The trouble with Europe is that the countries are too small.  In a week and a half I spun my pedals in five different countries.  It's great for getting a strong sense of progress but as soon as you have learnt to say "hello" and "sorry, I don't speak your language" in one country, you're into the next one and have to try to learn to say what is resoundingly obvious all over again!  There are other issues which arise as each country runs things differently.  For example, Hungarians don't seem to believe that bridges provide a sensible way to cross rivers, therefore once you have found a ferry to take you across, waited for the crew to finish their lunch, found out that you need a ticket (only available from a shop hidden across the road), waited for the ferry to finish crossing the river and return again as by this point you have missed it, waited for the crew to finish their next coffee break, you are able to progress across the short stretch of water.  The Croatian Trades Description Act seems to be sporadically enforced as pizzarias don't always serve pizza yet some bars have signs advertising 'lousy music' which is certainly more accurate!  However, each country brings it's own charm with the beauty of the Slovenian mountains, the fast flat roads of Croatia and Hungary, with the good old horse and cart, and with the occasional main road displayed on my GPS which fades into just a farm track.  I am delighted that Central and Eastern European citizens seem to appreciate ginger beards and lycra as I am becoming increasingly stared at wherever I go!

I recently arrived in Transylvania and so far the closest I have come to a vampire was a dead bat at the side of the road.  There was no wooden stake through the heart so I'm guessing it was either sunlight or a lorry that finished it off!  Just as a precaution, I am currently doing my research by reading Dracula whilst relaxing in a beautiful, newly refurbished hostel to myself.  There was a mix up with the booking as it's closed this week, but the owner left me with the key, a guitar, an 11th century church building and the freedom to listen to Miles Davis at full volume!

My journey is going to take a more restful turn over the next few weeks as I take a break to apply for my Russian and Chinese visas so don't worry if you don't see much progress, I'm probably not dead!

Finally, the rumours of me being a bit of a jessie are gathering strength as I have discovered just how much I hate creepy crawlies!  The bugs are becoming increasingly prevalent and larger in size the further I head east.  The time taken to strike my tent in the morning is growing as a result of me performing larger and more extravagant flappy dances to get them off me and my tent!

Yesterday I completed the 4,000th kilometer of my journey so far and I encountered the most expensive tin of beans I have ever seen at €2.33; ridiculous and definitely now off the menu!  After a few days cycling along the Italian lakes, I've arrived in Treviso for a few days of being spoilt by my mum as she has come out to visit.  Since my last update, it's continued to be a warm and pasta filled experience.

After leaving Genoa, I headed north towards Italy's fashion capital.  The brown shading on my map suggested it was going to a tough start to the day but the climb seemed easier than the one up to the hostel in Genoa I'd been staying at.  My legs felt fresh and light for once so I managed to put in the longest day of the trip so far, breaking the 100 mile mark for the first time.  To celebrate this milestone, I managed to get my wheels stuck in a set of tram lines in Milan whilst paying too much attention to the crazy traffic and performed a victory dive off the bike in front of a busy Friday night crowd.  I aim to entertain!

After enjoying a day in Milan amongst the immaculately dressed and groomed population (complete with lycra and tan lines which as mentioned previously are all the rage this season), I decided to stop being such a total jessie and head up to Switzerland to take on the alps.  After grinding my way up to San Barnardino, I was devastated to find that just a couple of kms from the summit, the mountain pass was closed.  I tried to go up it anyway but the snow was so deep and the hill so steep that I wasn't going to make it.  I could have carried my bike and bags up, shuttling back and forth, but once I was over this pass there would be others which were closed so it wasn't an enticing prospect.  I could have waited there for two months before the pass was opened but am not sure my mum would have been best pleased if I didn't show up in Treviso, so to remain in her good books decided to head back down the 1600m decent, back round the 32 hairpin turns together with countless other bends as the road wound it's way back to the foot of the climb, past the goats still ringing their bells and the workmen still sitting in their vans having another coffee break.  45 minutes later and 20°C warmer I stopped to remove the defeated look from my face and the layers of winter clothing I was wearing.  One for the Swiss suggestion box: Perhaps placing a sign at the bottom of the mountain saying the pass is closed would be helpful!  No longer a jessie but not yet a conquerer.  I will have a chance to redeem myself many times along the way to Korea with Slovenia up next looking a little brown on my map.  Bring it on!


I have passed many cyclists on my journey so far and each country I have encountered has produced a slightly different breed:

The British Road Cyclist:  Dresses practically and greets other cyclist with a slight nod, a simple hello and may sometimes stretch to a small wave of the fingers.  Has a strong desire to survive and will be found wearing a helmet and often reflective clothing.

The French Road Cyclist:  The most friendly and happiest of cyclists studied (probably due to the perfect road surfaces and the most respectful drivers that pass by).  Will always greet with a jolly 'bonjour' and will often slow down for a chat.  Will wear long sleeves and 'tights' in all weather.

The Swiss Road Cyclist:  The most serious of all cyclists, always dressed in full lycra and pays absolutely no attention to other cyclists (perhaps because they are always grinding up a mountain with their head down, or flying past at great speed as they race down to the bottom again).

The Italian Road Cyclist:  Treats the road like a catwalk with immaculate team kits; high speck, spotless bikes; largely avoids helmets to preserve the greased swept back hair; and provides the widest variety of greetings to fellow cyclists from ignoring them completely to waving with both hands and shouting various unknown Italian phrases across the road (to which as a British cyclist I give a polite nod, say 'buongiorno' and may even stretch to a small wave of the fingers).

Greetings one and all from Italy where I find my legs slightly stronger, saddle slightly more comfortable and tan lines becoming almost competition standard (according to my Italian connections, tan lines are going to be all the rage this season).  It's fair to say that it's been a good couple of weeks despite the slighly red nose at times and the enduring lack of a decent cup of tea.

After surviving the streets of Paris I made my way across to the river Saòne, where I was united with my replacement kindle thanks to my Dad's organisation, then down to the Rhone where I enjoyed sampling some of the local produce (had to buy a corkscrew first though as the French don't seem to believe in screwcap bottles).  Once I made it to the rivers, I was rewarded with days of flat roads winding down towards the sea.  There were even times when I thought a few hills would be welcome to break up the days a bit.  Eventually these hills came and I realised how deluded I'd become and how heavy my bike is again!  I followed the coast as best I could through to Nice where I enjoyed cycling along some familiar roads and onwards to Monaco.  

Before I entered Monaco, the lap record stood at 1:14.439.  After tearing round the circuit, Mr Schumacher can breathe easily again as I got round in a slightly disappointing 29:52.35!  Though to be fair he had a clear track, didn't keep stopping to take photos and didn't stop to chat to a doorman at a posh hotel for ten minutes!  

After that poor performance I skipped town and headed for Italy.  And what was the first thing I did when I crossed the border?  Take some photos to mark the occasion?  Perhaps find somewhere to enjoy a celebratory pizza and glass of Peroni?  No, both of these came later.  You see the trouble with cycling along the coast is that opportunities to relieve one's bladder are few and far between and this has been an issue over the last few days.  There simply are no hiding places (apart from on the border it appears).

My first impressions of the Italians are mixed.  I commend their desire to build tunnels through hills where the French would make you suffer a series of thigh-destroying switchbacks, and I can accept their slightly lax approach to distance markers between towns where one can reduce the distance to a place by 10km in just 3km (and suffer the effect of the reverse of this) but the Italians' greatest downfall are the plagues of 'motos' (or 'otom's as I first thought they were called as they are written upwards in motorbike parking spaces) which constantly suffocate you at traffic lights and cut you up wherever they can.  Thankfully I've just replaced my brakepads as they are being well used.

After a day off in Genoa, I'm heading into the hills tomorrow, up to Milan then across towards Slovenia.  This will be the furthest east I've ever been, I'll not be this far south again until Mongolia and once I get out of Italy I'll not see the sea again until China.  Have cycled over 3,000km so far and have considerably further yet to go but still very much enjoying it.


Things yet to experience on my trip:
A compliment about my attire, beard and tanlines
A campsite that provides toilet roll
A Frenchman with a beret and onions round his neck (now unlikely to be fulfilled)
A clear indication as to what the point of kettles without plugs are in hostels
A person on a bike carrying more kit than me

After a very pleasant journey across the south of England, a ferry trip later and I find myself enjoying bagettes, roads without potholes and nursing my first bit of sunburn.  I have made it to Paris and tomorrow I shall be attempting to negotiate the Champs-Élyséés and the Arc de Triomphe (not to mention the rest of the never-ending streets of Paris) as I start heading further south.

Wild camping in France is proving to be a little more problematic than anticipated.  It appears that there are magical treasures and wild beasts in the woods and forests of France as they seem to protect them with great care.  Most of the time they are surrounded by barbed fencing, use big gates and have a range of signs effectively saying "keep out!"  Many of the woods also claim to be catching these wild beasts which would otherwise be roaming freely across the French countryside as they have big animal trap signs up.  Less than ideal camping ground.  In addition to this the farmers don't do their bit for bio-diversity as there seem to be no hedges to separate fields which could otherwise have been used to provide a bit of cover.  Finally, it's aparently not yet camping season in France as the majority of the campsites are closed at this time of year.  So far in France I have sought the mystical treasure in forests twice (avoiding being gobbled up by the wild beasts) and found two campsites which were happy to accept me (one of which was closed but after putting on my best dispondent face, the nice Frenchman let me stay anyway).  I now have a magic letter (I hope) translated into French (and Romainian for when I arrive there) which explains what I am doing and asks for a little assistance from people where possible.  The idea came from Alistair Humphries and Rob Lilwall who have both done cycle expeditions much longer than mine and said that the letter was amazingly useful.  If I get stuck any night I can now hopefully use this to help pursuade the kind French farmers to pitch my tent on their land.  If anyone is fluent (or knows someone who is fluent) in Italian, Slovak, Hungarian or Mongolian please let me know!

Strong headwinds and crosswinds have made cycling a little more hard work and scary. I'm very much looking forward to reaching the south coast when the prevailing winds will be mostly behind me for the rest of the journey.  I'm also looking forward to recieving my new kindle through the post thanks to my Dad's efforts, as my first one sadly passed away during my first night in France.  Very much looking forward to being able to read the last couple of chapters of Mark Cavendish's autobiography and hopefully having a bit more regular access to the internet again (at least while there is still free wi-fi kicking about in cafe's etc).

Finally, I have been recieiving a few unsavoury comments about the fluff that is appearing on my face.  One cannot become a true adventurer without a bit of facial hair even if it is slightly tinged with a bit of ginger (or as some of you like to call it 'African Sunset')!

Another week has flown past and I find myself back at home in Wiltshire enjoying chocolate & Guiness cupcakes, fresh clothes to wear and am still basking in the glory of England's victory over the French!  The hours in the saddle are starting to extend a bit more and thankfully the knee and posteria are starting to object a bit less.  

In just a week's time I shall be saying goodbye to regular stops with family and friends as I enter the French part of my escapade.  I think my experience will change significantly when I cross the channel, not just because of the funny languages and having to cycle on the wrong side of the road, but because I will no longer have destinations to hit every day or two with people to visit.  When I reach Calais, I just have to head south until I reach the coast and then take a left.  I won't have to cycle up closed roads in order to reach a destination because all other routes into the city seem to be dual carriageways or motorways (Coventry), nor will I have to listen to my GPS beeping at me telling me I've gone the wrong way as it tries to lead me to an address.  However I will miss the company of those I know well (or those who know someone well that knows me well) and the kindness they have continued to show me over the past week.

I've woken up to various sights and sounds this week: sustained sunshine for the first time on the trip, the sound of my brother snoring and the sound of a gun being fired (not sure which was loudest!)  It appears that hunting starts at first light in Yorkshire.  Thankfully it wasn't in the wood I was residing in that night.  Yesterday I was joined by my brother for the trip from Tewkesbury to my parents' house in Wiltshire and enjoyed having some company again whilst riding.  Now I've got a few days off at my parents in order to finish off the final things I didn't get a chance to do when I was down at the start of February.  It will also give me a chance to straighten out my brake lever and let my bruises recover as I took another tumble yesterday just a mile or so from home as I hit a curb and again experienced the drawback of clipping one's feet into pedals.  Anyone would think I had never ridden a bike before!

So what are the lessons from the week?  If you want to cycle south into Coventry consider another form of transport, don't dress up as a fox in Yorkshire and England are definitely going to win the 6 nations!

A response to some comments I have received:

Unfortunately I have been receiving a number of derogatory comments since the start of my journey which I feel have been unfair and disrespectful, all of which have come from those I have know well.  People seem to have forgotten that some of the greatest of man's accomplishments have been made whilst sporting a pair of tights!  The last week has taken me on a journey through areas where these men have been appreciated and respected.  On my way down from County Durham to Wiltshire, I passed Sherwood Forest, home to the greatest tight-wearing outlaw that ever lived.  I then made it through Stratford-Upon-Avon, birthplace of William Shakespeare, the most celebrated (tight-wearing) play-write in history.  It made me think that men who wear tights are a special, select breed.  Think of all the best superheros: Superman, Spiderman, Batman etc.  Even SuperTed wore tights.

Next time you see a man in tights, don't let your mind trick you into thinking they are not cool or attractive, but instead think about the extraordinary things he is about to achieve.

One week down, one country down, one man down (twice) and loved almost every minute of it!  I haven't been blessed with the greatest weather but thankfully have been put up most nights by the kind folk along the way.  Thank you for your kindness and warm showers!

Jed, John and myself set off on a wet and windy Sunday morning to the ruptuous applause of the crowds that had gathered to see us off.  There were tears on the faces of all who had gathered (or was that just the rain?)  John made it down to his flat due to other commitments and Jed braved it out to Dundee.  Day One didn't quite go to plan, due to my poor choice of route, heavy bike and the fact that the wind wanted us to go north instead!  The next couple of days proved much more successful as I meandered down towards Edinburgh.

I thought the adventure might be over, or at least postponed, before it had really started.  Cycling the few miles between Burntisland and Edinburgh was becoming increasingly painful and I realised my ITB (illiotibial band - the a band which runs from one's hip to one's knee) was rubbing on my left knee.  It's something I've had a problem with on my other knee in the past which took 9 months to get sorted out and can be very painful.  After trying various strapping and saddle heights I managed to make it there.  Lowering my saddle to the lowest it can go is making my quads work a little bit harder but keeping my leg bent enough so as not to cause the ITB to rub.  It's still a little sore walking about but at least the dream is still alive!

I was joined by Catherine for the ride down to Melrose before setting off to the English border.  I set up camp for the first night on my own hidden in a forest just over the border and stepped out at four in the morning in my boxers to relieve myself of all that water I'd been drinking only to discover a winter wonderland.  When I got up properly I started cycling through a couple of inches of snow and within the first 5kms I had already come off the bike twice as it slid from underneath me.  A chilly and hilly day followed and I covered 98km (about 60 miles) in 10 hours, 7 and a half actually cycling - very slow indeed.  Am very glad to have a day off today.

So what have I learnt from the first week?  Only use the national cycle network if you like hills, potholes and don't really want to get where you want to in a hurry; it doesn't get warmer as you move south; and cycling in snow is only recommended for people with stabilisers! 

Well the time has come to put the flares and white, pointy shoes into storage as day one of The Lycra Year is just hours away.  The bags are packed and bum cream is on standby.  The scale of the journey is just starting to sink in and it would be fair to say that I've felt more confident about other decisions I've made in my life.  I'm fortunate that a few folk are doing the first few miles with me, and Jed will be joining me for the first couple of days.  The training has been fairly non-existent over the past month so the plan is a fairly gentle start through Scotland.  On the positive side, the weather can only get better, I can only get fitter and this may well be the last time I have to watch prime-time Saturday night tv waiting for a curry that was promised to arrive an hour ago.  Beans and noodles (and possibly the odd bit of road kill) from here on in!

Have you ever played the close your eyes, spin a globe and stop it with your finger game? The rules are pretty much self explanatory and where you land you travel to.  Well I played it...

Unfortunately I landed in the middle of The Pacific Ocean and didn't fancy a year in a boat so I plumped for a slightly less random approach and decided South Korea sounded like a reasonable option (why not?).  The aim is to teach a bit of English there for a year.  Currently I quite enjoy a good cycle so after reading about a guy who cycled home from Siberia, I figured why not cycle to South Korea.  I'm no great cyclist, or adventurer for that matter, but saw a great opportunity to see some of the world and to hopefully improve on the bike and the adventuring a bit along the way.

The idea was conceived back in June and since then I have been gradually planning my journey.  A few pound sterling later, I have a bike and most of the rest of my kit.  I have a gps with a map of the world on it, a plan for obtaining necessary visas, an appointment to have multiple needles stuck in my arm, a few phrases in a few different languages and now a website to let folk know I'm still alive!  

What could possibly go wrong?