Northwards

There have been some very supportive comments about my last post and I'm thankful for them. The routine of cycling each day takes my mind of the disabling homesickness but I can't cycle 24 hours a day and, if I'm honest, I'm in two minds about how or if to continue. The rains haven't eased and the boggy tracks and wet gear just take the edge of any enjoyment to be had. Just need to keep ploughing on for now so I can think rationally about what to do when I'm in a better frame of mind.

I've spent the last few days slowly getting higher into the foothills and am now in Recong Peo. Previously I enjoyed a couple of nights as the guest of a local dignitary, Prakesh Thakur, who kindly hosted me at his luxurious Orchard Retreat high above the Sutlej valley. I was invited there by my friend Tony who kindly sorted me out with a local SIM card and introduced me to his many friends in Thanedar. Back on the road the next couple of days was a different matter and it's been a struggle to get up to Recong Peo. A mixture of some ridiculous hills and some monstrous mud and rain. Really hoping the going gets easier soon or I simply get more used to the tough going. I was intending to spend another night as a guest at another Banjara lodge in the Sangla valley. Unfortunately I left until too late in the day to ascend the high valley path and had to turn back down for fear of being stranded and exhausted in the dark. Instead I took a night bus to Recong Peo where I write this.

One pleasant surprise is the lack of any sort of stomach looseness. I've made a point of eating various varieties of local food without worry and enjoyed some cheap and filling meals at dubious looking roadside Dhaba's. So far no ill effects. In Recong Peo I can get a permit which foreigners need for getting to near to the border before circling back west up to Leh. If the rains persist, I may simply bung my bike on top of a bus and cut out some of the misery.

The shock of the new

It's wet and misty in Shimla. It took me a long day of uncomfortable bus travel to get me and my bicycle up here from Delhi, but from here I should be able to get on the road into the mountains. I wish I could say that I'm excited and inspired and stuff like that, but mostly I'm shell-shocked, sad and full of tears.

48 hours ago I had a well-paid job and now I'm unemployed; 48 hours ago I had a beautiful girlfriend and now I'm lonely again; 48 hours ago I had friends and work colleagues in an environment I understood and now I'm an alien; 48 hours ago my children were a couple of hours away instead of another continent. I feel utterly out of place and the tearful goodbyes at Heathrow were crushing and too, too memorable. I'm not sure I really know what I'm doing but I hope it gets better soon. Knowing it may be a long time before I return home just emphasises all my feelings of isolation. I think it must take a very strong and determined mind to wander around the world, unsure of where or what tomorrow will bring. Perhaps I haven't appreciated just how much mental toughness is required, and I'm not sure I've got the right stuff. Dreaming is one thing, doing is definitely another!

I know, I know, this is all just the shock of the new and the pining for the comfort of the old. I'm not usually this negative, but it's a lot harder than I imagined to get into the right frame of mind and, at the moment, there's too much time and not enough scenery to stop me dwelling on what I've left behind. However, just writing this blog in a dusty internet cafe on the Shimla Mall (together with power cuts) helps me put things into perspective and feel more positive so please forgive me feeling sorry for myself.

I'm hoping the rains will stop tomorrow and give me a chance to cycle north without a soaking. I'll be heading into the Spiti Valley and somewhere along the way an Australian friend of mine manages a holiday lodge. I might stay for a couple of nights to acclimatise to the altitude before cycling further north to Leh and west to Srinagar. It will be nice to talk to people and feel less out of place. Let's hope so.

Time's up

Time is up. The past 6 weeks have flown by in a tangled blur of emotions, worries and nervous excitement. I completely stopped thinking about the practicalities of my adventure about 2 months ago. There was nothing left to plan, no routes left to trace on the map, no possible opportunities that I hadn’t already considered a hundred times. Instead, I just forgot all about it and left the bike and my gear stored in the spare room ready for the day of departure. Now the day is upon me and, like an electric shock, I’ve suddenly recalled the enormity of what I’m planning to do. But there’s no more time to consider, no more time to worry, just leave work and get to the airport.

I’ve realised that there’s no pressure to do any more or less than I feel comfortable with. The time off from considering all the practicalities has freed me to admit that I may simply return home in 6 months and get a job, or I may wander aimlessly for 5 years. I’ll go as far as I want to, no further. Let’s just see how it goes. Next week: India – I’ll keep you posted.

Only in Australia?

Is it only Australia that has the political will to attempt to safeguard their marine environment with any degree of urgency? - World's largest marine reserve

Other nations seem to be taking their lead from Nero as their territorial waters sicken from increasing pollution, acidification and over-fishing. As deadlines for measures needed to replete fish stocks are missed, the target is simply put back another five years and ministers congratulate themselves on their far-sighted plans. Short-sighted and often ill-managed fishing fleets then race to beam-trawl copious amounts of ever-smaller fish from the global waters while they still can (discarding millions of tonnes of dead by-catch along the way). In the process, sustainable and carefully managed local fleets wake to find their waters fished-out and their prospects scuttled. - Pitiful progress on oceans

Any delay in the introduction of an expanded global network of well policed marine reserves is bad news. Over 60 million sharks are finned annually, ancient coral reefs are dynamited daily and once healthy coastal waters are constantly deadened by terrestrial pollutants. In five years time our expectations of what healthy, productive oceans can offer us will be significantly lessened. In fifty years time, in the same way that we regard the Amazon rainforest as a beautiful natural ecosystem, we might think it perfectly normal to have to travel to Australia to witness a pristine and beautiful ocean the way that all oceans once looked.

Bending mettle

Middle-aged people really are the most adventurous it seems. A survey published widely this week has established that 41 is the age when people feel most able to pursue an adventure. Reduced family commitments, increased disposable income and a growing intolerance of work and routine all combine into a perfect storm of opportunity to prove that life really does begin at 40. Sooner or later (mostly later apparently) an astonishing realisation hits you square on the nose – you need to take more out of life and, as Bob Dylan put it, "but for the sky, there are no fences facing".

Where does this long-acquired lust for adventure take the mature risk-takers? An oft-quoted route for adventure is along 'the path less traveled', but a truly remote wilderness is hard to find in a world with 7 billion people and many of the standard 'package' adventures are too sanitised and itinerised to qualify. I've been on a few however, and they do, at least, leave you wanting something more raw. Anything potentially life-threatening, though, might have to be ruled out. But not always.

Perhaps something extreme, with a good dollop of danger but within a regulated package is what draws novice adventurers to the ultimate adventure of climbing Everest. Many of this years intake will have seen more than they bargained for as they carefully stepped around the frozen, dead bodies of fellow climbers (10 this year). The picture in this report: Everest is shocking if you imagine yourself at the back of the line, slowly slushing towards an 8,000m death-zone. It's not my idea of adventure. It doesn't even look like climbing. It's certainly foolish.

Nevertheless, a need for adventure is an instinct that, once recognised, demands resolution for good or ill. Middle age brings the experience, the life-skills and the desire to put ourselves up for judgement. It bends our mettle.

“So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.”
Chris McCandless

PS: Some astonishing statistics are quoted in the survey conducted by Discovery Channel: 42% of people claim never to have attempted an adventurous activity and 14% of 18-24-year-olds thought virtual world gaming was an adventurous activity. I'd claim that gap years are wasted on the young.

Climbing the walls

What did pioneering explorers and travellers do before the days of travel insurance? Did Mungo Park have an extensive medical insurance package in place before venturing down the dark river? Did Colonel H. Fawcett have a provision for emergency evacuation negotiated should he get lost? And how  did George Orwell find cover before travelling to Catalonia to fight the fascists? Most of the famous explorers were, of course, contracted on grand ventures rather than merely holidaying. Most had wealthy employers or sponsors on a promise to oversee their responsibilities back home. However, being from a different era, they would have accepted that in the event of catastrophe, help was far away and would probably come too late. Not all globe-trotters had powerful backers though – missionaries, mercenaries, nurses and prospectors have walked through new worlds without a guarantee of getting home. They too would have had family that were worried for their safety.

Today's insurance companies have done good business from a modern travellers need to be utterly safe, secure and protected against all the ill winds of chance and circumstance. Access to instant medical care anywhere in the world is demanded. Sensibly perhaps, we try and insulate ourselves from the repercussions of risk and danger, often picking a calmer road after weighing up all the possible scenarios and unlikely outcomes of an exciting diversion. Visions of cold, hunger and disease seem logical to consider but it's all too easy to build them up into actual glimpses of a real event instead of a nervous daydream. Our worries and concerns eventually give themselves an almost physical substance that we must guard against lest they creep up in the dark. An initially innocent doubt is magnified into a wall of fear and so we seek a guarantee of well-being before venturing out.

Or do I have this the wrong way around? Is it the case instead that travel insurance allows working class people the freedom to travel the globe with peace of mind? Something that was denied to earlier generations who had neither the means or sponsorship available to people like Shackleton, Speke and Nanssen et al. I don't know which is true. Maybe I was born too late. I only know that I'd be quite prepared to travel to any part of the world without travel insurance and self-assess any sort of activity based on my own standards of risk versus reward without having to consult small-print. I'm happy to trust my own judgement with full acceptance of any consequences arising. I'm a big, big fan of self-reliance and I'd relish the opportunity. But of course, my peace of mind would be shattered – not out of concern for impending catastrophes – but with worries about those who were worried about me and any financial implications that may fall on them despite my wishes.

So, as an inter-continental, multi-year, touring cyclist I find myself in the position of many other such travellers. Which is one of reluctantly searching through the very, very slim pickings of companies that are prepared to offer insurance. In two months I've found one expensive possibility accompanied by an exhaustive list of terms and conditions which I refuse to be handcuffed by. A comprehensive policy, covering every possible illness or disablement is out of the question but I'm hoping that I can, at least, find some simple cover that can allay a loved one's worst fears.

Unsettling

Time marches on and the day of departure looms closer. Inevitably, doubts also arise and seem logical to consider. Anybody else who was single & healthy, with some savings and a well-paid job might consider putting a deposit down on a flat and setting some money aside for a shiny hatchback and gym membership. Isn’t that the normal thing to do?

Comfort, clean living, security, the promise of a tidy pension fund – why don’t I want that? What the hell’s wrong with me? Why on earth is an intelligent man in his mid-forties deciding to abandon all that and instead go cycling around the dirt tracks of the world with a tent?

Lots of questions, all difficult to answer. Except that I know deep down in the core of my being that none of it would make me happy, it wouldn’t allow me to lie down on my deathbed and think to myself ‘what a great life that was’. I’ve been happy, I’ve had beautiful children and I wouldn’t change the past, but the future is in a different part of me. I’ve spied the other side of the valley and the hardship and sacrifices don’t feel important enough not to try for it.