Hot Rides

Trev and I were filthy. Sweat, caked with red dust, covered our bodies and permeated every accessible orifice. It had been a long, hard day... and on the map, May River looked like a great place to camp. We allowed ourselves to fantasise about plunging into the cool waters, or even indulging in a splash bath out of our billy.

Heat rising off the tarmac roasts me. My legs are locked into a rhythm as I push the pedals around. All I can hear is my own panting and the ring of cowbells floating across alpine meadows. After two hours of climbing I approach the summit of Hourquette d'Ancizon, a back road close to today's stage of the Tour de France.

I woke early. Having spent the past week bedridden with a raging fever, I was eager to leave Chitral's dusty streets. As I cycled through the bazaar on my way out of town, I passed the day's slaughter being brought to market. Cuts of meat lay in rusty wheelbarrows.

Some smart-arse once muttered, "it's not the things you do in life that you come to regret but the things you don't". So I quickly say "Yes" to John Etherington when he invites me on one of his Escape Adventure trips through East Africa.

When my brother Steve announced he'd mapped out a coast to coast route across the Northern Highlands, I sighed wistfully... "a week long epic from Ratagan to Montrose - I'll never get the time off work". To my surprise, he had actually pulled together a little gem that could be completed in just a couple of days. 

In mountain bike racing, it sometimes happens. There are a bunch of slower riders in front, but you bide your time and find a safe place to pass. Ten minutes into this race and I was contemplating more extreme options as I viewed an endless mass of riders snaking into the distance. About 3,000 riders compete in the annual Finnmarks Turen endurance race in Ludvika, Sweden... and I started dead last.

In the summer of 2009, our route from Greece to Germany crossed the small country of Albania. It glared from the map with uncertainty - neither Tina nor I could claim encyclopaedic knowledge of the place.

On a foggy winter day last year an email arrived from Simon Kennett suggesting a multiday mountain bike 'brevet' around the top half of the South Island - informal with self enforced rules, no entry fee, unsupported, and at first nervous glance a long hard race against yourself.

I had excess baggage on the brain when planning last year's cycle show for Ground Effect in London. Flying through the USA with its more generous piece allowance was the obvious choice.

Our original thought was to cycle tour through Italy. Then we mused that a mountain bike road trip might be more like us. The thought of combining the two didn't really emerge until the drive train on my touring bike imploded during a test outing in the Black Forest.

I teach German and a bit of junior French at high school. My French was pretty rough so I decided to apply for, and was fortunate enough to get, a Ministry of Education 'language immersion scholarship' to the south of France. Not content with just sunning it and soaking up the language, food and local vintages for three months - I decided to take my bike along as company.

Exploring the backcountry with your bike is a blast. And packing some extra kit to spend the night makes it even better, extending your range into remote regions and enhancing the outdoor experience... Maggi soup, cheesy one-pot pasta and steamed pud never tastes so good as when capping off a big day.