There are a number of questions that have been periodically circling round my head ever since I left the shores of Britain.  Will I become the fittest I have ever been in my life on this ride?  Should I send home my cold weather gear once I reach warmer climes?  How will my kit stand up to riding through the tropics in rainy season?  How long can a pair of Schwalbe Marathon tyres really last?  When will I next be able to enjoy the divine orangy goodness of a humble Jaffa Cake?  Over the past few weeks I have been able to put some of these worries to bed.

I left Bangkok with continuous bright sunshine and a sturdy, prevailing tailwind whisking me south towards the equator.  After weeks of heading back west after my slight detour to Japan, I feel like I'm finally heading in the right direction around the globe again.  Not far down the coast I found myself checking into a deserted youth hostel seemingly in the middle of nowhere.  It seems that the youth hostel association of Thailand seem to do things a little differently to the good old British YHA as instead of sitting around a slightly dreary and musty smelling common room with a group of slightly unkempt youngsters, I found myself relaxing in a jacuzzi overlooking the golden sands of the private beach just meters away with just one young family to share the whole resort with.  Beach running is something I love and now miss from those long summer days in Aberdeen.  The last time I ran was during a game of football six months previously on a Sunday afternoon in Ukraine.  Still, all that cycling in between would surely give me the fitness I needed to run the 5km to the end and back, wouldn't it?  Apparently only just.  I think my legs felt as heavy as they did after the marathon at the end of an Ironman by the time I slipped wearily back into the swimming pool. 

I left the dry, sunny days of Thailand, together with its reduced to clear baked delights found in the Tesco Express stores which I had been so happily reunited with, on a boat headed 30kms along the coast to the main Malaysian peninsula.  It is possible to cross into Malaysia by road at a number of points, however the foreign office advise against all but essential travel to four of the southern most Thai provinces in which these crossings are located.  In order not to invalidate my insurance, I decided to take the short boat ride available.  As I was traveling down the west side of the peninsula, I was therefore surprised when the port appeared from the right side of the boat.  My suspicion that something wasn't quite right were confirmed when I got off the boat and turned on my GPS only to find myself on an island.  When I bought my ticket the night before, I had forgotten to take the piece of paper with the name of the place I wanted to go on it.  I had been assured by the Englishman working there that Langkawi was the name of the place I intended to go.  As I was on Langkawi I thought I would cycle round the island on my fresh set of tyres which I had had to put on the bike a couple of days previously as after 23,500km the old ones were past their best.  After stopping to camp for the night on a beautiful deserted beach, I came back to the ferry terminal armed with my bit of paper in hand, and was able to purchase the correct ticket.  The boat was due to depart at 13:00 and after checking the current time with what looked to be a local I headed off for some lunch and generally procrastinated before entering the departure lounge when I had exhausted the limited sights at the terminal.  The departure lounge was completely deserted.  I knew that I was nearly an hour early but still expected a few keen travelers to have lined up their luggage by the gate (a trick people in this part of the world seem to use to save their place in the queue).  I glanced at the clock on the wall and to my horror saw the hands pointing to five past one.  Evidently Malaysia is an hour ahead of Thailand.  I rushed through the gate and watched as they were loading the last two pieces of cargo onto the boat in the distance.  Thankfully I arrived just in time and didn't need a third attempt to get to where I wanted to go.

The ride through Malaysia presented its challenges: the rainy season had started which left me pretty damp at the end of most days, struggling to see though the steam and rain covering my glasses and as suncream from my forehead continually washed into my eyes; sunburn was becoming an increasing problem largely due to the increased sensitivity caused by the anti-malarial tablets I'm taking leading me to dig out and wear my arm warmers in the 38 degree heat to protect my very red arms; peeing at the side of the road became a bit of a problem as now that I was in an Islamic country that sort of thing just doesn't seem to be done; and bees had continued to get caught in my helmet and sunglasses stinging my face before dying their slow deaths as I squirted the affected area and the bee with water.  Bees in Asia seem to be very mean or very dopey as that is three times I've been attacked now.  Still the food was excellent, particularly the 'all you can fit on your plate' buffets (or at least that's how I approached them), very tasty and perfect for hungry cyclists.  It was with some relief therefore that I reached Singapore where I have been enjoying the comfort of a dry house, the company of my Dad's cousin's family and the taste of those humble Jaffa Cakes.

Me Capers, King of The Jungle

In past posts you may have read about some of my weaker moments and confessions on this trip which probably have led many to write me off as a being a bit of a pansy.  It's true that my reaction to the sight of blood or creepy crawlies may be slightly more cowardice than other people's but hopefully I am starting to 'man-up' as they say...

As the last of the swimmers dried off and left the beach on the island of Langkawi, a troop of monkeys descended to hunt for any tasty morsels these holiday makers had left behind in the rubbish bins.  I had just started preparing to cook my appetising dinner of pasta and a stock cube.  I hadn't expected to be cooking that evening so hadn't carried supplies for a more wholesome meal, however the menu didn't put off those little furry beasts.  Before I knew it I was surrounded by a whole troop of long-tailed macaques with the largest male staring at me and bearing his teeth.  It felt like a scene from The Matrix, Kill Bill, or one of those awful martial arts movies they showed so regularly on Chinese TV as I rose to fight them all off armed only with my shoe, my precious dinner and perhaps a misplaced sense of bravery.  The male stepped forward aggressively but still slightly unsure of the human dressed in the golden lycra shorts in front of him.  I was a hungry boy and not about to be robbed of my slightly bland meal so with all the energy I could muster I made myself big, roared and charged at the monkey drawing my shoe above my head ready to strike.  In fear, he started to run away so I increased my pace until he had fled up the hill and out of sight.  At this the other monkeys scattered and I rose up on the bench beating my chest, proclaiming to the world that I was the king of this jungle (ok, so no chest beating but I was respectfully left to devour the food I had risked my life and pride for).

From the day I decided to ride through Vietnam, I had been looking forward to going over the Hai Van Pass (the mountain pass featured in Top Gear's Vietnam special).  The thought of riding along a cliff edge on a narrow, winding road with the beauty of Vietnam's coastline in the background raised my heart rate a notch or two.  I set off up the hill in the rain, sporting my fetching new, hole-free lycra purchased from a small bike shop in Hanoi (I'm particularly pleased with the golden shorts, very superhero-esque).  To my dismay they have significantly upgraded the road since Clarkson and co rode over it a couple of years or so ago and have blocked off the most exciting section.  At the top, heart rate many more notches raised, the view was beautiful but I felt like I'd been robbed slightly of the experience I'd been expecting as I descended in the heavy rain into Danang.

It hadn't been the first wet day since leaving Hanoi, in fact it had rained heavily pretty much every day.  After previously taking a wet day off in Hue, I got up bright and early on the day I was initially going to do the Hai Van Pass and just as I was stuffing the last of my gear into my panniers, I heard the rain stop.  Brilliant!  Excitedly, after securing my gear on my bike, I headed outside.  To my right the road was submerged beneath the flood waters with people wading knee deep through it.  To my left I observed a similar scene.  Not one to shirk a challenge lightly I started thinking about how I could reattach my bags to elevate them slightly above the water, however after discussions with the hotel manager I was going nowhere as the road I needed to take lay more than waist deep underwater further along.  I hadn't anticipated any flooding until I reached Thailand.  

After completing the pass, my route to the Laos border took me up through the mountains and there I enjoyed what I felt I had missed out on.  I was slightly delayed a few times due to landslides covering the road or taking part of the road away, having to carry my bike over some sections.

Vietnam had been a great experience.  On my route from Hanoi I had seen spectacular views; had my skin rubbed and pinched by a random old man who I don't think had seen a white man up close before; bravely tied to nibble at both halves of the chicken's head I had been given to eat as I enjoyed what seems to be man's Saturday in Vietnam where the men sit round eating and drinking while the women all hide away somewhere; and I had enjoyed the reverse sound of trucks.  You don't always just get the standard beep-beep-beep-beep.  I heard one truck give a rendition of Beethoven's Fur Elise.  I have also been treated to twinkle twinkle little star and a Christmas medley by passing vehicles. 

Laos was to be honest a little dull and frustrating.  The route I took through was very flat and apart from the houses on stilts there was not much interesting to look at.  I also felt thoroughly ripped off all of the time no matter how hard I tried to haggle.  I therefore pushed on to the border with Thailand.  I was again confronted with the issue that I had had coming into China from Mongolia where you cannot ride a bike across.  Although I had to cheat and take a lift in the back of a pick-up truck over the bridge across the Mekong River, I at least could remain with my bike all the time.  Once I had filled in the arrivals card at Thai immigration and stood for the national anthem I started pedalling my way to Bangkok singing "the 9 days of Thailand," a variation of the twelve days of Christmas I had made up to learn the Thai numbers.

Thailand felt a bit like home pretty early on.  They drive on the left, have Shell garages and you can buy Jammy Dodgers (or at least a pretty decent version of them).  The people are all lovely and apart from the touristy areas of Bangkok, I haven't felt like anyone has tried to rip me off.  I've seen elephants wandering around the city streets (I'm moving on from the feeling like home bit now by the way) and even spent a night in a Thai prison cell, or at least it was before they converted the prison into a hotel.

Navigating my way into Bangkok had been on my mind ever since I heard about the floods and how long they were going to last.  I had read that it was very possible to enter by road even though I was coming in from the north-east which is one of the worst affected areas.  I therefore hit the main road towards the city and hoped I wouldn't get too wet.  Before I got to the edge of the city I had to ride through ankle deep water for a couple of sections.  The water got deeper and more widespread as I actually got to the start of the built up area.  I rode through water which came half way up my wheels.  When a lorry past I became frustrated when the wave it generated washed over my front pannier bags (I have had to stitch up my bags a few times so they are no longer completely waterproof).  I reached a point where it got too deep to cycle and a guy suggested I try to ride on the toll road which runs 15m above the ground on which bikes are forbidden.  I headed to the entry ramp and after speaking to a very nice policeman I was able to get an elevated view of the flooding as I followed the toll road into the dry centre of the city.  The toll road had become a bit of a car park as people had moved their cars up from the flooded streets below.  Small boats motored between the submerged vehicles that did not escape the flooding and I passed planes sat on top of the water at the domestic airport.  For miles and miles I rode past the houses of so many people who had been affected by the floods, some of whom I had past on the way into Bangkok in tents at the sides of the roads.  People seemed in good spirits and I got lots of smiles and thumbs up as I rode past but it made me think what a selfish idiot I was worrying about the stuff in my bags getting a bit wet when so many people have had their lives so significantly affected by the flooding. 


The Scots have a reputation for deep fat frying just about anything but in my years there I have never seen bugs, crickets and gheckos cooked in such a manner.  Last night, in one of my more ambitious, less wimpy states, I thought I would give these rather crisp and salty little beasties a go as its not everyday you get a chance to sample such a delicacy (still not sure if it really is a local delicacy or whether someone thought it would just be a bit of a giggle to see what they could get away with feeding tourists!)  A top tip though for any potential cricket eaters, break off and discard the two big jumping legs as these have small hooks on the end that will cling to your mouth and throat for dear life.

I haven't be so delighted by one of my own bottom burps since I was a young schoolboy, but the joy of the first dry fart following the devastating fallout of a dodgy plate of eggs consumed on my way across China placed a large smile on my face and the courage to venture more than five paces from the bathroom.  Unfortunately this courage also led me back onto my bike having only eaten a small bowl of pasta and a cup of watery soup in the past 36 hours.  The following two days cycling to Guilin were incredibly difficult and sucked away any remaining fat that hadn't already been utilised during the unpleasantness of the nights before, and started chomping away at muscle.  Over the next few days I also found myself unable to face the thought of conventional Chinese cuisine so found myself having to cook more boring pasta and stepping into the dark world of the Big Mac and fries.

The majority of days when I'm cycling I would imagine that most people would rather not be sat where I am as they are slightly uncomfortable and fairly unspectacular and if you do not really enjoy cycling, they might even be considered as just unnecessary, hard work.  However there are some days which would leave me jumping up and down uncontrollably with arms flailing all over the place with excitement if I was still a toddler. I've had more than my fair share of these days over the past couple of weeks.  The scenery from Guilin right through into Vietnam has been spectacular.  It looks like a group of rather large giants made hundreds of limestone sandcastles across this part of the world.  The most spectacular day was along a small, hilly and largely unpaved country road from Guilin to Yangshuo over one of the larger of these sandcastles.  My enjoyment soon faded that night though as I stayed in a hostel in a room with a baby who didn't stop crying and an old Chinese lady who spent all night either snoring or hacking up flem and spitting it on the floor.

I met up with Chris and Lucy, the cycling couple from Bristol who I sang and drank hobo sake with on the ferry from Japan to China, just a few hundred kilometers from Vietnam and rode with them through to Hanoi.  I seem to have finally learnt how to cope with riding with others since leaving Shanghai as I have successfully ridden with 17 people in total for lengths varying between a couple hours and a couple of weeks.  I am no longer so concerned about getting in miles each day and have been able to just enjoy the company.  On our way to the border we eventually found a nature reserve which is home to the critically endangered white headed langur (Trachypithecus poliocephalus).  After clambering up an observation tower we stood and watched some of these wild monkeys as they descended down the giant limestone sandcastle in front of us.  Just incredible.  On our way out of the reserve we managed to avoid the cobras which lurk in the undergrowth but did encounter an unidentified stripy snake and a rather big toad both of which thankfully refrained from trying to eat us.

I have been looking forward to cycling in Vietnam more than any other country on my trip.  The crazy motorbike filled roads, the stunning hills and coasts, the effects of the history throughout the past couple of centuries on the country, and the availability of good bread again (one of the best things that the French left behind), all of which I have loved since getting here.  The majority of people are exceptionally friendly and on the second day we must have had close to a hundred 'hello's, waves, big smiles and/or salutes from people of all ages as we made our way to the coast.  I was slightly worried that people might mistake us for Americans (surely impossible though given my reserved nature, queuing abilities and under use of the word 'awesome'), but even if they do, there seems to be no problem.  Some locals even walk around with US Army written on their clothing.  There are some however, namely the crew on a tour boat we took through Ha Long Bay, who are less pleasant.  Up until this point, I have not embarked on an organised tour.  We thought it would be a good way to relax and see the bay as there are not too many options for doing so.  After being collected nearly an hour and a half late from our hotel, I soon started to feel claustrophobic and stressed as we were told where to go and what to do.  To break the ice between all of the tourists on board they sat us down for lunch and placed not enough food for all of us in the middle of the table for everyone to scramble for.  As soon as we started to complain about anything the tour guide became very aggressive.  Chris even ended up getting pushed by one of the crew as he was trying to order some rather overpriced beer.  Still, the scenery was incredible and I even had time to discover the black and white function on my camera.


People often say that trips like this really change a person so I thought I would share a short analysis of how the start of the lycra years have affected me thus far:

Physical appearance: Advancing towards a Groundskeeper-Willie-with-glasses-like state without the skirt (as I've obviously opted for something much more manly).  Just waiting for the hair on the back and sides of my head to turn ginger to match my beard. 

Aroma: Steadily becoming more potent as I develop a tendency to wash clothes less and gain the ability to endure the consequences of this more.

Understanding of the important things in life: One doesn't realise how special something is until it is gone.  After extensive research, a Chocolate HobNob truely is the best biscuit in the world but sadly it seems the world doesn't know it yet.

Outlook on life: Becoming increasingly fickle and undefined.  One sometimes has far to long to ponder the world when sat on a bike all day and when particularly tired, the inability of the Chinese to tell you which way to the road you want to cycle on can drive you to the cusp of despair, insanity and a longing for eternal relief as they try to find out your ultimate destination and refuse to tell you anything but the alternative route they think you should take.  Yet the smallest act of kindness at the end of a long day or the taste of a Chinese custard pie can leave you reaching towards a state of ecstasy, ready to re-embrace the world and the life that lies before you.  

Ability to waffle on: Evidently increasing.

Sitting on the ferry to Japan I began to get excited by the prospect of an easy six days ride from Fukuoka to Kyoto.  A week of sensible, courteous drivers who are not addicted to resting their hands constantly on their horns, smooth predictable roads, beautiful scenery and I'd given myself an extra day to get there so I wouldn't have to push myself and could just enjoy the ride.  They even drive on the correct side of the road in Japan (although I didn't realise this until a car was driving straight at me).  As I wandered through immigration I spotted two customs officials in front of my bike on their knees with toothbrushes in their hands giving it a good clean. Such good service.  Japan is obsessed with cleanliness and even with my freshly washed kit on I already felt a little out of place (a feeling which intensified enormously over the week as sweat and mud encrusted my body).  With my sparkling bike I stepped out into the Japanese sunshine.

The first problem I encountered was crossing onto the main island.  Bicycles are banned from the motorway bridge which crosses over the water and also from the main road which passes through the tunnel under it.  After many wasted miles searching for an alternative bridge or a ferry I was finally pointed to a very poorly signed pedestrian tunnel.  Once I emerged on the other side, darkness fell pretty early leaving me camped in a slightly spooky bamboo wood, surrounded by large spiders casting their enormous webs ready for me to stumble into, among the patches of gravestones which took up most of the flat patches of land available, and with a slightly disappointing 100km for the day, some of which had been spent riding round in circles.

The following day began with a puncture and a broken spoke and I again struggled to get in a good distance.  More punctures following over the next couple of days and when I tried to change one of my inner tubes I realised that the hole that had been drilled in my wheel to allow two different valve types was not big enough.  Relentless rain ensued dragging nightfall quickly with it and I managed to allow my front light to be ejected from my bike while I was riding without me noticing.  I struggled to find somewhere to camp as it was all very built up so in my wet and thoroughly grumpy state, when I saw a bamboo wood alongside a river I jumped down and pitched my tent managing to slice though my little finger with a piece of bamboo in the process which generated a healthy amount of blood, however I was too fed up to be a big sissy and fall over as would be my usual course of action in this situation, instead just opting to stick a big plaster on my finger and get on with it.  Should maybe have paid a little more attention to it as a couple of days later I could still peer deep into the finger.  I fell asleep with the rain still beating down on my tent.  

I was rudely awakened just after midnight with soaking wet feet.  I heard splashing as I lifted them away and discovered a great pool of water at that end of the tent.  I thought the tent was leaking so I peered outside and to my horror I discovered the river flowing through the foot my tent.  Apparently rivers rise in times of heavy rainfall!  By the time I had thrown the few bits I had out inside the tent into a bag, I was sat in a couple of inches of water and the guy rope at the foot of the tent was a foot underwater.  I took down the tent in record time (three pegs short) and hauled all my soggy kit up onto the road and under an overpass where I sat like a hobo waiting for the sun to rise not particularly pleased with myself.

The following night I thought I'd try to be smart and head for the central train station in Kobe to enjoy a sleep on a seat where rain or rivers couldn't torment me.  Instead, I found myself curled up in a soaking wet sleeping bag camped in a park as there was nowhere for me to sleep in the extremely busy station.  It is fair to say that I wasn't enjoying my Japanese experience.

It was therefore with great relief that the following day I was united with my cousin John in Kyoto, enjoying a Japanese curry and sampling the delights of pachinko which is sort of like the Mecca Bingo of Japan for all ages.  Having a cousin educated in the culture and history of Japan at Cambridge University certainly has its advantages as we spent the next few days enjoying some of the local sights; eating horse, conger eels and sea urchin's ovaries; and enjoying the hot springs butt naked with 20 or so Japanese fellows.  During this time I also learnt that green tea ice-cream is delightful, John's girlfriend is an excellent cook and that pumpkin, marshmallow, custard, chocolate and sweet red bean paste pizza really doesn't taste as good as it sounds.

With a new kindle, bike spares and a full belly I cycled the few miles down to Osaka for a night at a hostel inside Nagai stadium (where England slightly disappointingly drew 0-0 with Nigeria in the 2002 world cup) before rolling down to the ferry port in he morning to relax for two days with my new found cycling friends Chris and Lucy who have also travelled from Britain.  I sampled one cup sake which is apparently the homeless mans choice of drink in Japan and found myself singing 'I want to ride my bicycle' in the karaoke bar with Chris to almost rapturous applause.  I have no idea what's come over me recently!

'Ambition is a poor excuse for not having enough sense to be lazy'  Milan Kundera

As I rode into Busan on a slightly weary looking bike, wearing increasingly hole-ridden cycling shorts and sporting a fresh Charlie Brown-esque haircut, I couldn't help but think that 6 months ago I was meant to be enjoying a life of flat beds, regular company and no more saddle sores when I reached this point.  By a rough finger measured calculation on my tiny, crumpled world map, I estimate I've still got almost two thirds distance still to cycle before I return the sunny shores of Britain.  

China provided more smooth roads on the way to Qindao, past miles and miles of fish farms and yet more miles of wind turbines.  The first potholed section I'd experienced the whole time I'd been in China resulted in my first broken spoke, so as I clinked into Qingdao I discovered my first anti-cyclist area of China.  Not only do they try to break your bike as you approach, they also ban bikes from many of the roads.  Apparently this is becoming the case in a number of cities in China to help the flow of motorised traffic.  After weaving my way through the narrow streets I arrived at the final destination of my first Chinese experience.

Qindao is home to Tsingtao beer and the street cafes have lines of kegs ready from which you can purchase fresh beer by the plastic carrier bag to take home or just to enjoy through a straw.  The cafes are dirt cheap and will even cook food for you that you bring along.  The hostel was a busy place and one evening, when looking for some conversation, I was invited to join a group of folk heading to a karaoke establishment.  For those who know me well may be surprised to hear that I agreed to join them and I was surprised myself as the word 'sure' exited my mouth.  As I'm sure you know, karaoke is hugely popular in this part of the world.  We hired a private room for the evening and entered a very expensive looking, high tech suite.  Unfortunately they didn't seem to spend that much money on providing a good range of songs.  I therefore spent the evening listening and singing along to the likes of Brittany, The Black Eyed Peas and everyone's favourite, Lionel Ritchie. 

I arrived in Korea by ferry and as I rode the short distance from the port in Incheon to the hostel in Seoul with my sparkling new spoke attached, the world seemed so peaceful again despite being in the world's second largest metropolitan area.  I don't know whether it's because I have become slightly deaf or if the horns really are sparsely used and restricted to safe decibel levels when applied.  Drivers are much more predictable and polite and the world seems slightly more ordered again.  I arrived at the hostel and could hardly believe my eyes.  You normally expect youth hostels to be cosy, informal places full of grubby looking travellers but the two hostels I've stayed at in Korea (Seoul and Busan) have been more like executive hotels with slightly out of place looking bunk beds in some of the rooms.  The majority of people I have seen have been dressed in suits attending business meetings in the conference rooms.  Both hostels have been huge and fill modern high rise buildings.  The one in Busan even offers a sauna, swimming pool, driving range and a pro shop!  I sampled the swimming pool yesterday and after completing a few drills in the main pool I relaxed for the next 45 minutes or so in the jacuzzi in order to pay heed to one of the warnings on the long list of rules in the entrance to the pool which states that 'swimming too hard can cause eye disease'.  Later in the day, with eyes still in good working order, I headed to a Kiwi bar on the beachfront where I sat next to a Scot watching England struggle to victory over the Argies.  It was just like being back in Aberdeen listening to the cheers as Jonny Wilkinson put his kicks wide!

It seems that the Koreans seem to be competing with God to see who can create the tallest and most numerous big things. High rise buildings sprout up everywhere between the tree covered hills which would once have dominated the landscape.  When Koreans do something, they seem to put 100% effort into it.  They are obsessed with technology and seem unwilling to share it with me.  They use a different system for mobile phones here and when I tried to see if I could purchase a cheap handset I was told that I couldn't due to the fact that I was foreign.  I was however able to enjoy the end of the IAAF World Athletics Championships on the large, flat screen TV in my hostel room in Seoul but was slightly gutted that I didn't arrive in Korea slightly earlier as I made it to Deagu just four days after Mo Farah's victory in the 5,000m.

Tomorrow I head to Japan in search of my cousin John's company, some new tyres for my bike and my third kindle of the trip so far to provide me with some sanity when I'm on the road meaning I won't just be putting up my tent and going to sleep at 7:30pm anymore.  For now it's back to the hostel for more pot noodle before heading out to join the thousand or so fans crammed into the 54,000 capacity world cup stadium in order to sample some Korean football as the mighty Busan l'Park take on Daejon Citizen.  Apparently it's around League 1 standard so should feel right at home after watching Swindon over the years.  Come on you ... (what colour do they wear?).

Every good man in lycra needs a nemesis.  Superman had Lex Luther; Batman, the Joker; Spiderman, the Green Goblin; even Superted had Texas Pete trying to cause havoc across the world.  My nemesis was first sighted coming into Ulaanbaatar.  He looks very much like me but wears a red cloth across his face, apparently in an attempt to reduce the dust and fumes in the air from entering his lungs, just leaving his eyes visible to the world behind his sunglasses.  I suspect that he has more sinister intentions and is just using it as a disguise as I have discovered over the past couple of weeks that he is working to sabotage my adventure. 

The Boney Bicycle Bandit's first act was to leave my Kindle on the kitchen table after breakfast at the hostel.  As I was cycling out of Ulaanbaatar I realised that I hadn't packed it so hastily turned round to cycle the 20km back to the hostel by which time the Kindle had been taken, never to be seen again.  With my head down, I trudged back out towards the Gobi Desert with very little for evening entertainment.  In another attempt to lighten my load, the Boney Bicycle Bandit managed to dispose of a 1.5 litre bottle of water that I'm sure was securely fastened to my bike so it wouldn't drop off along the bumpy track through The Gobi, and also a full sports bottle of water which was swiped from one of my bottle cages without my noticing.  The problem is that over every bump in the road there is a clunk as all my bags and bike get shaken up and down.  Just to rub salt into the wound, he then left my camera on, draining the battery completely.  Thankfully I was carrying 8 litres of water and the 2.25 litres that I had lost wasn't quite enough to threaten my survival as I got to a town with three-quarters of a litre to spare. 

The Gobi was really hard work but thankfully not as bad as I had been warned as I was able to cycle over 100km a day still.  There was no proper road for much of it and deep patches of sand but for only very short sections where I had to push.  A road is being built through it and although it is not yet finished, I was able to use sections of it having to avoid the large mounds of sand and rubble that are piled up to try to stop motorists accessing it before it's completed.  The heat wasn't too intense and I avoided any sandstorms.  I got to the border and was firmly told, as expected, that I wouldn't be able to ride across.  After negotiating for a ride across the border, I threw my bike and bags into the back of a Chinese 4x4 and we set off.  I was dropped off firstly at the Mongolian section of the border and after repacking my bike pushed this through customs and got my exit stamp no problem and the 4x4 driver was impatiently waiting on the other side to take me onwards.  We crossed no-mans-land and arrived at Chinese immigration at which point I was turfed out again, told to repack my bike and push through immigration and customs and that I could cycle away from here.  I paid the man and wandered with my bike into the building.  By the time I was told that I wasn't allowed to push my bike through and that it had to go through customs in a vehicle, and had lost the argument that this was ridiculous that I had to leave my bike and all my bags in a vehicle with a complete stranger who could just cross the customs area for cars and drive off with it all, the 4x4 driver had gone and I was approached by a number of other drivers looking for my custom.  Another fee negotiated I had my bike in another vehicle and sprinted back to immigration looking very flustered and probably slightly suspicious but thankfully they let me through fairly quickly.  I then ran out into the courtyard on the other side and couldn't see the guy with my bike.  I was greeted by the first driver who sheepishly wandered away when I had told him what had happened and I set off looking through the windows of all the identical looking 4x4s that were exiting customs.  Thankfully my nemesis wasn't around this time and the driver with my bike waved me over, unceremoniously dumped my kit out of his car, took the agreed fee and drove away.  A great sense of relief passed over me and I stood with my bags strewn across the floor, recovering my breath before enjoying the beautifully smooth road into China.

China has been great so far for the most part.  The Boney Bicycle Bandit has been spotted on a number of occasions in the more dusty and polluted areas but has been unable to cause any mischief.  The roads are wide and smooth and the towns full of bicycles.  Every fifth cyclist is a complete maniac but its great to see so many people on bikes and ruling the roads in some places.  The best thing about coming in from Mongolia is that although I passed through mountains, I was almost always descending so got the benefit of the views without the hard work to access them. 

I have been stopped by the police on a couple of occasions.  The first time they were driving in an unmarked van that swerved and braked in front of me to stop me which I ended up going into the back of cursing the driver (I was very thankful he didn't speak English when I discovered he was a police officer)!  After they had checked my documents I asked for directions and they called over a man on a scooter and told him to escort me out of the town on the right road.  My second encounter was the following morning where I was waved over to stop and then given four bottles of clear liquid tasting like flat lemonade, offered a bed in their van to sleep in for a few hours and was the star of their photo shoot as all the officers got out their cameras to take pictures with the funny looking white man on a bike. 

Camping is a bit more difficult in China as there are just people everywhere, particularly the closer you get to Beijing so I have found myself camped under a road only just wide enough to squeeze my tent into, in a small wood in between two roads waking up to a chap working a few metres away, and in the middle of a busy junction on the edge of Beijing as it was the only patch of land people weren't walking through.  My chopstick skills are still dismal and my ability to converse in Chinese even worse but at lit seems to provide the locals with some entertainment.

For a long time I've felt like I've been carrying a lot of luggage on my bike for the size of the thing.  Vehicles in China have made me re-assess that notion somewhat with people transporting vast loads on whatever they are driving.  One of the craziest examples of this was when two motorcycles past, each with three sheep strapped to the back.  One strapped upside-down over the top of the back wheel with its legs stuck straight up into the air, and one held each side of the back wheel with their legs sticking out horizontally.  I thought that these sheep were all dead until one of them lifted its head.  The drivers have obviously been watching too much Wallace and Gromit!

Cycling away from the border across into Mongolia, with freshly stitched shorts so I wouldn't show the border police the section of my posterior which has been on display for the last couple of weeks after another stupid stationary fall, left me with a big smile on my face and a huge sense of relief.  Not only because I'd got through both Russian borders without any hassle at all despite all the stories I had heard, but because I was very much ready for a change of scenery and culture.  

I was soon richly rewarded and it was not long before I had concluded that I like Mongolia much better than Russia.  To start with the people in Mongolia are very friendly.  People constantly toot their horns and wave (although this is starting to wear on my patience just slightly), I've had people share their lunch with me and others provide me with cups of tea (which in Mongolia is rather unpleasant and bitter but as they say it's the thought that counts) and the sausages I've been given haven't provided me with an uncomfortable night sleeping with my shoes on ready to run into the bushes at regular intervals as was unfortunately the case the time I was given sausages in Russia.  The views are always beautiful and the hills are long and gradual with no more knee destroying 14% slopes.  Best of all there are no mosquitoes!  Within a couple of hundred kilometers of entering Mongolia I've had a random camel stroll past me as I was setting up my tent, had seen yaks and had to dodge many a cow casually strolling across or just standing on the road.  Exactly what Mongolia is famous for.  In Russia I went thousands of kilometers without seeing a single bear or wolf!

Saying that, Russia had saved her best until last.  The ride from Irkutsk to the border, although a little on the hilly side, was stunning.  The views no longer consisted simply of blocks of birch trees, instead they were dominated by beautiful hills, Lake Baikal and sections of the road ran alongside the Trans-Siberian Railway.  People did become friendlier as I moved further east through Russia and even the train drivers would beep and wave at the skinny, bum-showing Englishman riding past.

I met a cyclist riding the other way two days into Mongolia.  He told me all about the 'road' through the Gobi desert which awaits me over the next week or so.  Apparently I can expect long sections of sand which are simply unrideable and which have thorny plants dominating the land either side.  Other sections of track were so bumpy they caused damage to his bike and provided very sore hands and bottom.  Plus there is the added heat ingredient to add to that as for some reasoI think it's going to be one of those things which I'll be glad I've done but won't enjoy at the time.  Worst of all I heard that I am going to have to cheat to get across the border into China by hitching a lift for 2km as they don't allow folk to ride across.


Finally, the three main sports in Mongolia are wrestling, horse racing and archery.  Whilst not formally taking part in any I have had the opportunity to participate in an alternative form of all three to some extent:

Wrestling: As I pulled up to a shop to stock up on bread, noodles and swiss roll, I was approached by a drunk who demanded that I purchase him some alcohol.  Upon my refusal he threatened to punch me and began trying to rip parts of my bike off.  I passed up the opportunity to wrestle him and thankfully my pedaling was faster than his drunken stumbling.

Horse Racing: I cycled alongside a Mongolian nomad on his horse for a short stretch and he challenged me to a race.  Unfortunately the terrain didn't provide me with much hope as we were heading up a hill at the time and he thoroughly beat me.  The following day I met him again further along the road and this time it was on a long downhill section where I was able to have my revenge.

Archery:  In Ulaanbaatar there are a large number of companies offering tours around Mongolia where you can participate in a wide range of activities.  I walked past one which offered amongst the more standard options the opportunity to head to an army base and fire a live rocket propelled grenade!  Unfortunately due to cost and fear for my safety (and that of anyone else within range) I decided to give it a miss but where else in the world would you get to do something like that!

When I set off from Moscow on the Trans-Siberian Highway, I was worried that I would travel for thousands of kms with nothing really to write about other than the lines of trees, long roads and the odd bit of wildlife (maybe even the odd bear).  It turns out that the roads are long, the distrubution of trees is more patchy than I'd imagined and whilst the bears remain elusive, I have seen the odd snake, bird of prey and hundreds of thousands of mosquitos.  I even saw a dead fish at the side of the road one day and despite the large quantity of rain I have experienced I think this was more likely to have fallen out of someone's pocket than for it to have been genuine roadkill. 

One of the worst days of my trip so far was a Tuesday.  Thunderstorms had kept me awake during the night and after I'd woken up, rubbed my eyes, fumbled for my glasses and glanced into the porch of my tent, I was greeted by lines of ants going into each of my pannier bags (never happened before or since but they managed to get into all four of them).  An hour later my bags had been unpacked, de-anted and repacked with my hands covered in bites.  I pushed my bike out onto the road and discovered my front tyre had a puncture.  After a quick fix I was away and the rain started.  One of the problems with some of the Russian roads is that they sometimes have channels eroded into them by the thousands of lorries that pass by.  They are very effective at collecting water so for the rest of the morning I had bathtubs of water thrown over me each time one went past (not even funny the first time).  As I sat spinning my pedals, feeling thoroughly wet and miserable, a lorry past far too close (didn't see the front of it but it was pulling a Schmitz Cargobull trailer which seems to be a popular choice for haulage around these parts), my back wheel slid away from me and I attempted a somersault over the handlebars.  Unfortunately I didn't quite nail the landing as I came down on my shoulder onto the tarmac.  Thankfully no serious injury or harm to the bike, just a sore shoulder, a sore toe for some reason and had to straighten the handlebars.  No one stopped to check I was ok and so with no sympathy to recieve I clambered back on my bike and to the nearest motel for a hot shower and a cold beer (for medicinal purposes of course).

I celebrated the start of my 30th year on earth with a wind assisted day broken up a number of very welcome phone calls and stopped at a motel to celebrate with a swiss roll and a lighter to blow out (no candles for sale at the local shop).  I met a couple of Russian cyclists heading the same way as me at the motel so decided to try doing a few days cycling with them.  Neither spoke any English and my Russian is still in it's very basic stages but we aranged a time to set off and despite them being two of the nicest people you could meet, I couldn't stand the complete loss of control I had when I was riding on my own.  I wasn't told what was happening really any of the time so one minute we'd be stopping to walk into a cafe and then out again for no apparent reason and the next we'd be stopping to drink tea at the side of the road with a group of Russian hippies complete with long hair, long beards and hippie headbands.  I thought that I was quite an easy going, tolerant kind of chap but after one and a half days of feeling trapped I headed onwards on my own.  I got as far as Omsk where I met another Russian who thankfully spoke a little English and we rode to Krasnoyarsk together proving that I haven't compeletly lost the ability to tolerate others although I'm glad to be back on my own again and able to get back to my normal routine again.

After my three week break in Iasi, the first hour or two back on the bike was a little wobbly to say the least.  They say that you never forget how to ride a bike but it took me a good while to get used to the weight again which was probably now at an all time high thanks to all the cakes and snacks I had been given to take with me, not to mention those which I had already consumed and had yet to work off.

Moldova was not on my original list of countries that I had planned to visit but there I discovered the most friendly people I've come across so far.  Many people stopped to talk to me to find out what I was doing and where I was going and not one of them ended the conversation asking for money which had been my experience in the previous couple of countries.  The border crossings into Moldova and Ukraine went pretty smoothly despite being warned that I may not be able to cycle through either and may need to pay someone a princely sum to give me a lift across in the van.  Happily I cycled through the Moldovan border without any problems and then I was allowed to push but definitely not ride my bike into Ukraine.  I didn't understand the logic to that rule but was pleased just to get through without any hassle.

I had also been warned about the roads in Ukraine but found them to be some of the best roads to cycle along during my trip so far.  They are generally fairly quiet, wide and are lined with trees often 10m or so deep which provides some shade, shelter from the wind and plenty of ideal places to camp.  The only downside is that their approach to hills is one that my legs soon grew weiry of: find the shortest and therefore steepest way to the top and try to go over as many as you can.

I've been trying to learn a little of each language I come across and before leaving Iasi I had written out some basic Ukrainian phrases to learn so that I don't look like a total plonker walking into shops unable to even say hello.  Unfortunately I wrote my shopping list on the back of it and discovered just before getting to Ukraine that I had thrown this away after buying my toothpaste and chocolate buscuits.  I was therefore reduced to a performing, lycra wearing weirdo trying to explain that the water I wanted should be without gas in it which wasn't always successful. 

I was greeted in Rzhyschiv, a town about an hour's drive south of Kiev, by a friendly welcoming party gathered together by Simeon Ewing, a friend from university now living in Ukraine, where I spent the week swimming in murky water, hoovering walls and ceilings, discovering the games you can play with bottle tops and Metro tokens, learning how to ask for still water in a less dramatic fashion and most importantly enjoying the company of some wonderful people which I know I will really miss as I head on through Russia. 

The day I had been dreading most before I started my trip was the day that I would be trying to enter Russia.  I have heard so many stories about all the potential difficulties that may occur and was expecting a long day of intimidating policeman questioning what I was doing and carrying.  As it turns out, it was one of the most relaxed border crossings I've had so far.  The migration card that I had to fill out I didn't complete fully as I asked a question to the police and he just said don't worry, stamped it and waved me through.  At customs I was expecting a thorough grilling and bag search but the policeman just smiled and wished me well on my journey.  The only thing I wasn't expecting was having to stay in a hotel that night in order to register in Russia as I had read previously that I would have three days to do this.  I found a cheap hotel off the main road not far across the border where no English was spoken.  It is not one that must recieve many tourists as I don't think the manager had ever completed a registration form before.  I thought that I had been super organised and had 'can you register me' written out in Russian which I showed her when I arrived.  She said yes and after I had settled in she brought a reciept for my stay thinking this was what I wanted.  What followed was one of the hardest charades I've ever tried to perform in my life explaining that I needed to be registered.  I thought I'd failed as she went away looking like she hadn't understood but 20 minutes later she returned with a tatty form which looked like the sort of thing I was expecting to have completed.  Hopefully I've now got enough paperwork for them to let me out of the country again.

Reaching Moscow has brought me a great sense of relief, not just because it has provided me a short break from the long straight roads, the mosquitos and the saddle sores, but because this is the minimum distance after which my trip would no longer be a total failure if I abandoned it and went home.  Although the thought of sitting with a cup of tea on my comfortable sofa watching the start of Wimbledon next week sounds very appealing at times, I'm not ready to stop and I'm starting to dream of going further than South Korea.  The small matter of the Trans-Siberian Highway lies ahead which may well cause these dreams slide more into the realms of nightmares but I'm going to get to China before making a decision on which way to go.  Before I started this trip Moscow seemed so far away from Aberdeen but as I glance at my little map of the world seeing how much further Mongolia is, Europe doesn't feel so big anymore.

Romania was always going to be a slow part of my journey as it is at this point that I needed to persuade the Russian and Chinese authorities that they wanted me to visit their countries.  Whilst they were deliberating, I headed across the Carpathians and into Iasi where I have been volunteering for three weeks at EuroEd, teaching English. 

After leaving behind my beautiful hostel in Geoagiu, I headed for the Carpathians with the hope that I would have a more successful mountainous experience than I had in the Alps.  Whilst there was a small sprinkling of snow in some higher, more shaded areas, the roads were very much clear even if the skies weren't.  To greet me at the top of the first climb was a Hungarian on a bicycle who invited me to join him and his family for a meal, and then I was invited to stay the night in the home of his fiancee's cousin as apparently a lot of the drivers on the roads would be drunk as it was Labour Day.  In the morning, after saying my goodbyes, I crawled up a slightly eerie climb as the swirling cloud crept up slowly through the valley, and after reaching the top I fought to hold off the cramp building in my hands as I tried to control my speed as I weaved down through the gorge on the other side.  

On my final day of cycling before stopping here in Iasi, I decided to try to avoid the busy main road that runs from Roman to Iasi by taking a shortcut on more minor roads.  After pausing for a couple of chocolate filled doughnuts for breakfast, I set out on a fairly good tarmac road.  By the time I was feeling increasingly pleased with myself for choosing such a quiet and smooth route, this faded into a dirt road, slightly slower but perfectly passable despite the dogs best efforts to thwart me.  

Whilst I have finally got used to dogs attempting to make me fall off my bike by barking from behind fences  everywhere I go, they have now stepped up their campaign by enlisting the help of the stray dogs that seem to be resident in all towns and villages throughout Romania.  I am regularly chased through the streets of Romania but so far have avoided being bitten or running any of them over.  Normally I can out pace these fearsome canines but if there is a steep hill through a town or village I just have to spin my legs as fast as I can and make my best big scary dog noises!

After charging through another village with more stray dogs barking at my heels, the road turned into a mud track.  Further up the hill, this turned to sticky clay which had been churned up by the comings and goings of the horse and cart.  The result was clogged up wheels which would no longer turn and me shuttling back and forth carrying all my bags and my bike until the sticky clay track turned back just to standard mud.  When I eventually got back onto the main road, the road signs showed that I had saved myself a whole 3km for all my efforts.  At least I still made it to EuroEd before dark.

In order to appear slightly more respectable for teaching, the fluff that had been accumulating on my face over the past few months was scraped away.  I also had a haircut and without my noticing, they managed to shave in a receding hairline!  Can't trust these Romanian hair salons!

I'm so glad I came to Iasi because as well as the teaching experience I have got, I have also been able to spend time with some wonderful people.  It's been so nice to have people to speak regularly to in English and to build some friendships here. It is with some sadness that I prepare for my last night in Iasi before I wipe the dust from my bike, squeeze back into my lycra and get back on the bike. 

And finally...

All my life I have failed miserably in my quest to become more noticeable when viewed sideways, but it seems that over the past couple of weeks I have stumbled across the answer: cycle from Aberdeen to Romania then take a break from almost all physical exertion whilst simultaneously increasing food intake from the already rather large quantities that had been making up my diet whilst cycling.  The result: I managed to put on over a stone of blubber after just one week.  I still come in on the famished side of 10 stone but at least it's progress!