Hi, I’m back in that bumpy, unforgiving place of discovery they call the road. This time I’ve only got myself and the wildlife for company. I’m in exotic ancient Persia, or Iran on modern maps. I traversed the mountainous land of Armenia in a thigh burning, vodka toting, but rewarding 6 days.

The luxury of experience has offered me nuggets of wisdom when travelling by 2 wheeled steeds. Eat a huge amount, drink vast quantities, and use the flow.

Written whilst in Tehran looking ahead to cycling through Iran in 2008.

Facing Fears

I’m travelling in my head. When I stop my mindset changes. I feel lethargic today. I think maybe I could do with being alone some more. It’s pleasant for some time, even satisfying. If I can get a grip of my fear I can enjoy it.

The city is a place where I cannot be still but it is the opposite in the wider less populated places. There is sometimes a glimpse of what freedom might feel life without having it disturbed by others, one’s own urges, social conditioning, intellectualising or whatever.

Right now, I am sitting in the garden of my girlfriend’s house in France. I’ve just realised that one mosquito has bitten me on my neck, elbow and leg.

I travelled back to England from Georgia by public transport, to visit my family and get a visa in London. It took 5 days and was a great experience.

I’ve just received a new Extrawheel trailer which I look forward to using when hit the road again. However, I’m not holding my breath about getting back to my bike in Tbilisi.

Today Georgia declared a state of war with Russia. Luckily, I’d left on the 26th of July to come home to England and surprise my family. I travelled by bus and train. I’m planning to start to travel back towards Georgia on Monday. I hope that by the time I intend to get back to Tbilisi (around the beginning of September) - the situation will have quietened down.

I have secured my visas for onward travel into Azerbaijan, Iran and Pakistan, but if I can’t get to my bike which is in the basement of my friend’s (the architect) house, then I will be stuck and delayed. I am extremely frustrated and angry at the occurrences.

I’m in Tbilisi and hopefully this blog will fill in what has been happening with me. As you may know I arrived in Yerevan for the first time, by bicycle, on the 24th January. I met up with Tom in the city, after we had cycled alone from near the Georgian border. Fanny came out to visit me in Yerevan and we stayed with friends, Max and Irene. We had wonderful times which passed too quickly.

The driver’s wearing a leather jacket, thick material. I think, “that’s too hot inside this cramped vehicle, it must be for the look”. The driver’s visual appearance is like a gangster out of a Guy Ritchie film. Somehow I convinced myself to put my trust in this gold-teeth-laden man with ring and bracelet to match. He’s wearing his savings. Across his weathered-looking face is pair of dirty, gold-tinted sunglasses, so I can’t quite see the colour of his eyes in the rear view mirror.

I arrived in Yerevan last Wednesday. I have been staying with some wonderful new friends who work at the French Embassy. From the first village after crossing the border into Armenia from Georgia, Tom and I decided to cycle alone to Yerevan. Cycling alone gives one more freedom. I decide when to move, stop, eat, or continue. The decisions are my own without excuses. There is no one else to blame but myself if things don’t go according to plan.

The women I work with at the Georgian school chirp away in the interesting-sounding language that is Georgian. The unusual bold combinations of sounds evoke in me the characteristics of delight, a child complaining about not getting what they want and highly social chitchat. It sounds, to me, sweet at times, ugly at others and has a bouncing rhythm with a very distinct pattern of intonation.

Most Georgians I met seemed to be the loveliest, happiest and helpful people I’d ever met. Apart from when a fight or disagreement happens when all hell breaks look. There is a lot of arm waving and loud, childish-sounding, angry, almost poetic shouting and sometimes wailing. testosterone-fuelled affair, driven by pride and tradition. The old women intervene and try to get the young people to stop.

When Sylvester, the Polish cyclist we met on Christmas Day in Batumi was explaining that conditions were difficult for local people in Georgia, coping with the cold midwinter, I thought: people in places with extreme weather conditions are obviously tough, live and learn to deal with it.

I also remember thinking, is what we are doing, trying to cycle round the world equally difficult. In hindsight I suppose I was comparing the life of staying in one place to a life on the road which seemed a much more abstract concept.

I smell pretty terrible but I’ve got a fishing boat to sleep on tonight and I have just bought a new blanket which I hope will keep me warm. The nights have been uncomfortably chilly recently.

Normally camping is a perfectly fine option for our sleeping arrangements but I’ve been dubious recently. I’ve been cold in my thin sleeping bag, no matter what combination of clothing and headwear that I adorn. This is important because we don’t have the guarantee of a comfortable bed to sleep in each night but it is nice to know that I will be warm. Luckily the Turkish are living up to their reputation of hospitality; almost every day we have had a warm place to sleep, been fed incredibly tasty food and always offered chay.