The Commonwealth Challenge

Robbed at knife point in Morocco.

2011-07-09T18:45:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-05-27T12:15:00.000-07:00

“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.

You Inspire me!

2011-04-20T00:47:00.000-07:00

A real uphill struggle

Team Five, Team five, Team five. What is team five? It is simply the task of asking people from around the world to ride five miles/8kms with me; Thus forming a team of nationals from countries around the world. That was the idea and many countless hours of my time and effort have been poured into it. Nearly every 'rest' day has been spent on the internet contacting cycle groups and teams from whichever country I happen to be in. When really I should have been out exploring the place I had just put in a lot of effort to ride to.

Over something as basic as a five miles/8km cycle. Simple surly? When I thought of this idea way back in the early planning stages I certainly never foresaw the amount of effort that would be involved with this part of challenge. After all everywhere in the world ride bikes!

Asking and having people join along the way has well been very, very difficult. The real infuriating part about it all is that the idea is fine. It is the implementation of it that is flawed. Countless people have said they would like to ride with me and be part of the world team only for me to be in a different town, country or even continent. All I have is word of mouth to spread what I am doing. Unfortunately I ride faster than people are talking about the challenge. Social media has seen a very slow uptake with less than a few hundred following from around the world. So this has offered very little benefits towards achieving this goal. Even though I have been successful in getting into various forms of press all across the world now; have met with the top guys at the Commonwealth Games and even met with heads of countries. This has rarely shown any rewards to the Team 5 task.
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Vikki proudly showing me her country

Don't get me wrong I have had people join in three continents now from 7 different countries all with very diverse and different cultures and faiths. Yet they have been united in the task of cycling a distance with me. Boys from Bangladesh from a hugely different economic background have achieved the same goal as riders from first world nations such as Australia. The disadvantages that some countries have compared to others have been removed. In a sense the playing field has been levelled.

I think this is the advantage of the bicycle. I don't think any other sporting activity could be used to unite people from around the world in such a unique but simple goal. The bicycle doesn't discriminate. Any age, race, faith, and gender can ride a bike.

For me, when people ride with me have been the most inspiring moments of the trip. When people with out a common language, culture or a very busy life style ride up and declare there intentions to become part of the ride around the world really motivate me.

So it is the implementation that is flowed. If you wanted to join and I missed you, well now is your chance. Having to actually be where I am to join is the problem. So here is the proposed solution to this conundrum. You can join from where ever you are and this is open to anyone from anywhere in the world. Ride your five miles/8km on the commute to work, on a training ride, in the gym, flying down the side of a mountain or just a ride in the park. All you have to do is ensure that you have covered 5 miles/8kms in one go.

Big Challenge

From there, to make it count simple go here on the challenge website here and fill in some details to have your effort counted towards the overall goal. Each person that joins will add 5miles/8km to the distance that will be plotted onto a map following my route as shown on the tracker. So as a team you will also ride the world.

My role will be simply to be the stop watch. When the yellow line that I am drawing on the planets reaches Glasgow, this will signal the end of the task. I will still be asking people to join me as I go. But this is essentially the last roll of the dice to achieve this task.

This is not going to be easy. So please do take part, invite your friend and family out for a ride. Tell who ever you can. Who knows what we might be able to achieve together!

So come on and inspire me and lets see what we can do together!

Time to come clean.....

2011-04-16T01:49:00.000-07:00

sleeping in a door way

From the very off I have clearly stated the distance that I was aiming to pedal during expedition World Cycle (20k miles/ 32k km) and also the return date to Glasgow completing the pedal powered lap of the planet; the end of May 2011. You have probably become aware, of late that I have been struggling a little bit. The last 8 and a half months of effort on 3 continents, through 20 countries, across deserts, jungles, islands, bush and many, many mountains has culminating in a distance of 17,300 miles (27,835km).

It has taken it’s toll. My body has suffered a lag from my cursed time in Oz. That was the most physical demanding challenge I have ever undertaken. I was actually pleased with my efforts considering the conditions. I covered the distance (6060 miles, 9,750km) the equivalent of riding from Glasgow to Kolkata (India) in only 73 days. This is a good month faster than it took me to ride from Glasgow to Kolkata in-fact.

The lag my body is feeling has been further confounded by the repeated rolling kiwi climbs, the rubbish diet of jam sandwiches, the near state of homelessness and the onset of winter. But it is the psychological element of the challenge that has been most difficult of late. To continually motivate myself to carry on with trying to reach the impossible targets away from the pedaling has been a huge struggle (fundraising for UNICEF and participation challenge). The fact that the world cycle racers get to stop at a mere 18k miles, only about a weeks cycle away, has also been very, very hard to overcome.

So it is time for a confession. I am not going to ride 20K miles. It is just NOT possible for me to do it.

What’s next? Will I fly home? Go on a Holiday? Maybe stay here, it is after all very much like home anyway and just get a job?

Of course not! The Challenge is far from over. The body isn’t done yet and I’m too stubborn to let a few aches and pains to stop me. I will moan about it as I’m sure you have noticed. But I’m going to ride the 20k and then some. I haven't spent the last 15 months of my life on this challenge to give up now. So what won't I be doing? I most definitely won't be home for the End of May. I hope you except my apologies for this if you’re expecting me back for then.

Why won't I make it back in time you ask? Well I have had to add a few miles to the route to meet the fundamental ambition of the Challenge: visiting the Commonwealth. I also wanted to hit a target that made sense and not just a random number. As chance would have it the changes bring the final distance in around 24, 860.2 miles near exactly. What are the chances of that? Almost like it was planned! Since December to be honest. This figure is more often referred to as the distance of the equator.

The set in stone return date is Sunday the 17th of July. This will be the 360th day on the road. This will be a good day to complete a 360 of the planet pedaling the distance of the equator.

On to the next stage then, the Americas. This involves a slight change. I can’t fly into exactly where I wanted to in Central America. But it is near enough the same target location.

On the 21^st of April I fly to Cancun in Mexico via Los Angeles. From there I will ride South to Belize. This is the only Commonwealth nation there and will then race to Canada. I don’t have long to do it so it should be exciting. On the 20th of June I fly from Halifax on the Atlantic coast of Canada back to Europe. The final tasks I will have to do there is visit the cycling North Pole otherwise known as Madrid and finally ride through the commonwealth in the UK collecting a few more flags before returning to Glasgow. Job Done.


Bluff the end of the world

This then is the final third of the Expedition World Cycle. I’m still far from hitting the other goals of the ride. As for the participation challenge this was always going to be difficult. This is the ‘Legacy’ part of the challenge if you like and I have one final idea on how to get people involved which I will launch before leaving Auckland. By that point I will be happy that I have tried everything in my powers to achieve that goal. If it doesn’t work it certainly wasn’t from a lack of effort.

I am shifting my focus from trying to get others to participate to the more important task of fundraising for UNICEF. So help me get the final third of the challenge off to a great start. It would be amazing if you could make a donation: Donate now

And about this coming clean, I’m indoors tonight and I don’t mean a public toilet so its time for a much needed shower…..

Bush maddness

2011-03-28T03:34:00.000-07:00

I haven't managed to get one of these done since leaving Darwin. That was over a month now. The onwards journey from there resulted in a rather miserable time for me. Not so much in a physical sense but very much the psychological aspect of the challenge. I am quite sure if I was in there by myself for any longer I wouldn't have come out right in the head.

It was all the time spent alone. It was near 90% just me and Kirsty for 7 weeks. Kirsty might be a good machine for covering the miles but she doesn't really have that much to say to me. Well I suppose I should be happy she didn't start talking to me. I was delighted to talk to any one that would stop but bearing in mind that I didn't get near a shower very often and I had a lip disease that had blood and puss oozing out; resulted in rather short chats.

When the Bush broke my I-pod, my only source of entertainment (I don't have any books, guides or even maps) I just stopped for the day. I could not continue. I had become dependent on it and hadn't realised. Audio books were my new friends. The talked to me and made my laugh. With this gone all I was left with was food packets and the odd tourist information sign to distract my mind from the heat, humidity, headwinds, flies, mosquitoes, storms, rain and the rest of the armoury that the bush has at its disposal to kill me.

The night I found a children's book on a bench at a rest area was a particular highlight. The adventure of Lola and her tea parties enthralled me for at least 40 minutes as I read it cover to cover (more than once). Up till then I was occupying my mind by comparing food contents between the jam, bread and occasional can of beans. "Oh this has flavour 126 in it just like that jam from the other day" I would often find myself thinking.

The challenges of the distance, the never ending straight road, the never changing shade of green, of the 2000 mile long mono bush were just the tip of the iceberg. Being in Australia for the wettest summer since records began, was maybe the main source for all the problems. The rain changed the bush and turned it green. So when I was expecting to see landscapes described as looking like the 'moon', all I seen were fields of grass. Funnily enough just like the ones at home.

I got hit by the tail end of that cyclone and rather foolishly felt that it was perfectly acceptable cycling weather. Turns out that riding in storms like that is quite an intense experience. Really you shouldn't be close enough to lightning for it to temporally blind and for the sound of thunder to come in stereo as the noise of the skies unzipping passing from the right ear to the left. Lesson learnt the hard way again. When a local says the rains coming, they mean it. I was genuinely scared by this and paid much closer attention to the skies from then on. Well at least they changed every day, unlike the road ahead.

The flies oh don't get me started on the flies. They were a particular nuisance. I know I went on about this last time but there attacks and biting just increased. This was a result of the rain. More rain meant more biting bugs. I was sure this was yet another mental challenge set by the bush. I could do very little to prevent the attacks. I felt I had been moved to the bottom of the food chain. My only purpose in life was to be a landing spot and a food source.

Near the end of my time in the Bush my fly tennis had improved to a one in three hit rate. I was sure I was ready to move on to the chop sticks. It was the noise though that i found the hardest. For some reason they would always go for my ears. Baazip, Baaaazzzip, Baazip, Baaaazzzip. Over and over and over. It got louder and louder and louder. My hatred for this was only replaces by my increasing fear of the mosquitoes. Clouds would form over my tent. Taking every opportunity to invite themselves in for dinner. As soon as I got in the tent the task of killing the unwanted guested would be begin. As a rule as soon as I was in the tent I wouldn't leave it till I was riding again.

A fews day before Port Augusta I found myself repeating Baazip, Baaaazzzip, Baazip, Baaaazzzip in the morning before setting off. Baazip, Baaaazzzip, Baazip, Baaaazzzip. I almost didnt have any control. Baazip, Baaaazzzip, Baazip, Baaaazzzip, over and over as i packed the tent. I don't even think i was aware that i was doing it. Packing away and going Baazip, Baaaazzzip, Baazip, Baaaazzzip. It was only when someone pulled up to the rest area that I was at that I stopped. A Belgium Bill Bailey lookalike controlled the madness. Saved by some good chat. But this will be the sound that i will forever associate with the Bush.

The last few days of having to get off andpush the bike out the bush to Port Augusta had me near to tears. It was demoralising I had taken enough and wasn't sure if I wanted to continue. It was at this point that the bush decided that it was time to give me the strongest headwind that I have ever experienced. I had put in as much effort as I could to cover the distance in as quick a time as I could. But the harder I pushed into the bush the harder it got.

For three solid days this went on for. I was beaten. If it wasn't for the warm welcome I received in Adelaide I really do wonder if I would have continued.

Very Hard and Long, riding the Bush

2011-01-30T21:13:00.000-08:00

The last four weeks have undoubtedly been the hardest I have undertaken on this trip. For 28 days I have been outdoors subject to all the torments of the great outdoors of Australia. As I have quickly learnt it has a lot to offer in this department.

First off is the wind. Now of course it is always either a cross wind or headwind, never giving a helpful push from behind. At one point I did a complete 180 only for the wind to do the same. I was raging. To add insult to injury on this instance the wind was blowing that hard it blasted my mosquito mask off my head, too far for me to catch. That was my only protection against the flies.

Now why they didn’t tell me about the flies I wonder? Every waking minute that you are outside (even sometimes inside) you will have a fly on you. You have to get used to sharing your every meal with them. You even get good at telling how old the decomposing carcass that they were just dining at before deciding that landing directly on your month was a better idea. The reheated three day dead Kangaroo became a favorite. Mmmmm. When the flies finish the day shift of biting every bit of flesh they can get at the mosquito takes over the task and attack anywhere missed during the day. Quite a efficient system you must agree.

The first Kangaroo I seen was alive with a spring in it’s step. But to be fair that was a rarity. Far more are to be found lying at the side of the road. The headwind always warns you of your approach as it wafted the vile smell of the decaying body directly at you until you beat the wind. The rank mass of bones and flesh is super heated each day by the desert hot temperatures. Cooking and cooling each day. The heat does the same to me. Riding in temperatures above 40c I find particularly hard (every other day nearly!). When hauling a bike the weighs in at up to 70kg not making the task any easier. When the headwind super charges the 40c heat onto my fly covered face dragging the water loaded heavy bike, well that’s me in heaven. What more could I ask for?

Now as you know I ride at night. A lot of this trip has been covered during darkness. This usually isn’t a problem. But I’m in Australia so this has got to be tough too. The temperatures cool, the wind sometime drops and its easier to out ride the mosquitos. The roads empty from five cars a hour to maybe one. I am alone in a wilderness never near civilization. So passing snakes at night isn’t fun, this has happened a lot. I always wonder what happens if I got bit?

A quick swerve is my best defense. But I need to see them to do this. If I did go over one I would just apply the jump on the saddle and kick the legs up tactic. This has worked effectively in other countries. The key component for the success of this move is the saddle. On one particular night ride I was positioned in the middle of the road when the world was lit up by the stadium power flood lights of an approaching road train. To my surprise directly in from of me was a monster snake taking up a lane. If the trucks lights hadn’t alerted me to it I would be been right over it.

Not a problem just jump on the saddle right? Problem being at this point I didn’t have a saddle. The bolt that attached the clamp had sheared off the previous day. The near 10mm thick bolt torn completely in half. I had nothing to repair it with. I tried everything, even tent pegs. It wasn’t a great time for the duct tape to run out either. So just imagine if that truck hadn’t alerted me of the snake. I would have jumped back onto the where I would expect to find the saddle but only find a sharp seat pole. No doubt this would result in a rather girly scream, then a crash before being eaten by the snake.

The 200 miles (320km) without a saddle was some challenge. All my weight was on my wrists. My right wrist had been hurt the night I hit a cow. I know who hits a cow? Well I do? Right over the top of a dead lump on the road. My front panniers came flying off and mercilessly missed the masses of cow guts. They were staying behind if they had ended mixed up in it. I never came off Kirsty instead I landed very hard on my wrist. It still hasn’t got full mobility. As for the saddle situation, this was solved by a man from Motherwell. What are the chances? No one in Aus could help but a man a few miles from my home sorted it in a few minutes.

The last twist in the saddle tale does show that Australia has a sense of irony. Only some 50 miles after getting the saddle sorted I came across this rest point. Just look at its name!

And enjoy a rest i did.

The rest points became the ideal spots for camping. They had some shade which believe me is necessary. If you have never woken up in a pool of your own sweat you can’t say you have had a warm night. The shade helps this also and there a fewer beasties. After the night that a spider enter the tent leaving my outside it bollock naked I decided that the outback was not the safest spot to camp. I wasn’t sure how many more beating the tent would take as I tried to kill the new occupant. Anyone know anything about Spiders would this have hurt?

It was with some relief that I made it to Darwin. Completing a 2500 mile (4000km) journey across Australia. For 28 days I wore the same t-shirt, same shorts and same socks. My change of clothes being naked. Maybe not the most appropriate for riding in. You know I might of got sun burnt. I was looking forward to a shower and maybe a good meal drinking cans of cold beans had become the staple. But I arrived to late. I couldn’t get a bed. My options were limited. Putting the tent up wouldn’t be safe so the old faithful, the park bench was the winner.

I even managed to pick the park where all the other homeless were staying. My sense for a good bench clearly is improving. I placed Kirsty directly next to me and passed out immediately. During the night I was woken by an semi naked aboriginal man trying to take Kirsty. Not the best wake up call. I grabbed hold of Kirsty. He started asking me if I had a knife before waving his in my face. What I should of course of said was “that’s not a knife, Now Thats a knife!” – What a missed opportunity. Instead he ranted some more and charged off into the night.

The ride from Perth to Darwin in Australia has been a mental challenge for all the senses. It’s been Great!

oh and if you know anyone that can join me for 8km in OZ contact me on this number: +61 459347915 (Australia)

or even just say hello!

Really did that just happen?

2010-12-16T23:22:00.000-08:00

At times the last few weeks of riding has felt like a job. On the 1100 mile, nine day ride from Kolkata to Chennai that is exactly what the challenge felt like. I would get up before 6 and then, eat, ride, eat, ride and arrive at a place for the night. I would do nothing else.

One day I pasted a sign that said ‘Military Camp’ and thought yep they probably are. The whole flamboyant man culture is a stark contrast to the mans man approach of Russia and the Stans. Now not to miss out on cultural experiences I tried out the man hand holding thing. After all I can no longer say that I have not been hand washed by another naked man. What a strange night in Russia that was. So a bit of hand holding is nothing compared to that. But more to the point I was put in a situation of not having a choice. I tried it, it’s not for me. I didn’t venture as far as to try the sit down pee or try some glitzy man dancing.

In one of the Indian states I went through they sold beer. That was a complete novelty for me really. Looking for a hangover cure? You tried riding the world? It has been five months now without one, so very effective. Then again the lack of alcohol might also have something to do with that. I can’t be sure.

So a beer got added to the end of the day for the few days I was in that Indian state. Most of the accommodation had TV’s so instead of going out to explore the local town I would sit, have a beer and watch TV. After covering up to 174 miles (280km) a day, walking about a polluted Indian city never really appealed to me.

You have to come to India to properly experience this pollution. It is beyond description. After only a few hours outdoor I would be ready to play the part of the chimney sweep as I would have become completely blacked-up from head to toe. The locals just thought I didn’t wash. Sure enough I did go 23 days in the Stans without a proper wash. But here I couldn’t last more than a few hours. I did give some consideration to taking up smoking. I came to the conclusion that it would probably be healthier for my lungs than the filthy air that I was inhaling. This never happened.

Some Pollution:

I was a vegetarian though. Never thought that would happen in my life. I am a meat eater so becoming a vegetarian for five weeks was a different culinary experience. Now this wasn’t me getting into the Indian hippy thing. I wasn’t going to try ‘finding’ myself or anything like that. After been served some rather nice bright pink chicken on the first day there I decided that meat wasn’t for me in India. The memory of the Cushy Cushys was still quite fresh. I didn’t want a repeat. So meat was off the menu and it really does look like Glasgow is the actual home of the chicken tikka masala.

But back to the daily routine I would rest watching TV in the evening. The EPL was never too hard to find on the TV as was a news channel of sorts to catch up with the world. The night I did catch an SPL game it was only to see my team get beat. One night however I thought I was on for a winner when I found a program called ‘Heavy Petting’. I was thinking maybe a bit a racy for Indian TV but it might be foreign. So I waited to watch it and find out what it was about. You can understand my disappointment when a pet’s vet show came on. Talk about lost in translation.

The language barrier was never a problem through India. One of the rules of the Commonwealth is that English must be a spoken language. So I had many conversations with local people. The only downside was it was the same questions over and over again. Country? Why? Where? Who? Married? One day a scooter boy asked me “What is your purpose?” I thought wow that’s deep man. Should I really be delving into something as complex as this? Should I searching for an answer to who I really am? Oh no wait, “Chennai,” I replied. He only wanted to know where I was going.

With the questions came the photographs. Riding through the Cameron Highlands in Malaysia, I had a night chatting to some English boys about their travels. One of them told how someone had actually wanted to take his picture this one time because he was foreign. I didn’t want to spoil his fine tale by saying people take mine all the time, without asking just because I am on the bike. You got to love the camera phone! I have even had to do the pose with the baby picture, normally reserved for the politician on the election campaign. Why I wondered, why?

But with the new found celebrity status that you have been landed with by riding a bike through India there is a number of problems. I found it difficult to stop. Within moments of pulling up at the side of the road a crowd would gather. That is all they would do. Stand and stare. At times I took it as a game with the task of trying to draw in the biggest crowd I could whilst doing completely nothing. At other times it was just annoying and I wanted some time alone.

In true celebrity style I even picked up a stalker. A boy joined me for a cycle and I gave him my mobile number. I had given it out to loads of guys now. It should be noted I have no idea what the female Indians get up to as I never met any. No idea where the all hide. Anyway none of the locals usually called me. Except this one. He would call, demanding I call him, then recall when I hadn’t and repeat this over and over. He constantly asked “do you know who I am?” As if he didn’t know himself! His “huh huh huhs” made me uneasy. Having a stalker isn’t as cool as you would think.

With the lack of personal space, stalkers, pollution and a poor attitude to the bicycle I was actually quite pleased to leave the sub-Continent. I had had too many near hits from buses and trucks and too many soft hits from autos and motorbikes.

But i am still cant believe i have cycled nearly 9000 miles to the other side of the world. Really has that just happened? ....And to do it with out a puncture!

Desert Diarrhea - 17/09/10 – 21/09/10

2010-10-16T04:55:00.000-07:00

Overview
Location: Baykonur to Kyzylorda
Date: 17/09/10 – 21/09/10
Distance covered: 180.79 Miles
Overall distance: 4,129.14 miles

“Screech, Screech, give me the toilet roll.” The noise of Ped shouting awoke me. It was dark and the cold rain still pattered hard against the tent. “Screech, give me the toilet roll,” Ped anxiously repeated from his tent across from mine. Screech gave a some what sleepy reply. “I have been sick just give me the fucking toilet roll,” a final demand from Ped.

This moment during the last trip I made with the cycling for charity team always makes me smile. Not of course at Ped’s misfortune of being sick. But more the point that he was sick in his tent. As in his haste to be sick, instead of opening both mesh doors he only opened the one. This resulted in a rather messy and smelly tent for the rest of the expedition.

Now I have been sick on expedition before. In the High Atlas Mountains in Morocco during the Malaga to Marrakech trip I had a bad case of it. I was up all night squatted out in the cold rain. By morning I was so weak that I could not continue. This would have been a problem had I not had a good team with me. They took care of it and got me to a warm hotel to recover. Now I was asked on quite a few occasions before I left what happens if you become sick? “Then I am sick,” is all I could usually reply.

Up to this point things were going okay as well. I was covering a fair distance considering the road conditions and had just past the Russian owned section of Kazakhstan without any problems. I was a little disappointed that I never seen a rocket soar off into space as I past Baykonur at night. This is the location from where man first went into space. This was the reason for Russia owning this section of the country. On a side note three weeks after I past here, Russia would send there brand new space shuttle into space. Now that would have been something to see.

I had not long past Baykonur when a Belarusian motorcyclist stopped for a chat and told me of a café I could stay at nearby. This is always a better option than the tent. As it is warmer than a cold night out in the desert and usually food is offered. When I arrived at a village where the café should be I asked for direction. Instead of pointing out the way I should go they invited me to stay with them instead. Problem solved I thought, a bed for the night and maybe some food.

Sure enough there was food, loads of food. I was given a large bowl of besbarmak all to myself. This is meat (usually mutton) served on flat pasta with onions. It tasted a little funny but hunger soon put those thoughts to the back of my mind. Anyway the kind host kept saying “cushy, cushy, Sean, cushy, cushy.” Eat, eat, Sean, eat, eat. So I did, though he never did.

Come morning I was keen to go but strangely not hungry. I had 100 miles to do so I thanked my host and left. Something wasn’t right today though. Sure there was a headwind. But this was Kazakhstan it was always windy. It couldn’t be hunger after all the food I had the night before. Maybe just from riding so many days in a row I thought. But my legs and body really were feeling weak.

After 30 miles I would get a clue. The cramping pains hit hard around the bowels forcing me to search out for somewhere to answer the call of nature. This is no easy task in the great plains of Kazakhstan. The urgency of this forced me to a not very well hidden bush clearly visible to the road. Even in this situation the drivers would still beep their horns and wave. I chose not to wave back on this situation. I managed another 30 miles south of Kyzylorda before stopping I just couldn’t do any more.

I had been riding on the new road that they were building which ran directly beside the old one still in use. I set up camp beside the new road. I was hidden behind a large mound of soil with a distance of about 40 meters between me and the in use road. As I set up camp on the hard cracked ground I surveyed the desolate empty landscape before me. There really was nothing around me, nothing at all. Little did I realize that this would be my home the next few days.

It started to get worse during the night. The frequency of the need to go and squat outside the tent increased. I would have to leave the warmth of the tent to do the business. At first I had the strength to walk a good distance from the tent. But this became less and less. During this first day I had ran out of water. I never had any food in the first place. During this period I had some sleepy, daydream hallucinations. I was sure I had a team with me. All I had to do was wait for them to go and get food and water. It was only during one of the trips out of the tent that I noticed no one else was there. It was a little confusing to say the least. But then reality kicked. I would need water soon and would have to solve it myself.

The solution was to go to the road and beg. There really wasn’t any other choice so it wasn’t a tough decision. This however did take all my strength and I would have to take a rest during the 40 meter journey to the road. I held up my empty 5 litre water container and hoped someone would stop. Cars and buses zipped past on the road. I struggled to keep the empty bottle held high. Even though I was only there five minutes I knew I wouldn’t last much longer. Not surprisingly a truck driver stopped.

They had always been the friendliest vehicles on the road. Within half an hour I had five litres of water and four apples. On my return I again had to stop for a rest only for the police to come along and start questioning me. To be fair I was just lying down on the new unused road so quite an unusually sight to come across. They didn’t understand me explaining that I was sick so I Just ignored them and slowly walked away.

The next day it got worse still. I was weaker and now really did not have the strength to walk far from the tent. It got to the point when I could only just crawl a small distance in front of the tent. It got closer and closer until the inevitable happened. Squatting not far from the tent I managed to hit it. The only saving grace was that it was on the outside. I was thankful that my aim wasn’t a little more to the left, the open door of the tent. On the cracked floor of the desert on all fours I now knew how Ped felt. I looked back in disgust but had no energy to do anything about it. I simply crawled back into the tent.

By the morning of the fourth day I was only slightly better. I knew I couldn’t stay any longer. I hadn’t eaten in 48 hours for a start and had lost three days of riding. I tried to ride it out to Shymkent, I really did. But I was so weak and after 5 hours I had only covered 22 miles on the flat road to Shymkent. I knew then I had no choice but to hitch a ride. I had to think of the bigger picture. After all, the border crossing deadline for China was looming.

Again a truck driver came to the rescue. To be honest I wish I was able to cycle. To give an idea of how bad the roads are it took 8 hours to cover 200 miles. If you have ever felt turbulence on a plane then you will have a good idea of what this ride was like. Eight long hours of bumping and rattling, just what I did not need! In the early hours of the morning we arrived in Shymkent. I got a hotel, food, water and was looking forward to a proper day of recovery.

Sign the Confession Mr. Newall - 22/09/10 – 24/09/10

2010-10-16T03:14:00.000-07:00

Overview
Location: Shymkent to Taraz.
Date: 22/09/10 – 24/09/10
Distance covered: 154.76 Miles
Overall distance: 4, 283.9 miles

“$100 Mr. Philip Sean” announced the head officer at the border. The stars on his shoulder distinguished his position of importance. He wrongly read my name from my passport that he had firmly in his possession. “You must pay us $100,” he repeated. I sheepishly corrected him about my name and looked around the large office helplessly trying not to make eye contact with the four other border guards that were deemed necessary to handle my case.

My eyes fell upon the large map of Kazakhstan that covered the wall to my left. Without thinking I scanned along the route from Uralsk to Taraz that I had finally completed. Compared to my relatively quick journeys through the other 8 countries that I had crossed, this had felt long. All I had wanted to do was leave Kazakhstan as well. Ever since being ill in the desert I wanted nothing more than to be out of this country. Each day it seemed it would give me a new problem. Be it, riding in the desert or on terrible roads, worrying about crossing Russia again or about wolves at night and of course problems with food and being ill.

The buoyant feeling I had from arriving at Taraz, the final town in Kazakhstan was fading fast. It had taking me a day and a half to cover the distance from Shymkent to there. I was still not fit either. I was maybe at 65 percent fitness. My legs felt heavy and body was still weak. I would have stayed in Shymkent if the deadline for China wasn’t so close. I had enjoyed my time in Shymkent. Well the time not spent on the toilet anyway. I had my first proper wash since Moscow. Trust me this was much needed after the desert illness episode. I was even fit enough to wander around the near vicinity of the hotel I was staying at for food and the search for an internet connection.

It was during one of these walks, that a Kazak woman started chatting to me. I was wearing my UNICEF T-shirt as it was the only clean item of clothing left. She recognized the logo and assumed that I worked for them. She went on to explain the situation of her son getting beat by his teacher at school. It really was a shocking tale and should not be happening to the boy. She was looking for help from me, in her eyes a representative of UNICEF, with this situation.

I went on to explain that I was only fundraising for UNICEF and did not directly work for them. But pointed her in the direction of the UNCIEF website where I thought she might be able to get some help. This conversation really did highlight the importance of the work that UNICEF does. But mostly it highlighted why it is such a valid cause to fundraise for. As a random woman, on the street can see the logo and identify it as being a possible source of help.

After we parted I was accosted by a man that also noticed the UNICEF logo. He however made the connection with Barcelona a proud supporter of UNICEF. He was clearly drunk and kept trying to grab hold of me. His repeated neck flicking, the Russian sign for drinking, more than hinted that he wanted me to join him. This is a major downside of this part of the world. There is a serious alcohol problem. Anyway all I wanted to do was to get back to the toilet. So I made my excuses and left.

Back in the office the head guard said, “Do you understand? You must pay $100.” To which I replied “No, I don’t understand.” So yet another guard arrived and it became quite apparent that this woman was to be my translator. Not a very good one I might add! Guards came and left the room. The head guard left with my passport. So the other guards took this opportunity to ask me about my trip. Considering the situation I thought it was wise not to get angry and answer them politely.

The head guard then returned with my passport and showed me the arrival slip I had received from entering the country. He pointed out a section of English on the back. It stated that I had to register in the country after five days. I hadn’t done this so maybe I was rightly at fault. With registration came a second stamp on the arrival slip. I only had one. However the UK is part of the EU stable group of countries that does not need to register I explained. My translator ignored my argument. This annoyed my a lot as it was true I did not need to register. But they were right I did not have the second stamp.

I was unaware that when entering the country the border guard was supposed to stamp this slip twice. So they were at fault. I could see they were a bit flustered when I retrieved a document from Kirsty clearly stating this. The translator read it to the other guards. Only for them to reply “No this is wrong, you pay us $100.” They then started moving me upstairs and downstairs. More questions were asked. Particularly along the lines of why I had committed this “crime”. But since I knew that I did not need to register they seemed to be unsure as to what they were going to do with me.

I thought I would get my passport back and be allowed to leave. This wasn’t to be. Not till they got the $100. I felt vulnerable and helpless. Even though they were in the wrong I was still the one being punished. They had my passport and I couldn’t leave without it. I had no choice but to pay the $100.

Even this was complicated. It meant going the 15km journey back to Taraz. I was chauffeured by two young guards in an army jeep to the bank. This seemed more than a little suspicious to me that I had to pay the money into a bank account. But what choice did I have. To add further misery to the situation, I caught my cycling shorts getting out of the jeep. This ripped a large hole down the side. What next I thought? After the money was paid into the bank my escorts boasted how they had got three more like me to pay last month. All I could think was they are going to have a cracking works night out this year with all this scam money. My escort asked me a question, “I don’t think you will come back Kazakhstan?” I gave a wry smile which more than answered this question.

Then the final insult came. As if the last four hours of questions and the $100 “fine” had not been enough. They made me write a confession. I was even shown an example by the translator on how I should confess. My first attempt was not to my guard’s satisfaction. I clearly did not confess to the appropriate crime. So I had to rewrite the confession until they were happy with it. Only after signing this and a good few other forms that I couldn’t read; could I leave. They gave me my passport back, stamped it and told me to leave. I could finally continue the journey. Dazed, disappointed and very angry I pushed Kirsty towards the Kyrgyzstan border. It was back to getting to the China border for the 27th of September.

Leave before Moscow makes you soft!

2010-08-28T14:35:00.000-07:00

Do you know the Baz Lurman song: Everybody’s Free? You know he reminds us to wear sun cream? Aside from reminding us of the importance of protecting our skin from the sun he also suggests a list of experiences to try in life. For instance, do one thing every day that scares you. Oh and of course get plenty of calcium. He also suggests something along the lines of living in New York once but leave before it makes you hard and live in London once but leave before it makes you soft. Well Moscow is like London.
It is time to hit the road again. The appeal of going back out into the tent in the cold and riding each day in the rain is starting to thin. Not because that bothers me. No it is because the welcoming I have experienced in Moscow has been so great, I don’t want to leave. My expectation of arriving at a grey, cold, paranoid city of Russians that dislike the west has been shattered.
Everyone is friendly, helpful and welcoming. Each day I have been treated to amazing Russian cuisine and traditions. I have been given a warm bed and had countless warm showers at no cost. I have found out a huge amount about a culture that is so similar yet different to my own. The city itself is so easily accessible by metro that in the short time that I have been here I have seen a lot. The Kremlin, Saint Basils Cathedral, Victory Park, VDNKh, the war museum, Catherine the greats Palace and the must see Red Square. I could quite happily stay here for a lot longer. Learn Russian, ride the metro some more and maybe get a Russian bride!
I have been almost disappointed that I haven’t been able to find much of the cities’ relatively recent communist history. No instead I have been treated to a modern city of contradiction. Lamborghinis drive along side Ladas. Modern sky scrapers stand aside communist era blocks of flats. This is a city that has many, many, many (US) dollar billionaires but a monthly minimum wage of just over $180. This does not mean by anyway that this is a cheap city, anything but and it far exceeds my budget. So how have I managed to stay here?
This is all due to my good friend Irina. Strangely we met on a summer camp in America some six years ago and since then haven’t really had much contact. If it wasn’t for social networking I doubt we would have made contact again. When I found out that she now calls Moscow home through Facebook. It didn’t require much thought to make this a dot on the map on the route to Delhi.
Why come to Russia? The obvious answer would be to see the country. The more in-depth answer is to experience a different Commonwealth System. The majority of the previous U.S.S.R nations are part of the Commonwealth of Independent States (C.I.S). This is the closest to a contrast between the Commonwealth of nations that Scotland is a member of. So far it has been interesting with some wanting to be part and other wanting nothing to do with it. I have the feeling the same will apply to the nations I will visit during the Challenge.
Since the challenge took to the road from Poznan I have been surprised that I have managed to continually do the miles day after day and arrive here on time as planned. It was all maybe a bit straight forward. Dare I even say easy! But of course each day there was a new challenge. From the off in Poznan the sun beat down on me like I had never experienced before on the bike. Then in Lithuania and Latvia they offered me some tough roads with a lack of surfaced roads. Russia followed this up with roads almost as bad as their driving. The language barrier has been huge imprisoning me in a world of silence. But you get on with it.
The motivation to get here was maybe the key. As far as I can work out for me fitness only plays a very small part in the ability to achieve the goal. For me it appears to be more about the mental attitude to the situation. The facts are simple prior to the expedition I had very little time to train. By that I really mean very little at all. Yet here I am. How much further this will get me I can’t say.
I will find out on the road. I have chosen the best time to find out, during the first ever race I have ever participated in. Sure there are no other competitors, strict rules or prize for finishing. But I am against the clock. It is counting down to October 14th and the Glasgow handover ceremony at the Delhi Commonwealth Games. From here to there it is some 3400 miles and I have just under 50 days to get there.
So can I do? Well it is time to find out. Delhi here I come….
…….oh and remember wear Sun cream!

Follow the Red Brick Road

2010-08-10T09:50:00.000-07:00

The crossing from Harwick to the hook of Holland was a straight forward journey. From there on it was a case of learning how to use the bike roads. But to be fair the first 700 miles have been mostly straight forward. A few navigations problems and problems finding somewhere to camp aside. As you would expect.

It has been a little dissappointing being wet nearly everyday and took a bit of getting used to. But now I expect it. Not quite the summer I thought that I was going to be chasing though!

Now I complained about the cycle roads a lot to begin with. I actually found them hard to navigate. This is the first place that I have come across in the world that has such fully developed facilities for bicycles. From the Holland to Poland I must of cycled nearly three quarters of the distance on these roads. No cars, very few bicycles and in general a good surface.

Though I was never too fond of the bumpy red brick sections in towns. Also I couldn't understand why they went to the bother of making these paths and not lowering the kerbs properly? The time that a car almost hit me at a junction wasn't great either. It resulted in the crown jewels making a very hard contact with the top bar. The price I made for not letting a car hit me! To be fair the driver did the right thing by apologising and laughing at my pain like anyone would do in that situation.

So maybe it is an idea that could catch on. The only problem I had was when I would ride on roads to bypass a town. The bike paths would always take a longer route through towns which after seeing a few housing estates the appeal of avoiding them on the road grew. This quite often led to abuse from drivers. Good for learning German swear words though. But the further east I went the less a problem this seemed but I think that was me just getting better at navigating in Germany. So maybe the abuse was due.

Germany is without doubt the greenest country that I have visited to date. From the first morning of riding in Germany until arriving in Poland no matter which direction that you were to look you would see a wind turbine. There were that many of them that I even had to camp underneath one of the beasts. I felt like I was on a beach beside the sea. Each swoosh of the blades sounding like a gentle wave rolling on to a golden beach. It made for a good night sleep.

I have lost track of time and now work out days by miles. Today 80 tomorrow 100 and so on. Although each day is exactly the same: pedal, stop eat, pedal, stop eat, camp and sleep. Each day is of course different as the further I chase my shaddow around the world the greater the cultural differences from home become.

So next stop Moscow........

They say the first step is the hardest

2010-07-30T08:28:00.000-07:00

That is me a week into the ten month expedition and things are starting to settle in. I considered this a practice week if you like. Time to get used to the bike, the weight and the idea of being on the road for 20,000 miles. Also to see if anyone would join me for five miles. So far so good.

However during the ride I have been wondering what exactly is the first hard step? At what point does it happen? For me would it have been the stage when the idea was formed in the Himalayas? Strangely that was almost a formality for me. It was decided in a instance and I continued my trek without a second thought. Certainly it did not seem a hard step.

Would it then have been the stage when I got home and had to come up with the 'plan' of how I would do this? This resulted in numerous challenges. Like learning how to build a website, use social networks, creating a blog, getting in the media, make contacts with many organisations, researching and sourcing equipment, training, route planning, sorting out visas and the hardest challenge of them all the funding. These were all tough and I have been more successful at some of the tasks than others. But I would not consider any of these tasks as the first step and everything else fell into place after it.

Maybe it was the first 5 miles of pedalling away from Glasgow? Nope, this had a feeling of relief more than anything. The weeks building up to the start were unfortunately stressful. I still needed visas, equipment and doubted anyone would like to join me. Add to this the challenge of working seven days a week. So that first pedal out of Glasgow's George Square with five other cyclists was a great moment.

Maybe then the hardest step is the last. The challenge involves huge commitment and sacrifices and then it finishes and you are left with the question- What next?

For me obviously this is not a concern. What is next? The answer is easy: Ride 20,000miles, raise money for UNICEF and get as many people as I can to join me for 5 miles.

Thanks so far goes to Ken, Iain and David for riding with me in and around Newcastle. To Ellis the kind cycling fanatic that treated me to beers, steak and a night indoors. To Dan MArtin for a great night. Thanks to all his stories of adventures I certainly have a lot to think about!

So tomorrow I set off to Harwich and then Holland. The long ride to the next commonwealth nation begins and maybe a conclusion on what is the first hard step.

The Himalayan Dream - Genesis of the Commonwealth Challenge Part 5 the Conclusion

2010-07-10T14:10:00.000-07:00

Finally I have got round to finishing the story that put me on the road to starting the Commonwealth Challenge. I had left Pinny in Kathmandu over a week previous to this moment and was nearing the end of a 100km solo trek in the Himalayas.

There I was stuck in a moment of beauty. To the west the sun was sinking. It burned red, setting the Lingtang mountain range ablaze turning the shimmering jagged white peaks into glowing orange embers of rugged light. Behind me lay the 4610m Himalayan pass with scenery stolen straight out of a lord of the rings film, that I had negotiated only hours before hand. Below the route to the bus journey back to Kathmandu. Effectively the end of this journey.

I had it all to myself. Be it a trick of the topography or maybe fate. But I was having a selfish moment with the planet and this 360 degree panorama of wonder was for my eyes only. From all the billions of people that share the planet with me none were here for this. It was overwhelming and inspiring. It was the last few days of my 'Half Ass the Himalayas' expedition. But this moment would be the spark for me taking on the Commonwealth Challenge. This was the moment that I call the Himalayan Dream.

It wasn't that I was overcome by a moment of hippy madness but more so that this was the first time during the expedition that I stopped to reflect on the experience. I had worked hard to get to this location and I intended to enjoy the moment and take it all in. This gave me time to reflect on the experiences of the last few weeks. From heartbreak to the Himalayas, a night in jail to a night in the jungle, from the wonder of the Taj Mahal to the majesty of the Kathmandu valley. All these were amazing experiences that were all unplanned and unexpected.

It was these experiences that demonstrated to myself of what I was capable of doing with very little preparation. It made me wonder what would be possible if I really tried. It also made me realise that this was something that I really enjoyed and I knew it was going to something I would do again. Then and there I decided to take on something huge.

Unfortunately I can't respond with a blasé approach that I decided to do this for a bet, a race or cause of some crazy plan concocted after a few beers. Nope the sun was setting somewhere beautiful and I made the decision to take on the challenge of visiting the commonwealth nations coming to Glasgow for the 2014 games.

Why you might ask? Well the Glasgow 2014 games has been a big part of my working life with Glasgow life (the name has changed from culture and sport!). Basically I wanted to do something for the commonwealth games. I wanted to find out more about the commonwealth nations. I wanted to tell them about Glasgow. I wanted to take on a challenge and of course I wanted to take on another adventure.

As the sun began to sink further I resumed my trek downhill. It was time to start planning the next challenge.

On the 23rd of July all this planning will be tested when I begin the 20,000 mile world cycle. I hope to see some of you there for five miles and many more along the way!

The last charge to the majestic city of Kathmandu – Genesis of the Commonwealth Challenge – Part 4

2010-06-22T03:43:00.000-07:00

The morning after the night in prison I had finally made it to Nepal. There was no strike problem stopping me from entering this time. The riots were over for the time being. Almost instantly - as is the norm when crossing borders- everything changed. The flat plains of crop growing fields of India rapidly transformed into an undulating terrain covered by forest. The roads started off good and the people were even friendlier. For the first time in weeks the women were talking again. I was on my last push with only another few hundred miles and me and Pinny would make it to the fabled city of Kathmandu!

I had one more night out in the tent before Kathmandu in Bardia National park. I was quite uneasy with it. Firstly due to the stories from the gov’ner the night before of foreigners getting stabbed and secondly I had just found out that Nepal has bears in their national parks. I remember being terrified of bears on the cycle expedition I had just recently completed with the cycling for charity team from Ljubljana to Istanbul. The thought of encountering one out in this jungle filled me with fear. What was it I was to do if this happened? Make a loud noise, lie down, throw rocks at it or maybe beside it. I really didn’t know.

It turned out to be an uneventful night. No man or beast had disturbed my sleep and I didn’t even have a crowd stop and stare in the morning. I was actually a little disappointed. So the stage was set for the last 135 miles. I was going to make it to a nice hotel and a hot shower in Kathmandu. That was my motivation. The day was bright and warm; the roads were quiet and easy. As I entered a valley following a turquoise river for mile after mile over rolling hills I was happy. Pinny was in good shape and I was feeling great if not just a little tired.

Then the last day turned to night. I was within 40 miles of Kathmandu. The road turned from easy to extremely difficult. The blacktop surface deteriorated rapidly to a tarmac warzone. Trench size pot holes hampered my already slowed progress and fastened my worsening mood. It was this hill; a hill I didn’t know existed that was the source of my foul mood. “Why had my hand drawn map not warned me of this dam monster of a hill?” I cursed and made a note to draw better maps in the future.

Due to the nightly ritual of burning rubbish and the inability of drivers in this part of the world to flick off their full beam lights the view ahead was very limited. It was also at this point I decided to have my first ever crash on a tour. Well more of a fall really. I was still heading uphill and I was pushed to the sand covered bank at the road side by a truck. Pinny’s wheels lost all traction and skidded out from underneath me and I toppled on to the hard tarmac below me. If it wasn’t for the truck driver’s fast reactions behind me then I would have been under its wheels. It was also lucky that at that point there wasn’t a truck coming down the hill. Now that would have caused quite an accident. I picked up Pinny, checked myself and continued up. I was a little shaken but otherwise okay.

Nearly two and a half hours later I had reached the top. The dirt trail that had substituted as the main road had finally topped out. I had made it 900 miles in ten days. Below was the Kathmandu valley. I was exhausted but elated and all I had to do was roll into town. Well so I thought. As always is the case there seemed to be one more challenge! In this case it was the welcoming party that Kathmandu had arranged for me. It was dogs, packs of crazy bike chasing dogs. Pinny and I don’t get on well with dogs. I was furious.

I hurtled down the dark downhill at full speed. I did not want to get to know these dogs personally. Out running them was my best option. As soon as I out ran one group another would join the chase. If this was during the day it would not have been a problem. I could have seen and avoided any pot hole with ease. But it was night; Nepal doesn’t do street lighting and pot holes were a danger as real as the dogs and were going to be inevitable. But I never hit any. I was like a Jedi cyclist. I knew which route to instinctively take. I flew past dogs and pot holes none affecting me. I picked up speed and soon the city was within reach.

Finally I had just out run the last pack of dogs for the night. Surely nothing else could go wrong I now thought. I was using the force after all. Confident I kept up the downhill charge and all my attention was focused on finding a hotel. Food, beer, a shower and a warm room were all so close. Then to my surprise I hit the largest pothole I have ever experienced. I almost disappeared into it. The resulting collision had terrible consequences for Pinny.

The rack holding my pannier bags came flying off. It swung around on the lower fittings that was still attached to the bike and crashed into the gears. The force of this collision had destroyed the gearing system. At this point I was too tired to consider the consequences or even inspect Pinny properly. For some reason I was more concerned that I might get robbed. This was strange considering I had nothing to base these thoughts on. So on the very last few miles Pinny had been mortally injured and it was not repairable. I patched up the rack and limped into the city in search of a hotel.

With the help of an army escort (don’t even ask), the same ones that caused all the problems in the country, I was guided to a hotel. But effectively my attempt to cycle to Everest Base camp was over. Without Pinny this plan was on hold. It was time for a new plan.

To be Concluded in part 5....

A night in the Jail - Genesis of the Commonwealth Challenge Part 3

2010-06-13T10:58:00.000-07:00

This was the moment on the last trip in India that really got me thinking about doing something grand. If none of this happened I very much doubt that I would be in the exciting situation that I am the now. So to better understand why I thought about taking on this challenge do read on.

There I was, the sun had long since set and from the complete darkness of night I had arrived. In front was a foreboding vision. A man dressed in half army, half causal uniform, with a hat distinguishing him as someone of importance. He spoke to me in Hindi which I translated as, "this is where he wanted me to put Pinny". The shine off the large sharp, silver bayonet on top of his antique riffle hung over his shoulder made the instructions all the clearer. I dismounted Pinny and was directed towards a brightly lit room. Now how had I got myself into this situation......

It was at that moment that a conversation that I had had with a young man, a few days earlier came to mind. I was in my usual routine of asking for directions. It was midday and comfortably warm. I had not long left Bobasa, near the Nepal border and was heading east across the north of India. I was disappointed that I was not heading into Nepal. The riots and trouble that had closed the border would go on for days yet. It wouldn't be till much later that I would found out that this was almost a monthly tradition. It was bad timing for me though.

The problem was I found out that I was going the wrong way. I was way off the distance I needed to cover that day and I had run out of Indian rupees. I had spent them all at the border anticipating being in Nepal by then. I only had four pounds worth left. There nearest ATM was 150 miles away. This meant there was no time for delays. With my hand drawn map I discussed a possible shorter route, though the young man wasn't so confident that this was a suitable way to go. "There is jungle, wild animals and robbers this way," he said. I gave a shrug, I had become used to been told that further down the road that there was danger, only for it to never show.

Then he said "Is time precious or life precious?" Now this could have led to a very in-depth conversation. I would have loved to have had time to argue both the pros and cons of both. Sharply I answered "time". He directed me and I was off on my own again. Off to face the danger. This was just my attitude to the tour from the start. Rarely believe local information about risks, never turn back, always go forwards and usually risks are worth taking.

As I had predicted I never did come across the dangerous robbers. However the wild animals and the jungle were most certainly real. As I trundled along this route the normal crazy traffic disappeared. I was alone and surrounded in dense jungle. Bizarrely the road wasn't empty. Stretches were full of monkeys and I was acting like some kind of Tarzan shepherd dispersing huge packs of them. I must have seen at least three hundred monkeys in under an hour. It then dawned on me that India was the inspiration for the story the Jungle book. I remembered a particularly mean tiger. To settle me nerves I randomly came across a WWF sign with an image of a huge tiger filling the sign.

I picked up the pace. Even though the tarmac road had descended to nothing but a dirt path. If it wasn't for the actions of a small boy a few days earlier there would have been no way that Pinny could have taken the beating that the jungle trail was throwing at us.

I was glad that two days after leaving Agra and the magnificent Taj Mahal I had been stopped by the most unsuspecting character. He was like one of the many children I had past so far, riding their way to big for them bike, though maybe a bit more podgy. They would normally stare at me with curiosity. Some might even start a conversation, "Hello, name? country? age?" With that done they would say "nice to meet me" and be on their way.

This one was different. He spotted straight away the state the Pinny's back wheel was in. Though it was that bad it was hard not to notice. It was in a ridiculous state. Made much worse by the attempts I had made trying to repair it myself. This boy did something different and for some reason I listened to him. He ordered me to slow down. So I did. The next town of Khatima was close and from what I understood was that this boy was going to help me find someone to fix Pinny.

The bicycle is a very important method of transport in India. The roads are full of them, simple single speed solid bikes. So it's no surprise to find out that each town has a number of bicycle "shops". I had tried to visit them to solve Pinny's pains myself. The sexy looks of Pinny had dazzled the mechanics and all I got was usually a nice chat and a tea. But this boy did the talking for me. He bought me a tea and explained the situation. I hadn't even said a word to him. The first mechanic gave the usual dazzled expression. Never mind the boy took me to another. Result! The boy got the wheel repaired, not only that he paid for it. A boy younger than fourteen had solved Pinny's problems, paid for it and asked for nothing more than my name and country. I was amazed.

This was not the only time this had happened. The night before I rolled into a town called Kancjar. As usual I was taking risks and riding at night. But by the time I had got to this town I was getting a bit concerned. The traffic was crazy. I could not see in front due to the driver refusing to dip their lights and I didn't dare look to see what was behind. I decided to stop and check where I was going. A man came to my aid, he would not let me go ahead, too dangerous. Instead he took me to a hotel. He was a priest, he sorted my hotel. I don't think the owner liked the looked of my filthy pollution tan and if it wasn’t for the actions of the priest I wouldn’t have been allowed to stay. He even bought me dinner and then blessed my meal and said he would pray for me everyday of my trip. (Did I now have god on my side?)

As I entered the brightly lit room I wondered if the many faces I could see behind the thick rusted bars were cursing their gods for their situation. I had arrived at a large prison. The police had caught me cycling at night, stopped me and would not let me continue. Though my visit to this place I must say was a bit different to the other guests. Inside the brightly lit room was man I had met an hour earlier. He was the warden the Gov'ner of this prison. This was my first time ever to a prison and I was a guest of the Gov. He was another Indian man that would not let me continue during the night. I found out rightly so. Only a few months earlier a Germany tourist had been robbed and stabbed on this very road.

I explained my lack of money and need of an ATM. Before I knew it I was being escorted down the dark road at full speed to the prison by two jeeps and a motorbike. Surely this would be better that the tent for the night.

It was it was amazing. I settled in for a night of sky TV and awesome food and chat with the Gov. He was a good man and gave me a good insight into India. I had the best night sleep so far. Pinny even had her own guard! Best hotel so far, I highly recommend staying in an Indian prison.

To be Continued.

2010-06-04T03:52:00.000-07:00

The Challenge Needs YOU!

Basically this is your part in the Challenge. I am trying to get 10,500 people from around the world to join me for a five-mile cycle.

My route will take me through:
Scotland, England, Holland, Germany, Poland, Belarus, Russia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, China, Pakistan, India, Bangladesh, India, Nepal, China (Tibet), Laos, Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, USA, Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, Portugal, Spain, France, England, Wales, Ireland, Northern Ireland and then after 20,000 miles on the road back to Scotland. (Route)

Along this route I will go through many towns and cities and it is here that I hope to meet as many people as I can to join me for five miles. I will record your name then we shall ride the five miles and you will become part of this world wide team.

When I set off on the 23rd of July I will have a tracker accurately stating my position so that you will be able to follow my progress. This will allow you to get in contact for when I get close to your town or city to organize a five mile ride together.

For the time being if you want to get an idea of what it is like going for a cycle with me then why not watch one of my two cycle expeditions films:

1. Malaga to Marrakech (2008): a journey covering 697 miles from Malaga (Spain, Europe) to Marrakech (Morocco, Africa). (45 mins)
2. Ljubljana to Istanbul (2009): The second cycle expedition is a 1600 mile journey from Ljubljana (Slovenia, Europe) to Istanbul (Turkey, Asia). (50mins)

Soon I will be getting in touch with as many cycle team and people from around the world as I can, maybe you! If this challenge interests you and you want to help create this 10,500 strong team then please don't hesitate to get in touch.

What the hell am I doing in India? - Genesis of the Commonwealth Challenge Part 2

2010-05-17T10:00:00.000-07:00

The story continues where the last blog left off, Glasgow airport.....

Heartbreak had led me to Glasgow airport, impulsiveness had resulted in a flight being booked to India and lack of preparation had sent me straight back home again.

I didn't have a Indian visa, why did I need one? I was sure I didn't. This can be explained by my hours and hours of planning that I put into this trip. Basically ten days before the start of this trip I found out I had five weeks worth of holidays that had to be taken . So I looked out for cheap flights somewhere in the world. Delhi just by chance happened to be the start location, the Himalayas the end goal. EASY! Planning done. I am sure that is how all Himalayan adventurers do it isn't it!? Ah well apparently not no, no visa meant no flight for me.

Four days later I arrived in Delhi. Though Pinny (aka my bike) hadn't arrived she was a little lost. As for Delhi I must say I was not that impressed by the place. Very dirty, very polluted, crappy buildings everywhere. I went on a crappy tour to see a bit more of the place. The tour tried to show me the difference between "old" Delhi and "new" Delhi. To the untrained eye it both looks the same, dirty and run down. Not much here for the tourist I thought.

In hindsight I do believe I was first off badly jet lagged in Delhi and secondly not in the right frame of mind to go and explore the place. To be honest for the three days that I had there I spent the majority of the time in the hotel room. So I am not really sure that I got to experience the place properly. So when I arrive there for the Delhi 2010 games I think I will be able to give a better evaluation of the city.

So Pinny arrived a day later, phew. That relief wasn't felt for long though. After I started to sort her for the road I realized that Emirates had beat her up pretty bad. Cheers. The rear wheel was in a bad state so I had to try and sort it out. Not being that good at fixing mechanical problems I successfully made it worse. I should have just left it, so the only solution I had was to disconnect the rear brakes. Good start.

It was now time to start the ride to EBC and the first stop would be Agra the home of the Taj Mahal over 130 miles away. When I went to bed to get some sleep I must say I was feeling a bit nervous about the challenge ahead. Every local I had spoke to said I must be crazy for trying to cycle to Agra. "The roads are too dangerous and full of drunk drivers". This was the normal comment and didn't fill me with confidence.

When it was 1.30a.m I just decided to get ready and go and then I was off. Next stop Agra. It was dark, of course but the roads were completely dead. Just I had planned, problem was I wasn't really sure where I was heading. But two random locals on a motor bike solved that problem and gave me an escort to the road I was looking for. It did come at a cost though, I had to stand and pose for pictures with him and a few of his friends? This would happen a lot as it turned out!

Nine hours later i had cover 132 miles and had made it to Agra. Now you are probably wondering how I managed to do 132 miles in nine hours. Now i'm not going to lie it was not all down to my effort. Even though I did cycle every mile of the route, I did have some help. I formed a team with the local truck drivers and what a team we were! They would drive along at an average of 22 miles an hour and I would sit in their slip stream. Amazing. The highlight was slip streaming at an average of 28 miles an hour for nearly an hour. Brilliant.

Before I knew it I had made it to Agra. No drunk drivers had hit me, though the driving style was really starting to do my head in! There is only so much horn beeping you can take after a night of cycling with no sleep. So just before cycle rage took full grip I found the hotel. Checked out the amazing view of the Taj Mahal from the roof and went to bed. Success.

The next day I would start the journey to Nepal with my hand drawn map. Should be easy...

A Kick in the Balls

2010-05-10T14:21:00.000-07:00

A kick in the balls for me has two meanings. First off it is a rather delicious cocktail that can cause a few embarrassing moments after one too many. Secondly it is that unwanted moment when contact from a swinging foot connects with a gentleman’s private region. The results being a feeling of surprise agony and for all others involved humorous pain to enjoy.

The planning stage of expeditions is much like this. Just when you think that everything is going fine and that is going to be worth it. Out of nowhere a flying foot makes a sweet crunching connection with the crotch area. This brings everything to a halt. Questions are asked about motivations to go ahead with the idea and confidence in ability is doubted.

But rest assured this apparently is just part of the fun. Even worse than that, it appears to be quite a common factor involved with starting up adventures. The ups and downs in progress in the planning stage are the norm. It is often mentions that the first step is the hardest to take. I sure can’t wait to get started and the easy part can begin.

For the time being though getting to the starting line is still the struggle. I have been working away at getting all the appropriate visas. But the Russia visa is not very straight forward. I really do wonder why some countries have issues given visas if you are on a bike. Really, what can one guy and a bike do?

I have also updated the website. You can now find details about my previous expeditions and both of my cycling film documentaries are also on the site. I am also working on getting a video diary onto the site and maybe a few other short films. So there is still more to come.

Soon I will get back to finishing off the genesis of the commonwealth challenge story. It really is the key to explaining my motivations. Plus I will give more details about Challenge FIVE -During the world cycle I am trying to form the world’s largest cycle team. Basically I need 10,500 people to join me for a 5 mile cycle to achieve this goal!

So for the time being I will be dodging those flying kicks as best I can and trying to spread the word about the challenge. Feel free to invite your friends to join the Challenge team!

A Kick in the Balls (the cocktail not the ball ache from a swift kick)

Cocktail Ingredients: Morgan’s Spiced, Vodka, Brown Sugar, Mint leaves, Fresh Lime, Orange and Mango Juice and Crushed Ice.

1.Add the mint leaves and a large spoonful of brown sugar into a highball glass.
2.Fill the glass to the top with crushed ice.
3.Add a generous amount of Morgan’s Spiced.
4.Add a good dash of Vodka.
5.Flavour with orange and mango juice and a hint of lime juice.
6.Give a good stir and enjoy.

Adventures of the Broken Hearted – Genesis of the Commonwealth Challenge

2010-03-27T18:54:00.000-07:00

Basically this is a retelling of the tales from previous expeditions and trips, so for some of you the stories will be familiar. But without retelling these tales it would be a difficult task to explain my motivation for taking on the commonwealth challenge.

So this tales begins September 2009….

My return from the 2009 Cycling For Charity Expedition was supposed to be my last. Reaching Istanbul was going to signal my final miles in the world of cycle touring. On my arrival home the bike would become a Sunday pastime. I would then begin the search for the supposed “real job” and give up my interests in challenging adventures.

Strangely I was actually quite excited about my return home. It would mark the end of a difficult year. Life was starting to look good again. The successful completion of the expedition exemplified this. We had successfully completed all our goals, raising nearly £3000 for CHAS and also filming and producing an excellent documentary of the trip.

However the return to Glasgow proved to destroy this buoyant moment of happiness and bring me crashing to a terrible low. It started when I got home. I entered the room to find everything that was “us” was gone. All traces of her had been removed and all that was left was me. She had moved out. This is how I found out the relationship was over. Five years over without her even saying goodbye. Not even the indignity of a text message. This was not the return I had envisaged. Everything stopped.

Love and adventure did not mix well.

My “adventurer” side of my personality persuaded me that it was best to take the “manning up” approach. You could understand my surprise when I realised I had been wrapped in a duvet and crying for a number of days! Manning up hadn’t worked.

I had also missed the memo sent out giving clear instruction on how to handle this situation. Surely this would have been encouraging me to charge out into to the single life and trying to get my hands on as a high number of the opposite sex as I could.

Since I missed this vital information my solution didn’t follow that well trodden path. Nope this wasn’t for me, my mind had different plans and I didn’t really have much control over them. Instead during the madness that ensued outside of the safety of the duvet cover world I had somehow booked a flight. I had raided my saving and secured a massive five week holiday from work. Without so much consideration “I” had picked a random world destination.

Deep inside something decided that I needed a journey to clear my mind. I needed to gain perspective on the things that were important to me. I needed to be away for Christmas, from familiar ground, just from here. I was miserable. So off to the airport I went. I was going to go to India. Trying to cycle to Everest base camp seemed the logical thing to be doing.

To be continued…..

2010-03-12T15:30:00.000-08:00

Well the Challenge is here. At long last I have finally told the world about my new expeditions. I know for some you have been waiting a while to find out so I hope I haven't disappointed.

First things first then, time for an introduction: my name is Sean Newall. I consider Glasgow my home city. I work, study and play there. This is my first major expedition!

The Challenge is an idea that I have been thinking about for a few years now but it was only after my last expedition in India that the concept really took shape. Having worked with Culture and Sport Glasgow for a number of years caused me to have an interest in the Glasgow 2014 Commonwealth Games.

This got me thinking about the commonwealth. If I was honest I really did not have any idea what it was, who it was etc. I thought it was all about the empire and monarchy. Really who were all these nations that Glasgow will be hosting in 2014?

I was surprised to find out that it was over 70 nations from six continents. Basically a quarter of the countries in the world make up this unique family. Not only that with the Commonwealth having a population of nearly 2 billion then there is a one in three chance that you are from a Commonwealth nation.

Here is the basis of the Challenge: 72 Commonwealth nations, 4 Epic Expeditions, 1 Challenge to visit them all by a physically challenging method of transport!

The first expedition begins on August 1st 2010 between now and then I hope to tell you more about me, the expeditions, Unicef and the commonwealth.

The Challenge isn't only for me I hope to get as many people as I can involved through games and play so there is much more to come yet!

Oh and Please If YOU are from a Commonwealth nation get in touch!

LET'S PLAY

2010-02-18T13:33:00.001-08:00