Concordia

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6 7 Concordia Merchant Taylors’ School
Being exposed to the elements makes you appreciate how
vulnerable you are. If the weather decides it doesn’t want you to
carry on, you have to listen to it.
Summer 2015
The top of the Tor-Ashuu Pass (3500m elevation), Kyrgyzstan
Panoramic of Tbilisi, Georgia
Reservoir in Georgia
Embarrassingly, we failed the first
leg by missing the ferry from Dover,
making us realise this was a marathon,
not a sprint. Only when we reached
Istanbul, after a month on the road, did I
allow myself to think of what lay ahead.
The size of the achievement –
contrasted with the sudden feelings of
“What now?” – meant that each day I
was flooded with conflicting emotions
ranging from elation and euphoria to
sadness and despair.
In the western US, there was a 180-
mile stretch of road (catering for cars)
in the Mojave Desert with one food
and water stop en route . We arrived
– the shop was shut. You just have to
dig down.
One late afternoon, in the Caucasus
Mountains in Georgia, a thunderstorm
carrying massive hailstones rolled in. As
bolts of lightning hit the floor around
me I froze – assuming I was going to die
right there. There was nothing I could
do. Shaken up, I just had to plough on
another two kilometres to find shelter –
and Will.
Being exposed to the elements
makes you appreciate how vulnerable
you are. If the weather decides it
doesn’t want you to carry on, you have
to listen to it. In Europe it was rain; in
Asia it was wind.
The direction and force of a wind can
be the difference between crawling to
gain less than 50 miles in a day and
being hoisted for up to 130 miles. Or
being blown off your bike or staying
put. I learnt to embrace the positive and
accept what I couldn’t change.
I had expected the ride to be more
physically demanding but I’d say two–
thirds of the effort was mental. You need
strength to find the drive to get up every
day and sit on a bike for seven hours.
The unpacking and packing of
panniers felt relentless. The monotony
of chunks of the journey was also hard.
In Central Asia we were presented with
the same long straight desert road, with
the same terrain, seven hours a day, for
weeks at a time. Music and podcasts
offered some respite.
Will and I started the trip talking as
we cycled but we ran out of things to
say. Eventually we understood each
other so well, knowing what each other
was thinking, we didn’t need to speak.
Spending every waking moment
with one other person is intense. With
exhaustion, tempers can fray – but you
both know that without the other guy’s
support you are lost.
The trip enabled Will and me to
experience some of the world’s richest
cultures, see its most stunning places,
by riding some of its greatest roads.
Every single day, I’d think: “Wow. Look
at this place.”
The awe-inspiring landscapes along
the back roads of Japan, the mountain
passes of Kyrgyzstan and national parks
in the US made up for any hardship. I’d
reflect: “Look where I am, how did this
happen? How lucky am I?” Thinking
time was something I was never short of.
In mid-December, we finally coasted
to South Beach in Miami. We had
cycled 14,558 miles in 234 days. It felt
weird. I knew I was going to miss the
enthusiasm and excitement that had
lifted me out of my tent every day.
On a par with the incredible scenery,
my biggest takeaway from the trip
was that, without exception, everyone
we met was overwhelmingly friendly,
kind, generous and hospitable. The
experience has been amazingly
humbling. The less people had, the
more willing they were to welcome and
provide for us.
One meeting has particularly stayed
with me. It was late one evening in
Uzbekistan. Will and I were looking for
a patch of land to pitch our tents when
a shepherd appeared from nowhere.
Sussing what we were trying to do, he
helped us find a place to camp. He later
returned, joined by friends, to share a
big flask of tea with bread.
One friend gave Will his hat, which
was pretty much all he had. I often
reflect on meeting these men, as they
were our age. Born under different
circumstances, theirs could have been
my life as well.
Stepping out of the job market for
nearly a year, only five years into my
working life, was a risk. But undertaking
this epic journey was the best decision
I’ve ever made and proving I can do
something if I set my mind to it has
filled me with confidence.
Strangely, I’m now driven by a desire
to fail – or to at least push myself to
discover where my limits lie. I never
want to look back at life and kick myself
for not having taken every opportunity.
If you wish to read more about the trip,
please go to