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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time to come clean.....

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

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.

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

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!

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!

They say the first step is the hardest

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.