Robbed at knife point in Morocco.

To my right a desk with two computers sat back to back astride bundles of paper work written in a language secret to me.   This was the focal point that dominated the otherwise featureless room.  It didn't interest me. Nothing in the room did.  My eyes were fixed on the wall to the left. I can't tell you the colour of it or if posters covered the wall. Maybe it was cracked and damaged I can't say.  I was in a trance, lost in this small stuffy space, parked on a wooden seat set adrift from the desk.  This wasn't happening. This was not real.

....The end of the blade was rounded, not sharp, but rounded with a jagged tip that shone bright in the waking light of the early morning.  It was pointed directed at my neck.....

 No I was literally thousands of miles away.  I was in the bush battling the flies and the heat, I was riding along the deep sand roads in Kazakhstan, I was looking in disbelief as I had arrived at the port in Saint John's for the ferry to Nova Scotia after having completed 380km in a under 24 hours, sure that I was set to fail and return home early. I was rerunning the last 340 days through my head. Challenge after challenge replayed, the work and effort remembered.  All the challenges I had faced and overcome now stood for nothing. It was over.

....The second knife was long, very long. A machete.  Its handle was small and the tip of the rounded blade pushed against my ribs......

A voice asked me a question in a combination of languages; this brought me back into the room. He looked like them.  They all did. But of course it wasn't them.   The officer had wanted nothing more than an answer to one of the question on his form. You could see it in his eyes.  All he wanted was my information so that when it was collected I could be processed and shown the door.    

.....I was on the floor. I could hear the sound of the waves rolling unwillingly on to the dirty yellow of the beach.   I had just been sleeping. It was a strategic sleep, a tried and tested method of recovery. I had only stopped a few hours earlier and in 15 minutes I had planned to get up and ride to Tangier. It was 43 km away, I was bound for Gibraltar, British soil I was so very nearly home.......  

"What is your Job?"  Asked the officer. I explained that I had been cycling around the world for nearly a year and was close to finishing. I had cycled through 26 countries on five continents covering nearly 38,000km. I was aiming for just over 40000km. He looked at me with very little interest and disappointment with my answer. This didn't fit in the box. The Moroccan officer tried again till I gave an answer that conformed to the formalities of the report in front of him.

.......The knifes are what I noticed first. These were both held in the hands of one of the three men that I awoke to find around me. I was confused. What was going on? Why was this man pointing a knife at me? What had I done to him?....

"What did they take?" was asked next. How could I answer this? Did he mean the phone from my pocket? Yes, this man of the law, enjoyed this answer.  This fitted nicely on the form.  The pleasure he seemed to receive from the answer  was equally matched with disappointment when I detailed the small amount of money I had on me. He almost seemed not to believe me a "rich" tourist could have so little. So he asked this question a number of times.

.......One of the two not holding a knife grabbed Kristy as she lay on her side next to me. I lunged without thinking clasping the frame as fear gripped me like I have never known before. They were going to take Kirsty. I couldn't let this happening. Not now, not so close to the end. The remaining man behind me shoved me back to the floor with force and pinned me there.  I then realised what was happening.  I was being robbed. These three Moroccan men were robbing me.  I tried to sit up and say I had money only to be forced back to the ground.......

"Camera?"  the officer prompted. "Yes a camcorder ," I explained.  I had been filming the entire expedition and was going to make a documentary at the end of it. He was busy typing and ignoring me. I was now blurting out anything that I hoped would urge them to help me situation. I had lost 7 months worth of filming in a matter of moments. I needed these men at the police station to help me so badly.

.....The man without a knife lifted Kirsty and laughed as if this was a game.  He reached down gripping one of the front panniers and ripped it savagely from its position. I watched as the small bag that contained my journals, filming, and photographs went over my head to the other man and into a car. Wait, I did a double take, yes a car. These men had a car! What would people  that could afford a car want with my photos? This didn't make sense.........

 "Anything else?" the officer asked unconvincingly. It appeared to me that I had given an answer to all the items that was of interest to him. I had watched in disbelief as my camcorder, passport, photos, wallet, phone had all been stolen from me and put into the back of the car. The most important things to me were the flags I had collected from all the commonwealth nations I had visited. I was taking them home to fly. Thousands upon thousands of miles of effort were put into collecting them and they were now gone. The officer never added this to his report. They were of no value to him.  

......After removing the front panniers he promptly pulled off the rear two and tent ripping and tearing at my equipment which found its way into the back of the car. The two without the knifes followed the bags and started up the car. The armed coward got in last. I ran and started punching the window as it sped off with everything..........

The officer handed me a copy of the report and left me in a room. The investigation was over after this transaction. It was at this point I realised what this officer had first said to me "Ah you are the boy from the beach?" How did he know that? I had only just met him. How could he know I was down by the beach?

I may have lost everything but the challenge continues. I am not going to let this scum ruin everything I have worked so hard at. 

Hot tubs and beers, sometimes it needs to be fun to be fun.

“You’ve got a hot tub? What and beer? Hold on let me get this right you have a hot tub and beer? Right I will be there as quick as I can.”

Mexico started jet lagged. It was hot and not surprisingly everyone spoke Spanish. Apart from the crank breaking it was a rather straight forward ride to Belize. The terrain was flat and dull and the miles flew in. Belize continued on in much the same way. I lost my bank card straight off but I had a backup plan, so no stopping. The highlight of Belize was without doubt my piece for the local TV. Another commonwealth done another flag collected.

When I left Belize and headed into rural Guatemala I could barely go a few miles without hearing the call, “Gringo”. Now I’m language disabled. I barely have a grasp of English let alone any others on top of that. But I am quite sure that the rough translation of Gringo is: ‘Wow this guy on the bike is amazing let’s all get over excited and jump about’. You know how at school when a fight would break out and everyone would chant “Fight, Fight, Fight?” I got this with “Gringo, Gringo, Gringo”. I had my celebrity status back

Whole groups of people would just shout it out as I rather slowly went by on the steep slopes of the hills of frustration and despair. I would always try and give a shout of “Hello” back and learnt quickly that a wave had quite a profound effect on the groups of girls. It would quite often result in the type of screaming and shouting reserved for boy bands. I could get used to this I thought.

Guatemala stepped up the challenge. Mountains that I never knew existed forced me ever higher and higher. They adopted the roman technique of up and over, no messing about and certainly not taking into consideration the gradient. Meaning the climbs were not only high but extremely challenging. I would ride past village were some houses were made of concrete blocks but most were made entirely from tree branches and leaves. At points it was just me and the jungle.

Then as night descended upon me externally a further depth of darkness took grip internally. The day had literally ended on a low on all fronts. The bottom bracket was broke. This if you are not into your bicycles is the part that the pedals rotate on. Without it you cannot pedal. When I broke a crank in Mexico I could still ride. But without this part working I had no choice but to push on. The surface of the downhill was very smooth gravel and felt more like ice. I had been pushing on hard, too hard and came off. I came off not to bad in the crash, Kirsty was mortally wounded.

A half hour cycle until the top of the hill and 20 minutes down is the description I had been given in the last village to the next place that I could find shelter for the evening. I had just completed that rather technical descent and was for some unfounded reason optimistic that I had finished with the mountains. So when I seen the next mountain pass ahead and the bottom bracket broke I really did think it was over. I could not see a way that I could find the parts to fix her out in the jungle. I pushed Kirsty on regardless, I really just wanted to stop admit defeat, give up and go home. But something wouldn’t let this happen. One part of the brain let me wallow in defeat and despair whilst another made sure my legs kept walking. The 30 minute distance took over 4 hours to walk and it was all uphill. By the top I was exhausted. Pushing Kirsty is far harder than riding her. She is quite a big girl after all.

The next day with a bit of effort I found the village mechanic and after 5 hours of trial and error, a serious bit of problem solving and a lot of hitting Kirsty with a chisel she was repaired again. Within 20 miles she would break again, resulting in another long walk, but it was only a pedal this time. In the next village this was solved and Kirsty was mostly problem free from then on.

Finally after one last climb over 2400m I had topped out. The days in the mountains of frustration and despair were over. No more fake summits, no more steep climbs and the 8 days of climbing had come to an end with a 25 mile descent, a reward that I felt I had more than earned. By now I was back in Mexico heading North to the Gulf of Mexico.

The Gulf of Mexico gets hit with the Atlantic trade winds. They blow in from the east and never let up. This trade wind is more like a river with a constant flow than the gusty winds of home. For the length of the Gulf I had this wind cutting into me 24 hours a day. I seen this as a poignant tribute to the huge part that this wind had made to Glasgow. Like many cities in the UK, they had profited greatly from the discovery of the trade winds across the Atlantic. So I tried not to complain and worked on the miles.

Before I knew it I had crossed the tropic of Cancer, no more time in the tropics. The temperature dropped off as the army personal increased. It was the most troops I have ever seen deployed in any country. All sorts of army vehicles carrying troops would often drive by. The boys would be in full kit with someone standing in the middle positioned behind a beastly machine gun.

The numbers steadily increased the closer I got to the border. Mexico barely has control of this area. There is a full on drug war on the go here. Hence the troops and cops being everywhere but the Mexico officials are not winning it.

On the day before I crossed into Mexico I watched gun battles break out. Now for some strange reason I didn’t find this alarming. I was ready for it I suppose. I was expecting it to be honest. My reaction was I’m hungry best get something to eat and leave them to it. I got food and said goodbye to Mexico.

It was onwards problem free into the USA. The land of the big was overwhelming. It had seemed such a long time since I had been somewhere so developed. I took a few days to get used to the free refills it felt like I was stealing it to start off with. I even had the wind behind me I was going near four times faster than normal. I could now ride longer hours again. The full night rides were back on.

Up ahead was a cop, A Texan cop. It was 5 in the morning when I rode toward him and unlike the standard set questions I had become use to he asked straight off, “Are you homeless?” I responded with a laugh. He of course wouldn’t have known of my recent history of sleeping in doorway, bus stops and public toilets. I explained I was an Ambassador for Scotland and I was riding the world which seemed to impress him.

He told me of a narrow bridge ahead. He described the bridge as being very steep and thought it highly unlikely that anything other than a car would be able to get over it. Since I was on the highway he was not happy about be continuing. There was no alternative so I thanked him for his concern and carried on. To my surprise further down the road the cop was waiting for me. He said he would escort me over the bridge to ensure I got across safely. I love escorts I have had them all over the world.

The bridge was certainly narrow but hardly steep. Having the Texan cop behind made for a quick crossing. On the other side I thanked the cop and he explained to me how he had just saved my life as I would have certainly been killed if he wasn’t there. I smiled and thanked him again I continued on after safely crossing the bridge and he went home to tell the tales of how he saved the life of a Scottish guy cycling the world.

The land of the big has been great so far. The weather like everywhere I have been is mostly crap, the irony of me following summer. The winds haven’t let up resulting in some very slow miles. Only a few days before reaching New Orleans I was reminded of family I had there and that I could stay for a night. Anything to get me a shower and out of the tent for the night is always appreciated. But when talking to them on the phone he said “I have a hot tub and a beer waiting for you here” my mileage shot right up. It’s the quickest I have covered a distance in a long time. So Glasgow think we need a hot tub.

In New Orleans I have enjoyed a day off which even included a few drinks on Bourbon Street an experience not to be missed. I have sat in the hot tub sipping beers and had a local specialty the crawfish boil only about 1000 times better than the regular staple of jam sandwiches. It is the most fun I have had in a very long time.

It has not only been me that has benefited. Kirsty turned 20,000 Miles (32,000km) old only a few days before arriving in New Orleans. With all the recent repairs and miles covered she was in bad shape, nothing ran smooth and daily maintenance was required to keep her going. So I jumped at the chance when Brian suggested we take her to their local bike shop. I am glad we did. The work they done on her is amazing. Kirsty is a new bike. Sam the mechanic that worked on her did an amazing job. He even custom built some parts for me to ensure I would run properly. The most astonishing part is he didn’t even charge me. I was lost for words and so grateful for this. So a Very big thanks to the boys at Westbank Cyclery and an especial thanks to Sam for all the effort he put in.

I am now very optimistic that I will make it to Halifax in Canada for the 20th of June. So you can see my planned route on the tracker page here. So lets get this yellow line to Canada.