There was finally a path over to the beach, and I climbed up to see the North Sea. After almost exactly a year, I’d done it. Yeah, there were a few planes, trains and Russian-owned automobiles, but I’d crossed Eurasia. A goal I had dreamt up while playing dad at tennis during mid-2023, which had been my obsession for the next 2 years, then my sole pursuit for the last 12 months. I’d done it. I called my parents; they were out on their date night, and they said lovely, affirming things. I took some pictures, took a quick dip and sat on the sand.

I sat back and tried to reflect on the past year. It was pretty difficult to process. When plotting this trip out, I would tell people that there wasn’t much in life that I had achieved that I felt proud of, and I felt I could change it with this journey. I felt a lot of different things, but pride was definitely there. I’d climbed every mountain, pushed through every headwind, kept going through every 45-degree day. Through the loneliness, having my heart broken, every logistical challenge, the persistent homesickness, I kept going. Through this, I’ve achieved and been through more than I could have expected, and in it found so much joy, friendship, love and care from the world around me. I’ve seen more beauty in the nature and culture of the world than I can comprehend.

Even now writing about it, it’s incredibly hard to sum everything up. It feels too big to process; I feel proud and happy to have achieved it. But, at the same time, I feel a bit scared and empty now the main project of the last 3 years is complete, and in a couple of weeks I’ll just be an unemployed 27 year old with some mad stories.

I ordered a few beers and FaceTimed some more friends, then cycled back inland to Delft to spend a few days recuperating with my friend Georgia.

This will probably be the 2nd to last post of this trip; I have a few weeks off in the UK and Ireland coming up, then one final push from Melbourne to Adelaide capping this whole thing off. I’ll continue to reflect and offer you something more complete when I’m back home; meanwhile, here are a few highlights through the last thousand or so kilometres.

Crossing the Alps.

After my time with Aurianne in Pila, I set out to cross the Alps and get into very flat northwestern Europe. As has become commonplace in Europe, I woke up in the morning unsure which country I would cycle to next, in this case, whether to take the Col du Petit-Saint-Bernard into France or the Col du Grand-Saint-Bernard into Switzerland. I was leaning petit, because it sounded, well, petite, but was talked into going grand by a random Scotsman out on a morning ride.

I coasted down from Pila to Aosta, only to get a call from Aurianne that I’d left my charging brick behind. I was 20 kilometres of uphill riding away, but fortunately, she could send it down in a cable car. While waiting for that, I took the time to get my brakes looked at; I changed the pads in Montenegro, and had suspected that there might have been some light rubbing on the rotor. I was wrong; there was, in fact, very significant rubbing going on, and the moment I got my bike back I felt like I had gone from throwing a medicine ball to a netball. This might have played some role in my lethargy throughout the Balkans, but I was glad to have the speed boost going into the biggest climb of my life.

The Col du Grand-Saint-Bernard was a 35-kilometre ribbon of tarmac climbing around 1900 metres. It was the biggest single climb of my life. It was undoubtedly beautiful, but a daunting sight stretching out ahead of me from the valley. But in truth, I handled it thoroughly competently. I paced myself well; I’m the fittest I will probably ever be, and over 5 hours I heaved my 40 kg bike up and out of Italy. With cafes every 5 or so kilometres and a pub at the summit, it certainly didn’t present the same challenges as the Pamirs, but it did prove to myself how far I’d come, and perhaps the benefits of accidental resistance training.

The Alps were the last great challenge of this adventure, so I started to get that feeling of emptiness when I crested the hill. Don’t get me wrong, I still did a Remco Evenepoelesque celly, and was excited. But there’s been so much excitement and anticipation at these big obstacles along the way: the Alps, the Pamirs, the Vietnamese highlands, the mountains on Hokkaido and Northern Honshu. All of these features always hung in my mind for the days and weeks leading into them. They never failed to be rewarding to crest. It was a reliable way of finding self-affirmation and confidence. Coming out of this, I need to keep seeking to push my boundaries, not just physically, but seeking what’s uncomfortable and what feels out of reach. I’ve achieved a lot on this journey, but I set myself up in a situation where these challenges were inevitable. Returning to a more comfortable life, I know I need to not lose the drive and the resilience I’ve gained over the last 12 months.

The Rhine River bike messenger cartel.

Arriving in Switzerland, securing warm showers and beds became more imperative than ever. Wild camping was allowed above the tree line, so I took one freezing night by a lake near the summit of the aforementioned pass, but from there, camping at a campsite could run me around $120 and a hostel $200. I camped in the backyard of a lovely family in Vevey on Lake Geneva. From there, I struggled to find people with availability.

In Bern, I only found one person who could take me in. He was a rather scattered bike messenger by the name of Guigui. He invited me to the offices of his work, and I had dinner with the folks working night shift. His workplace seemed like my Nirvana; basically, everyone was riding one of my dream bikes, and there was a community bike workshop inside, a bucket of cigarettes to share and a bunch of friendly cyclists. Guigui was working a night shift, so he sent his nine housemates a photo of me and said I was going to sleep in their basement. He went off to work, I watched the end of the Tour de France stage with his colleagues and then turned up at his house in suburban Bern.

They were also incredibly warm and cooked me a second dinner, and we sat in the backyard drinking cordial till the sun went down. Guigui was there in the morning and cooked me breakfast. As I was leaving, he said he knew some folks down the Rhine River and dropped some messages to people along my route to see if they could host me. On the ride along to Bern, I got a text from a guy called Dom. He offered me another spot; he was also a bike messenger, originally from London but had worked all over the world. He was working as a cook at a festival till 10 pm, so I took a swim in the Rhine to clean off and then made friends with the staff and got cojoled into joining the silent disco they were running. He took me back to his place with a very energetic 80 year old house mate, he saddled me with a bunch of stickers and connected me with another bike messenger in Meinz, who he had hosted while he was bike touring a week before. He was still on tour but sent a photo of me to his 6 housemates and asked them to look after me. They cooked me a great feed, and we enjoyed the sunset over the Rhine from up on the wall of the valley.

I was glad for this run of luck, both financially and also being able to experience a bit of the communities that exist in these parts of the world. I found people throughout Asia and the Balkans exceptionally welcoming, while people in Western Europe have an understandable lack of time and interest in tourists, and it’s a difficult social fabric to break into. But here, as everywhere, the kindness I have received from strangers has been humbling and kind of bewildering.

Some final words on the state of the rivers.

I spent the last few weeks on the Eurovelo following the Rhine River. It’s been interesting to see how the river supports so much trade and agriculture. It’s probably the least ‘natural’ river I have ridden along this trip. It looked very, very low. I could see the normal waterline a good couple of metres above where it was at the moment. I ended up cycling through a headwind with Oli, who worked for the Rhine river authority in the Netherlands. He affirmed the view that the river was low, describing it as apocalyptic. He was on a tour to look at the “Hunger Stones” along the river systems in Germany. Basically, these stones have been placed at the waterline of historic droughts over the last few hundred years, reading things like “If you see this stone, weep” or “when this stone is submerged better days are ahead”. Anyway, he was taking the opportunity to go on this tour since almost all these stones are currently visible. Hug your loved ones, folks.

That’s likely all my correspondence from Europe. I spent the last 5 days recuperating in Delft, staying with my friend Georgia and training all over the Netherlands. Next is being a bike-less tourist and catching up with friends and family through ut the UK. I fly home on September 3 and will have one last week riding back to Adelaide from Melbourne with some mates. Until then xxx

Familiar faces and hostel

Back with Callie in Croatia, I gloated about finding the winning formula for hostels. I did not touch wood, which was silly, and karma for my hubris was headed my way. The central pillar formula was mid-priced hostels with reviews that complemented the kitchen, and made no mention of parties or pub crawls. This seems overly simple, but it had put me in good stead. Kitchens meant communal living, people keen to socialise and travelling on a similar budget to me. I’d refined my touch for these things over time in South-East Asia and had prided myself on it up until I accidentally booked Callie and me a party hostel full of 18 and 19 year olds.

Where I left you in my last post, I was on a train to Zagreb. I was off to visit Vito and Barbara, whom I met on Cat Ba island late last year. We stayed at a party hostel, back when I thought I could handle such things. I couldn’t, and in a couple of days moved out of the place but kept hanging out with my new friends. When we said goodbye to each other, they offered that I’d come visit if I made it as far as Croatia. I was proud to tell them I had made it, but then could sense a touch of disappointment with Vito when I told him I was arriving by train.

I booked into a place that didn’t concern me too much; it did have a bar, but a noise curfew of 10, so I figured it would be a place. On the first night in Zagreb, Vito and Barbara had dinner with me at the pizza restaurant Vito worked at. He was in charge of the dough; it was damn good dough. We caught up on the happenings of the past year; thankfully, they hadn’t kept up with the Substack, so my stories were fresh. They then took me on a walk around; it was a beautiful town, but the tour did come with the same barrage of grievances I’ve heard across the Balkans. Then we stopped in at a local bar; they immediately got called over to a table of their friends, and we sank beers outside till a storm rolled through. It was a lovely environment, but it made me miss Exeter like crazy.

That night I slept like a baby in a quiet and respectful dorm.

The next night I met up with Vito after work, and we cycled up to his house. It was up a hill, and we got too excited on the climb and showed up incredibly sweaty. We had a charcuterie dinner, and I met his parents. The father was initially softly spoken, but then we connected when we started talking about film cameras. I showed him a photo of my grandfather’s old Rolleiflex, and he showed me an old soviet TLR. I’d won him over at that point, and when Vito was occupied, he came over and said: “Downstairs, I have cave… billiards and a pinball machine”. He took me down; the walls were plastered with old Yugoslav film posters, he gestured over to a poster of Tito on the wall: “It is a joke, we are not communists, don’t worry”. Vito joined soon after, and we smoked cigarettes while playing pool and listening to their vinyl collection.

That night I got back to the hostel with one boy named Caleb and one boy too drunk to say their name, stumbling around the dorm. They were complaining about the “ratio” downstairs in the bar and were going out. Caleb just had to give his non-verbal friend an Adderall, and he’d be fine. He then went on a rant about how much he loved his frat back in Florida. I kinda gently suggested letting the stumbling non-verbal boy go to bed but he said he was fine. I got a little bit of sleep till Caleb returned 2 hours later to dump his friend into bed very loudly. Then the unnamed boy got out of bed and fell off his bunk. I got up to make sure he wasn’t dead and got him to the bathroom. An hour later, Caleb opened the door and let out a “woo” that woke up the dorm. Then an hour later I stirred to him PISSING ON THE FLOOR!!!!! The whole dorm was yelling at him, and he got wrestled out of the room. Apparently he walked outside and fell down the stairs. I couldn’t sleep after that and left on the bike around 6. Major setback for my hostel formula. Major regrets for not throwing Caleb’s clothes in his piss.

The 1 hour of sleep I got delayed my push to Ljubljana by a day. But this was fortuitous. I had been trying to link up with the dynamic twin duo of Angus and Harry from Adelaide. Harry had been hard to contact, but the more studious and organised Gus had sent me a complete itinerary of their trip, and I saw we were coinciding on that night. I called him and found out Harry was rolling through on the same night.

We had a wonderful night out on the Hugo Spritzs; we watched England beat Norway and caught up on the past year.

Now, in the interests of brevity and an attempt to limit the whinging of this edition. I will only briefly remark on my hostel dorm. I booked one of the last beds in Ljubljana. It had a 6.0 rating on booking.com it looked a bit grim. I did the self-check-in to find out my 40 euro bed WAS IN THE COMMON ROOM!!! I booked an AC dorm, but instead I had people waking me and the other poor girl who had drawn this short straw, thinking we were the receptionists. People were in and out all night. We tried to ask the owners for a different room but they stopped responding after we paid the city tax.

Leaving the piss puddles for the bourgeois lifestyle in Milan.

After these rough nights’ sleep. When working out where to meet up with Henry. I suggested maybe we splash out on a private room. It wasn’t too expensive and we arranged to meet up for 3 nights in Milan. I trained over from Trieste and found our place to be a cute terrace on the eastern fringe of the town. I had ridden with Henry in India, and we really connected through that period, so it was nice to have a couple of days of frolicking around Milan and Lake Como. It was a bit of a different gear to both of our normal modes of travel. We ate and drank well. I had a carbonara, which might take the cake as the best meal of the trip. We spent a lot of the time talking about life and what’s coming next in life. I’m pushing very hard for him to do an overlanding trip with me in the next few years. I think we will make it happen, so hopefully this blog isn’t dead in 6 weeks’ time.

From Milan I started using Warm Showers, a website for cycle tourists to provide and seek free nights’ accommodation. I hadn’t found much luck with it in Asia, and finding cheap accommodation was not a struggle. But the site is much more popular in Europe. I spent a night with Carlos in Mercallo. He cooked me and his friends a carbonara he was not proud of. I told him about my Dad’s “carbonara”, which had cream, onions and mushrooms. “He told me, whenever that dish is cooked, an old Italian woman dies”. He took great care of me; we talked a lot about bikes. He was keenly interested in space, where I have some latent knowledge from the past few years, so we went out and stargazed while trying to spot the ISS. The next night I stayed in a caravan hosted by Marco. He bought me pasta to cook for dinner and rode out of town with me. It’s amazing how kind people are; I’ve gone on about this the whole trip but it never fails to warm my heart and put a smile on the dial.

I’ve since taken 2 days rest with Aurianne and am waiting on some responses on Warm Showers for tomorrow night, which will dictate whether I go North into Switzerland or East into France.

The Final Provin’ Ground.

It’s truly the final countdown now. On August 7, I plan to arrive in Delft and finish the EuroLeg before I spend a while floating around the UK. I’m finding riding up hills fun, but flat days on busy roads mundane and unfulfilling. My goal for this last section is to seek the joy I can. So I’m not planning on sending it up highways to get to Delft by the deadline, but instead ride the roads I want on the days I feel like it, then get a train when the time runs out. I found a lot of solace and clarity in the Pamirs; I’m hoping crossing the Alps will do the same, less the food poisoning and altitude sickness.

My last piece was a bit whiny. I feel bad when I complain at length in my writing. I know I’m tremendously lucky to be on this adventure, and I didn’t expect the whole journey to be joyous or easy; that was kind of the point of it. But I also want this Substack to represent this project faithfully and for this to be an honest recount to look back on. That said, it’s always nice to receive nice messages and calls from friends and family when I put out a sadder piece; it’s always heartening to feel the wealth of love and support I have behind me, and it’s a massive pick-me-up.

I’m doing a bit better; it’s been a very social couple of weeks that have been very restorative for an extrovert who has opted to solo travel for a year now. There’s still this sense of unmooredness, grappling with the end of the journey and not quite sure what the next chapter should look like. I also sometimes feel I can’t take all of the beauty and wonder around me just as a result of travelling for so long. I was warned of this feeling by Simon, an Irishman who’d been travelling by bike for 2 years to that point back in Guangzhou, so I’m not feeling disappointed in myself; I’m just slowly working through it. I’m getting better at doing what fuels me, which right now seems to be connecting with people and focusing on continuing to find ways to challenge myself on the bike.

The past month has been quite the grind. I’ve really enjoyed the folks I’ve met and moments off the bike, but more drinking and late nights have cost me a lot of energy. Cycling days have become draining. Driving in the Balkans has been… subpar; it falls into this dangerous grey zone of organised enough for cars to drive fast but not ordered enough to stop cars taking a punt on an overtake and nearly hitting you head-on. After 150 days of cycling, it’s just not as fun anymore; it’s kinda expected at this point, but it’s a weird feeling to not enjoy something that has almost always brought me pure joy. I’m not even sad; I’m just exhausted and feeling out of sorts. It’s part of life. There’s a lot of turmoil at the moment, lots of uncertainty as I start applying for jobs and turn my attention to rebuilding a “normal life”. I’ve got more freedom of choice than I know what to do with, and I like to know what the plan is. Right now, I have no clue where I’ll be living and what I’ll be doing at the end of September, and that’s messing with me in a big way. That’s my whingy rant done and a kind of explanation for why I haven’t felt like blogging. Here are my recent highlights.

Walking in Skopje

After my time in Bulgaria, I rode to North Macedonia, a country I knew very little about, so little in fact that I was checking the DFAT travel advice while handing my passport to the border guard. It was naturally stunning, and I have a real soft spot for it. It had a lot of the eccentricities of a Southeast Asian capital city with the comforts of Europe. I took a walking tour led by a man in his 50s named Aleksander. I could only describe his vibe as very angry at:

• The North Macedonian Government

• The North Macedonian people

• Greeks.

As we started walking, followed by a herd of friendly stray dogs, he said.

“My tours are the real Skopje; I’ll skip the bullshit”.

He immediately pointed at a facade.

“Look at this fake marble; it’s actually weatherboard, it’s kitch. See, on the side of the building, one bad storm, and it blows off; it’s shameful”

He delivered a speech on the history of the city and country, focusing a lot on the earthquake in the 60s and the country gaining independence peacefully.

He explained a project called “Skopje 2014” where the government built a whole bunch of statues and buildings to make it a tourist destination. This project drew much of Aleksander’s ire as he explained that most sculptures made no sense in North Macedonia, or were built on porous ground and would not survive another decade. He would gesture to a statue and say:

“You think this is bronze right?”

Then jog over to that and whack it with an open palm, shake his head at the tinny noise it made and say:

“It’s all cheap shit!”

Then walk back to the group but notice a brick on a staircase was out of place and shake his head and kick it back into place.

We sat on the banks of the river; he talked about how the river was the fault line that caused the earthquake and how it could happen again at any time. He pointed out a series of large ships permanently connected to the banks of the river and hanging above the waterline.

“There are these four ships; they are hotels and restaurants, but they were built by the government. Even though North Macedonia is landlocked, North Macedonians don’t have a history of seafaring, and this river is the biggest in the country but is not navigable. But the government still wastes money on these ships and lines its own pockets while doing so.” - I didn’t elect to explain that this seemed like better maritime investment than AUKUS; the tour group had already copped enough negativity.

He’s interrupted by a motorbike riding through the pedestrian promenade on the river.

“The fucking Balkans, man. No one has any respect.” He mutters.

He went on around the old city and kept asking if anyone had any questions. No one did; I think they were a bit frightened by his demeanour. I started talking to him and asking questions about them joining NATO and trying to get into the common market. I found out he was also an economist and had spent the last 30 years working all over the road and then was giving these tours as some kind of semi-retirement. He brought the conversation back to the need for North Macedonia to fully join Europe.

“It needs to happen. This country needs to be disciplined.”

Struck by his negativity, I asked if he’s got any hope for the future of the country.

“Of course, my friend! I love this country! I am an optimist. You must be an optimist. It’s good for your…. How you say…. Metabolism”…. He did look good for 60.

At the end of the tour, he took us to the birthplace of Mother Teresa. The house is long gone, but she returned in the 90s and planted four trees. One was knocked down by a council truck, apparently. He ended on some remarks about why this should be the focus of North Macedonia, not the statues. Which is curious since he only devoted two minutes of a two-hour walking tour to the subject.

Croatian Coastlines with Callie

My friend Callie had a brief Euro summer trip planned around the Balkans and a few days to spare at the end. We met up in Dubrovnik and spent 3 days in a small town out of the chaos in Slano. Callie booked us a great Airbnb in Slano, on a hillside 50 metres from the water; it was cheap but well adorned with a great balcony. I was left to choose the hostel for Dubrovnik. I feel I’m getting good at gauging the vibe of hostels based on online listings. I always want somewhere social but not a party hostel. I find reviews praising the kitchen and common area, with little mention of pub crawls and parties as the goal. This place in Dubrovnik seemed to fit the bill, and they were willing to store my bike on the terrace. I arrived the night before Callie was flying in; at first glance, it all seemed fine, but as soon as the sunset an ungodly amount of 18 and 19 year old Australians descended on the terrace. I felt quite out of place, but fortunately met a mid-twenties American, Will, who was keen to go jump off some cliffs into pristine waters surrounding the old town rather than going on the pub crawl. We got back to the hostel as 70-odd people were leaving on the pub crawl, screaming Waltzing Matilda at midnight. The 45 euro bed didn’t have a working AC unit.

I felt a bit sheepish explaining all this to Callie the morning she arrived, but the next night was much more tame as we went to the Irish Pub to watch Brazil crush Japan’s dreams in the World Cup and then returned to the hostel for me to crush Callie’s dreams at Monopoly Deal. Dubrovnik was incredibly touristy, but the swimming spots were unmatched anywhere I’ve been in the world. It was especially nice having these swimming spots almost to ourselves up until 11 am, since everyone staying in the area was hung over or sleeping in. After Dubrovnik, I cycled, and Callie bussed the 30 kms to Slano. The road was beautiful, running along the cliffs of the Croatian coast, but filled with super aggressive drivers. I’d been told by other cyclists in the Pamirs that Croatian roads were the most unpleasant in Europe; I certainly hope that holds true.

Slano was a lovely town. It was a bunch of small villas around a small harbour with a couple of shops. The only drawback was a massive new resort hotel right in the heart of the town. We took it pretty easy; Callie was at the end of the holiday, and I, to quote Callie, seemed “weathered” and was deeply needing some rest. We had initially planned to do a little bit of bikepacking together but ditched the idea in the face of the heatwave and my waning enthusiasm. We instead spent a day hopping between beaches and finding progressively nicer secluded villas that we’d like to own. I had promised to keep the route pretty chilled but found a way to have us hike-a-biking up some ridiculous pitches.

The next day we splashed out on a boat tour. We visited some small fishing islands and went on a small hike. Most of the day was spent swimming and enjoying the beautiful island landscapes. It was probably the most luxurious day I’ve spent this trip, a rare opportunity to completely relax. We spent the nights watching the World Cup, Make that Movie and Love Island on the balcony while eating spreads of prosciutto and mozzarella. It was probably the first both physically and emotionally restorative period I’ve had on this adventure. It also became clear just how exhausted I was.

Finishing well

Sitting out on the balcony watching the sunset, we were talking about life, this trip and the future. I was lamenting this feeling of exhaustion and melancholy that had taken hold since North Macedonia. I had pinned it down to a few things. Most notably, the lack of a defined goal or finish line for this section. I just felt as if I was pushing for no reason. Since I’m not going to make it to the Atlantic Coast under my own steam within my time constraints, and I’ve lost the feeling of accomplishment after most days since my baseline was kinetically re-calibrated by the Pamirs.

Callie’s advice was to focus on goals off the bike. Focus on what you want out of this transition back into a more regular lifestyle and let the cycling take a back seat. This was very good advice, and I’ve taken the last week contemplating what I want to focus on. I was quite clear with myself at the beginning of this trip about what personal growth I wanted out of this trip. I’m happy with most of my progress, but I’ve definitely been neglecting some areas. I want to be deliberate in these last 8 weeks, so I want to focus on:

• Reducing the need for stimulation. I’ve gotten better at avoiding Instagram Reels, but I am often consuming content and listening to music and podcasts every second I’m on my own. It shuts out the world around me and allows me to hide from my thoughts.

• Meditating. It’s hard to find places to do this when I’m in hostels, but I know it does me a world of good, and now is a good time for some positive habit building. I’m going to try and find at least 5 minutes a day when I can.

• Reading. I have read 9 or 10 books so far on the trip, but only 4 in the last 7 months. I’m so much calmer when I’ve read before bed.

These are all along a similar vein that I really struggle with. But I know this is fertile ground for growth and flexibility in habits. They also are deeply restful things that I think will help with my fatigue.

That’s all for this edition. This wave of flatness and the lack of dog attacks and such have made it harder for me to write lately. I want to keep this blog going right to the end, so I’ll hopefully be back to weekly / fortnightly editions from here on out.

Following that prolonged rest, I endured something far worse than the ills of the highway, getting my bike to an unfamiliar airport for a 6 AM flight. This is always an unpleasant ordeal, but I was particularly concerned after my bike weighed in at 40 kgs in Mumbai, costing me 200 euros in fees. Strangely, after discarding a pair of tracksuit pants and a t-shirt, it weighed in at 28 kgs, the same it did in Adelaide, Osaka and Penang…

I arrived in Istanbul on the Asian side of the Bosporus. I have only heard negative things about the traffic in Istanbul, so I opted to take the metro to the ferry port. I crammed my bike through the metro system and finally up an elevator at the Kadıköy ferry dock. Immediately, I was enveloped by the hustle and bustle of the city, the water was a rich turquoise, and I could see across to the mosques dotting the hill tops and the Galata tower. I’ve travelled a lot for a young man, and this was one of those rare buzzing moments when travelling where the whole world feels new and exciting. A kind old lady noticed I was confused about the ferry system and guided me to my ferry to the European side. After 10 months in Asia (minus 3 weeks, we are seeking to forget), I cruised across to Karaköy and a new continent.

I loved my time in Istanbul. I met some lovely folks and enjoyed the food, which had novel ingredients like salt and spices and, more importantly, left my body through regular means. I spent 4 days there, including the last day, amongst the islands south of the city, enjoying some beaches for the first time since Sri Lanka. It was the first time in a while that things felt like a holiday. Eventually, after 2 weeks off the bike, I simply had to depart. I rolled north along the coast towards Bulgaria. I’ve been very happy back on the bike, but the roads have not been spectacular, and the drama has not been as frequent. So while this has meant loved ones can breathe a sigh of relief after a hectic May, my writing has fallen off a bit.

I’m starting this piece in Plovdiv, Bulgaria. I’m resting in a hostel converted from a 250-year-old mansion. I’ve spent the day wandering around the Roman Ruins and abandoned buildings in the city with another boy from Adelaide, also called Nick. We got caught out in the rain, and now I’m hunkered down in my room listening to the new Olivia Rodrigo album and getting the urge to write again.

Zero G with my worldly possessions

Back in my recuperation in Osh, I was staying in a Hostel on the edge of a theme park. All the rides cost around $2 each, and most seemed to be dating back to the Soviet era. I took a few trips to the park. On my last visit, I had met up with Ben, Madita and Devin from the previous edition, who all happened to be in town after we split up across different routes back in Mugrab. We were joined by a Kyrgyz student, Ana, who revealed the park had just reopened after a series of safety incidents. Apparently, the park was closed for 6 months for “safety upgrades”, but Ana suspected everything had been repainted and the rides rearranged without any real changes being made.

Ana was rather risk-averse, and as we wandered the park, kept declaring: “I think someone was flung from that ride”… “Maybe it was that one”… “Maybe it was both of them”. We all rode the Ferris wheel; we were the only people on board. The wheel was driven by two tyres, each driven by the same motor. We slowly inched our way to the top over 3 minutes, then descended in 30 seconds with the tyres slipping. We got off after the one lap. We found a classic swinging pirate ship, and Ben and I wanted to ride it, thinking it couldn’t be bad. Ana wasn’t sure if anyone had been flung from the ride in the past, but that was good enough for us. We were in the third row. The rows behind us had 3-point harnesses; we received a single seat belt between the two of us, untensioned and limply draped over our laps. The ride began as most of these swinging rides do, getting higher and higher. We thought it had reached the past and were making demonstrations to Ana, Devin and Madita watching on that the ride was in fact fun. Then we heard the motor kick in again, and the smell of a burning clutch became evident. We stopped holding our hands up and started clinging for dear life. The boat was hitting the trees at both peaks on the swing.

We thought this might be a 2 or 3-minute ride, but it kept going like this for around 5 minutes. At some point, I noticed some coins drift up around my head as we hit the peak of the swing, then slam back to the ground. I thought someone had dropped some money: amusing. The next swing a few more notes drifted up: uh-oh, someone’s messed up. Then 2 debit cards, and a driver’s licence, all belonging to me: uh-oh, I have messed up. My wallet had fallen out of my pocket and opened up. For the next 3 minutes, I watched as all my key documents and around $100 cash drift around my head and fly off to the ground below. The ride finally ended. We tried to ask the attendants to let us look for all my goods, but they didn’t speak English. We called down to Ana to come up and help; she thought we were asking her to come up and have a go on the ride. Our increasingly desperate pleas finally made it clear there was more at play. She came up, and they paused the ride to do a scan underneath the boat. We found every dollar, note, card, and even my scuba license. A fortunate win after risking it all in the name of some honest fun.

The EuroLeg

It’s been strange moving on from all the excitement and challenges from Central Asia and India before that, to now be cruising through Europe. I’ve met many more people travelling from Europe towards Asia than vice versa. I’m obviously more likely to meet folks on the road travelling towards me, but also as my friend in Penang, Figo described, quitting your job to cycle around the world is “very European”. People riding east get the experience of leaving the familiarity of their home and slowly ramping up the chaos/difficulty as they get further from home. It feels strange to have some of the biggest challenges already behind me. That said, I’m able to be present and just enjoy the last of the lifestyle I’ve been so lucky to have over the past 10 months.

There are big changes in the style of travel. I camped 4 (?) times across Asia. I’ve already beaten that in a week here. I prefer it in many ways. While it was hard to turn down a warm shower and a hotel room, I enjoy being outside as the cool air blows in and the sun sets. I’m taking advantage of my great tent, mat and sleeping bag, turning in some of the best nights’ sleep I’ve ever had camping. On top of that, some camping has been ridiculously luxurious. Tonight I’m writing this section on my stopover between Plovdiv and Sofia, I forked out an eye-watering 10 euros but have had a hot shower. Been able to relax in a communal area with sofas and hammocks overlooking a quiet valley. The owners keep giving me fruit and homemade yogurt. I bought myself the first brie I’ve had since leaving home with some prosciutto and bread. Some other guests came over with a glass of chilled white wine and said, “This will go well with what you’re eating”. This is a long way from the hardcore rigours of a Hotel O in North India.

Between these pushes, I’ve been able to relax in some bigger cities. The vibe of hostels is different from the ones I’ve stayed in so far. Maybe I’ve been lucky, but fewer people scrolling reels on full volume, plenty of friendly people to go do things and generally social environments I’ve felt very at home in. I think this might be being amongst more familiar cultures, but also me coming out of my shell after a challenging few months. I’m feeling myself again for the first time since America. I remarked on a ferry, watching the sunset shine onto a glowing Istanbul, that this was the first day that felt like a holiday in months. All of this isn’t to say I’ve been miserable and now feeling better, the Pamirs were exactly the challenge I sought, but this period has me feeling lighter and in a position to really enjoy the run in towards home.

My 27 Theory

I’m turning 27 this week. It’s my first birthday in the summer, and I’m cherishing the 9 pm sunsets and warmth that feels very out of place for my birthday. I think this will also be the first birthday I’ll see no one I know. 27 is yet another unremarkable year to turn on that haunting approach towards 30. This year holds a distinction, though, from my worldview at 19 on my Gap year. I was travelling with one of my dearest friends, Jack, together we learnt so much and basically transformed one another into the far left lunatics we remain to this day. The journey opened up our worlds and had us wanting to pack our 20s full of adventure. In talking about our life ahead, we came up with the theory about a deadline for when we would have to have our lives “together”.

That deadline was 27. On the basis that if your parents are explaining your life and were to say something along the lines of.

“Yeah, the boy has spent the last 3 months wandering the Mongolian Steppe. He’s making money tutoring children on how to solve Rubik’s Cubes online.”

At 26 or younger, the response might be:

“Amazing, it’s great to do that at that age. The world’s his oyster!”

At 27, it invariably becomes:

“Cool… is he on a sabbatical or something… has he got some assets?”

This, like most of my takes at 19, was amusing and naive. But it’s always stuck out to me as a node in my life. It was the point I expected to be an adult by. I’d know what I want to do, maybe own a house? Certainly, I would have scratched every inch of the travel itch off, probably spent a few years living overseas and returning home to lock in. COVID, and then a good, well-paying job later, and things did not run the course I planned.

Now I found myself crossing that threshold, unemployed and still figuring it all out. Mum and Dad will shortly be fielding all kinds of questions about my super balance and eligibility for first-home buyer grants. But to the surprise of my 19-year-old self, the sky isn’t falling, I’m finding peace in myself I never knew existed. I’m entering this age feeling the most at sea regarding what I want to do and where I want to be in the next 5 years, but also the most secure in my own identity and trust that things will work out okay.

While I don’t really know how I want to earn my next dollar, where I want to live, or what I want to do as a career, I know these things:

• I know what my values are, and I live my life largely aligned with them. This hasn’t always been true, and it’s thrown me right out at sea.

• I have a community of friends and family that I love dearly and feel love from. I’ve learned a lot about how and what love is in the last 8 years; it remains a journey. I feel very lucky to have the people I have in my life.

• While I still struggle, I’m learning to love myself. I’m able to forgive and care for myself and commit to my own growth and worth.

• I’ve almost cycled around the world. I can do almost anything I want to. My life remains the product of ludicrous good fortune. The world is so open, I can go out and try to do anything I would like to. After this year, I feel I can take on anything, big or small.

Those are my incredibly soppy reflections as I cross this small (large to me) threshold. And it’s my birthday, so you had to read them. I feel a lot of gratitude for my life and this adventure. It’s good to pause and enjoy it.

That’s all for this edition. I will try to keep up my writing. It’s a lovely release for me, just expect (hopefully) lower drama from here on out x

I felt a whole slew of emotions on that last day. I had expected this to be the hardest adventure I have undertaken to date. I thought there might be a feeling of euphoria at the end. I felt more muted than I expected. Having lost control of my situation, putting my life at risk, and then hitchhiking over the highest pass meant things hadn’t gone perfectly. I was, and still am, completely exhausted. I’ve had food poisoning twice, and a loss of appetite from altitude sickness and had pushed at the end to get to Osh quickly, both for the lower altitude and safer cuisine.

With all that, I still felt pride; this is a big undertaking, and I had overcome it. I made smart enough choices to keep myself safe, and I had pushed myself further than I ever had physically. There was also a sadness, the whole time I have planned this trip, this was the crowning section. The part of the journey I would joke about with friends as a touch of insanity. Now it lies behind me. It’s finished, I’ll never be able to experience this for the first time again, and I loved it.

Moving communities

One of the things I’ve enjoyed along this route is the small community of travelers following the same route, at a similar place. People traveling in different directions or at different paces can give you updates on the people in front and behind you. I’ve also been able to spend longer with people I’ve met then usual traveling at similar places.

Coopted rest days with Ben

While getting some cash out back in Qal’ai Khumb, I bumped into a British fella named Ben. He had about five bags and was chaotic searching for a reasonably priced share taxi to Khorug. I told him I knew a good lunch place nearby and we dropped in for a beer and a salad. He had been traveling Central Asia for a few weeks now mostly relying on hitchhiking and public transport. This town was not a common starting point for share taxis, so it was looking quite likely that he was going to get gouged. He briefly entertained the idea of purchasing a bike, which would’ve been cheaper than the share taxi, and cycling with me to Khorug, but eventually found someone that could get him across. He said he planned on spending some time in Khorug and we might be able to meet up there.

I then spent the next three days cycling along the Afghan border. This hasn’t clocked to Dad in his reading of my last post. Once he realised this, his interest in my movements dramatically increased. The border runs along the Panj River Valley and offered some stunning views, the valley walls were a rich green dotted with cliff-side villages and mountains surrounding on all sides. At some point the river was as narrow as 20m and you could clearly see and wave at people on the other side.

On this trip I have spent long stretches running along different national borders. It’s always quite strange to see pronounced differences in law, culture, architecture and agriculture marked out by administrative lines. Nowhere I have travelled has this been so pronounced as between Tajikistan and Afghanistan. The gap in development, despite Tajikistan’s economic woes, was remarkable, but most clear was the freedom and movement of women on the Tajik side compared to Afghanistan. I was quite torn about visiting Afghanistan this trip, I’ve heard very conflicting things. I’m glad with my decision not to go, less so for safety, but I think I would feel like a pariah in a place with such immense suffering.

By the time I reached Khorug, Ben had been there for about 3 days. He had rented a bike and had ridden to a nearby village where he stayed the night at a welcoming family home. Through that riding he had found new respect for my endeavors. I had a rest day booked, Ben didn’t see much time for rest. We met up in the morning and he said there was a village up the hill with an ancient fire temple and fort. We took a share taxi to the village and went hiking. The temple was well signposted from the main road, until it wasn’t. Confused and looking around, a young kid playing in his backyard spotted us and pointed through their garden and up a stone incline. At the top we found the remains of the ancient temple and unreal views of the valley.

After the temple we were invited for tea by a river with a family at their farmhouse. It was a peaceful spot, about three kilometres from any road, only accessible by foot. We found our way back to the road after the share taxis had stopped rushing. We hitchhiked down the hill back to Khorug. We were picked up by a driver missing an eye and a leg. I’m no ableist, so we climbed in, but the gentleman also appeared drunk and keen to give eye contact to whoever he was talking to in the car, so maybe his injuries were sustained while driving. The road ran along a cliff edge with no barrier. I spent the drive practically kneeling on the center console ready to snatch the wheel if he got too close to the edge.

That night we had beers at the foot of the town’s statue of Lenin, a tradition we have since followed in every town. Found a disused soviet shipping yard, filled with old heavy machinery. Climbed a disused crane with a view of the town.

Woe is my rear tire with Madita and Devin

Since my catastrophic flat descending Khoburabot Pass last week, I’ve had continued issues with my rear tire. It’s probably overloaded since I supplemented my summer gear from the trip so far with some new warm kit for the Pamirs, but since switching to tubes I’ve had nine flats in 1000 kilometres. Four of the flats were caused by a metal shard that I couldn’t initially find, another two were pinch flats that were caused by smashing into potholes the depth of crevasses, three remain a mystery to me. Given my fortune in the first half of this trip, I felt two spare tubes would be sufficient back up for my tube system. While I have repair kits, it quickly became clear that this wouldn’t cut it for the remainder of the Pamirs. On my rest day in Khorug, the biggest town along the highway, I was surprised to find zero bike tubes, despite online forums saying people had found them. I left Khorug genuinely concerned that I was too bad flats away from having to call the trip, when climbing up behind me came Madita and Devin.

I was very excited to finally see some cyclists on the road. I had a couple of very fast Italians come through town when I was resting in Qal’ai Khumb, but the road had been pretty quiet and lonely since leaving to Dushanbe. After a quick catch up on our roots and journey so far, I mentioned my predicament. Devon then announced “oh I’m running tubeless. I have four spare tubes and I don’t need them”. He reached down into his front pack and chucked me two spare tubes. This gesture definitely saved my tour of the Pamirs, and I scored myself a couple mates to ride with for a few days.

Devin is an ultra runner and ultra cyclist, and Madita is a triathlete. They had flown through the first 450 kilometres on the new road in three days, far quicker than I was capable of. But due to the upcoming climb, our plan stops were aligned for the next four days.

Sharing the road in such isolated areas was a great comfort. They both assumed, and vehemently denied, taking up parental roles over me: Madita insisting I eat more at every meal, and Devin passing me resting on climbs saying things like “don’t forget to be sipping water”, or “don’t stop too long your core temp will plummet”.

On the way from Khorug to Mugrab we passed through:

• an old soviet hot spring bath / hotel, which reeked of sulfur and had an 100 metre corridor between our room and the toilet but was a warm and cheap nights stay;

• Koitezek Pass, 4271 metres above sea level and amongst the snowfields; and

• the desolate outcrop of Alichur, where we couldn’t walk 10m outside without being swarmed by young kids coming up to hug us.

They’re incredibly fast and talented cyclists with rigs somewhat lighter than mine, so by the time we arrived in Mugrab, I was absolutely wrecked and they were looking to push on, while I needed rest. Ben arrived the same day, and had met Devin back in Dushanbe, we spent the night at the same guesthouse swapping stories in the dining room. They departed amongst blue skies and tailwinds. The next day the internet cut out in regional Tajikistan for 48 hours and the weather shifted.

Losing control

The morning after my rest day the internet was still out but the weather looked reasonable, albeit a bit gloomy. Mugrab sits on a former salt lake with a wide brown bowl of mountains surrounding it. After 10 kilometres in the bowl I turned into a narrower gorge, it was tighter and I couldn’t see too far down the road. Soon it started to rain, it was about four degrees and I quickly started to shiver. It quickly turned to a headwind blowing sleet and I decided to abort the day and return to Mugrab. Ben still hadn’t left and said I made the right call, I told him there wasn’t another call to be made. That night more people showed up at the home stay. A French couple cycling with a 2 year old toddler in the trailer and two Germans (one living in Adelaide) with a car. The internet was still out but the French couple said the weather wasn’t going to turn good for a week. The Germans had a 4x4 with room for my bike and offered to drive me to the next town the following day.

That night I had food poisoning, I considered staying longer but I didn’t think I would recover on the food that was on offer in town. We drove out in the morning in the snow. As we drove towards Ak-Baital Pass, the highest pass on the highway (4655 m) we emerged from the bad weather and found ourselves amongst sunny skies. I decided I had come this far and didn’t want to pass up an opportunity to do the climb. They dropped me off, 20 kilometers from the top of the pass. I knew there was a guesthouse 15 kilometers away in case the weather turned or I felt altitude symptoms.

This was the quietest section of the highway. Most vehicles from Mugrab go on to China, so the road was almost empty. I was well above the treeline and riding along the border fence for China. I was eerie but stunning. I caught a glimpse of the pass and saw a dark cloud blowing over the top of it.

The weather turned so quickly, from sunny and still to a headwind and snow. I started to push, now 10 kilometres from shelter at the home stay and no cars in sight. Pushing harder I started to get a telltale headache. I tried to keep drinking water and slow down a bit but the snow had soaked through my shoes and was biting on every little piece of exposed skin. The wind was getting stronger, I was getting more exhausted and my symptoms were getting worse by the minute. In the space of 25 minutes I had gone from inside a car and fine to completely out of control and in crisis.

The map said I was 1200 metres away from the guesthouse, but I couldn’t see it. I was in a full panic at this stage. I thought of descending back to Mugrab, but that would leave me in the snow for 3 hours. Then my bike radar beeped, there was a car behind me, the first car since I was dropped off. I stumbled off my bike and stuck a thumb out. They pulled over. The driver was a Russian who spoke good English. Without hesitation they let me in the car, my memory of this period is quite blurry, I was incredibly dizzy and scattered as I disassembled my bike. I took some Diamox in the car and they drove me over the pass. In the car I couldn’t really maintain conversation. I was feeling much better as we descended but I was just destroyed by the whole thing.

They dropped me at the same elevation I had spent the last week at Karakul. I called some loved ones and sat by the frozen lake for the rest of the day.

I’ve still been processing this whole episode. I’m not the kind of person that likes to take risks without thought. I love adventure and pushing myself but it always remains important to me to stay safe and in control of my situation. I don’t think I’ve found myself in a situation where I’ve completely lost that safety. Where things have gone wrong and I was reliant on others and luck to get out of it. When I’ve spoken to people about it, they’re glad I made the safe choice to flag down the car. I do still feel disappointed in myself though, not because I didn’t complete the full distance, but because I put myself so significantly at risk.

Some redemption.

After Ak-Baital Pass there were two more high passes on the road. Both were the following days riding. I woke up feeling okay, but exhausted. I elected to go for the day knowing by the end I would be back amongst better food and lower altitude in Sary-Tash.

The two passes were incredibly steep. I was going at a snail’s pace and my legs ached every pedal stroke. I could feel every muscle begging for oxygen, but I was well hydrated and carbed up, and I had no altitude symptoms. The road was terrible and as I approached the Tajik border station I got hit by a blizzard. The winds were fine and I was reasonably rugged up so I felt okay.

At the customs house the guards were filming the weather, they let me stay inside and gave me tea and biscuits as the snow passed. Another 500 metres past the border and I had reached Kyzylart pass at 4,250 metres. I did a fist pump and it took my breath away. I’d at least proven to myself I had some dog in me. I did it safely. I felt in control.

That night I had goat dumplings at the best restaurant I had seen in weeks. My appetite was back thanks to being back down at 3000 metres in Sary-Tash. I got food poisoning again that night.

With all these trials, I still have loved my time in the Pamir. It gave me everything I wanted. Beauty, challenge and adventure. All things considered, I’m proud of what I’ve achieved. I’ve loved the people I’ve met (Devin, Ben and Madita arrive in Osh tonight so we will get to celebrate together). Even with the altitude debacle, while I’m lucky to be ok, I’ll learn from it. I know I’m capable of amazing things, but I’m not invincible. This month of my life will stay with me always.

Anyway….

Two roads from Dushanbe, and I,

I took the one that was built by the Soviet Union,

And that has cost me a day and my rear tyre.

Day 1 Dushanbe - Obigram

I did not put a heap of thought into the beginning of the Pamirs. I did some reading about 6 months ago and decided I would like to ride as much of the old highway as possible. The first day out of Dushanbe was easy, it was around 100 kilometres and all tarmac. As I travelled, the walls of the valley grew taller and closer and after a few turns I could see some snowcapped peaks. Almost everyone I passed said “Hello”, “what is your name”, “where are you from”, and were very friendly. One group of young boys sprinted down the hill towards me and started saying hello enthusiastically, I said hello back. I kept going until I felt something hit my calf. I turned around and the boys were throwing rocks at me. I was more confused then anything and a bit concerned since I was on a climb. The barrage stopped as an old man appeared from a house and started screaming at the boys who evaporated back into their village.

My first night was in Obigram, I found two hotels that were unstaffed after searching around the village the owner of one of the hotels opened an unclosable or lockable door to my room. It was $20 for the night but I wanted a shower. I turned on the shower, which was just a pipe from the ceiling and the water ran black. I asked the owner and he said I needed to go to the town baths, I had a scorching hot bath shared with another naked Tajik man, perfect after a long day of cycling.

I slept well and felt confident about the route ahead. At 4:30am a man opened my door and started speaking very animatedly in Tajik. I sprung up. After trying to explain I didn’t speak Tajik or Russian, I managed to communicate that I would like to keep sleeping. He said “please”, placed his hand on his chest and closed the door.

Day 2 Obigram - Yofuch

I had originally planned a 110km push with 2000m of climbing, owing to the low altitude, however I did leave a note on my planner “ambitious”. Within 10 kilometres of Obigram, the once paved road had deteriated beyond anything I had ridden this trip. I saw no cars outside of the small villages, and every few kilometres there was a herd of goats I had to ride through, which was difficult enough. But the shepherds wanted photos and water, I felt it rude to decline. I tried to show I had quite little water remaining, most still drank like Steve Martin in the Three Amigos, it also allowed around 300 goats to re-overtake me. Thankfully the villages had clean-ish water flowing through fountains that I could filter.

It quickly became apparent on these roads I could not get anywhere near my goal. I ripped a hole in the side wall of my tire but thankfully could patch it. The valley grew tighter and tighter and the road continued to decay.

The biggest settlement I passed was a mining site where the brown river turned a beautiful, but slightly concerning blue, directly infront of the processing facility before slowly regaining its normal colour a few kilometres later.

In the early afternoon I came upon a missing bridge, the river was in pretty aggressive flow. I looked at the diversion on my map and it looked about an extra 700 metres climbing and 20 kilometres of riding. I saw a slight track going up river and so I decided to ride a few kilometres up to see if there was a crossing. At one point, the river split in two and it looked like cars had crossed here.

I chucked on my Tevas and waded in to check the depth. In the middle it reached my shorts but I was comfortable enough with the flow. One by one I took my bags across and then finally my unladen bike. On my last step out of the creek I stumbled and nearly toppled backwards but somehow I just stayed upright. I got back on the main road and another 100 metres later, the next bridge was missing. Fortunately some shepherds had fashioned a bridge with a few logs that I could push my loaded bike over.

It became apparent that not only could I not reach my goal destination, I couldn’t make it to a guest house of any sort. As light was fading I found a clearing near a village and made camp. It was peaceful with just a raging river about 400 metres below me in the valley. I wrote in my journal for the first time in a few weeks, and meditated. After a few tough months I’m feeling comfortable confronting my emotions directly again. This supreme peace was interupted as all the young boys of the village ran up towards me. About 20 boys sat around me and watched me cook my instant noodles. They could only say “Hello” and “My name is” in English. Every 5 seconds, one would say Hello, or point at a friend and say “My name is…” and then I think some fake name or insult that would make the boys laugh. One father came down to the fence at the edge of the village and all the boys scattered, hiding behind rocks until he finally cojuled them all to return for dinner.

Later on they returned with a bottle of water for me, it had a grey hue, so I thanked them but didn’t drink it. They sat with me while I listened to a chapter of Frankenstien and then I said I was going to sleep. Suddenly one of the boys acted hostile, I think he was asking for money, but I was not quite sure. I acted a bit confused and offered my water back which they declined. He then settled down. Another father appeared, they scattered again around the clearing until he left. When they returned I said goodbye, which they understood each one shook my hand and smiled and they ran back to the village. The boy that got angry before got to the fence and started yelling again. I ignored him and then a rock came bouncing towards my tent.

Day 3 Yofuch - Qalai Huseyn

I opened my tent as a car carrying about 20 bicycles on its roof passed by, as it hit a bump its wheel fell off and rolled into the clearing I was in. I packed up camp and gave a sympathetic look as I headed off. 500 metres from camp the bolt holding on my rear rack came lose. This was purely my own fault as I know these bolts loosen, and I hadn’t checked them since India. As I hunted for the part, the car re-passed me, offering the same look I afforded them a few minutes before. By some miracle I found the proprietary part on the road and kept on rolling.

I have not mentioned in great detail so far the extrodinary natural beauty of Tajikistan. These vistas rival the mountains of Nepal but with lush greenery as your surronds. The road I was on, thanks to the missing bridges, was nearly empty and between towns offering true silence and solitude. No place has felt like such an adventure to be in. The valley reopened and I found myself in a bowl of snowcapped mountains.

As I approached the larger village of Somondeh, where I had planned to stay the night prior, I came upon a flock of goats grazing an area off the road. Under a tree, sat some shepherd , their donkeys and four guard dogs. The dogs immediatley start barking at me. The shepherds yelled as the dogs break into a sprint. I know from my experience that slowing down, and even dismounting can break the dogs chase instinct. But these dogs seemed intent to lay some teeth into me no matter what. I initially slow and then accelerate. The four dogs surround my bike. They are all massive. Some are missing ears, all I can really see are their teeth. Suddenly, I feel a tug from behind. A dog’s bitten my bag and is trying to pull me over. I counter lean and pump down as hard as I can on the pedal and the tyre bites rerighting myself. Then from the other side, I feel I’m going down. I’m surrounded on all sides so I can’t get the bike in between me and the dogs. I start to look for my flimsy Opinel knife in my bag, doubting that will help me much. Suddenly, A thud, and a yelp from a dog. The shepherds had finally crossed the clearing and had nailed the biggest dog in the head. The dog immediately bleeds and runs off and curls up a few metres away. Another shepard runs over and puts his arm around me. The other dogs immediately disengage.

The shepherds are mildly apologetic. One calls his donkey over which immediately complies (maybe if the same effort was devoted to training the attack dogs we wouldn’t be here). He reached into a satchel and hands me a pack of wrapped Vogue cigarettes. I ride a kilometre down the road and light the most needed dart of my career. My hands shaking like Enzo the Baker in The Godfather1.

I arrived in Somondeh and called my friend Rosa to calm down and then called dad once I had gotten most of the shakiness out of my voice. I took a long rest and just before I planned to leave, a man approached me speaking good English. He asked me about my trip, then told me he was an English teacher and his class started in 10 minutes. I initially wanted to get on the road but he talked me into a 20 minute appearance.

The teacher sat me at the teacher’s desk and one by one the kids entered. With varying degrees of shock at the unwashed white boy sitting up front. At first questions were timid: name, age and what journey I was on. The teacher would occasionally go to the chalk board and translate turns of phrase I was using like “so far” or “economist”. The questions deepened as the students gained confidence. What is your religon, would you convert to Islam, What does agnostic mean? The teacher ran up and provided a translation that was met with a confused “hmm”. Someone then asked if I believed in one god, and I started to provide some airy answer that was interupted by a the youngest and shyest kid who simply asked. “Messi or Ronaldo?” I said Messi, he shook his head and said Mbappe and did his cross arm celebration. I took that as my opportunity to wrap things up. I took my leave and got to the bottom of Bataham Pass where an Imam let me sleep in a mosque, he asked a lot less about my faith.

Day 4 Qalai Huseyn - Qal’ai Khumb

I set up early to slowly climb the biggest mountain I’ve ever ridden. The road was awful and incredibly slow going. I was drinking about 3 litres of water every 5 kilometres and averaging 7 kilometres per hour. I approached snow for the first time this trip as the air got thinner and thinner. The views of the valley I had spent the wild last few days were stunning. I was stopping very frequently and called my friends Henry and Alice to make sure I stayed at a conversational pace.

Once I passed 3000m it became more difficult so I said goodbye and pushed up the last 250 metres of ascent. The climb I did that day was around 1500 metres, but had capped off around 5000 metres so far on the highway. I started to get a headache at the top, which was expected since I had climbed up quite a distance in the morning, but I knew I should be fine if I kept hydrated, not too exhausted and then descended back down for the night.

The views from the pass were magnificent, a whole new world of mountains greeted me from the north side of the pass. Including some mega mountains in Afghanistan. The North side had far more snow so the first five kilometres were slow going. Once things improved I sped up and thought about how this was the first day without adverse challenges, and how good I was at picking safe lines to descend on. Then I hit a massive rock which punctured and ripped the bead on my tire and knicked the rim. My hubris got to me. It took me an hour to glue and patch the tire. I had hoped to re-seat so I could keep running it tubless. This involved trying to pump air into the tire super quickly have it snap onto the rim. I tried about nine times but only ended up with three blisters on my hand and some lower back pain. I gave up, put one of my two tubes in and hit the road.

In my frustrated haste I didn’t repack my shoes well enough and when I arrived at my homestay I found one missing. The homestay owner offered to take me up the hill in exchange for seven litres of petrol. He talked me through his state-of-the-art car as we sped up the hill. “Inshallah, I can fit 20 people in this car”, it was a people mover with the rear seats removed and a rug on the floor. We were yelling “pofjafzol?!” (shoe) at passing pedestrians and cars. Eventually a taxi coming down the hill stopped. The driver handed me my shoe, it was remarkable to me that someone would think to bring it down the mountain.

Day 5 Rest

This has been by far the most content to come out of four days of this journey and also some of the hardest riding I’ve ever done. So today has been a well earned rest. Some of this does seem concerning. I’m down to one spare tube and a repair kit. It also seems that I have a slow leak in my current tube. The dogs were terrifying and the stone throwing annoying. But I’m really loving this adventure. I’m writing this sitting on a river bank looking over the border to Afghanistan, it’s beautiful, I’ve ridden the old route to get here, almost all bike packers I’ve met here have taken the new road. The challenges I’ve faced were expected and kind of what I need right now. It’s also helped me to take stock of my growth this trip. These things would have absolutely sent me eight months ago, but I’m feeling calmer under pressure. I feel more confident in how to keep myself safe. This month will likely be the most physically challenging and adventurous thing I ever do. I’m excited to rise to the occasion.

Through April, I wasn't bike touring or travelling in any particular direction. I was holidaying. Without the daily necessity of going from point A to point B, there was a lot of time just to sit and process my emotions. This was needed, but I found myself lethargic and just craving my bedroom and my old life back home. Phone calls back home have been incredibly helpful, but have increased that desire to be amongst those I love the most.

Now sitting here in Dushanbe, about to take on the Pamir Highway, those feelings persist but have been dulled by an intoxicating cocktail of excitement and fear.

Bouncing back in Sri Lanka

Back in January, I called Sofia while walking around Pudukkottai in Southern India. She let me know that her partner had just broken up them a couple of hours before. After a respectful amount of time, I compiled a pitch deck for a trip around Sri Lanka, riding around in a rental tuk-tuk, suggesting it would be a healing experience. As convincing as I thought my work was, I was forced to compromise on the tuk-tuk, and we planned a 10-day holiday together. Sofia hadn’t travelled anywhere in South / South-East Asia, and this trip was a step outside her comfort zone. After my relationship met the same fate a month later, I could see the appeal of something more relaxing.

We met up at the airport and had most of a day in Colombo before a train to Galle. It was the day after Tamil New Year, so the city was very quiet, and it was roasting hot outside. We found the best attraction was a Myer Centre spec mall, but it did have a shooting range and a train for toddlers with a shoot-em-up game on board. It was a good travel recovery day, but unfortunately, I was struck down with food poisoning when we arrived in Galle2. I will spare you the details, but it was a rough 36 hours. Sofia was resilient and helpful through it all and was rewarded the following morning with a swollen face from some allergy or bug bite. After 3 days, things were looking rather grim.

The next day, we sat on the sand, deciding whether or not to go snorkelling with turtles. It had been another difficult morning; we both felt the trip was a bit cursed, and our guide was difficult company. There was a moment of thinking what we both needed, maybe Sofia needed to be back in Adelaide, maybe I did too, should we find a resort and just do nothing for a few days? After a few minutes talking it through, we decided to just commit to bouncing back and dived in the water. The turtles were beautiful, the tens of tourists touching them and picking up what little living coral lay on the sea floor was less so, but it was the turnaround point of the trip.

The next day, we rented a motorbike and toured around some local hidden beaches. In the surf, we met Maddi, who was on holiday after volunteering in Indonesia and came from the same area in Italy as Sofia’s maternal grandfather. We took surfing lessons on foam boards and had a calm break near the town of Marissa. We ate dinner at the best restaurant in town, overlooking the beach, and watched a thunderstorm roll in, and then it trapped us there for an hour. It was as close to a perfect day as we could have hoped for.

After that, we were able to relax into the second half of the trip, enjoying dips in resort pools and the sea, visiting strange, highly staffed, but empty museums. Once a day, we’d break into a frenetic conversation about our recent breakups and the future, enough to help process things and support one another but not enough just to wallow in self-pity.

I’ve been friends with Sofia since the end of high school, and she’s always been someone very dear to my heart. This trip only affirmed that, and I was glad for our time together. I particularly admired and appreciated her bravery. While at times challenging, traveling is something I love and feel relatively comfortable with. A big part of this is my race and gender. I know that’s not the same for anyone. This was a step into unknown and uncomfortable territory, and then I was met with a grossly sick companion and a swollen face. She overcame it all and pushed her boundaries the whole trip. I’m lucky to have brave people like this around me.

The Mumbai Lull

On the last day with Sofia, my homesickness grew to a new level I hadn’t experienced before. I really wanted to be back home. Arriving back in Mumbai after 2 months, with not much planned for 4 days, was not all that exciting. I watched The Drama at the movies, and Vijay and Neha from Pune kindly couriered my bike back to me. I was staying an hour out of the centre of town near the airport, so transporting my bike would be easier. I had very little to do. I did some planning for the Pamirs, called friends and did some shopping, but this was probably the lowest few days of the trip. After 2 months lacking the structure, cycle touring gave me, and all the emotional turmoil had me craving ordinary life in Adelaide.

I had to leave for the airport at 1 am. Struggled to get an uber to fit my bike in, and then was hit with a surprise $220 fee for oversize baggage since I misunderstood the pricing schedule. It took 2 hours to check in, and I just about had enough. I called my parents and told them I was thinking of coming home sooner than planned. They told me it was 4 am and that might be clouding my judgment. At 9 am in Adelaide, their judgment was clear in rebuffing my desire to return.

Tashkent to Dushanbe revival and new ethos.

I landed at Tashkent to find my bike fed upside down onto the conveyor belt but jammed at the entry point to the carousel. Bags piled up behind it, and it took the help of 2 men to dislodge the bike. Outside, I was met with a relatively mellow scene compared with India and a cool climate to rebuild my bike and set off to the hostel. I stayed in a quiet suburb with a few nice and cheap restaurants nearby. It was a good place to prepare for the road ahead.

The first day back on the bike felt like the first day of school holidays as a kid. I woke up early, too excited to keep sleeping. I loaded up my bike, now 10 kilos heavier owing to the new camping and cold weather gear I’m carrying and set off for Oybek on the Tajik border. The day was not too pretty, but it was good for my mind to be back riding. The cars weren’t great, with lots of close, fast passes. I almost got hit by a truck, and the driver yelled at me, but then offered me tea 5 kilometres down the road. These challenges were familiar to me and I honestly felt calmer than I had in months.

The next day I crossed into Tajikistan, I had read online that searches can be quite invasive and drawn out, my border interview consisted of the question “you no have drugs, bombs?”, I answered correctly and he beckoned me into Tajikistan. I rode 100 km and climbed to 1000m into a headwind. It was a tough day, but good to prove to myself I hadn’t lost all my capability during my hiatus. On the highway, I met Bilol and his family driving back to their hometown, where I was staying that night. He gave me his WhatsApp and loosely offered me a place to stay if I couldn’t find a hotel. After finding that the only hotel in town was $100, I hit him up, and his father collected my bags, and I chased them on my bike to their home. I was served a beautiful dinner and ate with Bilol and his brother Umar, his uncle and grandfather came over with cousins to practice English with me. The grandfathers kept giving me money despite my desperate efforts to decline.

The next morning I decided to change things up a little and try hitchhiking. I knew the road ahead had two five-kilometre tunnels ahead, it was raining, and I wanted to be confident I could complete the actual Pamir highway, starting in Dushanbe, before my visa ran out. I thought this would be a challenge with my bike. I came to the edge of town and stuck a thumb up. Within a minute, a car pulled up, a seven-seater with nine passengers and luggage. They seemed to have an earnest discussion about fitting me in, but we all agreed it was impossible. They handed me a bottle of “functional water” and were on their way. The next car was another people mover but with three men and a big empty boot, headed for Dushanbe. We loaded my bike and we were on our way.

After the first tunnel, the weather was much clearer, and I was welcomed into some of the most beautiful views I’ve seen this trip. I felt a bit sad not to be riding, but enjoyed the conversations we were having through the passenger’s mother, who was an English teacher, translating on the phone. We stopped for breakfast in a small village, and we had tea, bread, and lamb kebabs.

The rest of the ride was beautiful. They were happy to stop to let me take photos as they smoked cigarettes. The 2nd tunnel was 7 km and non-ventilated. I don’t think it would be survivable on a bike. They dropped me off at the biggest mosque in Dushanbe in the early afternoon. I expressed my sincere gratitude, and I made my way to the hostel.

Being back on the road has dramatically improved my headspace. The structure and purpose are very helpful in drowning out some of the noise. I think allowing myself to hitchhike was helpful as well. I think being too dogmatic going into these high passes throughout the Pamirs could spell trouble, so good to rip the band-aid off early.

I remain excited for what’s to come, but I miss home more than ever. I know no matter where I am, the next few months will be hard. But I’m so lucky to be here, and there’s still so much joy to be found.

For the year leading up to my departure, I made detailed plans for the route I would follow on this trip, right up to arriving in Pune last month. From there the plan lacked clarity, I wanted flexibility and to understand my body and what I actually enjoyed on the road. Given I had only bikepacked around 750km around Adelaide in my life, it felt fair to actually gain an understanding of the project on the job. I knew Europe was on the menu, perhaps central Asia, or a leg in the States, but I didn’t know how hard I wanted to push it or what regions would call me in.

This prolonged rest was to give me time to land on what this last push would look like. The first half of this rest provided some surprises, which granted me some clarity on this path (e.g. my finish line is no longer Houston), along with a fair shake of personal turmoil. But with this turmoil has come some temporal freedom, and freedom from having a cool looking east to west map trace.

I’m surprisingly anxious for a person undertaking this kind of mission, and I struggle without anchors to hold on to, and when I feel at sea, I need to lay plans. So that has been my goal of the past few days, I have been making calls and looking at cycling heat maps around the world to decide what part 2 of this adventure looks like. Its brought some pep back to my step and I’m excited to share the scheme so I thought I’d put out this article.

Sector 4 - The Pamirs

The north west of the Himalaya stretches out into central Asia and becomes the Pamirs. These remote mountains have in recent years have called to cross continental cycle tourists, seen as the link between Asia and Europe. I initially planned to include this section, then dumped it due to time concerns. But in the past 2 weeks, I have felt the drive to have a period where I really test myself, both physically and mentally and achieve something I’m really proud of1.

Running through the Pamirs is the M41, or the Pamir highway. A mostly paved route running from Osh, Kyrgyzstan to Dushanbe, Tajikistan. Running over 1000 km rising over 4000 m of altitude, it is one of the most spectacular overlanding routes in the world. I will be tackling the route on the cusp of summer meaning I will be amongst the first cyclists of the year to take on the route. Logistically it makes the most sense for me to start in Tashkent, Uzbekistan and ride east to Osh to begin the highway.

While out there, there are 2 potential offshoots that I could take that will depend on weather. Firstly, the Bartang valley, a 450 km almost entirely off road section, remote and beautiful with only 100 or so people living in the entire region region. Secondly, the Wakhan Valley running close to the border of Afghanistan, but slightly better serviced than the Bartang. Choosing either of these routes will depend on weather and conversations with locals and other travelers regarding safety (which remains paramount). All things going well I will roll into Dushanbe around the beginning of June.

Sector 5 - Europe

Following my dose of mountain solitude I will be excited to land in Istanbul and finally cross onto my 2nd continent of the trip. The gozleme already excites me, so I’m sure it will be other worldly after a month on instant noodles. I plan to head south to enjoy some of the Turkish coastline before jumping on a ferry to Athens around my birthday, which hopefully will involve a visit from the rents.

From Greece, I will continue into the Baltic’s along parts of the Trans Dinarica a gravel route leading to Slovenia, lauded by one traveler I met as his favorite cycling over a 30,000 km trip. Along the way I will pick up Tom, my cousin in law(?) and continue for a few weeks up to Austria, where I will farewell Tom and be hopefully re-joined by Henry. We will tare across the norther Alps and into France with a goal to watch the Alpe D’huez stage of the tour de france.

From there I will need to find an end point line, this may be:

1. Family in the UK, following Henry’s planned route to Cambridge

2. Morroco via Spain, to hopefully see a solar eclipse and cheekily add an extra continent to the adventure.

3. Wherever the cheapest flight home is from.

The goal of this section will be to connect with any and all family and friends in Europe. Being near the end I hope to let the belt out a little financially and be able to really lap up the end of my time overseas.

That said, I don’t want to roll into some city and call it a day, I need more extravagance…

Sector 6 - Homecoming

I had originally planned to finish up in Houston, but life changes. In the midst of these changes I have been reminded of my love for and love I have received from home. I don’t want to walk out of that arrivals gate in Adelaide. I want to descend down from mount lofty and arrive back in town on my own two wheels.

I plan to land in Sydney and ride down to Wollongong before turning in land to Canberra, then crossing the much smaller Australian Alps to Melbourne before a final roll east to Adelaide, sometime in September.

I have friends along the way to visit, and to cajole into riding with me for section. I (vainly) hope to roll into town, and probably to the Exeter with a small peloton. These visions will keep me going when the road ahead gets rough.

Laying these plans have excited me and returned some pep to my step. I’m trying to remain grounded and know that things can change and with more risks a greater focus will be needed on safety. Thank you for tuning into part 1 and I hope your excited as I am for part 2.

See you in Tashkent.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“We broke up 3 days ago.”

“Ah, how long were you together?”

“4 years”

“She’ll come back to you. You should buy her a ring it would help.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good mindset my friend, I think it’s better to let go”

“My wife and I were together for 15 years, for one year she hated me, but she came back, you should buy her a ring, it will help.”

“Nah I’ll just take this one for me”

“I’m actually a spiritual healer and palm reader, give me your hand.”

Resigned to ride this guy’s wave I volunteered my palm as he rang to the back to grab his glasses. He looked for about a minute.

“I see your love line is very strong… from your side… not as much on the other.”

“Ah okay, thanks for that dude”

“How about a bracelet for your mother?”

Houston

After 7 months in the chaos of South East and South Asia a trip to the US was a shock to the system. From language barriers and controlled chaos to palpable individualism and an ordered, but oppressive maze of highways. As challenging as my time spent there was, I really did enjoy some moments. A road trip to Austin, Dallas, and New Orleans will always hold a special place in my heart. I enjoyed being in one place for a couple of weeks and felt welcomed into the community at Rice University.

I won’t delve much deeper than that on those 3 weeks, for obvious reasons. I’m still processing it all and dealing with a lot of heartbreak. But as painful as that goodbye was, I am glad that I will likely never visit the USA again, at least with it operating in its current form.

Returning to India

I acknowledge it is odd to see the United States during a trip to India but as soon as I landed back in Delhi, things felt very familiar and I was able to slip back into my old routines. The morning after I arrived I trained to Agra, owing to my lack of planning in all my travels, I did not know the Taj Mahal was closed on Fridays so I spent a day visiting smaller sites and buying clothes and rings to quell my sorrows. A rickshaw driver, Sabbu, drove me around for the day and would stop in quiet spots near rivers and paddocks to give me unsolicited life advice, he could spot a lost boy.

The Taj Mahal lives up to the hype, the scale from afar and intricacy up close gives way to an unforgettable experience. I sat on the steps of the adjacent mosque looking at the most famous expression of love in existence and contemplated the past 4 years, this trip and the road ahead, my concentration was broken by a passing cat that I tried to win the affection of.

After Agra I caught a bus to Jaipur, I had to miss my first bus since I left my air pods at my hostel. I booked a 2nd but when I arrived at the departure point there was an empty field, I was approached by an auto driver who told me the busses were a kilometer away, I think I ended up on a different bus to Jaipur, I think the driver took pity on my confusion and opted to not kick me off.

I spent the last 2 days exploring the pink city of Jaipur. There is such diversity in culture and architecture from city to city but no matter where I visit, the temples and palaces continue to amaze me in. The palaces here were occupied until the late 19th century so a lot of the artwork and character remain intact. I met a Singaporean, Yong Xiang watching the sunset last night at a temple overlooking the city. He’s in the middle of a year and a half of travel, he was warm, thoughtful and more mellow than many travelers I’ve met and was a breath of fresh air and a reminder of the joys of traveling. We spent the morning together at the Amber Fort in the mountains, he leverages ChatGPT as a guide, a tool I generally reject but if the information he was feeding me was true, it did add something to the experience.

The Road Ahead

Tomorrow I get the evening train back to Dehli, where I’ll spend link up with my friend Jahanvi. After that it’s off to Sri Lanka, to link up my friend Sofia for a couple weeks of beach side relaxation and catharsis. Beyond that the path remains a bit unclear.

The US / Israel war on Iran has left a few potential start points for the next leg in doubt. Flights are also getting prohibitively expensive, which will only get worse if Trump escalates the war to bring into play energy infrastructure. But beyond the costs and uncertainty, that again, I am the biggest victim of, I also need to reassess where I’m at and where I’m going.

For the first half of this trip I have been riding west towards Houston. For me this trip book ended a chapter of my young adult life in Adelaide and would deliver me to a new era in a new place. Now those plans have changed, I feel at sea and a bit directionless. I’ve felt very held by my community back home in the past week with many loving phone calls and texts from family and friends, the pull towards that community feels strongest at the moment, so it feels strange to keep cycling away from them.

That said, the value of this trip so far and what is to come is not lost, the next few months are going to be very difficult but also will push me to grow. The meditative aspect of cycle touring and travel in general will give me the space I need to let go, asses where I’m at and process it all. Being back at a 9 to 5 at home would leave less room for me to feel what I need to right now. I remain so lucky, and so glad that I’ve chosen to take on this adventure, I just need to figure out what the final chapter of it looks like.

I am aware this edition is a bit of a mess, I’m sure you will forgive me. To everyone back home that I’ve leant on in the last week, thank you, I love you and you make me know I will be okay.

This non-cycling vacation within a vacation marks the halfway point of this journey. I’ve been reflecting on this milestone a lot during this final 5-day push.

I’m amazed how quickly this trip has gone from feeling like an enormous, near eternal venture to feeling nearly over.

• I feel a lot of pride in what I’ve been able to achieve, both in riding my bike a long way, but also how I’ve grown, faced challenges and kept rolling when the challenges seem to great.

• I’m awed by how warm and kind people have been, everywhere, in a world that is increasingly violent and ugly on a macro scale.

• I feel much more secure on my own. I’ve been hyper social for a long time and use company to feel relaxed. A big goal of my trip was to break out of this and I’m glad I have.

• I can’t believe how well my bike has performed mechanically, shout out to Janice.

I am excited for this break, however it might turn out. While I’m feeling pretty fit, I am absolutely exhausted. My muscles ache, my butt hurts, I get going later and arrive later every day. It is time to recover. I’m sure after 2 slow weeks I will be longing to be back on the road after my own steam.

My plans have also changed a bit since the beginning of my journey. I originally had hoped to cross the Pamir mountains in central Asia, but that was going to slow me down even more and presented more logistical challenges than anticipated. So, pending global conflict I hope to kick off May in Georgia, and heading west across Turkey and then Europe arriving in the UK in late August.

This is a big change of scenery and presents new challenges and comforts. Higher prices mean more camping and camp cooking, I’m also going to places where locking my bikes wheel to the frame is an insufficient theft deterrent. But I am excited to tour through so many distinct cultures, eat good food and connect with family and friends traveling and living in that part of the world.

That’s the big picture update on making the halftime. Here are the highlights from my past three weeks in Karnataka, Goa and Maharashtra.

Karnataka with friends

Following my delightful time in Kerala I traveled inland to visit two friends. Surya, who I was connected with through a friend at work, and Anuj, who I met through Tash attending a space conference in Adelaide last January. Anuj had told me that traveling by bike around India was a great idea, but had thought I meant a motorbike.

In Mysore, I met up with Surya. He showed me around the palace, mostly explaining how it had decayed since his visit in high school, and took me to the temple atop Chamundi Hill. It was good to understand a bit more about Hinduism and the connections between the places I was visiting currently and places back in Tamil Nadu like Rameshwaram. He took good care of me that day and had been very helpful in my route planning, specifically, instructing me to go south from Chennai and visit Kerala.

After Mysore, I rode 110 km (perhaps though tiger country) to Hassan to see Anuj. He introduced me to his wife, Sandeep and work friends. Anuj and Sandeep hosted me for a week, it was my first time staying in a home in months and it bought me some much needed restoration. They took time out of work to go on hikes and show me the many 1000 year old temples that surrounded the town. When they were working they set me up with a scooter so I could visit places on my own. For a relativity quiet town, the area is teeming with natural attractions and historical beauty. The smell of coffee blossom filled the cooler air, it was the change of pace I needed. The highlights included:

• A ruined church on the edge of a reservoir, with a beautiful sunsets and people either kicking me out of the background of their wedding photo shoots or asking me to participate in their car photo shoots.

• An early morning trek with Anuj, 40 minutes from Hassan, on a route he had found on google maps. The ridge walk was stunning with the morning fog clearing just as we reached the summit.

• An afternoon tour of both ancient and modern temples with Sandeep and Anuj, culminating in sunset at a temple surrounded by wind turbines.

I felt very bad that I didn’t bring them a gift and attempts to pay for meals were met with threats. Anuj agreed that as a thank you for hosting I could return to India with Tash in the years to come, which seems a fair deal.

Will’s cameo

My cousin Will joined me for a week of riding. We had gone back and forth on the numbers. I suggested a lazy 500 km over 8 days, he returned an offer of 700 km in 7 and we compromised on 550 km in 6. I sent Will this elevation profile of our route and felt it would be easy traveling.

I’m unsure how we found so many more hills but most days involved 1000 m of climbing in rising heat.

We haven’t traveled together as adults, it was a fantastic week of riding, and I hope he rejoins again in Europe. He found a cheap mtb at a local bike shop and strapped his kit to the rack and we were off. We visited the many famous ancient temples, found cricket matches, ate well and played a whole lot of speed over Chai teas.

Our reward for this push was 3 days in Goa. An interesting place, very beautiful and catered to tourists, prices were about 5 times that of the rest of India but we still managed to have a good time. Our first meal took an hour to arrive only to have our dal spilt on arrival by the staff. An argument broke out amongst the waiters that Will mediated. 5 minutes later the manager bought us a smaller pot of dal and told us it was complimentary. At the checkout, we found out while that dal was complimentary we were still up for the original spilt pot.

Our karma came good on our one night out on the party strip. I lost Will on the dance floor, only to find him in VIP. I approached and Will gave a nod the person next to him who gave a nod to the security guard and I was let in. While not the most glamorous VIP section we made up for the high priced Goan goods on the free bottle service.

We enjoyed our time in Goa, but the riding was far more enjoyable. It’s always good to have an enthusiastic participant along when your on an incline in the afternoon heat.

The final push

This last week has been tough and with low motivation. I have spent 3 days on the same highway and am feeling each kilometre more than I have in months. With added uncertainty around getting to the States, and general depression and dismay with world affairs I have lacked pep.

That said, this period has not lacked highlights. Climbing back into the Western Ghats was fantastic, a great long but low gradient climb up a long cliff face. I met another cycle tourist on an e bike (cheater) coming the other way. The top of the ridge was lined with waterfalls and monkeys. Throughout Maharashtra, the mountains have remained impressive and distinct from the rest of India.

I’m more of a spectacle the more I head north. It’s hard to ride a kilometre without someone offering you a sugarcane juice, or giving you a large bag of buttermilk, then waiting to watch you drink the whole thing. Today was a genuine highlight where Omkar got chatting to me on his motorbike and bought me to lunch with his family. It was a beautiful, homely lunch, I was sat in a room with the Farther of the house and ate before everyone else, which made me feel a bit guilty. But everyone gathered for photos and Omkar rode with me back to the highway, he expressed a lot of anxiety about my travels. I think he’s glad he met me now, with a day to go and not 2 months ago. I will sincerely miss biking in India, the chaos, the warmth of others and the natural beauty. This will not be my last time here.

Thanks for following along this first half of my travels. It means a lot that people are connecting with my journey. I will try to keep you updated through my holiday within a holiday.

Beyond the location, I’ve found it easier to decompress and relax in the new year. I have had fewer firm commitments and have been able to go at my own pace, embracing opportunities to relax and spend time in places that I enjoy. Beachside towns with cheap hotel rooms certainly help with that. Being able to relax makes the cycling easier too; it’s a helpful cycle. I’m relieved about that; I feared the comedown from Christmas and challenges from a new country might have been a drag for me.

The main challenge I’ve had is producing this substack; without challenges, I struggle to find good hooks for engaging tales. I’ve also not had too many major events occur, just lots of small, enjoyable moments.

The people

I’ve found that on this trip, when travelling alone, and I have a nice interaction with someone on the bike, I get goosebumps. I’m not entirely sure why, but it’s a very visceral, but positive physical reaction. I’m a chronically social, loneliness is easily my biggest challenge out here. Outside of the big cities, everyone wants to have a chat; the amount of language varies, but there is always warmth and generosity in these reactions. I have read about people complaining about this aspect of being in India, but if you meet people with warmth, have a laugh about cricket, take a quick selfie, your day and their day be better for it. Occasionally, people can be a bit forceful, particularly around photos, but I do enjoy chatting to people about their lives. I’m getting much more out of this time emotionally. Here are a couple of my warmest interactions:

• In a rural town near Kollam, an older man approached me in a general store and asked me about my trip. He insisted I join him for a drink in his favourite tea rooms down the street. He took me into the back of the shop and introduced me to the staff and regulars. We sipped our teas, and he asked what my favourite food for energy was. I said bananas, and he spoke to a boy leaning on a doorway who quickly disappeared. As we finished our teas the boy returned with a mass of mini bananas, a challenge to carry on the bike and consume while ripe.

• On a hot afternoon, pushing into a long headwind, I was passed by 3 generations (Grandfather, Farther and Son) on a motorbike. They all waved, and around the next corner, they had pulled up and ordered 4 iced cold glasses of sugar cane juice. They flagged me down, and they talked me through the best things to see in the area. We also had a conversation about Steve Smith’s omission from the World Cup squad.

  

• Two men pulled me over while I was on the phone to invite me into a bus shelter to share a cigarette. I couldn’t say no. They didn’t ask about the trip. We discussed Jasprit Bumrah and Steve Smith’s omission from the World Cup squad.

  

• In restaurants when you dine solo, you are seated with others. This often leads you to some nice conversations. My most enjoyable experience was with two first-year mechanical engineering students. They took a great interest in my travels, and we ended up sharing a lot of food. They’re ordering was helpful since I only know the names of 2 common curries at street food vendors. They didn’t care about cricket but took a great interest in Tash’s space studies and career and academic path in mechanical engineering.

The kindness of strangers is something that I’ve heard a lot about from other cycle tourists. I’ve found that everywhere I’ve travelled so far, but it’s been most significant in Kerala and India in general. It’s a helpful reminder with all the conflict in the world and deterioration of the West that most people all over the world are kind, generous and caring. Rejecting that truth leads us down dangerous paths.

The landscape

From the white sand beaches, to lush green jungles, to flower-lined streets, to majestic mountain peaks, Kerala is stunning. I haven’t been to many places with so many distinct, beautiful landscapes. The evolving, but ever-pleasing scenery hasn’t stopped taking my breath away.

The first stop out of Trivandrum was Munroe Island outside of Kollam. The island was amongst the backwater lakes and channels that run parallel to a lot of the coastline. I dropped my pin on the wrong island and had to take a 22 km diversion and carry my bike over a rail bridge. Once I arrived on the island, I enjoyed bouncing along dirt paths that followed narrow channels. Passing people on punting tours and enjoying the shade of palm trees after a long day in the saddle.

At my homestay, the manager offered to organise a boat. It was $10 for 2 hours, and I could fit it in before I cycled the next morning. I agreed, and he said someone would pick me up at 6 am. I woke up, and the manager of the homestay was waiting in a boat right outside my door. He punted us through the canals in the early light and onto a saltwater lake for sunrise. The silence of punting was scerene and after months of Asian cityscapes and highways, I treasured the bird calls. He made me climb a mangrove tree, and we got out and waded together in the middle of the lake a kilometre from shore.

After that experience, I got back on my bike and cycled 4 hours to a splendid beachside town of Alappuzha. After a night at a hostel where my shoe was eaten by a dog, I thought of leaving but was pulled back in by the food and sunset views. I moved to a private room in a homestay with a massive window and good AC, and ended up resting for 3 days. These days were spent swimming in the Arabian Sea, watching movies, sipping ice lattes on the sand, and watching the sunsets on the edge of the water.

From there, I rolled into Fort Kochi, a former Portuguese colony with stunning architecture and tree-lined streets and onto another beachy paradise in Kozhikode. Then I turned to the mountains, riding through green jungle in the morning to a climb fit for the Tour de France. 850m climbing over 12 km. The road twisted with numbered switchbacks like Alpe d’Huez. You could see the mountain peak most of the time with the finish hundreds of metres above you. It was one of the greatest climbs I’ve done, made all the better with almost every car waving or cheering me on.

Every time spent looking down at my Garmin in this province has been a missed opportunity. This place is stunning.

Cricket

Finally, I would not be in India if I didn’t have a cricket story. I took 3 rest days in Kerala’s capital, Thinadrapurmum, to recover from the pep of Oli, Henry and Noah. Departing the city, I felt excited to be back on the road. The area was beautiful, and I’d finally dispatched of a cold I’d been nursing for a month. On a small road out of the city, I saw someone selling Indian Cricket Team shirts. I thought it was an odd place to be moving these items. Around the corner stood a 10-metre-high MS Dhoni cutout, and many more shirt vendors. It appeared something cricket-related was afoot. As it turned out, I had happened to stumble on 1 of 30 international cricket stadiums in India on game day.

I was unsure if I should go… I had rested for 3 days and didn’t want to burn another. I called dad to get his take, and he thought I was a fool to even think about it. He instructed me to buy a ticket. He suggested I pretend to be a kiwi, but I already had my heart set on a Virat Kohli shirt.

I arrived at the stadium hours early, with lines already hundreds of metres. On entry, we had to give up all coins for security. Once inside, I went to buy a bottle of water and was asked if I had any coins for exact change. The water was 150 INR or $2.50, upon sitting down, people around me were shocked I shelled out that much for water. Murmurs of outrage at the pricing were filtering through the GA terraces. Everyone around me was very friendly, the crowd roared as the team bus arrived and caught a glimpse of the players. Games are only played here every 3 or 4 years, and there is no IPL team. Kerala local Sanju Samson had his first match at home. The crowd cheered every part of his warmup; you could see the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Samson looked shaky and departed for 7, but India then piled on a remarkable 270 with a pumping crowd behind them. New Zealand looked in the game until the 12 over of their innings. I left with a few overs to go, the stadium seemed purpose built for crowd crushes.

It was a good insight into why limited-overs cricket is more popular here. The stadium was uncomfortable. Facilities struggled to bear the crowd for 3 hours. The bathrooms had more and more water on the floor every time I visited. There’s no alcohol on sale, and many fans are at their first match, so people are laser-focused on the game. It was a far cry from Adelaide Oval. But I’ve never been in a stadium more electric.

Since the game, I keep being tagged in people’s match day Instagram reels with hype music playing over selfies and game footage. It’s been a good time with people conversation wise that I’ve been to the game. People care less about the 270 India scored and more about national news reporting and outrage about the overpriced ($2.50) waters.

We drove North and into the jungle. It was dark with seemingly not too much going on. We passed a clearing with flood lights and boys playing some sport on some matting; “Kabaddi”, declared our driver. After another 10 minutes of seemingly nothing we came across the temple. It was teaming with life, our driver didn’t offer to show us around, but instead emerged from the fast moving crowd any time we looked confused to tell us where to go or what the different activities symbolised. We arrived at prime time, about 5 minutes in to being there around 300 people, all chanting pulling a chariot with a group of priestly men on it, throwing spices into the crowd.

While watching the events around us I remarked to Henry that this is the first busy spot where we hadn’t been asked for pictures with strangers. Immediately a group of children appeared asking for selfies. After the photo shoot, their ringleader, Vignu took us to the queue where free servings of dahl rice were being distributed. Before we could say anything we were pushed into the front of the 100 metre queue, we felt bad but no one would let us leave the line. After we were served Vignu, went and asked a few people to give us some prime seats for us to eat at, again, we felt bad for the VIP treatment. The moment we finished eating our driver emerged from the crowd and showed us the temple sights and bought us a bag of deep fried sugar crystals. We then got back in the tuk tuk thinking we’d already had the most exciting night so far spent in India. Then we came upon the Kabaddi match again.

Sports Journalism

We murmured that we might like to watch and our driver skidded to a halt. The court was set up on tessellating foam tiles on very uneven ground. The field was flood lit with a reasonable crowd around. There was an official looking poster hung at one end. We found a small knoll near the commentators so we could see what was happening. This extra height and proximity to the commentators and officials perhaps added to the spectacle of our arrival, within 30 seconds the whole crowd was looking at us, the commentator then turned and said “hello friends”. He didn’t speak English but one woman on the table did, she fed him questions which he repeated. We were interviewed for around a minute, then 4 nicely padded chairs were vacated and presented to us at court side. At this point of the evening we had realised protesting this hospitality would get us nowhere.

After sitting we were handed the microphone and told to introduce ourselves. Gameplay was ongoing at this point. Most of the crowd seemed to speak english. I introduced the group and our trip and received a warm applause. We handed the mic back and I tried to remember the rules of Kabaddi from a youtube video I watched about 7 years ago and then explain it to the others. If you don’t know the sport its effectively a cat and mouse game where one player from a team enters the other side of the court, they have 30 seconds to reach a certain depth, and try and tag as many players as possible, the other team will then try and tackle the raider before they can get back to the other side.

After a few more minutes the commentator wanted to bring us back into the action. He held out the mic and said “commentate in english and handed me the mic”. No one else in the group wanted a crack so I took to giving my best play by play. I knew the team names, and was being fed the scores from each play by the english speaking women on the table. I gave it the best I could. After 5 minutes I was out of bits and felt people deserved genuine commentary over the rather obnoxiously loud PA system so offered it back. This offer was declined about 5 times before they accepted commentary duties again.

We felt bad for our tuk tuk driver so went to leave. We were assured there was only a few minutes to go. At the end we got up to leave but were hearded to the trophy table and were central in the prize giving ceremony. We congratulated CPT on their win and went to leave. CPT asked for a picture so we did that. Then the losers, Kortarem, asked too, then the MVP, then the officials, then a family, every time we went to leave we were asked for just one more and another group would file in for a photo. Someone then grabbed the mic and gave an impassioned speach about the friendship between Australia and India and how happy he was to see Aussies take an interest in Kabbadi, he then hugged us all, gave us silk scarfes, we took photos with him and his family. After half an hour we finally made our getaway jogging to the tuk tuk through the crowd receiving applause and handshakes, it seemed we were getting far more flowers than the champions. We got in the tuk tuk and gave the tuk tuk driver a tip for his patience and tour guide skills.

Print Journalism

As mentioned in my last post, we had been photographed and Oli was interviewed by a Journalist who passed us on our moped. We have since been contacted by the writer and he sent us his article in a local paper in Thuthookudi. From our translation he has some facts straights. I do appreciate that he got all our ages wrong and I’m no longer the oldest in the group. Oli’s middle name isn’t Lawrence, we don’t know where that came from.

Anyway I’m glad this section of the trip got the press it deserved. Oli didn’t try and get a plug in for my substack or anything, he doesn’t understand how big that could’ve been for me. I hope this is a marker of things to come and I’m on breakfast TV by the time I reach Mumbai.

Back on my own / Restarting the fire in me

The boys left yesterday. I’ve taken an extra rest day to recuperate from the pace of life they live by. I also want to finally dispel of this cold I’ve been nursing since new years. We made it to the southern tip of India a few days ago, we rested there and then left Tamil Nadu for Kerala, where I am now. I had a wonderful time with them, I was impressed by the way they engaged with the trip, open to everything, good at communicating and depressingly fast at riding bikes. It’s a big undertaking to come out to these parts and join me for a part of this trip, I’m grateful that I’ve built some stronger connections with friends I’ve grown up with and for their openness and enthusiasm for this adventure. A bigger group was also fun, it gave everyone the opportunity to relax when they needed and to split up when we wanted to do their different things.

Being alone again doesn’t phase me as much as it did last time. My headspace wasn’t great and I really wanted to get to Malaysia and the fire inside me for exploration faded. It’s back with a vengeance now, every day I love India more. The culture is unlike anything I’ve experienced before and it seems every town has something incredible to see that feels like a UNESCO site, that I’ve also never heard of. I feel safe in these parts, the food is amazing and people are warm and talkative so I don’t feel so isolated. The time spent with Oli, Henry and Noah were a big part of this, their energy and enthusiasm bought us to that festival and to one of the best nights I’ve had in a while, I was 50-50 on joining them for a tuk tuk out to the jungle, it was a good reminder to seize the opportunities this trip brings.

I’ve got people to see over the next two weeks and then my friend will is coming. He’s also a weapon on the bike so I may be in for some more humbling. Everything has been very hectic and high paced since Tash arrived in Penang well over a month ago. So I am re-invigorated, but also exhausted. What I hope the next few weeks hold is some lower paced travel with some more off bike side quests.

What we have enjoyed the most here has been the food. I’ve always enjoyed southern Indian food back home, but here, it’s on another level. Parotta with curry has been a group favourite, particularly as we adjust to eating with our hands. Curry puffs and bakery snacks have been a go-to for lunch. I will go full Bourdain in an upcoming edition after covering some more regions.

I’ve been working to stay present; the new year has lifted my gaze to what’s to come. I am working through what to do in the next few months; this year is much less set in stone compared to last year. I have to make some trade-offs with seasons, time and money, and it can dominate my headspace. I know I’ll enjoy whatever I do; fixation isn’t helpful.

Indian Cricket Debut

The sun in India has been different to what I experienced in SE Asia; the temperature is lower, but the sun really does cook you over the course of a day. We arrived at a hotel in Pudukkottai, and we were shown some rooms that looked serviceable and went to pay. At some point in this process, the manager started screaming at all the staff in the lobby. Apparently, these rooms hadn’t been cleaned, and we would need to use another room. The staff and I worked to explain that it didn’t matter and to calm him. Once checked in, I took a phone call and a stroll around the palace and park in the center of the small town.

I passed a bare field in front of a school with some cricket being played. At the far end of the field, a group was beckoning me over. I ended the call and walked over, introduced myself and was offered a spot in the game. I was then quizzed by both captains: “How much cricket do you play?” “How long since your last game?” “Do you bat or bowl?” My answers weren’t too promising. One captain then shrugged and said, “You look like Travis Head” and took me to his squad.

My likeness to a cricketing icon got me promoted to opener for our team. The game was played on half an oval, with only leg side in play. The field intersected with another ongoing game with mid-wicket fielding on the other side of the other game’s pitch. The teams were taking it seriously enough for me to get invested and nervous. The bats were very heavy wood with the back sides completely carved out of them, and the balls were heavy tennis balls that were set on fire prior to play to remove any fluff. Balls were to be thrown only, no proper bowling, which reduced the bounce off the wicket. I walked out to the non-strikers’ end feeling a buzz I haven’t felt since high school cricket.

On the 2nd ball, the other opener hoicked it to square leg. The next ball, the new batter was bowled. We were 3 for by the time I faced up. I clipped a few off my legs played a nice on drive to a score of 5. Up the other end the collapse continued. The captain came out and called a conference mid over, “just play slowly brother, we can build something” the next ball he tried to whack a ball halfway up middle stump. 6(out of 7)/9. The final batsman fell soon after, all out for 15. I carried the bat facing 6 balls.

I struggled in the field, I was at mid wicket, worried about interfering with or being hit from the other ongoing match. My bowling (throwing) was ok, I got hit for 6 off the first ball trying to throw a leg break, then got 4 dots and a wicket. I gave a send-off to a man who had only been sweet to me throughout the whole match.

We lost convincingly, but quickly restarted a new game. I was waiting to bat with the captain, and he quizzed me about my trip. He asked me what the best lesson of my trip had been. I told him I found that leaving my home didn’t change me in the way I expected; any growth I’ve experienced has come from within and didn’t come easier than at home. You can’t run away from yourself. He said, “Is your life some kind of tragedy bro?” I had forgotten how to converse in cricket dressing rooms.

I went out to bat at the death and missed 5 balls. Henry, Oli and Noah watched. The guy I sent off was bowling. He asked how many balls I faced. I said 5, he said “5 dots”. We lost again.

Dealing with celebrity status

Everywhere we have traveled people have wanted photos. I expected this but it is still wild watching groups on motorbikes see you and U turn to get a group photo with you. In restaurants people have been very warm and curious having long chats, occasionally buying us our meal, in spite of our attempts to decline. Every hotel we have stayed at has insisted we appear in their promotional content. Everyone says I look like Travis Head.

We tried to take the strava KOM on the road leading from Rameshwaram to Danushkodi, a land bridge extending out halfway to Sri Lanka. I got dropped since I couldn’t handle the heat the young bloods were putting down. I arrived 3 minutes after with a group around Henry and Noah doing some enthusiastic chanting. I presume it was a blessing. We didn’t get much time to look at the sites or at the beach. We had a queue of people taking photos with us. I didn’t mind it, most people wanted to talk cricket, I’m better at talking about it than playing.

At a morning breakfast a man approached out table with a larger man in tow. “This man is the king of the area” he said. He sat down and we took several photos, from all angles, including through a window. I was trying to google Indian feudal lords, or dependence to Tamil kings, I couldn’t figure out what he was. Confusingly, he than sat down behind the counter and told us our food was free. We shook his hand and went outside to set off, noting the place was called The Kings Cafe. I still don’t know if the title has come from or been brought to the business.

We also had a man with a DSLR stop and take some photos, saying he was from the local paper. He took Oli’s number and loosely interviewed him this evening. I will update you if we become famous.

Confronting my old age

Traveling with Oli, Henry and Noah has been a very good way to adapt to saying goodbye to Tash and the family. They are all around 21 and have that joie de vivre I lost some time during COVID. A bigger group works well for allowing a bit of alone time and some more diverse conversations. I grew up very close with Oli’s family, I had a rort of a deal babysitting him back in 2015. Henry has also been a long term family friend. I have really enjoyed engaging with them as adults now. We don’t see each other as much as we did when we were young and its nice to be out here now all these years later on a level pegging.

They’ve impressed me with their engagement with all aspects of the trip, they’re open to anything, resilient and thoughtful. What hasn’t impressed me is how they are faster than me. I knew they were weapons on the bike but I thought my touring lifestyle would help me in a sprint, instead its turned me into a diesel locomotive. I can go all day, but my acceleration is poor. Yesterday I unknowingly dropped my right airpod after a phone call. I noticed this 8 km later on a planned 126 km day. We were at a lunch spot and I said I’d go back, everyone followed me, partially to be kind but also because they wanted to cycle further that day, they’re goddamn savages. This humbling has been good for me, it will keep me hungry.

I will miss them when they head off, I’ve enjoyed growing closer and it will be weird to be alone again after having company for over a month. Unfortunately there is a race being planned for the final day, I think my only hope involves slashing tires.

This month has been strange. A whirlwind of finishing one leg, seeing my family and the associated chaos of family holidays, relaxing and recuperating with the familiar comfort of Tash by my side and then returning to the road. I’m very glad to have these boys here with me for the next 2 and a half weeks; the emotional whiplash might’ve been more severe. The rest and reset in Malaysia were much needed, and I feel ready for new challenges with renewed focus and resolve.

It’s a new year and I’m back on the road. Henry, Oliver, Noah and I set off from Chennai and over 2 days have made it to Pondicherry. We are taking an early rest day here in this former French Colony since it’s the last major tourist centre for a while, and it looks like a beautiful area to explore. Today is also the first day of Pongal, the Tamil harvest festival. Today mostly involves cleaning out houses and burning old possessions, so there hasn’t been too much to participate in. I can’t afford to burn one of my 4 shirts.

For me, this India leg has been the most exciting and nerve-inducing part of the journey. People warn you of the most confronting aspects of the country while also praising its rich cultural tapestry. So far, it’s exceeded expectations. The people in Tamil Nadu have been largely kind and welcoming. The food has been some of the best of the journey so far, the roads have been hectic but predictable, and the accommodation has been affordable, safe and comfortable. It took us about 6 hours to be involved in a cricket match and be included in a young kid’s birthday dinner.

This year holds far more mystery than last year. Much of my planning before I left was devoted to the SE Asia leg, where this year will take me remains in the works. When I’m stressed, I like certainty and rigidity, so the mystery and wonder of the next 8 months or so is foreign and difficult for me to grapple with. The unknowns are good for me, though, I have the time and flexibility to pursue what I want and dealing with uncertainty is an opportunity for some personal growth.

At the end of our time in Penang, Tash and I spent some time writing postcards. We both found it cathartic, and we will both be doing it more in the coming year. That said, being raised in the internet age, we are both better at starting Substacks than sending letters, and presumably, many of these letters were incorrectly stamped or sent to Austria. So these are our postcards home to you, looking back at our time in Malaysia.

Tash

Hi all,

Feeling like Phoebe Bridgers here—haven’t released solo work in a while, but you might just get me on a feature.

Anyone who’s been on a group holiday will know that holiday philosophies vary. Some people want to maximise every minute of their PTO, while others just want to relax. I wouldn’t say I fall into either of these camps. In fact, I really try to avoid the “I want” factor altogether. For me, holidays are about embracing new or different experiences without the weight of any expectations.

This might be a defence mechanism—most holidays have the potential to be disappointing (see: Paris syndrome). But I also think it’s probably a good philosophy to live life by, and holidays are an excellent way to practise it. Reflecting now, I realise that I’m describing stoicism. Nick probably feels really smug, because all December he was reading Seneca’s letters on stoicism. He tried to get me to read them, but I refused because I on-principle don’t care about the Romans.

Indeed, I think I’ve avoided stoicism this long because I associate it with men who are boring (at best) or annoying (at worst). But returning to Penang, I was reminded of Nick and my first trip there in 2023. My now-estranged relative recommended we visit the KOMTAR, which we quickly learned is not just Penang’s tallest tower, but also the home to a bonkers indoor theme park. We paid $40 AUD (steep for Malaysia!) for “Main Attraction” passes, which included tickets to the observatory deck, the ‘Jurassic Research Center’, and the ‘Top Boutique Aquarium’. So exciting!

But as we walked into the aquarium, it became apparent that it had earned the honour of “best aquarium in Penang” by being the only aquarium in Penang. It was essentially a dark corridor with a few small tanks populated by goldfish. I might have felt disappointed or slightly embarrassed by this, but I didn’t have time to feel any of those emotions because Nick was laughing so hard. He was doubled over, overjoyed at the opportunity to experience the world’s shittest aquarium.

If giggling through life was a philosophy, I had been testing it out a little, but that was the moment I fully subscribed to it. Penang holds a special place in my heart because it holds both my familial roots, and the source of this vibe change. It was so rewarding to be back there over the break with my family. I feel reminded of myself, and ready to tackle the coming semester.

Love,
Tash

Nick

Dear [SUBSTACK SUBSCRIBER],

This is my third visit to Penang. Georgetown has started to feel familiar to me, moreso than any other town outside of Adelaide. Adelaide and Georgetown are sister cities, and Colonel Light’s father, Francis Light, was the first colonial ruler, so our cities share a similar spirit. We have spent much of our time here with family and each other in Georgetown, visiting significant sites in the Moy family history and sampling the Malay, Chinese and Indian cuisine from hawkers or cool eateries.

We also shared a few dinners with extended family members. I had met quite a few of these people before, and it was lovely to reconnect. Chris loves a photo shoot, so every meal involved a photo of every person in every possible grouping. Takes on my current trip ranged from mild alarm to strong enthusiasm. It was lovely to watch and be a part of these dinners, people who haven’t seen each other in years connecting so deeply and quickly. We also returned to the Moy family temple, a particularly cool site with a shrine to the ancestors who came from Taishan, where I travelled through 3 months ago. Tash’s great-grandfather’s photo is on the wall. I have combed the family history and have been disappointed in the lack of temples, castles or clans in my lineage, so to connect with the Moys’ is both special and all I have.

I often crave rest and look forward to the unburdening of all my worries and concerns. This point in time in Penang has been one such beacon of impending relaxation. I often forget that I struggle to slow down, and often the stress that you carry cannot be changed by a change of location or company; it needs to come within. I have found that with this time here. Time with family is a beautiful thing, but it brings chaos and emotion. I am so grateful for my family and Tash’s family for coming out, and I found the time rejuvenating but stressful. I valued the slower time spent with Tash after Christmas, with NYE in KL and a resort stay in Ipoh, nestled between a mountain and a lake with an infinity pool and pickleball court. This period was one of profound reflection. Looking at my future, this year and beyond. Grappling with a long-distance relationship, plans for a future working abroad, a desire to maintain close bonds to my family, community and home. This time was both physically relaxing and allowed me to work through my feelings and embrace the mystery and wonder.

It helped me appreciate the brilliance of this moment in my life. I’m young, I have money (that should be a house deposit, sorry Chris), I have time, and I’ve been able to seize it to go on this great adventure. I really don’t know what the future holds. But I back the choices that have brought me here, and I know in the uncertainty I’m capable of choosing the best path for me.

I’m off to India next, starting in Chennai and heading to the southernmost point of India and then following the west coast up to Mumbai. I will have a few friends to link up with on the way and about 3000 km to cover. After that, I will take some rest, visiting Tash at her college and preparing for the 2nd half of my journey.

Keep calling me, it keeps me sane,

Nick

“Can I get you anything?”

“Coffee?”

“Not Till 9 o’clock.”

“Breakfast?”

”Not till 9 o’clock.”

“What do you have?”

“Nothing till 9 o’clock”.

But they’re letting me sit here and enjoy the game back home so no complaints from me. George Town marks the end of my South East Asian leg and the end of my cycling in 2025. Tomorrow Tash arrives for 3 weeks together, our parents and my sister are here for a week starting Monday. My bike, which has been a constant presence for 4 months, is getting serviced and it feels weird to be out of the focus / flow I’ve been in as I’ve marched through the last 1000 km on the Malay Peninsula.

Penang and George Town hold a special place in my heart. This is my third time visiting. Tash’s grandparents emigrated to Australia from here and she still has extended family here. It’s a beautiful place with unique blend of architecture, and nature. Its culturally diverse with large Malay, Chinese and Indian populations with some of the best food I’ve ever eaten from all these cultures. I’m very excited to be here again, and to be seeing the people I love the most.

Final trials and tribulations

The final push from Trang was supposed to be simple, and unremarkable. A 270 km trundle over 3 days with a visa free border crossing. It ended up being a 450 km 4 day affair with a landslide scare.

I chose to cross the border at the West-most crossing point, that my quick research said was open as of a month ago. This was to avoid Hat Yai and the areas worst affected by the flooding. The border crossing was in a national park, up a short climb. The conditions were cool and good for riding. The climb was through a gully in the national park, it was a rich green jungle, a much darker hue then what I had seen further North. Halfway up a there was a massive, unforcasted downpour, the heaviest I have experienced on the trip. I was struck by the lack of traffic approaching the border, and the amount of closed shops (in hindsight this might have indicated something was up).

The rain cleared as I approached the border checkpoint. The place had lights on but looked a bit run down. Notably, there was no queue or people coming or going. I walked in, the immigration booths were closed. Instead there was a slight man in a polo shirt, sitting at a small desk with a sheet of paper and a handgun pointed directly at me.

“Hi my friend”, he said

“Is the border open”

“Oh… no. There’s been a massive landslide on the Malay side. It won’t be open for 6 months, at least”

“Where’s the nearest crossing?”

“You need to go through Hat Yai, its around 150 km to the crossing.”

“Is Hat Yai safe now?”

“Yeah…. I think so.”

He then grabbed his gun and made sure the chamber was clear and then had a good chat with me around my trip and time in Thailand. Nice man. I wish he would keep his gun holstered.

As I descended I called Dad to update him that I had once again failed to cross a border. On the decent the rain kicked off again. I turned a corner and there had been a landslide, now blocking 3 quarters of the road. It was still settling as I went past it. The rain had restarted at this point. I told dad I was going to descend as fast as I safely could and call him back when I was safe. Its probably the least comfortable I’ve been on the trip. Descending in the wet, no where safe to shelter. Not fun. I got off the hill and called dad, he had told mum, a strategic miss-step. But we were all happy I was ok.

I elected to make up as much ground as I could that day since I wanted to have some options if I couldn’t cross at Hat Yai. I cycled 155 km that day and made it back across the peninsula to Hat Yai. Still evidently affected by the flood, I booked accommodation out of the city, where I met another cyclist. We left early the next day and made it across the border together. Djivann was a Frenchman traveling with a folding piano. It was nice to spend a day with him although I traveling styles were quite different.

But that’s enough of recent events. This is my wrap up looking back at SE Asia and 2025 in general.

Statistics

Ok, if you’ve been following my Instagram you would’ve already seen some of these.

Headline Figures:

• 73 Days of Cycling in 4 Months

• 6237 km over 318 hours in motions

• 31200 metres of elevation gain.

• 2 nights of camping (both in the first fortnight), despite carrying 8 kg of camping kit.

• Top speed: 64.7 km/h

• Highest point: 1271 M

Mechanical Stats:

• 0 Punctures(!)

• 2 Rear tires worn through

• 2 Chains worn though

• 1 Cassette worn out

• 4 Brake pads worn down

Crisis Stats:

• 4 Hours spent in immigration detention

• 2 Failed attempts at border crossings

• 17 Dog chases

• 1 time kicked out of a hotel mid shower

• 3 typhoon encounters

Highlight

For the year, it remains the day around Mount Fuji with Dad and Alex. But for this last leg there’s a three way tie:

1. Riding through North Vietnam with Nik. While the weather was not always our friend it was the happiest I’ve been on the road. It was amazing to explore the industrial core of the country together and to narrowly lose a Beer Pong Tournament Final, a best of 7 Pool match and our first ever pickle ball game all in a 10 day period.1

2. Visiting Taishan was very cool. The connection to Tash’s family was special and understanding the story behind the mass emigration from the reigon. Seeing the architectural ties to Penang, and other towns, like Trang, with a large Chinese population is also really interesting. China as a whole was incredible. I am very keen to visit again soon.2

3. Beers with the Lao troops. One of the most rogue 3 hours of my life. I’ve been texted twice to remind me that there’s always a place for me in central Lao if I want to visit again. Bear posted this on his story yesterday…. I hope he stays safe…3

Low lights.

No need to dwell on them but getting hit by a rickshaw and “nudged” by a truck entering Guangzhou and being in a bad mood and chocking on car fumes riding into Bangkok were the real low points.

Best meal

This home cooked breakfast spread at my homestay Chawang. I felt like I was running on rocketfuel that day. It also led me to start liking congee.

Final Reflections

Looking back on the year that’s been I feel incredibly proud of myself. I needed to take the reins and follow my dreams, leaving is hard and I’m proud that I did it. The certainty of being where I want to be is incredibly stabilising when the going gets tough. I’m also very happy with how I have performed physically and logistically over the last 4 months. Sure I can’t cross a land border to save my life and I’ve found myself in some off the wall situations, but I’ve only screamed “FUCK!” into the void once and I have been pleased with the decisions I’ve made under pressure. I have prioritized safety, I’ve identified risks, I’ve been able to stay in control emotionally.

What I’ve found most difficult is loneliness, particularly being away from Tash. I foretasted this, and I know its ok to feel this way. Most people I’ve met who are traveling similarly to me are introverts. They are softly spoken and enjoy the solitude, I am not like this. I talk these poor folks ears off when I meet them. The company of others, particularly loved ones, helps me emotionally regulate and gives me a tremendous deal of happiness. I know this about myself and I embrace it, but I don’t want to depend on it, I want to appreciate it when I have it, so I welcome the challenge. I found 3 out of these last 5 lonely weeks very tough but I worked my way of them, I’m proud of that. I’m writing this section the day after I wrote the rest of the article and I’m going to collect Tash from the airport as I publish this. We have 3 weeks together then I have 2 and a half weeks with the young whipper snappers in India. So I will embrace this time as much as I can, and hope to handle loneliness better next year.

Whats next

India. On Jan 11 I’m flying into Chennai and meeting up with 3 folks: Oli, Henry and Noah. We are hugging the East coast of India and riding down to the Southern tip in Kanyakumari, they then leave as I ride up through Kelara. Hopefully with friends but I’m still in talks. Then on to Goa and finishing the leg in Mumbai. I’m trying to entice dad to rejoin, I reckon he can be convinced. After the leg I will be around 9000 km in. I will do some general tourism in North India, hopefully linking up with some friends in Delhi and then taking a rest to mark the halfway point of the trip, and hopefully spending some time with Tash in Texas. There’s a few things still up in the yeah and lots of mystery and wonder in the new year.

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Up the Killer Dugongs

I’ve taken a double rest day in Trang, in the far south of Thailand. I cycled 125 km to get here on a scorching hot day. I was about to pull into a hotel around the 90 km mark, but naively talked myself into pushing on. It was the hardest I’ve pushed since my first day in Vietnam I was feeling the drive to push myself a bit harder, but it left me pretty wrecked yesterday. Trang is an interesting town. It’s more culturally diverse than anything I’ve seen in Thailand so far. As I approach Malaysia, the Islamic population is growing, and there is a large Chinese presence here too, which I have only seen in Bangkok before arriving here.

I’ve eaten very well here, probably up there with the capital cities I’ve been through so far on this trip. Soups, dumplings, stir fries, it’s been a refreshing change. Thai food is phenomenal, but in all the countries I’ve been in, I tend to get bored with the same meals in rural areas. I’ve grown very accustomed to a diverse diet back home, we’re lucky to have that diversity.

Last night I was strolling to a night market where I saw a stadium with the floodlights on. There was a crew of workers working on one of the lighting towers with the lights, turning there heads against the beam whenever they crossed in front of one of the ultra bright LED panels. There were some light crowd noises and a series of sporting Dugong statues lining the road into the stadium, I was lured in.

It was free entry, inside was about a third full with the Trang Killer Dugongs playing a team I could not identify. The Killer Dugongs were relegated out of the third and lowest division of the Thai league last season and are languishing in competitions not explained on Wikipedia. They went down 1-0 but equalised late to a tepid but relieved crowd reaction. During a corner near my seat a fan yelled out at the corner taker, he turned around and yelled back. They engaged in 2 way dialogue for 30 seconds or so, it wasn’t bad nature. I presumed it was a strategy based discussions. I wish the Crows would give us this access, we’d have got a flag in my lifetime by now, I know it. The game wasn’t amazing by any stretch but I found it strangely peaceful and grounding.

My time in Trang has been helpful. The double rest day let me break out of this rhythm of constant traveling. As time has gone on I have struggled to connect with each place I pass through in the same way. This makes sense. I have slept in around 70 different towns so far this trip, its hard to feel connected to anywhere. I think occasional longer rests in towns I’ve never heard of are helpful. In capital cities there’s so much to do, but in these smaller places when I’m just left to wander and find the Killer Dugongs doing their best in a twilight fixture.

Scary bridges and more dogs

As I’ve ventured into an area with more Muslim households, aggressive dogs have been replaced with well cared for cats. I grew up a dog person, Tash fostering cats over the last few years has definitely made me more amenable to cats, but after the last 6 weeks, I am a certified cat, or at least anti dog person. My last run ins with dogs were by far the most frightening. On a day last week a dog chased me and was pretty determined to nip my heels it seemed, so I unleashed my bag of sand and rocks at them. The yelp and retreat filled me with relief but also a bit of guilt. I didn’t think I needed to immediately reload.

Around 500 m later I hit a climb and a dog sprinted out in front of me and blocked the road. This was a different approach to most dogs that let you pass and then chase you. I had to brake and put a foot down to not run him over. He went at that leg. I jumped off to the other side of the bike and looked for something to throw. At this point he was right next to my bike and I was worried that I lacked the dexterity with the 40 kg bike rig to ward this dog off, or at least keep it between us. I found a empty tube of sunscreen and hurled it at them. I missed, which was lucky since I reckon a hit would have demonstrated that I wasn’t packing any heat. He jumped back 5 metres or so and I hoped on my bike and rode up the hill holding a small power bank, my next most disposable projectile. Surprisingly, he didn’t give chase.

Around 5 kilometers later my GPS told me to cross a bridge. This bridge was clearly not safe. There was a sign in Thai that presumably said do not cross but I chose to maintain deniability. I looked at the route and my options were return for round 2 with the dog and do a 30 km re route. Or take on the bridge. I took the bridge. I’ve been on the odd dodgy bridge in my time, but this one was another level. Rotting wood, big missing chunks, swaying in the wind, fast moving window below. I took some selfies to send to everyone that cares about me (after I made it across safely) and made my way along. The bridge was slippery but at least had a central double layered section in the middle that I could roll the bike along; occasionally there was a gap in both. At the halfway point a significant chunk broke beneath my heel but turning back wasn’t an option. I crossed mostly chuckling over the phone to my friends Henry and Alice who were dismayed at my situation. Since crossing the bridge I haven’t had trouble from the dogs. I think they set me this trial.

Once again I am grateful for my rabies and tetanus shots.

Traveling in the wake of the floods

While approaching Bangkok the massive floods in southern Thailand were making global news. 160 people have been killed and many are still in need of aid. This is a global tragedy bought on by ever increasing catastrophic weather events and unprepared governments. Grief and anger is obvious among people connected to the disaster.

I have been questioning whether not to continue, while I’d like to have this section be contiguous, I don’t want to be a pariah. There’s already ethical issues with leveraging the my strong currency to travel on the cheap through areas subjugated under global capital flows that further benefit me. Traveling through an area experience immense loss and suffering takes it to another level. I elected to change my route to avoid the worst hit areas and be ready to abandon the route and get a plane south if I was at any risk of becoming a nuisance.

On my way into Surat Thai I passed through a low lying delta that had some standing water on the road. Not enough to stop me from riding but enough to make me worry. I read about the river system I was going to follow as I crossed from the east to the west coast. It seemed like the flooding had dissipated and the damage was minor.

The next night I pulled into a home stay 100 km up the river. They had no contact info so I walked in to ask if there was room. The owner told me:”yeah you can stay, but my friend is staying in the guest room so I’ll move her into my bedroom” before I could question this she yells up to the house where her friends head appears and she immediately starts clearing out. They took great interest in my trip and did the almost obligatory calf grab that I have been receiving from people since China. It was a beautiful place in the jungle next to the train line. They cooked me a massive dinner for free and I ate it up on the deck at sunset.

At dusk the owner called me down and offered me to explore the town on her bike. I said I had explored the town on my bike already but she was very insistent that she wanted me to ride her bike. I acquiesced and rode through a temple where one of the building had been knocked off its footing and also to the train station. In the morning she cooked for me one of the greatest breakfast spreads I’d ever eaten. Congee, fried chicken, cakes, weird meat loaf things with sticky rice, fruit, dough sticks and a warm but raw egg; that was the only thing I left behind.

As I was packing she came downstairs and told me I was the first person to visit since the floods. She showed me pictures and the whole area had gone under. “How long ago were these photos taken?” “3 days ago”. I think my research on the river was poor.

Final stages

320 km sit between me and Penang. It should take me 3 or 4 days. I have the urge to push really hard at the moment but I know controlling myself will keep me out of the sting zone. Expect a wrap up of this year’s cycling some time before Christmas. Enjoy the sun in Adelaide, or just being in the northern hemisphere if you’re cold x

That said, after 3 and a half months on the road, loneliness and fatigue have had me struggling. My dad’s 60th party was last week, my dear friends engagement party a couple weeks before that, and being weeks away from seeing Tash and my family I’m craving closeness and home. To combat this I’ve done what I do when I’ve felt alone so far on this trip, ride further, I covered 645km over a 7 day stretch last week and got to Bangkok 6 days ahead of what felt like an ambitious schedule. This approach has landed me feeling physically wrecked, meaning I’ve gone out and met people less often.

My focus in lifting myself out of this funk has been remembering why I’m doing all this. I’ve looked back at my rules I set out in my first week 3 months ago. I definitely needed to remember to try and connect in some way with every place I stop to take rest.

Here’s a mixture of what I’ve been struggling with and how I’m breaking out of it.

Remembering to look around

2 and a half weeks ago on a cold evening I hugged Nik out the the front of the Dong Ha train station and cycled back to the hotel. I felt more alone than after waving off dad, less was unknown to me now, and I was already fixated on 4PM on the 19th of December, when Tash’s plane touches down in Penang. It’s good to have a North Star, but if you keep your head looking too far ahead you’ll probably ride your bike into a ditch or something. I had fallen into this trap, I wasn’t taking the world around me and I wasn’t seeking anything out.

The worst section of this was 3 days spent on a highway, staying in cheap motels serviced by a 7 eleven and then keeping on rolling. All my needs were met, I wasn’t uncomfortable but I was just rolling through. I had called through my regular contacts back home and was feeling pretty flattened by the planned 2 days on the same road into Bangkok. I was sat at a coffee shop on google maps trying to figure out somewhere I could do anything interesting, or at least meet some other travelers. I then noticed a road that wasn’t on Komoot, through a national park, depositing me on the other side. It was a 75 km diversion and added 1500 meters of climbing but there was a hostel at the base where I booked that night.

As soon as I got in, showered and got settled I started trying to write my sub stack (this was over a week ago) but was drawing a blank on what to say, then a nice British bloke called Sam walked in. We got to talking, he had just started a 6 month trip through South East Asia and it was his first time on a holiday out of Europe.

He got me out of the hostel we tried some good noodles and explored a few temples in the mountains. We then met an old British guy with living in the area with his far younger Thai wife with lots of “wisdom” to impart on us, mostly how good this AI stuff is, and how good Reform are, and how he loved the Labour Party under Blair. This while quite a weird and tense exchange at least allowed Sam and I to figure out we had roughly the same politics (not the old guy’s). We had a good night out in the night markets and had an iced down beer in a music bar. He showed me some London Jazz groups which have featured heavily in my rotation since. It was my most active night since Nik left and all it took was a little bit of thinking in that coffee shop.

The next day I took on the Khao Yai climb, while intercepting Sam at different walks. The hardest section was long and steep in the heat. I whipped my shirt and helmet off thinking I wouldn’t see anyone before the climb ended. On the last corner I rounded the final turn towards the summit and there was a massive tour group at the view point. Through the crowd I saw Sam and gave a joking fist pump. This got everyone excited and they started clapping and whooping. Khao Yai was beautiful, unfortunate I didn’t see any elephants but it was the best section between the Thai Border and Bangkok by a factor of 10.

I want that dog in me, not chasing me please

The new challenge of this past month has been dogs. In Vietnam Nik and I, found that a sudden, primal scream at a dog that was about to give chase would startle them into staying put. This stopped in Laos and Thailand and any movement, noise or acceleration would only excite them more. The worst instance of this was on an uphill through a town. A dog started barking at me and getting real close and nippy, I tried yelling but that only gained the attention of the rest of the towns dogs. I wasn’t going fast enough to out run them but also couldn’t dismount and get my bike between them since I was surrounded. Eventually they got bored.

After a particularity unpleasant day dog wise I met an old Irishman called Rob. Who was bike touring around Asia for the last 3 years. We lamented the dogs and he said they only get worse the further south you go. He suggested a bag of sand and rocks to throw if they get close. This is different from the advice on Reddit which is to slow down, then get off??? Apparently this will show them your not scared… I think it involves too much trust in a worked up dog.

Since then I’ve implemented the bag of sand and rocks and have found just holding a handful at the ready with a stable posture has stopped any dogs from chasing me… for now.

Thinking about next year

I’ve been thinking a lot about next year and how I want to structure it. I don’t plan of returning to a “normal” lifestyle until Tash finishes her masters at the end of the year but I also don’t see myself traveling full time for another 12 months. I definitely plan on visiting Tash for a bit after India, which will mark the halfway point of the journey. But I also want to slow down a bit, and actually live in a few places for at least a week or more, rather than constantly passing through. I think it will be helpful to calm myself down and get to know some places that I really like.

I’ve also been contemplating doing an online masters part time. There’s an Economics course based out of Adelaide that’s online, very flexible, in the fields I’m interested and eligible for HECS. A lot of European employers seek masters degrees and I would like to have a bit more structure and to be working out my brain more. There’s obvious draw backs, it will be hard to entice folks to come travel with me if I have to devote time to Uni while they’re here, and its giving up some of this magnificent freedom I have. I think changes of pace and activities are helpful with boredom. The last few weeks have demonstrated only devoting everything to cycling far gets old quickly. Slowing down in uni trimesters and then going like the clappers, or having friends join me in holiday periods seems like quite a workable combination.

That’s all for now, I’m 2 and a bit weeks away from Penang, I think my next post will be a wrap up of the South East Asia Leg of the journey. Be well x

I was on the hunt for food. This had been easy so far this trip, and I presumed it would be easy in this small town situated in the middle of Highway 9, running between Vietnam and Thailand. A lot of shops were open, many looking like restaurants with tables and utensils and such, but all these places were seemingly only selling lottery tickets. I had no cell signal, so Translate wasn’t working for me. Every gesture of eating was met with a polite and apologetic head shake.

I finally found a place that would serve me and was taken over to the picture menu. I then played a guessing game I have become accustomed to over the last month or so. The way it works is I point at an item, say fried rice and am met with a head shake, I try again, maybe a stir fry dish, again no, this goes on until I can guess the one or two items to pick from. Today it was an odd-looking soup, which was my last preference, but after walking 2 kilometres out of town to find this place, I was just happy to be in a real food restaurant. The soup was pretty good, salty broth with some very chewy meat. It set me back around 75c and didn’t upset my tum.

I was walking back to my guesthouse, planning to write my weekly article, but I was laying it out in my head and struggling to find a good headline to bring you faithful readers in with. This bothered me. On the walk over a dog had barked at me, so I moved to the other side of the street. I preemptively made the same move, but a group of 3 had since set up a table on the roadside and started calling me over. Headliners! My prayers had been answered.

Beers with the troops

I sat at a low table with a smouldering fire in a bucket underneath. There were two men and a woman. The older guy spoke a little bit of English, so we made some introductions, as best I could understand, their names were pronounced Bear (the english speaker), Wye (the second guy) and Loang (the woman). Within seconds of sitting, I had a glass and was having a beer poured from one of the 15 or so 500ml cans of beer Lao on the table. For about half an hour, the conversation didn’t progress beyond agreeing that beer lao was number 1, occasionally having them all point at my glass and yell something out like “ANT!!!!” to get me to finish my beer, having all our glasses refilled and cheering again. Eventually, one offered me their hotspot so we could use Translate.

First question: “Do you have a girlfriend?” I said yes and showed them Tash on my lock screen. Bear replies, “Good job”. He types into Translate and gestures to Loang, “She is my girlfriend, she is not as beautiful as your girlfriend”, which, while true, is an extraordinary statement to make in public. I try to thread a needle, knowing translations can illicit different meanings, so I opted to say his girlfriend was beautiful and we were both less beautiful than our girlfriends. Everyone seemed amused enough with that.

Wye then passes me the aux cord (connected to a sound system fit for a stadium) and asks me to put on some Australian music. I put on Land Down Under, and explained is about an Australian travelling the world like me, it was listened to respectfully. He offered again, and I played Blue Sky Mining by Midnight Oil. This is met way more enthusiastically, they all jump up and start dancing, I join, their hitting trills on the guitar break, Wye saves it to his library.

Wye then types into Translate “soldier” and gestures to Bear and himself. I reply “Economist”. They both nod, and Bear chuckles, points to himself and says, “too stupid, only soldier,” and hits himself in the head. I make some efforts to assure him of his partner and career, then out of the house walks their 8-year-old, his parents would be 10 beers deep at this point. I am at this point desperately trying to fill my glass with as much Ice as I can to slow my ascent. The boy is playing a shoot ‘em up on his phone and can’t clear the level. He’s come to illicit help from his dad, a consummate professional in this field. He clears the level, and they both celebrate like crazy.

Wye then asks me to pick a song from 2025, fair enough, I put on Olivia Dean and Sabrina Carpenter, both are met with more highway side dancing. Bear then points at my back and gestures at my poor posture (which everyone reading knows is bad, but this was also compounded by 130 km of cycling and a very uncomfortable chair and low table to lean on). Then every few minutes, he shows me a TikTok of some chiropractic adjustment and then suggest he should do it to me now. I desperately, but politely decline.

At this point, I’ve reached my desired altitude, I have my anecdotes, and I have my new friends. I also plan on rising at 5:30 the next morning to ride another 100 km to the Thai border. I try to play my trump card to get out of this situation, “I must call my mum before bed, she's worried”. Most drinking companions I’ve had this trip accept this out of hand, it’s a real winner, this time though, Bear replies, “Call her here! Introduce her to your new friends!”. I have to leverage my credit with Loang from calling her beautiful to help me leave. We compromise on four more beers. When I get home, I have some texts in Lao, offering to join them anytime until morning if I change my mind, and an invitation to stay with them if I ever find myself in the middle of Laos again.

Reflections on the Ni(c)ks bike trip

I’ve only been friends with Nik for around 2 years. We’ve grown close in that time, but this is the first time we have travelled together (other than a night camping). We worked well as a unit. I really appreciated the joy and enthusiasm he brought to it all. The first 3 days in particular had very bad weather, they were wet, cold and grey, and we were charging along Route 1 on a muddy shoulder with trucks blowing past us. I wouldn’t hold it against anyone to find this miserable business, but every 5 km or so, I’d hear a cry from behind to the effect of “this is sick!”, “That view is beautiful!” or “This is the way to travel!”. Seeing it through his eyes kept me positive; they were a great day of riding, you just had to look around.

Nik would check in and ask if things that had just occurred were blog-worthy. Many things were, but it’s hard to compile them all into one subsection. Here are the blog-worthy high and low lights (excluding those mentioned last week):

• The Polaris hotel, a neglected massive hotel on the side of the highway, with a driving range, bowling alley, pool and broken sauna in a separate entertainment building. It was built between a dam and an oil refinery; we have no idea why it exists.

• Our repeated close losses in team competitions, including a 3-2 loss in a pool match, a 2nd place finish in a beer pong tournament (where the rules on redemption shots were inconsistently applied, but its fine, its not that deep), and a 1-2 loss in our first-ever game of pickleball against a couple of Filipino english teachers.

• Catching the train to and from Hue and being stuck behind a man scrolling through different animal cruelty videos on reels that he would play over and over again while rubbing his wife’s belly. He thankfully switched to TV drama recaps at some point.

• Arriving for our rest day at the Ha Tihn Vinpearl, the nicest place I’ve stayed in so far. We cycled through a typhoon, with a tailwind blowing us along at 30 km an hour while being chased by errant umbrellas and other debris. We arrived at the entrance covered in mud and water. The staff were very kind, but we were a mess, and my bike kept falling over cause the wheels couldn’t maintain traction on the marble flooring.

It’s hard to pack it all into a summary. At its core, it was a very special time shared between friends and a part of the journey I will always hold and cherish. Thanks for joining Nik x

Pre-Christmas Lock-in

Now that Nik has been dispatched with. We must get moving. Tash lands in Penang on the night of the 19th of December, which means I need to be in Penang, but also not smelly and somewhat groomed by then. That leaves me 5 weeks to cycle 2200 km (excluding diversions) across Vietnam, Laos, Thailand and Malaysia to cap off the year. My goal pace so far has been around 350 km a week, 75 km a day, 5 days a week. I’ve jumped above and below that, but it’s been attainable. Now I need to do circa 440 km a week or 88 km a day if I maintain the 2 rest day structure.

This is very good for me. I’ve been apart from Tash for 3 months now, and I’ve handled it better than I had feared, and about as well as I hoped. But now with the end of this leg creeping into view, my eyes have started to set on Christmas and seeing my loved ones again. With my mind focused on that moment, the longing for it gets stronger, and I start to count down the days. This higher-paced section should help with that because I need to be locked in this whole period to make it without hopping on a bus or train.

Long days on the bike keep me occupied, both mentally and physically. In my head, I am being chased by that line they put in the pool during swimming broadcasts to show the WR pace. If I get 88-100 km ahead of that, I get an extra day in Bangkok or on a beach in Krabi. More ambition in my distance also means I can play my bookings and commitments much more on the fly. I go until I’m cooked, and then find the next cluster of guest houses. My goal is to run negative splits for the next 2 weeks to have some flexibility to relax more at the end.

I am anxious about this section, though. This week has been the furthest I’ve ever ridden, 507 km. I’m a bit fatigued, but I have a rest day to recover. However, my ass is much more sore than usual. I also found trouble sleeping while in Vietnam, with 4 or 5 near sleepless nights; niggles like this can derail things. I’m internally conflicted, I really want to complete this leg unaided, but know I mustn’t get too dogmatic and take risks if the cards don’t fall my way. I will endeavour to keep good habits while pushing myself, in particular, returning to more regular blogs. Wish me luck and hold me accountable x

We’ve been having a ball together, and I’ve valued seeing the trip through his enthusiastic eyes. We have been meeting all sorts of folks and been staying at some wild places. We will discuss this now.

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Making friends

As we pass people and they catch a glimpse of us, we often receive a sudden, enthusiastic call of “HELLO!”, “WHERE ARE YOU FROM?” or “WHAT’S YOUR NAME?”. You need to respond quickly, as the closing speed of an oncoming motorbike doesn’t give you much time to talk. We’re getting good at screaming back a response almost as soon as the first statement concludes. When we’re stationary, more opportunities to meet people present themselves.

Matchmaking baristas

On our second day, we stopped at a coffee place, where there was a friendly lady who served up some good brews. Being my first coffee of the day, I immediately needed the loo. While occupied, Nik got to talking to the owner about translation. He explained our journey, and she asked how old he was. He wrote 29, and she promptly opened FaceTime and called her daughter. Unfortunately, Nik is in a loving relationship, and the daughter spoke no English and needed to board a plane.

Duel at the Billiards Arena

After a long day in Ninh Binh, we enjoyed some beer, served by pumping a bike pump and saw we were near a billiards hall. We played 3 games and enjoyed some complementary cucumber and Chilli Salt. Then a young man approached us with his friend and asked if we could play together. We said yes, he replied, “just friendly, first to 4”. These guys were pros, gloves and all, we somehow held our own to 2 all and negotiated a winner-take-all all final. We found ourselves 4 balls down, where the non-English speaking member of the pair counted out by hand the 5 balls we had left. We bought it back to 2, and started to feel we could pull something off. We lost to a jump shot that banked the ball the length of the table.

Arcade fire

Late on today’s ride, we saw a Winmart+, expecting this to be just a supermarket version of the convenience stores. It turned out it was a normal convenience store, just with a roller skating rink and arcade. As soon as we walked in, 5 boys looked up from their games and walked over and offered handshakes. We had a chat over translate and bought our food. As I was paying for my stuff, Nik was brought over to the machines and was playing some weird fish and mermaid shoot ‘em up.

We ate our food outside, where the boys came and sat around us. One of the kids was fascinated with my hairy arms. I gave him a pack of Oreos so he would stop playing with them. One kid gestured, seemingly for me to give him my phone to speak into the translate app. He looked confused and said, “We have no news”.

After a pause and then some further conversation, we were challenged to a game of pool. We were 50-50, but chose to go. After picking up our bikes and starting down the road to the pool hall, the ring leader stopped us and said “You seem tired, we should not trouble you with a game” They then all shook our hands, took photos and left us to ride away.

What $20 a night gets you in rural Vietnam

As I’m writing this, we’re staying in some Soviet era lodging, sandwiched between a beautiful, quiet river and a massive oil refinery. As Nik put it, “we’ve finally reached the middle of nowhere” after half a week snaking out of the sprawl from Hanoi. It’s got a mattress similar to a super-firm high jump mat, air-con and a shower with 3 minutes of hot water. I have learned to call these places home through Japan and China; however, regional Vietnam has offered up some far more diverse stays.

“There’s nothing to do”

Our first night was spent on the road was Phu Ly, a beautiful riverside town with a radio tower looking like the Eiffel Tower and a nearly finished, gothic-ish style cathedral, so effectively the Paris of the East. We arrived at the distressed reaction of the bell boy, looking down the stairs at our muddy selves, bikes and bags. The hotel was 10 stories, but we saw no signs of other guests and stored our bikes below ground with the help of 4 security guards for the small parking area.

After some rest, we strolled the expansive, but empty, river promenade, saw the church and tower up close, and bought some snacks. Before returning to our room, we investigated the other floors. Starting with the spa floor. The floor had no people we could see on it, with a liminal energy, a large reception area opened into several VIP rooms, one said “Super VIP” so I obviously went to investigate. Inside, the lights were off, and there was a massive jacuzzi and 5 more doors. Before investigating further, we went to the main, uninhabited desk to try and figure out the pricing. All of a sudden, 9 or so people appeared, all keen to help us. We were too overwhelmed and ran away.

A floor below us was a karaoke centre. The sound insulation and the pitch of the man singing were poor, so we decided to go get dinner. At the front desk, we asked for food recommendations over Google Translate. He replied “this is a small town, there is nothing to do” we clarified we were asking about food he said we should eat here. We perused the menu but decided to search elsewhere after realising that the salads cost more than the room.

In the morning, I found that I had yet again let my brake pads wear all the way down and had to do a quick replacement. All the security staff gathered around with torches and advised in Vietnamese. Upon completion, we received gleeful and warm handshakes and were on our way.

A night at Vlasta

On our roll along to Sam Song beach, we looked to double-check our accommodation. Looking at the booking, it said we got the whole place. 9 Bedrooms, 5 Bathrooms and all, which was surprising given the $28 price tag for the two of us. We started racing one another with 10kms to go, a bit I took too far (by winning), so we were exhausted arriving at the block of villas on the coast of the South China Sea. We arrived at a boom gate for the “Vlasta” complex, and a man approached us, making an X with his arms. We tried to say we were staying in the complex, but he ushered us to go to one gate to the right. At that gate, we were instructed to go to one more to the right, and then again till we had circled the complex and were at the coast, the guard showed us on maps to go to the original gate. Upon our return, he looked at our booking, smiled and lifted the gate.

Inside was a ghost town. None of the villas had anything in them. It seemed there were more construction workers and security guards than holiday makers. We found our accommodation locked, but with a warm outdoor pool. We texted the owner and it took about 30 mins of shivering in the rain and contemplating a premature dip in the pool before a lady came and gave us the keys. She walked in, went to the kitchen and got the kettle, put it on the floor and turned it on. This was never attended to again by her and went entirely unexplained. She showed us our room; the other bedrooms were locked, but otherwise, all facilities were ours to use. The building was well adorned, and we had a full downstairs living area, big TV, kitchen and a hose outside to clean all our gear. The only thing missing was a door on the ensuite bathroom.

We jumped into the spa and started looking for dinner options. With nothing around us for 7 km and nothing open in the complex, we found an option on Grab. After the food was picked up, the driver started to text me. Firstly, cryptically, “the weather is dark and gloomy”, then “it’s a long way”. I felt bad so I offered to give him the max tip on the grab, but he said he wanted more. We didn’t have cash, so he asked us to cancel the order. We couldn’t through the app, he said he could, and then 10 mins later said he couldn’t and was on his way. Literally 7 minutes later, he arrived. I’d never diss someone in the service sector, particularly working overseas. But I feel the 20 minutes spent negotiating for a 15-minute drive was inefficient to his overall bottom line.

We called family from the rooftop terrace and explored the empty streets, took a dip in the ocean and watched Kong Skull Island, which was filmed in Ninh Binh where we had ridden from (10/10 movie, no notes).

That’s all for the week. The high-quality company and abodes will be treasured on the road. As Nik departs in a week, I turn into Laos, through more rural areas, and I have to ride about 480km a week to make it to Penang in time for Christmas with Tash and our families. Many adventures are still ahead this year.

There was a slow urban build-up until I was in Ngoc Lam, across the river from the city. Bikes started to outnumber the trucks and cars, and the tree canopies began covering the narrowing streets. Finally, I crossed the Red River on the rail bridge. Not open to cars, I was funnelled along with other bikes, and a small lip on the edge of the road gave way to a drop into the raging river below. The bridge was about a kilometre long. I could see the high-rise in the distance, but in front of me was the low-rise wall of chaos of Hanoi’s old quarter. Still on the bridge, I cross a few hundred metres of rice fields, then a garbage spill down an embankment leading up to the city.

The city rises to meet the bridge, and I’m embraced in the chaos. The sound, the smells, the vibrant colours. I had made it back to one of my favourite places in the world.

Some of the people I’ve met in hostels here lament the crowded and intense nature of Hanoi’s old quarter. While I understand the unpleasantness of Bia Street and the stress of nearly having a bus hit you every few minutes of walking, I think these doubters are fools. The vibrance that exists in this city is unlike anything I’ve experienced in the world. I know no other place this teaming with life and energy. Motorcycles weaving in and out from one another, market stalls lining the streets with fresh produce and artisan goods. An incredibly social culture has coffee shops, restaurants and street food stalls brimming with conversation and laughter. It’s infectious in its excitement; this place is alive.

Despite the excitement, I am physically at rest, for the second week running now. I ride from Cat Ba only took two days, and I now have ten nights in here before my pal Nik arrives to cycle with me to central Vietnam. Nine rest days, particularly after Cat Ba and my time spent in border limbo, have me almost feeling guilty at my sedentary state.

I do welcome the rest, and Hanoi is one of my favourite cities in the world. I’m not doing much but eating, wandering the streets of the old and French quarters, reading and slowly repairing my bike. I have a massive push coming in November and December to get to Penang, Malaysia, in time for Christmas with my family, Tash and her family. Stillness allows me to recover and reconcile my fitness for this big effort.

What I’m finding on this trip is that when I’m cycling, I can find calmness and stillness in my brain, unlike anything I’ve experienced in my adult life. The time to sit, while slowly pumping the pedals, is almost meditative, and I can slowly unpick my thoughts and finish a day with a sense of fulfilment. Physically, the cycling takes its toll, leading me to rest, which restores the body but accelerates my brain. I am both running to stand still and standing still to run. Writing helps when my brain is whizzing about like this, although I haven’t been able to accrue the stories necessary for my regular editions I have been putting up lately. Today, we have a food blog and some reflections returning to this city 7 years apart.

Nothing I say can contend with what people like Anthony Bourdain have written and said about this place. I also know food blogging is a well-trodden path and not as interesting a read in my opinion. That said, here is my food write-up in one of the great culinary hubs of the world.

Eating good

One of the things that sets Hanoi apart globally is its food. Street food delights of unmatched quality (and value) are found at every corner and alley. I’m very comfortable here, watching the 1000-year-old city, eating, drinking and wandering about. I have probably eaten 5 or 6 meals a day since arriving here. Here are some highlights:

Bánh cuốn

A steamed rice paper roll filled with pork and wood ear mushrooms. Often served with a warm sauce, a bowl of herbs and a sausage or other meat treat. It’s been my go-to breakfast and occasional dinner here. In China, I got addicted to a similar cheung fun, and this has been scratching the itch. I’ve been alternating between a Michelin-starred place that offers slower service and earned contempt for Western customers and a smaller place near the train station that is only slightly worse and has less theatre going on around the steam pans.

Bún chả

Bordain’s favourite and with good reason. roast pork and meatballs roasted over coals served in a sweet warm sauce/broth with papaya. On the side is a massive plate of vermicelli and a bowl of herbs and lettuce. It goes so hard. I’ve eaten it all over town, including the famous Obama and Bourdain one, where I ate the Combo Obama next to the glass cabinet of the table, the cultural icon and former bureaucrat shared their meal. But the number one spot goes to the first meal I had after cycling into town on a street corner I haven’t been able to find again.

Phở Cuốn

A beef rice paper roll dish hailing from an Hồ Trúc Bạch, an island on the Lake John McCain crashed into while on a civilian bombing campaign. It was a simple dish, but quite tasty. There is a dispute to who is the original vendor, I will return later this week to try the other contender for dish inventor.

Phở

I’ve only had one bowl, which is surprising since it’s such a famed dish. It was at a Michelin-starred restaurant that I fell in love the last time I was here. That time it upset my stomach, but it was so good I returned a couple of days later. This time it was just as tasty, and the experience was the same. A line of cooks dump the noodles, herbs and 3 kinds of beef into a bowl, and a spoonful of the boiling perpetual broth that is kept on a simmer overnight is thrown over, immediately cooking the raw beef. The broth is richer than anything I’ve ever tasted, the noodles have the perfect consistency, and it is one of the few noodle soups I’ve completely drained. Sadly, the stomach problems struck again, costing me a night’s sleep. I doubt I will tempt my fate here again.

Egg / Salt Coffee

Not food, but I’ve been downing egg and salt coffees with concerning regularity. Tend to have two stories with a hotly contested small balcony amongst the green canopy covering the narrow streets. I’m normally not determined enough to seize these spots, so I find myself at ground level, spooning the sweet eggy or salty foam along with the hot, strong coffee underneath. I’ve been warned by Cece not to drink too many since they are so crazy strong and addictive. I have stuck to two but I fear this will rise as my days in this town become numbered.

Reflections on deva ju

When I was on my other gap year at 19 (my fortune is not lost on me) I also spent a long time here in between jaunts to Ha Long Bay, Sapa and Ninh Binh. That trip shaped so much of my view on the world and helped me grow in confidence and understanding of myself. Being back in this place, drinking the same beers on the same balcony of the Hanoi Central Backpackers over the same smoggy sunsets is a strange, but beautiful to me. It gives me a real sense of how I’ve changed. Here’s what I’ve noted:

1. I am much more comfortable on my own. I met solo travellers here while I travelled with Jack. I thought they were mad. I was so well matched with Jack in travelling that I didn’t feel much burden in travelling together, and I couldn’t imagine delighting in what I was seeing and experiencing without. Since then, I’ve learnt to enjoy things on my own, be at peace with what’s happening in my head and be able to enjoy things through my own eyes. This does still involve violent jolts in cadence as restlessness brings forward a hive of activity, which makes me tired and slows me down. A lot of what I have planned next year is with others, but I’m not scared about more month-long stretches on my own.

2. I can’t do hostels like I used to. Perhaps I’m becoming a diva. I also think people forgot how to function in proximity to one another during COVID. But we’ve had lights being turned on at 1 am, people talking on speaker phone at full voice at 11 pm, people waking up folks on the bunk below at 8 am cause they dropped their wallet down the crack (that was me, actually). Don’t get me wrong, I’m still going to stay at hostels, but on my gap year, we spent about 5 nights in private rooms.

   On top of that, the social side of things is challenging; on the one hand, you have folks trying to become “digital nomads”, which, 7 years ago, meant they wanted to, at worst, crypto trading in a dorm room. Now everyone wants to make an AI app, which they code using AI, and then make an AI slop YouTube ad for it. On the other hand, there are very lovely people you meet, who you can connect with on a deeper level more quickly than you would at home. This is very special, but you also have to say goodbye to these people as fast as you met them, which hurts.

3. My relationships are richer. I think this contributes to points one and two. But I feel much more connected with my family, friends and loved ones back home and around the world. This does owe something to the proliferation of WhatsApp and Facebook Messenger calls. But in large part, I’m very satisfied with the relationships I have today and how connected and secure I feel in them. I miss being physically in Adelaide, but I don’t feel disconnected from those I love.

4. I still have no idea what the hell I’m doing, but I’m not disturbed by that. When I was here 7 years ago, my brain was a buzz with what I would study at uni, what good I could do in the world and how I could find happiness in a career. I thought then the trip would give me time to find my way, but it only through more internal confusion into the mix. I am an anxious planner who wants to have a good plan laid out to feel in control. There haven’t been many moments in the following years when I have felt resolute about my path forward. Today, that’s still true, but it doesn’t drive the same fear it used to. I know much more about my values and the choices I make to know I have the capacity to take the reins in my life and steer towards where I see best. I also know I’m capable of sticking to things to build towards what I want to achieve. With that in mind, I find a lot more peace.

That’s all for this week. Thanks for clicking in, sorry for the quiet feed in the last few weeks, this should pick back up when I venture out of the tourist centres and start acquiring more dad lore. Much love xx