We cycle down a three lane highway, a toll road actually, except bikes, motorbikes, pedestrians and horses seem to go free of charge. Actually it's a no-lane highway but in Europe it would have three. Under-taking is the least of our concerns as trucks come head on towards us, hurtling contra flow, horns blasting, traffic weaving and dodging... but incredibly there are no collisions. It's a living version of some kind of chaos theory, a self organising system that is a sea of chaotic unpredictability. We'd never consider cycling a motorway at home, but the tarmac is black gold, and…
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Cycle touring usually means a sore ass, aching leg muscles or in my case, shoulders. We never expected that the sorest part of our bodies cycling through India would be our lungs. Our chests burn, a deep sting inside, like all the alveoli are raw and inflamed. Christine has almost lost her voice, and Kevin sounds like he smokes sixty a day. We are all coughing but nothing comes up. We want to dust the sky, polish the brown hue away, breathe in deep, fresh, clean air. Luckily for us we have the Scottish Highlands to return to and we'll…
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In May this year, a bunch of Scottish Scouts took on their own Quest 79 challenge, crossing Scotland via the Great Glen Way. The cycled and canoed 79 miles over four days through sun, rain and midges. "What was the hardest bit?" I asked. "The big hill! It went on and on and it was so steep." "And the best bit?" "Errrr. It's weird but maybe the best bit was going uphill too" they declared. "Because we didn't think we could do it, and then we discovered we were stronger than we thought." The Himalayan hills are behind us now,…
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The rickety village of Gangotri is the end of the road and the start of our journey. We are 3500m high, buried in a Himalayan valley. A few short rows of tumbledown houses line the upper Ganges, a smattering of colour etched across golden towers of rock. Massive blocks of mountain are suspended precariously above us, ready to fall from contorted walls that stretch to the sky. Towards the heavens, rugged peaks crown the valley like meringue, and from their heart flows Ma Ganga. The crystal water of the worlds most sacred river is the reason we are here. Today…
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Whilst in the Nevada desert about to attempt the Human Powered Speed Championships land-speed record for armpower, I reflect on the year that has gone since we officially launched the Quest 79 project. It’s all about encouraging people to challenge themselves, try something new, and hopefully find their ‘inner gold’ – that is, to discover something new, surprising and positive about themselves. My personal Quest is to ride 7 continents, 9 rides (one on each continent, and 2 Paralympic Games). It has been a moving and special year to see people taking on their own projects and gathering their stories.…
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The end of the river Over the past three weeks we have journeyed alongside the meandering 2520km of river and finally to the mouth, where it disappears into the surf of the Southern Ocean. My pace has slowed - it's hard not to when you share a journey with a river that moves at 1km/hr. That means that the bubbling stream water we began with is still many kilometres upstream. Our slow pace is still rapid compared to that of nature, and it makes me feel more than ever that our lives are just a blip in the passage of…
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Lines of tar, as straight as straight can be, hundreds of kilometres with nothing but crops and bush. 'It was a lake out there once upon a time. Flat as can be, salt flats to the south, and nothing much before Adelaide' the lovely Ian Lockhart explained. We thought we might be better and safer skipping the long dull ride, trading it for more time by the river, but the realisation dawned that there are only two buses a week - we just missed one, and they don't take bikes anyway. And nobody wants to give a ride to our…
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The Murray River, from its source high in the Australian Alps to the Southern Ocean near Adelaide, is a near-3000 km long ribbon of water, the longest river in Australia. On April 10th, a few days after racing in the Commonwealth Games, I began 'riding the river'. There hasn't been rain here for months, the region arid and threatened by wildfire, and even with a complex system of water management, the amount of water that flows down the Murray in a year is similar to the volume flowing down the Amazon in a single day. But we have brought a…
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It’s been my intention to write the last blog about the Canada to Mexico ride for the last…errrr…well, it’s long overdue. Yesterday a journalist asked me “By the way, did you get to Mexico?” The final days were long, hot and sweaty in an unusually hot Californian autumn, but we made it to Mexico on the 29th October, 41 days after leaving Vancouver, 3000km and 38 days of riding. I’ve just calculated that is an average of 79km a day…WEIRD…it wasn’t planned that way to fit with Quest 79, but the mysterious magic of the number seems to have been…
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Tyre Tackling. "What do you mean by telling me to 'get a life' Rich?" Niall asked in a belligerent tone as a tyre lever snapped on him. "Forget it mate." Rich responded, and I felt myself cringe inside, tired of the tension. It was a hot afternoon on the shoulder of a busy freeway, yet another puncture on Niall's rear wheel and too many kilometres still beckoning. In Southern California, the dusk doesn't linger. We've rolled into camp in the dark a lot lately. I tried to stay calm, thinking how we may snap at each other on a journey…
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The past nine days have been a kaleidoscope, the wetter more gruelling experience of the north transformed by the vibrant colours, sounds and smells of the south. Our senses have been infused with the aromas and energy of things we've ridden through: the mystical Giant Redwood forests, the heavy wafts from hidden plantations of cannabis, the salty kelp piled in by the Pacific rollers and the smog of wildfire that has tinted the sky and filtered the sunlight. Add to that the endorphins running through my blood from long days and the physical intensity of tackling the rollercoaster ribbon of…
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As we sun-and dream-chase southward on our bikes, the smell of warm pine and layers of rolling forest stir childhood memories. I grasp at them tight, shutting out the roar of RV's and juggernauts whose backdraft sucks us along or throws us into dangerous wobbles. I try to block out thoughts of being inches from death, and focus on the forest, or on the waves that roll in loudly from the gape of the Pacific. I think of being ten years old, of the year I lived in Oregon with my family, and try to be that same wide-eyed experience-soaking…
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"It's far too early to stop yet" Niall said, the sun still too high for long shadows or golden tints. I knew then he had caught the bug, the addictive virus of cycle touring, choosing to keep moving rather than kick back and rest up in a random American RV park. We are on the first section of our long road from Canada to Mexico, following the Pacific Coastal Bike Trail from the American Adventure Cycling Association. From Vancouver to the state of Oregon, the freeways and highways have never seemed far away, pulsating traffic like blood, background America not…
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The number 79 showed up in my life last year. I have no knowledge of numerology, but the constant appearance of the number got me intrigued… Gold is the 79th element in the periodic table. I spent three years as a geologist researching it, but never saw any – it was so tiny, in the lattice of the rock, that it was barely visible even with a super high powered microscope. Gold has eluded me most of my life (definitely in bike racing until last year!), and to be honest I would always choose silver as a colour over gold.…
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I've heard an adventure called ‘a journey with an unknown outcome’. I seem to have an addiction to them; I’ve never been one for too much routine, certainty or predictability in life, hence the attraction of riding a very long gravel road to a dead end in the South American wilderness. It turns out that National Geographic has pronounced the Carretera Austral one of the top places in the world to ride a bike – but our trip was inspired by party games rather than a magazine of such acclaim. Christmas. 2016 was almost upon us, and with it a…
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This weekend was the official British Paralympic Association launch event. With less than 60 days to go until competition starts in Rio, we’re into the final leg of four years of hard work. It’s got me thinking about how I got here and why I do what I do. My Paralympic focus began in 2008. It seemed a crazy dream to try and get to the 2012 Paralympics in London; little did I expect to be here for another four-year cycle and heading for Rio de Janeiro. Since I began training in 2008, a handbike has become an extension of…
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Sport is full of extreme contrast: one moment you feel indestructible, the next you are almost weeping; one day you feel amazing, the next you feel wrecked. A few weeks ago I became a Paralympic champion. I felt physically fit and mentally strong. Now I feel exhausted; my body the most broken and tired I can remember, and mentally everything feels discombobulated. My head has been spinning – actually a positive sign, as it means my brain hasn’t settled into the cabbage-like state it was so often in whilst training for the Paralympics. It also seems a good indication that…
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