drinking in the sweet sweet fruits whilst everything around me goes crazy. Mmmmm juice.

Oh oh oh, I have spent a lot of time in the juice shop but I did make time for a press conference organised by someone I met up North and was on TV constantly last night on all channels. People across Pakistan have been contacting me to say they saw it. Awesome!!! This celebratory status kept the hotel owner turfing me out on the street. My visa has expired again and the offices are closed till Monday. I was told avoid the police :o)

NB On an off note the guy who organised the press thing picked me up from my hotel and looked into my room and almost vomited. I hadn’t really looked at it in a critical way but it’s pretty gross – the walls a coated with dirty finger marks and stains, the floor covered with dust and unidentifiable stains has never been cleaned, smoke has stained the roof, whilst mould hides in every corner, holes punctuate the walls, the stench of sewage penetrates every fibre of your body, the curtains are torn netting, and the door is held shot with a single nail. But at less than two quid a night in a capital city you can’t complain.

2009-11-22T08:25:00.001-08:00

M&D pay a visit

(Click on pics for more)
Mum and Dad’s visit didn’t start off too well. A sleepless night on the plane over followed by a sleepless night in a disgusting hotel in Islamabad, and two days of cancelled internal flights to the north due to the weather meant that they had to brave the 20hr sleepless journey over unmade roads to the North and Me!! :o)

3 days without sleep – I was imagining the sorry state they would arrive in. Miserable, tired, grumpy. They’re not 20 anymore – 3 nights without sleep isn’t easy. But Oh no!! They arrived looking fantastic (life without me has been good to them), full of love happiness and laughter. Raving about their adventures so far. Defying 50m cliff drops in the car, police escorts, coloured trucks full of blue eyed buffalo, making friends, women locked away in houses etc etc

They arrived and the hostel I was staying at was gripped by their presence. Mum and I took a short walk round town and I was like a parent on a childs first day at school – so so so proud to have my mum by my side in such strange surroundings. But we couldn’t stay, we were heading up North to the big mountains and the beautiful scenery.

After arriving at night, I woke early at first light and peaked out of the curtain. I’d been doing a no cloud and blue skys dance the day before and ‘YES’ it’d worked. Blue blue and more blue sky. Not a cloud in sight. Mum was next to wake and I made her pull the curtains ASAP revealing a glass wall looking out over the 7000+ peaks with the autumn reds, and golds all around the hotel. Awesome!!

After trekking, glaciers, lakes, a few mountains, defying death on a rickety old wooden suspension bridge, drinking tea surrounded by panoramic white peaks, views that blow your mind Mum and Dad were intoxicated with Pakistan and had intoxicated it’s people.

We found ourselves invited to a local home (one room – kitchen, bedroom, dining room, lounge all in one small concise package) – something not many people experience due to social restrictions. It started very politely sitting cross legged, talking of work and studies as our meal was cooked in front of us on a wood stove and then eaten off the floor with our hands. But it soon turned ‘Bent’. First the girl sang, then dad, then the mum danced and sang (only after the dad had been sent to the bizarre for something), then I sang, then we all sang, then we all danced. The finale was the dad, who’d finally relaxed, teaching my dad to dance Pakistani style. 4 children, 2 mums and I were in hysterics. Not coz dad was rubbish – he’s a groover – but because of the surrealism of the situation. 2 families, poles apart enjoying a night of culture and education together.

Then before we knew it, it was time to go – but not before the elections got a bit out of hand. Stones were thrown at our jeep onto the road and mass groups of men marched up and down the road in trucks or by foot with a huge police and artillery presence. The police threw us in a cell for our own safety (bringing us tea). M&D looked very much relaxed in the new surroundings – I’m sure there’s a lot they’re not telling me!!

They then took their flight to Islamabad – swerving round mountains and then generally brightening the days of anyone they met.

Some wedding pics:

2009-11-08T04:25:00.001-08:00

I was witness and chief photographer. Not many of the womens side obviously!! :o)

Sue's Pakistan Wedding

Few extra pics

2009-11-05T06:02:00.000-08:00

OK more than a few sorry!!

Pakistan Northern Area

Competative? What me? I'm not. I can prove it. Twice.

2009-11-04T06:17:00.000-08:00

When I arrived at the hostel here in Gilgit, Pakistan, people were discussing how long it takes to get from Sost (Chinese Border) to Gilgit and the hostel by bicycle.

Some were saying 3 days, others said it could be done in 2. I couldn't help it - it just fell out. I tried to keep my mouth shut. Honest. "I reckon it can be done in 1". People ignored me and continued discussing. "Seriously I reckon you can do it in 1 day".

"It's 200k of the worst road ever imaginable. The Chinese are blasting big holes in it. Land falls are smashing it to pieces. There are climbs that take a day to do. There is perhaps 20k or tarmac. It's frozen in paces. Other parts are sand. The rest is boulders and rocks and stones. It can't be done in 1 day. Get real."

My eye twitched. The corner of my mouth curled.

NEVER SAY 'CAN'T' TO A FEISTY DANNY

So to cut a long story short. A bet was made and I was going to be taking the brunt of it. I then went down with food poisoning of the Asian variety. 24hrs on the toilet with little sleep and then two days of regular visits. The perfect preparation for a big ride. I could barely walk to the toilet by the end - all energy gone. As soon I was able to sit on a bike, without a cork, I set off up the road back to Sost.

Taking it easy and taking in the views. And refueling.

Click the link now for extra effect....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKhnmUdmz74

At Sost I arrived latish and got an early night. In the middle of the night I popped to the loo and who should I see in the mirror behind me when I was washing my hands but Stevie Bell. My greatest enemy on the bike, rival and best buddy. He was whispering in my ear. "You're not gonna do it Danny. No way. You're too weak."

In the morning he'd gone, but when I got outside he was there with his Time Trial Bike and aero helmet, stretching. He wanted a race.

So off we went - I took the first part fairly easy judging how much the sickness had taken out of me. I felt good, gritting my teeth, covered in dust, mud and oil, but Steve, by my side, was drifting along as though he was gliding over the stones - he had that big cheesy Baby Bell smile on his face. I knew there were some big 50m cliff drops coming so I put a spurt in (muchos matches burnt) - Steve has been known to do nasty things to his rivals and I didn't want to be near him at that point. (What? Did someone say "he pushed his good mate off a cliff just coz he was passing him on a climb", that's sick!!)

So I kept pushing on and to cut this story short I managed to make it back with time to spare and with Steve well gone by the end. I felt like a monster (great news for next season - much stronger than when I left blighty!!). A monster which perhaps I was after all the shaking and bumping - my organs have swapped places, my bones have been ground down and my fingers are having problems moving. Does anyone know a good doctor to put me back together? Ro? Do you know one? :o)

One good thing is that in the mix up my brain replaced my 'Bravados' in the top spot and I now understand what a totally and pointless bet it was!?! I'll never do something like that again. Until the dreaded C word is mentioned again that is. (That's 'can't' by the way.)

In chains:

2009-10-29T00:00:00.000-07:00

When we arrived in pakistan the border guards had somehow lost the key to the visa cupboard so we had to wait some time. To entertain themselves the border guards put me in handcuffs and dragged me around the yard.

Close call for Mr Bent (something I forgot)

2009-10-28T23:49:00.001-07:00

I was hungry and tired on the way out of China and was told by a local to go to a small village for food. On my arrivals there was a lot of fancy dressing up going on but I was still welcomed in in my licra and smelly gear. On my way in I passed a women dressed up to the max and then three very disgruntled men.

What seemed to be the mother and father asked me lots of questions as I stuffed my face with whatever was on the table laid out again all nicely. Nodding and smiling seemed to get me so far then they turned there attention to the other men one by one.

it wasn't until i was leaving that I realised that the parents were looking for a suitor for their daughter!! i was first in - no wonder the other guys looked a bit cheesed.

As I left the father said something along the lines of 'don't call us, we'll call you' so i suppose all you ladies are in luck. i haven't been married off yet.

Three new folders of pics - just click on the pic and you'll enter the depths of the folder

2009-10-28T23:43:00.000-07:00

Pakistan:

Pakistan

China:

China

Osh - Kashkar:

Osh - Kashkar

Mr B is back and kicking (the cat that keeps sleeping on my pillow)!!

2009-10-28T02:39:00.000-07:00

Long time no chat - China having a lock down on internet (none at all) and calling (outside of the country - which includes hong kong strangely) can do that!!

So Kyrgyzstan continued in the same vain - I was cycling up one of the passes about 4000m and a bandit riding a horse in a balaclava (and other clothes) decided to attack me with his horse whip. Luckily a truck came past at the same moment and I was able to outstretch my hand grab the back and fly up the mountain leaving the bandit with a look of shock in his eyes!! I've been doing that quite a bit - sometimes on the flat too!! (It's not cheating - I'm still in the saddle. No it's not, OK maybe just a bit!!)

Barring that Kyrgy is an amazing country with Pamir mountain range on the right hand side. Up one of the higher passes my front pannier fell off. Nice and cold fixing it. The other then fell of and my seat snapped. So when I got to Saritash Shirley was screwed, banged, poked with a red hot poker, nailed - the list goes on... it didn't last...

We were flying down a totally unmade road and the same pannier fell off again but this time got stuck in my front wheel breaking spokes and stopping the bike in it's tracks - obviously catapulting me over the handle bars landing at the feet of a police officer with the bike landing on top of me some time after. "Asalomalicom" - hello.

What else?? Cycling through snow and ice - skidding out. Nice pic.

Then China opened it's borders after 12 days and let us in...

First night at a restaurant - no Chinese between us. We pointed to two dishes on menu and waited. To our delight chicken legs started and then the head was for main course. Yummy.

After that we could eat anything and the sheep's head floating in soup was delightful. The tongue was tasty, the rain was like cream cheese and the eye ball was like meat flavoured chewing gum that you've picked off the bottom of a chair from school.

With the chinese lock down this year in an attempt to squash the passion of the Uiga's - the indigenous people to the Xing Jang province it was impossible to get into Tibet - the area where the Chinese had previously brought destruction and ruin. So I was faced with a question. What do I do? Pakistan or fly? A few people were heading into Pakistan and seemed to think it was OK but remember we had no contact with the outside world for 2 weeks.

On our first day out of Kashkar it got colder. I woke with a frozen sleeping bag and my tent frozen inside and out. Thanks again Cotswald - I was super warm!! The silence made me feel like I was in one of the balls you get at Christmas with a beautiful winter scene inside. Totally silent. Then I touched the top of the tent and it was like the ball had been shaken, a blizzard inside. Snowing inside. Or at least the frost all falling in tiny pieces slowly. We heard on the radio about the Pakistai offensive against the Teliban. Oh dear I thought - but every else was more relaxed so we continued!! (needless to say when we passed a mining place where they were using explosives I cycled a bit faster than normal not knowing whether I was a target!)

Thank goodness we did. The road into Pakistan is the most beautiful place on earth and the people have the most wonderful welcoming smiles and hearts! I cycled for 2 miles and was almost in tears. I thought I'd found what I'd been looking for... I almost felt like I fitted in?? Which is something special for someone who has lived 30yrs feeling like an Alien in this world. (Or Angel, huh? Gergana??)

(I'll post some pics and make you jealous soon - I took 1000 pics in 5 days (but did lose all my pics of Kyrgyzstan and some of china when I accidentally hit delete all - hoping a techy can get them back??!))

So mum and dad are hoping to come out in week or so to see some of the amazing scenery here and feel the love of the people. So excited. Meanwhile I have made a bet that I can cycle the hilly road from the Chinese border to here in one day with the hostel owner. It's an awful unmade road over many hills, and 190k. The chinese are mining rock and sometimes just though massive bolders onto the road for lorries to collect later when they feel like it. Closing the road and at one point taking my pannier off. (Also had to dodge some football size rocks on a night time trek to the celebration fires as goats passed over head!!) Maybe we'll be dining out on my funds!!

Into China

2009-10-06T08:30:00.000-07:00

Quick note to everyone that I will hopefully be entering China in a few days (after cycling to border) and once inside, the province I will initially be in has a 'China Wall' stopping people calling outside the country or emailing.

So I'll be quiet for a bit - no need to worry - I'll be busy eating insects and trying to get my visa to Tibet?? Sounding doubtful.

I do have a new mobile for the next 4 days till China as English one has finally said 'no more'. My number is 0996771427177 - I haven't received any texts on English number for past 4 days or so coz no reception so sorry for not replying.

Big love, Danx

Massive thanks

2009-10-05T10:06:00.000-07:00

I quick blog to say a massive thankyou to everyone who has sponsored me during my trip. We're getting close to 5000 pounds now all added up. If you haven't yet then feel free to click on http://www.justgiving.com/dannybent/

Special thanks to the children of St John's. (And mums and dads). Jude in answer to your question your horn is still entertaining everyone I meet and helps me when cars are trying to run me off the road too!! When I can't communicate with locals a squeeze of the horn says everything there is to say.

Tatty - when I was supposed to be packing my stuff at midnight the day before I left I was busy sewing your star onto my yellow shirt. That yellow shirt is much less yellow now as it is being faded by the sun. But I wear it as often as I can purely becuase of the star. It really has brought me good luck.

As have my ribbons that I am still wearing on my wrist. Emma, your thread of cotton with my initials on in pink is still there too. I had no idea a bit of cotton could be so strong. But where clothes, cameras, watches, bags have been ripped and damaged by the desert, mountains and weather a single string has stayed round my wrist for almost 3 months.

Joe, your socks are still with me but have got a bit smelly. When I get back you can have them back as a souvenir if you want?

Holly, Carina - my hat will be coming into use in the next 2 days when I have to climb to mountains with snow on top. The biggest being 3600m - 3 times higher than Ben Nevis - the highest peak in the UK!! And I've got to cycle it!??!! Oh dear....

Thanks so much for all your emails - everyone makes me feel so special!!! My email is dannyjbent@googlemail - let me know what you are up to!! :o)

I'm a bit behind on 3B birthday wishes - Happy Birthday to Maisy and Olivia E for September and Zoe for earlier this month, Ami for the 9th.

Some of my best I think.....

2009-10-04T09:56:00.000-07:00

Samakan - Osh

DanGer

2009-10-04T02:57:00.000-07:00

So I've been a bit quiet recently and there are good reasons for this!!

Barring some beautiful sites and people met along the way the real story starts when I get to Tashkent (a city that rivaled Bagdad in its prime).

When you stay in Uzbekistan you need to get a form called your registration filled in each day. If a hotel in Tashkent realises you don't have it they don't let you stay and call the police who slap you with a $1000 fine. I've been spending a lot of time in Chai Hanners (tea houses) and my tent. So bit nervous when looking for places to stay.

First hotel looks and gives me my passport back and tells me to leave. The 2nd, 3rd, 4th, are all full. The next one lets me in and I'm celebrating in the shower when there's a knock at the door. "Mr bent? Problem". Here we go again. But no.....

My visa was only for 10 days!! I've been in the country for 19 already. That pretty much puts me in a very bad position. If the police catch me I'm in for all sorts of trouble - I'm illegally in the country. So first plan is to get off the street which is littered with bribe hungry policeman at the best of time. But no hotel will have me.

Luckily I have a Serpie contact on my side who just so happened to know the Russian Mafia. After a few calls we pull up a dark alley and a bear gets out of a car ("the Russian") and squeezes into the back of our Daewoo Matiz. We then drive to his safe house. 2 steel doors with numerous locks later and I'm in my home for the next 2days. It's a Palace.

Now how do i continue to stay inconspicuous in the Stans? That's it - get hammered on vodka and eat kebab. The people we met had been waiting for us for some time by now and vodka bottles littered the table. Several more were added and then we went dancing!!

Back at the safe house the following morning I sat for 5 hours scared to leave, eating yesterdays cold kebab left overs and coke, waiting for my friend to pick me up.

Maksud (Serpie contact - thanks Derek!!) picks me up on the second day and drove me through all the police checks in the city to the road I'd come in on and dropped me off. I just had 3 days and about 10 police posts and some big mountains to get through!!

3 days - 3 more chai hanners - it's only getting worse.
Mountains - fine and dandy. As ever attacked from the bottom and was wasted by the top!!
Police - no problems - they were too interested in having their pictures taken, playing my ukelele, asking for presents to pay attention to the passport. I even manged to hold onto the window of a police car whilst it dragged me up the hills. Just like in old mega drive games - I held down the fire button and blasted my way through with my finest smiles. But still there was the border - they have computers and all sorts - I was bound to be caught.

Massive crowds of both Uz's and Kyryg's trying to get through. They parted like the sea for Moses I was pushed to the front. The guards were ahead.

I turned on all the charms again.

Before I go on I need to mention that everyone in Uzbekistan thought I looked like wayne rooney!?!? "Come on - give me some credit here... please".

The guards were looking at the fine details of my passport - comparing them with the things on screne. Not looking happy. So I pulled the wild card out - and introduced myself in Russian as Wayne Rooney. Everyone laughed a lot and wanted to come and shake my hand. So the documents were stamped and given back to me with smiles!! :o)

Awesome!!

DanGrrrrrrrrrr

2009-10-04T01:48:00.000-07:00

And it continued.......

Last night out on the tiles we had some drinks to celebrate being in a town and getting through borders.

Now whilst in the restaurent there was a big fight. Knifes, blood and bottles everywhere. It was messy.

Quite a lot of vodka and beer later we were in a club being plied vodka by the locals. There's just me and an Afro French guy left. Someone drank his drink and he got really angry.

This all cooled down and we ended up in a taxi with 2 locals. The taxi stopped and we were asked for our money politely. Oh dear. Cut a long stroy short the french guy ended up in a big fight and when their reinforcements arrived I got a good smash in the face. Little bit of swollen lip.

I was trying to break things up but eventually had to leave to get the police.

Crazy days...

Some beautiful pics

2009-09-23T21:27:00.000-07:00

You can see the school ones, the pilgrimage crew, and some other beautiful sites. Still no mountains but I'm working on that!!

Последние обновленные

Pics of Ukraine - man with two bikes!! :o)

2009-09-23T16:48:00.000-07:00

Mum posted them onto her Picasa - I hope you can see them??

http://picasaweb.google.com/angela.bent1/UntilMNDComeOut?authkey=Gv1sRgCNHM3K-Q-NWzmAE#

Someone said something silly....

2009-09-22T09:12:00.000-07:00

I have an email saying 'we love the singing keep it up'. Oh dear - you asked for it. Watch this space......

Roller Coaster

2009-09-22T08:32:00.001-07:00

After the high life in Nukus with my VIP friends and visiting Uzbekistans finest school I set off again.

Day 1

I was joined by 2 Kazaks and 1 Uzbek (Caragalpaghistan (sp?)) on racer bikes who didn't speak english. I thought they were visiting a friend. They wanted to race me up every hill and that competative streak hasn't diminished. I fought for every one. Legs were wasted.

Cutting a long story short - I was taken to the Mecca of Caragalpaghistan as a pilgrimage for the end of ramadan. (I should have known better than to think these guys were out for fun??!!). I was an offering to the gods!! :oD I suspect I was the first westerner to visit this holy of holy places and enjoyed praying, eating (I was offered the chickens neck as the guest!!), and the architecture was beautiful.

Day 2

Invited into workmans caravans to celebrate 56th Birthday of one of the workers. (Let me note here that at 56 he had outlived the life expectancy for a male - but was trying very hard to drink his way there during the night). Awesome evening. It entertains the local people so much to see a westerner down vodka that i tended to do it a bit too much - but obviously not as much as the locals. I sang happy birthday and gave a speech in his honour - brilliant!!

The great man I met here told me he loved his family. "It's a national custom in Uzbekistan" my heart melted. Fantastic to hear after 'girl' offerings of late. All rejected whole heartedly I might add!!

Day 3

The powers that be decided too much ying and threw me a curved yang. Really bad stomach all day - imagine having diarhea in bib shorts, surrounded by deep deep sand that gets everywhere. Now times that by 10 and you can imagine how misserable I was. In fact I was still OK at this point and memories were keeping depression at bay.

Day 4

Whilst eating breakfast at a Chai place surrounded by locals a 40yr old man sexually assaulted a girl. People shook there heads and smiled. The worst of it was that the performance was for my benefit i am sure. He looked over at me, and you know what I smiled a meek smile and looked away. I hate myself for that. But what right have I (a westerner) to interveen in something that I have no idea about. In customs practised thoughout. Man is man here. Women are looked upon about the same level as the farm animals. She WAS laughing but it was the laugh of a school child being bullied. Terrible. It still haunts me and I know it's happening everywhere. (NB since writing I know this isn't always the way but it is in some places and some families and I don't like it)

The same guy had offered his wife to me the previous night and shown me her assets in no uncertain way. This wife and the girl in question above had both stood as if it would be quite normal for me to choose them for the evening??! Mucked up!!

If you happen to come across Alex in a chai house just before the police station half way between Nukus and Bukara and accidently spill your boiling Chai in a place no man wants to be burnt then i owe you a drink!! :o)

I took out my map as i left to see if there was a way to get out of Uzbekistan now. Silly I know - the people in this country and amazing and one person shouldn't change my thoughts.

(In later tea houses I was pleased to see women bossing the men around - I guess that was a bit of yang for the man too)

Day 5

I'm in Bukara now and have been for a Hamen - steam room and massage. I'm sorry Roberto but I think you have competition. One hell of a massage - amazing. Men and women go in seperate houses, get naked, get steamed, then rubbed to remove dead skin, then washed, then massaged in a manner that is out of this world. I was cracked squished and beaten to a pulp in a way I have never known. He walked along my body - it was fantastic!!! They then rub ginger onto your skin with honey. It burns like acid!! But as soon as you are out of the hot rooms you feel amazing. like you could cycle up mountains and through deserts (lucky huh!!)

Surfs up dude

2009-09-22T06:55:00.000-07:00

Car surfing that is....

So you pedal like crazy when you see a suitable wave (truck) approaching, then as it passes beside you you pop up (behind truck) and enjoy ride as it pulls you along with little to no effort. Hanging five and all that gnarly stuff. Avoid wipeouts - I've not yet, but am sure they suck in a '100ft reef break' sort of way!!

Talking of gnarly I got bored waving at people and decided to give a gnarly, surfs up hand signal (finger and thumb extended) to the bus drivers who all hoot their horn. I was totally amazing when i started out one morning to have a coach driver give me the gnarly sign before i even waved. It's catching.

This started in Russia when a aged couple in a Lada (not many teeth, many wrinkles - tghe people not the car - well the car as well) noticed my struggle against the wind and were obviously keen cyclists and knew the benefit of the draft. They stopped and told me to get behind them and dragged me about 3km. Awesome. I then had a tractor pull me about 10k the other day. Double awesome.

I got behind one of the old russian trucks and it then decided to vomit diesel all over me. I was lost in a black cloud. Eyes stinging and throat burning. Not so awesome. Double not awesome in fact.

Uzbekistan apology

2009-09-22T05:02:00.000-07:00

Just a quick note of apology. When the people in Russia and Kazakstan told me 'take, take, take' when talking about the Uzbek people whilst pretending to take things from my bike I wrongly assumed this was what they meant. That stuff would be stolen.

How wrong. They meant 'take take take' but 'taking of pictures with me', 'taking me to dinner', 'taking me to tourist places', 'taking to places tourists never go'.

Sorry - what a giving nation.

Border to Nukus

2009-09-16T23:01:00.000-07:00

14 days of cycling, including probably 4 of the hardest cycles I've ever done, it was no wonder I was starting to take longer and manAge fewer miles, I needed a rest.

I'd been 5 days sleeping in my tent, cleaned a sheeps anus, cycled 500km, been blasted by sand, diesel fumes, etc and hadn't had a shower. Dehydrated, starving, malnutritioned. To help against the wind I would tuck in behind big lorries that went by. my pace almost doubled but I could feel the fumes in my mouth from the trucks (the slow ones I could draft had the dirtiest fumes) i could feel the smog clogging up my lungs and feel it mix with my spit to form poison which swalkled left you with a very sore thoat.

During the off road section it was as though my bottom had been paddled for 8 hours a days. It was bruised and sore, as were my hands, arms and legs, back etc...

I arrived here in a Nukus and was so excited I was bouncing off the walls and ceiling. They had showers, they had western faces, I could hear english... they had no rooms :o( But they did have a Ute in the garden - A round tent like structure with woolen walls and ceiling. Friggin brilliant. I almost screamed with joy - in fact I might have done!! In the shower I sang, danced, and then again when I got out smiling faces and amazing people.

Gorgeous people here and yesterday met the owners nephew (after giving a little englisdh lesson to the college boys) who took me out all over town to the best spots teaching me so much about life in Uz!!

He is like a IP in town, he walks into restaurents people fight to grasp his hand, doesn't have to pay a thing for food etc, he knows the 'IPs' (Ie the gangsters) But has fought long and hard to keep his homeland on the map. Helping charities, and businesses alike. His ideas have helped keep business's above the black during the hard times of the current recesion. His family depend on his skills at businessHis interlect made me feel like an eneber. It was huge. He knew politicsm history, languages. A feel like a new man after taking in all those facts and figures. He works for aids projects who's doctors confessed to agreeing had no affect on aids. But he would give everything up and wants a 3rd world war so he can die for his country.

The school system out here is amazing. I got taken round a seniour and junior school today meeting teachers and pupils and taking a few pics along the way. Their schools are amazing. 4 computer rooms, all the science stuff you can imagine, 3 gyms. I was so surprised!! I think 96% of the country can read anbd write - how does that compare with the UK - I reckon it's higher. Something the Uz's put down to the Soviet years -they brought education. In fact the Uz's look back with great fondness to those years.

Learning loads, getting fat, talking none stop, smiling, playing games, laughing, hugging (oh the hugs have been wonderful!!). How fast you can forget your struggles and regain enthusiasm!!!

On the road again tomorrow.....

Pics from Uzbekistan

2009-09-16T22:58:00.000-07:00

Notice the "Where's the wolly" pics with the bus load of Uzbeks

From Uzbekistan

Uzbekistan

Tan Lines

2009-09-16T22:57:00.003-07:00

Esp for Rich - here's some pics showing the best ginger tan ever!!

From Uzbekistan

Desert or Coral Reef?

2009-09-16T22:57:00.001-07:00

From Uzbekistan

24 Hours

2009-09-16T22:39:00.000-07:00

So I was leaving Kazakhstan for Uzbekistan and the people in my hotel didn't know the road I was talking about.

(Note: when I talk about hotels - these are buildings built out of mud bricks that have one room to eat drink and sleep in. Sleeping on the floor with a pillow and a blanket. Please remember how much people like to drink and party here - not a lot of sleep!!)

Anyway, set off. the road was horrific. massive holes in the concrete road with bits of wire sticking out that once held the slabs together, ready to stab, trip you!!

then it got woorse. the road basically dissapeared and left sand, gravel and rocks. I filmed myself on the road but can't load them here - I will update in a bigger city. I had to walk some bits where the sand was so deep and pulled muscles in my back, neck arms and shoulders trying to keep the bike upright at other times.

I came across a big snake in the middle of the road that was determined not to let me pass. It would hiss and jerk towards me agressively whether I tried to pass on the left or the right.

A lot of pain later I managed to get to the border and another 'hotel'. I was so pleased I was almost crying - so hungryu thirsty and tired.

that night I went for a look around and I saw the women out the back washing what I thought was sheets in a tub. Further inspectio showed it was a stomach of the sheeop hanging close by bleeding all over the floor. I decided to try and help and was pouring the water into the intestine and other bits which I didn't know what they were. the man had just ripped the sheeps jaw in ahlf and the bbabushka (Grandma) was hacking out the teeth with an axe. the teeth were flying at me as were the sparks from the axe!! Weird.

One of the sons noticing my eagerness to help brough something over for me to clean. I rinsed it in the water like the women had done and began squeezing it a litte. Before I realised the other was shouting no I'd squeezed a load of sheep toddle into the cleaning water. He'd given me the anus to clean. the were all rolling around laughing all evening!!

I wanted to know if they ate everything and with some hand gestures and my almost fluent russian now managed to ask whether they ate the brain. yes. I really wanted to ask about the sheeps more private parts but didn't want to ask the women 'Do you eat Penis' due to the sexual inuendos and was worried about asking the man as they are very homophobic here and he had an axe in his hand.

Got back to cafe / hotel and shared the night side by side with 9 Uzbekistans who althoughdrinking into the wqee hours seemed really nice.

the next day I headed out early for the border and although there was a basic stop sign for cars I thought I'd be ok to go on. I'd almost made it to Uzbekistan with oput seeing anyone when a guy came out waving his gun. the border was closed. "Are you crazy" he said waving his gun.

A bit later it was opened up and I met the first uzbek soldiers who I'd been very much warned against as usual. I was detained for some time but not for any bad reasons. they all wanted their pics taken with me and I had to get out my USB to put them on their computer!! Fantastic!! Loved it!!

It was 24hrs of where I couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. ou'll note in one of the fils a moment whem it is very close but luckily comes as an insane laugh!

A long way without much food

2009-09-10T09:40:00.000-07:00

(1st video still to come)

I HOPE THESE OTHERS ARE IN THE CORRECT ORDER AND THE CORRECT ONES -I CAN'T WATCH uTUBE HERE

A boys adventure

2009-09-09T22:38:00.002-07:00

I spoke with people before I left about the lack of adventure in modern life. I think it has left a void in mens hearts all over the country. How do we prove ourselves? Life is too easy.

Some people are satisfied by showing money and power. But neither of these feature too high on my list of things to be proud of. When I had a high flying job in the city I would have been embarassed to have to impress people splashing the cash and talking of the high class hotels my PA booked all over Europe for me. Does that say anything about me? It just says I've been lucky.

Someone liking me for what's in my wallet??? Is there anything more insulting? What'sd in my heart, brain? That's more like it.

Anyway, I digress... no adventures. I think WW1 and WW11 satisfied the urges in past generations - signing up for something you really believe in (not like modern wars about money and oil), people being proud of you, putting your life on hold to better the lives of others.

Now comes my next tenious link...

I think for me this trip compares with going to war. (I actually considered it for a time - but don't want to kill anyone or get killed - so prob made best decision not to!!) Perading through the streets to Dover in my uniform endorsed by the great Cotswold, Nakd and Bicycle. Having friends and family cheer me off knowing they are proud, worried, even envious. A step into the unknown that you know is a step in the right direction. Of course war offers far more dangerous situations but my trip has it's fair share. My trench foot isn't so bad, my continuos marching is similar, kit (more technical from the wonderful people of Cotswold / Bicycle) but equal in weight. Rationing is crutial every day in desert, my talisman from school sitting behind me on the bike. I write home as often as I can - trying to make it sound like one big adventure, when at times it is horribly dull, scary, depressing. The people you meet make it, or break it.

I'm on the border of Uzbekistan, I think I have made it to the front line without too much of a hitch. i think I just dig in for a while now and hope for no surprise attacks!!

it's not war, but it is testing mentally, physically and emotionally. I know I'm making my loved ones proud and can feel a change inside me. Am I becoming a man? What me 'Peter Pan'? Am I realising how fantastically lucky I am? I always new that. I can't tell if something is being ignited or extinguished. Either way it's a feeling like a big air pocket rising from the depths of the ocean getting bigger with each rotating.

Someone mentioned I might appreciate life more after this trip. That comment drove me mad. What?? No one appreciates life like me? But now I think about it there is a difference between making the most of life and appreciating life. We'll see.

All you can do is keep putting your feet in the direction that feels right with a smile on your face and a tingle in your heasrt.

For now 'live life, love life' but maybe that's changing?!

Keeping it real in Kazakhstan

2009-09-09T22:38:00.001-07:00

Few new pics from Kazakhstan

Kazakstan (and little bit of russia on border)

Kazakhstan!!???

2009-09-09T22:16:00.000-07:00

So having been warned about the stans all along the way - I had a final warning on the morning I was about to set foot in the country as i was led to the gun shop by Mike and Diane. Another 'Pulp Fiction' moment ensued and I left with a little bag with mace onside. It'll be good for bears woilves, wild dogs, lynx if nothing else.

With the warnings ringing in my ears I stepped over the border. The border control, although very friendly liked to stop you with a barrel of a gun in your face.

Having cycled on for another 5 mninutes a blacked out jeep pulls along side. The window winds down and I feel the fear as I see the metal in his hand from my side view. 'Oh dear' I think - or something along those lines. I see a flash and then another flash. I'm starting to weonder here if my batfink wings of steal are working coz no affect!! I turn my head again and see enought people for a football team hanging out of the one window all with cameras and, phones, video cameras in the hands.

I didn't say in previous mailk but this crazy camera happy people also contributed to my slow going. Every person I passed tried to flag me down and I was happy to take a rest from the continous wind. A guy who'd pulled up on the side of the road with a beer in one hand and his manhood in the other peeing was able to pull me over. It's really helped my russian and I can freely talk about family and friends now!

So 100's of Kazaks have my picture on their phones and forward them to friends and family. I wouldn't be surprised if there isn't a person in Kaz who hasn't seen my face - esp. after I was told afterbeing run off the road by a jeep that I was on TV for 10 mins the other night!! :oD

Something else I forgot to mention (by the way - I have updated Astahan post coz I left out so much). I did get quite mad at the wind and threw my bike to the floor at one point. I'd been listening to my Ipod qiuetly as I was the only vehicle on the wide and smooth road. As I sat down to sulk what comes on but 'Gonna fly now' Rockies training song. I couldn't have written it bettert. I was able to not only get back on the bike but grabbed one of the lorry tires that litter the highway dragging it along behind me as I went off road in the deeo sand just to make it a little tougher - no hands shadow boxing.

Rich - you would have been so proud!! (Attached a pic to show you how I felt in wind!!)

The big question

2009-09-09T22:13:00.000-07:00

When people hear what I'm up to they can imagine the adventure, they see why I'm interested in the countries, why I might like riding a bike. The question everyone asks though is simple. Adin, one, solo?? Why am I doing it alone. Good question :oD I simply say that it's because I don't know any people mad enough - but you all know that's a lie!!

Astrihan to Atirau

2009-09-05T21:44:00.001-07:00

So feeling like a king again and with my head in the clouds I set off. Leaving many friends, who I will definitely see again, behind.

The first day I managed 80k in 8 hours - that's not good. Then the second and third day were no better. The "winds of hell" we playing a sound game against me.

Then yesterday I realised I'd only been playing the reserve team. Beelzebub had a broken metatarsal and the devil himself had been sitting out a two match ban for eye gouging in a pre season friendly were both back in the team.

Barbed wire, tumble weed, sand, it was all flying down the road and it was like an old Spectrum game - I had to dodge left or right to miss the obstacles.

But I'm here now and yesterday was treated to a guided tour by Rina (local girl) who wanted to help me and pratise her english. Awesome!! :oD

Continueing straight on today though - no time for rest. Might not speak again to Uzbekistan. Love ya!!

PS Camels all over the place!! :o) Their pert humps blown to sagging sacks by the force of the wind!!! :o)

Being rude

2009-09-05T21:40:00.000-07:00

As you can imagine my jokes don't translate too well into Russian (not very good in English) with my 50 or so words I know so I learnt to say the word Joke. I'd being saying it a bit when I said to Mike "you joke" When he was making fun of me.

He looked wounded and asked why??

I'd be starting the word with a s rather than a sh - so had been calling people a rather ride word rather than joke!! Ooopss. No wonder I got a few fierce looks. Even my jokes aren't that bad.

Astihan

2009-09-05T21:32:00.000-07:00

So on coming into the town I had another slip on the bike. The back tire flipped out and my bike ended up in a puddle of the deepest darkest mud - I had a narrow escape. So I'm riding through this gorgeous part of town (Astrahan and LViv are two of my favourites - neither destroyed by the germans during the war - very few were left)trying to find a hotel. Who pops up - Mike.

Mike spent time in America and on his first day was held at gunpoint and robbed of everything then had his face smashed in with the butt of a gun repeatedly. Rather than go home straight away (I would have) he huing on strong and began to meet people who righted all the wrongs. In response he vowed to be a gaurdian angel of people in his own country.

So he found me a hotel and then took me on a tour of the city after I'd cleaned up. Now at this point I was still thinking maybe it was too good to be true. He invited me to his family home the next day, he knew a hair dresser - I desperately needed a cut - anything I could possibly want he could handle. Then meeting his parents in their country house (frequented by the communists in times gone by) I realised it was all true. I met his dad forst and whilst Mike picked up his mum we had a few 'quiet' vodkas. We had about 4 or 5 and then he washed up the glasses and put the vodka way. The said shhhh don't tell my wife. DON'T TELL YOUR WIFE - I can hardly stand up!!! I was shown everything from Kremlin to lake - to lotus flowers - only exist in a few places Astrahan and India both having them as their symbol. Rowing, swimming, great food - amazing!!

His Dad was once proud to be Russian telling people he met in his ships how great it is. Since 1997 though this feeling has dulled and now he has a bitter taste in his mouth about how his country is governed. Over dinner I watched a tear slowly roll down the big mans cheek as he told us of his country!!

All through my trip I have seen groups of young people hanging out, drinking beers socially, and felt jealous that I wasn't involved or invited. This all changed. I met about a zillion russia people who could all speak English and even went to a house party the night before setting off again. Lime beers - I could be a 'Russain Alcoholic' on these!! When we went to the store we had a kitty - notlike an English one - everyone puts in what they can afford and share the produce equally - really amazing to see the trust!!

A beautiful resident artist was going to give me a painting but the party led her elsewhere and I never received it. I am definitely going back to pick it up one day.

One of the best times of the trip - absolutely high as a cloud!!

Play list

2009-09-05T21:26:00.000-07:00

I've had this play list in my head for some time - I think it describes the trip quite nicely!! Even a little moving - but thast might just be me!?!?

Sign of the times - prince
Man in the mirror - MJ
Lust for life - Iggy Pop
Dead or Alive - Bon Jovi
Bonkers - Dizzy Rascal
Do you speak English - Fabri Fibra
Beautiful - athlete

With bonus song of "In for the Kill" - La Roux - just coz I like it!!!

Volgograd - Astrahan

2009-09-01T23:38:00.000-07:00

Some new pics... (with some odd ones thrown in for good measure) - click to see all :oD (Mum!!)

Just had most wonderful few days with Mike and his family and friends!! Full blog coming later!!

Volgograd - Astakan

Life in Asia

2009-08-30T21:32:00.000-07:00

As I crossed the Volgo river I'd finally crossed our whole continent. Europe is no longer and Asia rules.

It was a shame to leave Europe with such a foul taste in my mouth. I was still feeling very lonely even if the grey cloud had past. But one step can make a lot of difference.

I cycled for a day just watching the scenary change - it got greener even though I was heading into desert lands. Go figure.

After my ordeals with the dark skinned gypsies I wasn't feeling too confidnet around people. I hate to say it but anyone with darker skin made me jumpy. There was no intention there - it was just how I felt.

So when i stopped for the first time in a town and people started to gather round methe adrenaline was pumping. My senses were on full alert and I could even feel the droplet of sweat running down my cheek. They drew closer, and drew rank. There was no way of busting past them. Too many. People were laughing at my, I knew that. Was it sinister - i couldn't tell. Then all of a sudden the people formed an orderly queue and each demanded to have their picture taken with me, shaking my hand vigorously and slapping me on the back, telling me I'm crazy. Awesome!!

Fantastic feeling - that threw me out of my rut and got me all excited about the trip ahead again!! Then people started giving me fruit again. A sure sign that they are top banana (pardon pun) people!! :o)

Wild Life

2009-08-30T21:29:00.000-07:00

As I crossed the river Volgo the place has come alive. Whether it's grazing horses or cows, spiders, snakes, birds (esp. Bee Eater - bright gren with torquoise belly - beautiful). Here's a few pics.

Finally a video - you thought your job was ####!!. This beatle rolls a piece of poo 3 times his size along a road with 10 ton trucks rubbling by.

Posting a comment

2009-08-30T21:26:00.000-07:00

Simply click on '0 comments' and then a page should load that has a box in likea Facebook message. Fill it in. It's as simple as that!!

If it continues to be a problem I might start cutting and pasting the funnist ones off FB.

x

Russia

2009-08-27T00:43:00.001-07:00

I was thinking yesterday after 3 or 4 days in Russia I wouldn't have much to write about. A bit of camping rough again. picking better spots and starting to feel more comfortable with darkness :o)

Then yesterday happened. And not in a good way. The day started with the wind behind me and on a fantasticly smooth hard shoulder. I've had stomach upset for a week now and so not the strongest - so attempting 180k with no money might have been a mistake. It ended with me having defied death for 4 hours along a busy road, having fallen into the road on a particularly bad bit, and then as I was getting into a particularly unpleasent and smoggy volgograd I had two attempted robberies of stuff on my bike!! Gypsies. I ####### hate pikies!! - to quote a line from one of my favourite films!!

I was chased by 2 dogs and then each house I went past 2 more dogs came out - by the time I'd gone about 100m it was like the pied piper of Hamelin - but nasty dogs that wanted to eat my legs rather than rats or children. I'd tucked the whilstle under my shirt and couldn't take my hands off the bars to get it out. I won't make that mistake again.

Got to city centre - no hostels, found hotel - very expensive. Asked for cheaper one so had to cycle long way into slums of city to find a hotel with more Pikies outside wanting to have a go on my bike!!? Same price!! arrrggghhh. cycled back and took nice hotel for lots of money but slept like a king.

Last night I was seriously asking WHY??? Is it like this from now on???? And if someone had confiscated my passport and put me on a plane home I would have been overjoyed. Sleep, food and a pleasent trip to the toilet has made me feel hugely better and optimistic. And seeing my emails this morning has made me feel really happy and ready to take on the world again, literally!!

It's getting steeper!!

2009-08-27T00:31:00.000-07:00

Watch out dogs

2009-08-27T00:28:00.000-07:00

It was like the scene from Pulp Fiction. I was choosing my weapon of choice. Chainsaw? Too heavy. Baseball bat? To awkward to carry. Samurai sword? Might chop at legs. Gun, man I'd love one of these but might not get through border crossings. Then I looked up and saw it. Shining. Beautiful. Oh yes, it's the high pitch whistle!! Watch out bitches I'm armed and dangerous!!

Few pics from M&D

2009-08-27T00:11:00.000-07:00

Kiev - Donetsk (Ending with a hug from mum and dad by the coast)

Managed to save the pics of guy with two bikes etc to PC M&D brought - then they took it home again. Mum is going to try and load them though. Keep an eye out!!

The Bent support team

2009-08-27T00:10:00.001-07:00

As I was cycling along the road to Donets I was greated by a sight that filled me with happiness and joy. My mum waving at me from down the road. Oh the memory is so sweet!!

Whilst athletes were competing in Berlin to be the best in the world, my mum and dad had flown out to the Ukraine to prove once and for all they are head and shoulders above the rest - no better exist.

Armed with maps, warm gear, smiles, hugs, cycle equipment, medication, more hugs, more smiles they had flown out to Eastern Ukraine to have a 'holiday' - i.e. pamper Dan. (NB Thanks again to bicycle, richmond and Cotswolds, kingston - both of whom have been total and utter legends keeping my dream alive)

They had booked me into a swanky hotel with mod cons, a shower that I didn't have to run around in to get wet, then hired a car and took me to the coast for a much needed holiday.

They were in their element but it was nice, for the first time, to be the one who was able to take charge and use my little russian to communicate and make things happen. Sometimes the things that happened were unexpected. Pork coming instead of fish for example - my family have been vegetarian for 32 years!!

So we are on the coast - Dad is busy scrubbing all my clothes in a bucket, massaging my legs (on that note - I am not looking forward to my next trip to see Roberto when i get back - Dads hands were enough pain11), he plotted the rest of my trip on my maps - amazing. Exactly how he's been for the past 30 years. Mum on the other hand was first to dive into the freezing, nuclear waste coloured water, oiling my dry and flakey feet as we watched the athletics, holding me tight when i needed it and saying the right things.

Both are worried sick about the trip and as i cycled away after 3 fantastic days i wondered how i could do this to two of the people I love most????

Enjoying lifes little comforts

2009-08-27T00:02:00.000-07:00

Fickle Friend

2009-08-26T23:41:00.000-07:00

My Friend.
She wraps her arms around my shoulders,
Guiding me where I want to go.
Running her fingers up my spine,
Stroking them through my hair.
She whispers sweet nothings in my ear.

Why does she turn,
Throwing sand in my face,
Pulling at my hair.
Taking my clothes in her grasp,
Not letting me move on,
Whilst screaming in my ear?

Musical Stomach

2009-08-22T10:05:00.000-07:00

I've been rocking along to the So Solid Crew until yesterday when I joined Wet Wet Wet. Nasty.

Scary stuff

2009-08-17T12:28:00.001-07:00

They sell baseball bats for hitting people in petrol stations!! Lucky mum is coming out tomorrow to protect me!!

This is what it is all about.......

2009-08-16T08:44:00.000-07:00

How very fitting that in first real adventure the lead male role should enter the fold riding a bike whilst carrying a bike. (That's right 2 bikes - one resting on the handle bars.)

(Apologies - no pictures allowed in this Internet cafe???? - they will be with you shortly!!)

I need to set the scene first. The morning of my last day before completing 4 weeks of cycling I met a Spanish girl. We had a little chat and she talked about the fact that the Ukrainians don't smile very much. I defended their corner stating how people have come out of there homes to give me sausages waved to me as I go by. But in all honestly I agreed with her a little bit.

So that very evening I have set my tent up hidden from all on a main road with the air full of diesel and dust, the sound of passing trucks ringing in my ear and making the ground shake ever so slightly.

This is the moment our hero joins me. I step out of my tent and greet him in a way that stops me getting scared again. He smiles. I show him that i too have a bike. Asking "do you speak English" - "yes" he replies - as in "yes" is the only word I know in English. Who would have thought "yes" means "yes I speak English fluently like the queen". An idiot that's who - me.

So he motions for me to pack up my tent and come with him to his home. With all sorts of thoughts going through my mind I decide to give it a go. Why not? He refused to let me carry all my stuff and put the tent on the back of his bike.

As he makes a call - yes he's cycling with another bike, my tent and a mobile in one hand to his ear - I look at the sun flowers I took pictures of earlier. Heads drooping towards the ground, as if sadness overwhelms them. I'd thought about comparing them to the western sunflowers I'd seen - heads held high, full of colour, as if smiling. As I look at these greying sunflowers I notice that every so often I see I fantastically bright one - one that would stand out amongst the western brothers. I wonder to myself whether this man is one of those flowers amongst Eastern men???

So we pass the village, then pass the next village. Nerves start to tingle. This guy is thin, but is ripped!! Every muscle bulges and rolls with each push of the pedal. Can i take him? He's definitely older than me. Would my knee hold up??

We arrive at his house - it's not the kind of house you find in the UK but neither is my tent. he opens the front door which reveals all sorts of thing. Axes, many axes, food, other bits and pieces. He beckons me in. We make our way through a dark corridor with drapes on either side. Then emerge into this fantastic, amazing ballroom size living room with a billiards table in the middle and artwork all around. He tells me to strip to my keks. OK I guess - where are we going with this? He motions me to follow. We leave the house, (axes all still in their original place) and we walk round a wall to see a swimming pool. It's fairly small and green but refreshing after a days cycling.

We get dry, change and head out. My 'being' is forced to become liquid. I have no idea where we are going, what we are doing but I just have to go with the flow. We visit his mothers - pick up some food (peasants opium - ground poppy seeds with sugar) and wine, and leave. Next stop is a friends. We get into the living room and I meet Alexandre - Micoli tells him he's brought an English man and he almost explodes. He bursts into English like champagne when the cork is removed. And the words were as sweet to my ears!! I am told to sit and wait whilst they make dinner.

His children who are home from Uni to morn their grandfathers death walk in and Yleb (?) (his son) is a handsome chap who has a coolness about him that could freeze vodka, his daughter Maria is so striking I'm almost knocked backwards. Both have warm smiles and an excellent grasp of English.

The dinner prepared was all home grown or made, vegetables, bread , meats, honey, jams, soups. All made into traditional dishes. And this was all for me and Micoli - Alexandre drank vodka with me - toasting everything British - esp. his favourite author John Fauls (?) and director Ken Lodge - have I been living in a cave - are these guys famous??

At this point I'm starting to giggle inside as I do when ecstasy (not the illegal type!!) sweeps through me. A big Ukrainian guy taught me the word кайф - which is the feeling you have when you look at a beautiful view and think "this is living" - I was feeling this now!!

It turns out the family are passionate about Philosophy and Politics (Maria organisers demonstrations and has been gassed by police). I haven't lived. A powerful, intelligent, passionate girl - I (looking like a tramp) was smitten. :oD

So next, what happened?? Right - back to Micoli's for Billiards. Back to Al's to sleep.

Next morning there is no talk of me cycling, apart from to the reservoir where we're going to swim, eat pears and be happy. His children had seen us off - riding tandem on a single bike - before heading to back Uni.

Alexandre continued to educate me and show me the fantastic lives that I had been passing all through the Ukraine without realising. Popped back to Micoli for more billiards - I was better without vodka - and had a sauna (in his house) with many semi naked men who slap each other with sticks and rubbed on mud!! Surreal! ;o) Couple of kids round too so I was at home playing with them!! :oD

Oh my goodness - I've been going on.... this morning Gran cooked breakfast - i think she thought I needed filling out a bit - I think I had 8 eggs and a loaf of bread, biscuits, etc etc. She also got me a glass and started to pour vodka - at 8.30!!!! I'm still giggling from the look of disappointment on her face when I said 'no'. I had to have a small glass of wine instead!! :oD (again disappointment when I refused a refill)

No my bike is laden with gifts of fruit, and wine - I kept saying I was a lucky man - I really meant it!!

I found a whole cluster of beautiful sun flowers :oD

Quick update on other stuff:

2009-08-16T05:40:00.000-07:00

Things I don't like:

*Being chased by dogs
*Horribly painful knee that I thought could stop the trip (getting better) after 560k in 3 days - stupid me!!
*Being passed by trucks who toot - nice enough - but then have combine harvesters on the back that brush past you!!!
*Working ladies in the clubs in Kiev.
*The mold in my water bottles - nasty!!
*Being asked how I can be a decent cyclist with such small calves. Twice on one day. Another French girl said she didn't believe I was cycling all the way whilst looking at my lower legs.

Things I do like:

*Borrowing the baggy jeans of one of the guys who questioned my calf size and not being able to get them over my thighs!! In your face Till!!!
*Old women fighting by the road side to see who was going to give me pears. I ended up with a pannier full!!! :oD
*Meeting friends from Lviv in Kiev.
*Knowing mum and dad will be here in 2 days
*Cheese pasties!! Been dreaming of them and then found them in Kiev - ate 10 on the trot!!
*Hugs from strangers
*People coming up to me in a club and saying "you're the guy who's cycling to India - you crazy b#####"
*Having 5 course buffet or less than 3 pounds. 3 times a day.
*Singing rock and roll to passers by
*Dancing and singing with hard core fans at Ukraine v's Turkey football game
*Smiling
*Speaking to Ukrainian in Russian and being asked if I am a Russian - dig my pronunciation!!

Point of interest:

Most of the shops I come across now use an abacus and a pot as a till. Not too much scanning of bar codes going on!!

No, really, I am a tough guy

2009-08-11T07:30:00.000-07:00

So left Lviv - probably the coolest city I've been to (EVER, in the whole wide world <- just for you, Fi)!!!

Ukraine hasn't quite cashed in on the ginger biker tourist trade and I couldn't find any accommodation anywhere. There were couple of hotels - fully booked or knocked to the ground. So camped rough, then slept in a restaurant car park. Was given free food and drinks by Ukrainians all along - I did repay favour by helping a guy out who'd run out of petrol - filling his car up from my stove fuel.

So, I had 3 days of cycling, 560km (yes, A LOT), and no showers before arriving in Kiev. When I showered (something the receptionist pointed out I could use as soon as like) the water came off me brown. NICE!!!

Let me confirm 560km in 3 days with about 50kg more on the bike than should be - what a tough guy!! I'd say 11 hours cycling a day, and still felt good at the end of it.

I've started singing on the bike to pass the time, and practicing language skills.

Here's a beauty - this passed at least 20k!!

Tough Guy

2009-08-11T07:23:00.000-07:00

After a couple of days in the Ukraine living La Viva Loca in L'Viv, I was having a conversation with a bunch of guys who mentioned that at least they hadn't been drinking the local tap water and everyone laughed as apparently it's toxic. No one told me. I'd been drinking it for 2days and had no bad affect. I also stopped at a truckers refuelling station and had a pig kebab cooked on an open fire that had been kept in a bucket. No repercussions. Who's the tough guy? Man of steel. Rock hard. Brave Soldier. Me?

Apparently it's not me: (See below)

In my defence I had seen people living / drinking in the bushes about 3k up the road and I spoke with a english teacher just before putting up my tent who said it was too dangerous - in my tired state that word didn't register till I'd put the tent up!! I'm a teacher i hear and see everything, when I'm full of adrenalin it goes a little crazy - the apples falling off the trees sounded like footsteps and then the scratching of my face fluff on the sleeping bag made me think things were being thrown at the tent.

When I woke up the next morning alive I decided to have a little party with all my pics of family and friends out as well as lucky star, stone, shell, bands, coin, fungal cream. It's pretty special. This is especially for Stevo (it's slightly shorter than one of my attacks on the bike but far more painful!! You asked foir it -in fact dared me to do it!! :o) )

I know what you're thinking. Was that an angel singing? It was me!!

Few more pics

2009-08-07T04:34:00.001-07:00

Velo Love - End of Czech beginning of East

Kracow - LViv

Ukraine

2009-08-07T03:43:00.000-07:00

So yesterday I left Poland after being attacked by a man's crutch. (A crutch to help a limp!!)

Got to L'Viv after being chased by two dogs who i had to run over to prevent attack, scary, almost speared by a chug chug car with a javelin sticking out the window (I imagine the person who owned it was massive so would have to squeeze into the car hence why it was hanging out the window), nearly knocked off my bike by several massive trucks, bone shaken by the roads which have been pretty terrible. But the smile on my face was huge. (See attached). My face was aching. An old boy tried to race me on his single speed whilst laughing his head off, Ukrainian girls pointed, smiled, laughed, shouted, men discussed the benefits of traveling by bike. It was emotional waterfall!! Love it!!!!

Then I got to LViv and as I was taking a picture of boxes of chicks being sold I caught the eye of a guy who said he knew the hostel for me. He did. It is awesome!!!

I arrived and was whisked off by a huge group for dinner and drinks. I was greeted at the door by a man with a sub-automatic machine gun. My legs went weak, I'm not afraid to say I almost wet myself with fear, my throat tightened, I couldn't speak. He was thrusting something at me but i couldn't see what - my eyes were trained on the barrel of his gun. He was shouting. I couldn't understand a word. His friends were laughing. I wasn't. Again he thrust his hand towards me. I glanced down - it was a shot of vodka. I had to drink it before they let me in!!

Then half way through our meal, in a restaurant only known to Ukrainians, the lights flickered and went out. the power had gone. The girl beside me laughed and said 'now we kill a russian'. Not very PC but I guess relations aren't too sweet. More shouting as soldiers arrive, looking for a russian. Can you believe it. They grab someone and all you hear is two gun shots. The ukrainians go mental, downing vodka, cheering, laughing. I was still sat there with my mouth open, a little bit of dumpling hanging out onto my beard for later. (Like the Twits I have started saving food in my ginger face fur).

Day 16 - 17

2009-08-05T12:57:00.000-07:00

I take it all back. I had smiles, laughter, enquisitiveness (is that a word?) all day. Polish girls are so utterly beautiful it is like being a kid in a candy store. When the first one smiled at me, I almost pitched my tent at once, made a ring from my ribbons and proposed to her right there and then, asking her to live in my tent happily ever after. Lou will be cross with me that I didn't but it was a good job I didn't coz I might have a number of wives now!! (That is assuming they all said 'yes' - which I think a guy with my good looks, charm, wit, personality CAN assume :o) One even introduced me to her grandfather - who we happened across on one of my lost moments when she was leading me out of a maze on her bike.

It was another day of hills - this time slightly steeper and slightly more!! My legs felt like the last 50m of a Laurence led hungry hill session at the top (and eventually the bottom and middle) of each hill - there were approx 50 or so or more.

I was really pleased when I found the little tiny road I needed and continued taking hill after hill for another 1.5 hours before realising I was about 10k further away than when I started. It was raining so I couldn't use my shadow compass. ("You know that circuit of PAIN - well I went rand again!!")

Keep lovin'

Rock jumping

2009-08-02T22:47:00.000-07:00

These were the locals.... (few other vids loaded to youtube)

On a lighter note

2009-08-02T12:52:00.000-07:00

2 days ago I caught a bee in my teeth in such a way as would have made Mr Miagee (from karate Kid I, II and III) very proud.

Either this bee was weak or I managed to spit it out just in time as it stung my lower lip. It swelled a bit but the pain lasted about as long as one of Steve's attacks on the bike. And was only slightly more painful.

Keep smiling :)

I didn't make it to Auschwitz

2009-08-02T12:11:00.001-07:00

So, on my little detour / pilgrimage (in memory of ALL involved) to Poland to see Auschwitz it was terribly fitting that I should have a sufferfest too. The similarities to the jews struggles and my own are tenuous but worth mentioning all the same. It has been the only day that I haven't enjoyed so far. Having no water or food on a bike for hours can do that!! :oD

At the Czech border I left my entourage (for the story consider them my family), being split to go in different directions not knowing where either will end up. The sun was beating down as I trudged towards the old concentration camp. The wind blew into my face, at times I had to pedal to get down hill - my own three pronged whip (ego) beat me to go faster and get there before nightfall.

Initially I felt hope that I would be watered and fed. But my bank has put my cards on hold coz money has been withdrawn abroad (that's coz I've been withdrawing it!!! Arrgghhh.) So couldn't withdraw money, the shops wouldn't accept czech money, euro or pound. (I tried all three - no reaction to all). So I became thirsty, I had one very dry old bread roll in my bag which I tried to eat but the thick spit in my mouth wouldn't wash it down. No one offered me help, as most of the population of caring Germans and Polish felt whilst the Jews walked through their towns villages, they were probably scared of the consequences. (I am looking quite scary and beardy at the mo). Those who offered food to the Jews as they were paraded past there houses were beaten, those who helped them up when they collapsed were again beaten (or worse).

I tried to lighten my mood by hooting my horn, singing, whistling - being cheery to the Poles had no reaction. Those travelling in the opposite direction simply kept there heads down, or looked upon me with glazed eyes without moving a facial muscle, when I hooted my horn their eyes narrowed. Those talking in doorways moved inside and shut shutters when I travelled past. It was eery.

(I have to note here that I did make an emergency turn into the Czech Republic as i was near the border to buy mars bars, coke and water. I'm sure the Jews were not allowed such luxuries!!

I kept plodding on as the sun moved to my back and then behind the horizon (I am one stubborn man) and when I realised I'd taken I wrong turn up a motorway in the opposite direction (I wondered where all those cars came from) I trudged back the exact same way as dark settled in for the night and I had to stop at a hotel 20km away. 200km and no cigar. But good mileage. :o)

Created in 1939 after the German invasion 3 million people (mostly Jews) were killed in the concentration camp. Normally in gas chambers. They lived in shacks in the camps doing hard labour in terrible conditions with no hygiene and poor nutrition.

Comparing my suffering today on a bike ride I chose to make to the above is almost a sin. It's incredibly sad and in my weakened state it has put a tear in my eye. I'm hungry - so I'm going to the restaurant, I'm thirsty - I'll probably sup on a soft drink or as much water as I like, then I'll lie down in a soft bed and sleep till I fancy living my dream again.....

Please please please remember how lucky you are!! We are!!

What is the best thing to do on holidays ever?

2009-08-01T10:21:00.001-07:00

That's right. Jumping off rocks!!!!!!! So awesome!!!! Feel as though I'm on holiday now!! Love rocks, love jumping, love shakey legs. Had to swim though to get there (it's on video - coming soon to a cinema near you)

Cycled to a sunken quarry and there was a cliff face that went 50m under. Lots of ledges - I worked up to 7m. (Felt Judes ribbon come free whilst heavily under water - opened my eyes and grabbed it. I'm such a devoted teacher). 7m - that's not bad is it - it hurt when I had my arms out!!

Then the locals came and absolutely put me to shame. 20m. Easy. I'm considering staying for a week to (1) hang out with the cool people I've met here, (2) to work my way up to 20m. Looked very scary. But i think couple are joining me for ride to Poland - they said there is no way I can reach Auschwitz tomorrow. Now that's like waving a red flag in front of a bull - see you in Auschwitz tomorrow!! (night probably).

Sun Flowers

2009-07-31T10:19:00.000-07:00

Why do they always face away from me?

(This isn't rhetorical, I want an answer)

Pictures

2009-07-31T10:18:00.001-07:00

I've posted some pictures finally - nothing too exciting but lots of pictures of bikes :)

Velo Love - prologue -> day 11

Love

2009-07-31T10:12:00.001-07:00

Eyup my lovelies,

Set off for an easy one yesterday and at lunch noticed i was going to be very close to Kralove - now, I couldn't go near a place with Love in it's name without paying it a visit. Love is my food, my air, my water.

I wanted to know what Kra meant. Still don't know. It certainly doesn't mean bike or velo!! Unless it's the more touchy feely type - the trucks were driving on top of me!! It might mean Smog, or maybe Burgers, or mullets. I'm been harsh - it had a lovely centre - but getting there wasn't very nice at all!!

Might have day off tomorrow after 100 miler again today up and down, up and down, up and down, you get the picture!!

You know what is really cool to do on a day off - go cycling!! The receptionist at campsite invited me to go with her friends to cycle to some lakes and swim. I know, it's totally crazy. Some would say insane. Completely bonkers. Swimming!!! On a day off!! It sucks!!!!!

Sign posts

2009-07-30T11:31:00.000-07:00

Do you think the Germans spend more on sign posts than all other countries put together? There was one sign I started reading after about 12km - I carried on for an hour, had lunch (usual seat), then knocked out a few more miles and finally came to the end of the sign. It said "Turn left if you want to go to India" (bummer - wasted morning). Oh no, I'm forgetting the Welsh. Maybe they together keep sign post manufacturers in business? Maybe it's a bit like the 'porsche' people - you know, "I've got a really big road sign"?? That kinda thing? (I'm waggling my little finger at the screen.)

The czechs on the other hand go about things in a totally different manner. They sneak round houses in the middle of the night, again like the BFG, but instead of planting dreams they look out for all the left over games of scrabble sitting on the dining room tables as people sleep. They don't disrupt the game so you never know they've been - they just take all the left over letters sitting in you letter holders. You know, the z's, c's, h's, k's - the ones you pull out when the game is almost over and curse. Now, to save money they use only these letters to produce all their road signs. They use this special machine that makes them bigger then stick them together randomly without any thought at all to ordering.

It's a crazy world we live in - I don't know how I stay so normal.

Day 11

2009-07-30T04:30:00.000-07:00

Lovely young man on his Surly. I've got 19 more of these but this'll do for a start!!

Day 1

2009-07-30T04:09:00.000-07:00

This is a quick video blog I made on the first day:

Popping out for a spot of lunch.

2009-07-29T12:55:00.000-07:00

"Good day sir, I've reserved your usual seat"
"Why thank you very much - as close to the shopping trolleys as possible"
"Of course, would sir like to order a drink"
"A dram of caffeine with as much sugar as possible please"
"As you wish. Would sir like the a la carte menu?"
"No I'll have the buffet - anything and everything from every isle"

1pm every day - I'm like clockwork.

What do you think about for 6-8 hours a day?

2009-07-28T10:32:00.000-07:00

Good question!!

Well as the barley quietly waves me through, the winds whistle and the corn pops like party poppers celebrating my arrival, as lizards scramble from my wake (hit a big one today - sorry little fella), the horn of cars toot there approval, the smell of evergreens in your nostrils - it's the perfect setting to think about things...

The main thing I think is "why am i doing this?" I'm not thinking it coz I'm tired or in pain, even if am. It's not coz I not enjoying mysef. I'm just kinda interested. To travel, definitely. To raise money for charity, that's a bonus. To get friggin strong on the bike, we'll see - hopefully be kicking butt when I get back, if legs hold up. Educate myself, always handy for cocktail party chat. To allow me to get things straight in my head, nah, I'm always gonna be Bent. To meet new people? To live a simpe life - it's cool knowing where everything is - I haven't lost anything for 10 days - that's a record)? Grow calves - I think that's the one.

Another thing I think about is what I'm going to write to you guys - my loyal followers. :) The thing is I always forget as soon as i sit in front of one of these machines. I sometimes stop and write things down - never remember to bring my book!! (You can tell - I'm boring myself!!)

You know I'm not very good at directions, well, I did about 30k this morning and ended up back in Richmond. I thought I was in Czech republic. Noone told me I was just doing laps of Richmond park!!! Czech republic made me feel at home in many ways today. A simple shop called Rich, another Thalia, and the roads. Ahhh... sweet surrey roads. No longer super smooth - big potholes to jump / crash into. Imagine the best road on all the surrey rides. The very best. Now if I was in belgium there would be a sign up saying this road is deteriating!! Normally they are absolutely perfect. (This wasn't something I wrote down to tell you - I'll stop on the roads for now - but all cyclist are reading and weeping or nodding!! i might take pictures for surrey council - ah, but that would mean cycling 100's of k back in the opposite direction, I'll leave that for someone else)

Pictures are coming - but these places don't allow USB thingies - so I'm just holding out!!

Special danny cuddles to one and all x