Too Much Monkey Business: Around Rishikesh

Rishikesh isn't quite the sleepy village by the river I'd been led to expect. It's a decent-sized city, and as Goths go to Bradford or Leeds, so do New Age travellers come to Rishikesh. It's like Glastonbury, but with monkeys. I was reminded of the old saying about districts of Newcastle - Scotswood has a pub on every corner, and Heaton has a church. Well, Rishikesh has a Yoga Education Centre on every corner.

I suppose I'm still trying to come to terms with the place, and grasping at analogies to make it familiar. Also, people keep asking each other why we're here, and for once the answer isn't obvious. I'm not passing through Rishikesh on the way to somewhere else; Rishikesh was our destination. And I'm not an enlightenment-seeker and I haven't come to go white water rafting or to do a bungee jump. I just came cos I heard it was a beautiful place. Wandering around the town, amongst all the noise and adverts and bustle, this wasn't the most obvious aspect of the place.

We took our bikes out of town and into the Shivalik Mountains, and I realised that Rishikesh is more like Fort William or Inverness than anything else. You come here as a base to explore the area, as the hills around it are beautiful but the place itself is a bit of a shit tip. Come to Rishikesh, then leave straightaway to escape the hordes of monkeys, angry monks and persistent map sellers.



The roads outside town are fabulous and quiet, at least by comparison. We followed a road which curved around the Ganges gorge, then zig-zagged away up a side valley and into the mountains. We did have to brave Monkey Corner where a guy was feeding the monkeys out of his car window - it's alright for him, he could just roll his window up. I thought we might have to fight off hungry road monkeys. Jonathan made a passing comment that the monkeys resembled the creature which gives everyone ebola in the movie Outbreak, which didn't reassure me.



I don't think we made it to the village Kandi which was marked on my map, but we had a day in the mountains, in a landscape different from anything I've seen before. Huge green hills and overhanging trees. The milky waters of the Ganges. Come to Rishikesh, but don't go to Rishikesh.

...

Anyway, I need to go. One of the monkeys has ran off with my bag of rubbish in its teeth.



Rishikesh photos on Flickr

A Sea of Stress: Delhi to Rishikesh

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I may be becoming defensive and building a wall against India. The last seventy miles to Rishikesh have been on a national highway, where it became a single lane road and the game changed from the dual carriageway which we'd ridden along for the first seventy miles from Delhi. The drivers don't seem massively impatient and they usually give plenty of room, but they constantly use their horns to let you know they're coming. Constantly. It's a wall of sound. Coming to India probably gave Phil Spector the idea in the first place.

The noise isn't as intrusive or as loud as Iranian drivers' horns, but there the traffic is much lighter on the open road and the drivers wait until they're right next to you so they can deafen you with one hoot. The Indian approach is an all-out assault on the senses.

The first part of the ride out of Delhi was remarkably simple. Jonathan met me at my hotel and I guided us out of the city through Old Delhi to the Old Iron Bridge with only a couple of wrong turnings. I'd read reports of other cyclists hiring auto rickshaws to guide them out and to act as blockers against the traffic, but we didn't need either. It being Republic Day did mean that we had to navigate to the north of the official parade route, and it may have kept people off the roads. Either way, the rich open-sewer smell told us that we were approaching the holy river Yamuna and our escape.



Or so we thought. We struck lucky in our route, as we found ourselves on the road we wanted, a wide boulevard which led to Meerut, but we'd both expected a lull in traffic inbetween Delhi and Meerut. I still didn't have a sense of the scale of the map or the population. I thought Meerut would be a place about the size of Darlington and there'd be some open countryside. Instead it was curb to curb traffic filling the dual carriageway and the roadside was lined with shops and food stands and petrol pumps. We weaved in and out of the hand carts, water buffalos, rickshaws, sit-up-and-beg cyclists, some of which was coming in the other direction, while motorcyclists and cars weaved around us, and everyone got out of the way for the huge wagons and impatient buses. For forty miles. Then we got to Meerut, where things became even more crowded. I had no idea where one place ended and another began.

We'd decided to look for somewhere to stop at Meerut, and the first place we saw was the horribly expensive - and just plain horrible - Big Bite. It seemed interesting at first, a sort of Indian Butlins, and there was a massive party being held for probably India's richest two-year old. As we walked through it on our way to our rooms, I was offered a bit of food, and I suggested to Jonathan that we should hang around the edge and try to get invited in, as there was food to spare. He vetoed this suggestion, so I hold him responsible for the subsequent meal, where we were bullied into placing our orders nano-seconds after being shown the menu, then the waiter told Jonathan his choice was unsuitable so he had to make a different choice (against the clock) and finally the waiter tried to take my plate away before I'd finished eating. The room was cold and the only heating a health hazard, there was wi fi but it wouldn't work, the toilet stank, the staff held on to our passports until we chased them, and it was six times more expensive than this rather pleasant place in Rishikesh. I knew we should have camped.

I was at first glad to leave in the morning, but after a night's sleep the roads seemed impossibly busy. My stress reaction to the roads followed a bell curve pattern as we rode: in the mornings I'd be extremely sensitive, I'd relax into it as we rode, then in the evenings I'd start to lose my cool again. Nobody seemed to notice as it all gets lost in the blur of noise and colour and events that makes up a day in India.

I was pleased that we were going to Rishikesh, which had been described as a very peaceful place where people go to seek spirituality, and which is sited in a beautiful gorge by the Ganges. When Jonathan read out a line in the guide book describing it as "a cross between Blackpool and Lourdes," I started to have doubts about the extent of the tranquility to be found there.

I felt I could have done with some inner peace after a few days on the road. Even though it was a flat ride, it was rarely dull. We met a pair of professional Indian cyclists, saw a tractor wheelying as it tried to transport two houses' worth of bricks, and manoeuvered around a man transporting ten-metre lengths of pipe on a rickshaw. The landscape did change once we reached Haridwar and the milky waters of the Ganges, when mountains started to appear through the haze. There was still no let-up in the noise and sensory input; Haridwar is a place of pilgrimage for Indians and it was busy. Hotel after hotel along the road, and the canal banks were lined with market stalls and tents and music stages where the pilgrims came to... seek peace? It seemed the opposite of peaceful to me.

Rishikesh is the place Westerners tend to go seeking enlightenment and inner peace. There are billboards everywhere showing the local holy men in attitudes of peace. I doubt they get around Rishikesh by bicycle.

Rishikesh may be marginally more peaceful than the main highway, and it is certainly in a beautiful location and has a superb bridge, but it's incredibly loud and tacky. I wouldn't be surprised to see a sign advertising "Enlightenment now 10% off," and if your taste runs to beads and shell jewellery, you'd be in heaven here. However, our hostel is above most of the noise, and while looking at the views, the monkeys and birds chittering in the trees, or just sitting outside listening to the distant car horns, I can see why people are drawn here, and I'm enjoying the contrasts of the place. Tonight I think we'll have a go at some yoga.



While trying to find this hostel, we accidentally found our way down to the Ganges and probably the most peaceful place yet, where no one bothered us and the only person with whom we shared the beach was a local lad practising his kite flying. That was the first wrong turning we took, but not the best, as when we overshot the hostel an English voice shouted "oh, well done!" at us. We turned back and had a lovely conversation with Lorna, who was in a gang of people litter-picking, which may be the most Quixotic enterprise I've ever seen. As well as being an experienced cycle tourist and exuberant personality, she is an experienced Indian traveller, and I think Jonathan and I came away feeling reassured for having met her. She advised us, when in India, to relax into our stress.

So I am. I swim in a sea of stress, and peace is where you find it. I still wish they'd ease off with those horns, though.

Delhi

Day three in India. Or four, possibly - I'll have to check.



Delhi is a great city. I feel a bit guilty about enjoying a place which has such poverty and squalor (especially coming straight from Dubai) and when Jonathan seems to hate it so much, but I still love it. Every day, every hour, is crammed with minutes and seconds and incidents.

I feel as though I'm still catching up on sleep after the flight, where I got none and had to build my bike outside the terminal at Indira Gandhi International before riding into the city. I had been warned about the amount of hassle and touts and scamsters and pushy taxi drivers at the airport, but they must have taken one look at the enormous, misshapen box I had my bike in, and gone "sod that". The inevitable crowd gathered but it wasn't at all intrusive - they were quiet, attentive and asked a few polite questions while I chased nuts and washers across the marble floor. More like a polite audience at a lecture than a street crowd.

And that's what's pleased me so far about India, at least about the bits of Delhi I've seen so far; I worried that I'd find the predicted levels of hassle and intrusiveness overwhelming, but it's been manageable at worst and hilarious at best. Lots of people smiled and waved at me when I was riding, and it's hard to be bad-tempered when that happens. Once I reached Paharganj, the area around New Delhi Railway Station, any time I stopped to check my notes or guidebook or simply gather my thoughts, someone would immediately approach me to offer a cheap room rate. I quickly realised that I couldn't remember the name of the hotel where Elsa was staying, and I was unlikely to spot it as I wandered, and I decided to follow a gentle old chap whose approach I found much more charming than most, and he has led me to a decent, cheap hotel. I'd already toured the area a bit, so I didn't worry about where he was going.



In that brief wander, I saw so much of what I'd expected and hoped for - cows and dogs and goats in the street, street food everywhere, beggars and touts and market stalls selling tat or valuable statues or cheap knock- offs. Later that day, walking around with Elsa, there were street monkeys and a Sikh temple and gardens and parrots and kites, kites everywhere. The feathered black kind, that is, though there were a few string kites as well.



Seeing the city with others was great as well - Elsa clearly loves the place, and as we were sitting on the balcony above the city watching the sunset way above the hurly-burly of the streets below (I've been using the phrase "hurly-burly" quite a lot) I said that I was looking forward to Jonathan's reaction, as it would tell me whether I'd simply become inured to the amount of attention while out on my bike, where I am the centre of attention in every town, city and village, or whether it's not actually as bad as the guide books make out. Here in Delhi, in Paharganj which is backpacker central, I feel quite anonymous.

I'm masochistically pleased to report that Jonathan does seem overwhelmed. I was surprised and pleased that he accepted my offer to meet me here - since his job had finished after New Year I knew he had the time, but I didn't know whether he had the money or the inclination. He'd had even less sleep than me on the flight from the UK but at least he had a proper hotel to stay at - the same as Elsa, so we met there and went out for drinks. Connaught Place is central and has a fair selection of eateries so we went out for Elsa's last night and Jonathan spent the whole night re-telling the story of his walk around the block when an auto rickshaw driver kept warning him that the place was too dangerous to walk around. In retaliation Elsa and I ordered a load of cocktails, but Jonathan doesn't drink that much so he was jetlagged, stressed and sober in-between two progressively more drunken people.

The next day I thought he'd benefit from seeing Raj Ghat, the memorial to Gandhi set in beautiful parklands and which I'd found to be an oasis of calm in the hurly-burly of Delhi, an escape from the madness of the rest of the city, where even the Indians took a rest, as no one tried to sell me anything while I was there.



Sadly, it was closed for the Republic Day celebrations. Still, Jonathan enjoyed the auto rickshaw ride through the traffic. We did visit the National Gandhi Museum (which is different from the Gandhi Museum and the Gandhi Memorial), but Jonathan didn't get the moment of serenity I'd planned as preparation for the next bit on the itinerary (I might not have mentioned there was an itinerary), the streets and alleys of Old Delhi. We went via Jama Masjid, where I refused to pay the 200 rupees to get in as it's supposed to be free and it's only a tax for taking your camera, which I wasn't going to use as I'd been there yesterday. They chucked us out. This probably did little for Jonathan's serenity.

Back around the corner, I suggested we try one of the other entrances to the mosque, but he didn't seem that bothered about going in any more, especially after seeing and refusing to use the toilets. I'll admit, kneeling to take a piss is new to me.

Maybe it was a bit much. We tried and failed to shake off this cycle rickshaw rider, who followed us around the corner outside the Bearing District just as I was trying to walk Jonathan to the Firework District to see the huge Catherine Wheels. There's a district for everything.

Jonathan seemed keen on having a look around the old streets, and I thought he might enjoy seeing it from the relatively spacious seat, rather than having to dash through the warren like a rat in a maze. I normally hate using animal terms to refer to humans, but no word seems more appropriate than "Warren" for the crush of people and narrow alleys and shops that form Old Delhi. Even though I have a good sense of direction and I kept an eye on the map and I'd been around there yesterday, I felt a bit claustrophobic, and the day was drawing on. I could have done with more cues from Jonathan, but I was really enjoying the ride - the driver put on a bit of a show and gave us loads of information about things we were passing and pointed out things to photograph, and there were nearly fisticuffs in the street along Chandno Chowk. However, Jonathan was not enjoying himself, so we asked the driver to drop us back at the hotel. Since we hadn't agreed a price, the end result was dissatisfaction all around, as Jonathan and I were trying to pay the price for a taxi ride and he was asking the price for a guided tour. He wasn't as knackered as he made out, either, and I'm not sure he really did have a family to support...

So that was the end of that night: when I walked back from Jonathan's hotel to mine I passed a huge wedding party being held in a massive marquee and I nearly went back for him but I couldn't be bothered and I didn't think he'd want to anyway. I wandered back to my hotel, past the Wine and Beer shop where they hand the cheap whisky out of a hole in the wall, and the workshops of handcrafted Hindu idols, and the railway bridge where the homeless people and dogs sleep. A guy appeared, furtively, out of the shadows and said "hey my friend, you buy this?" and waved a 16Gb memory stick at me. I was quite disappointed.

Today, I have finally sorted out an Indian SIM and internet access for my phone, though I hadn't realised (cos the phone shop didn't tell me, though the guy at the Idea shop explained it wonderfully) that my Sim only really works in Delhi.

Yet another weird conincidence in a trip that has been hallmarked by weird coincidences: I had got sick of waiting for Jonathan and wandered down to Connaught Place to organise my phone, and he had texted me when I was there to say that he'd just woken up. I replied and explained that I was at the mobile phone shop which I had taken him to yesterday and that he should meet me at the same coffee shop we'd visited yesterday.

Turns out, he didn't receive that text, but he still decided to brave the Delhi madness and head to the same cafe, which is where he was when I called him. He said later, he was surprised at my reaction as I seemed very matter-of-fact but that was because he was simply where I expected him to be...

So today started late and felt very relaxed.

To me.

Tomorrow, Jonathan and I are cycling to Rishikesh in the Himalayan foothills. That is, assuming he agrees to cycling out of the city.

Link to Delhi photos on Flickr

Where I Am and Where I'm Going 20/01/2011

5200 miles ridden so far.

The route: Darlo-Northallerton-York-Beverley-Hull-ferry-Zeebrugge-Brugges-Antwerp-Maastricht-Verviers-Stadtkyll-Cochem-Rheintal-Bingen-Mainz-Frankfurt-Mains-Tauber-Rothenburg-Altmuhl-Eichstatt-Landshut-Vilshofen-Donau-Passau-Linz-Krems-Vienna-Bratislava-Mosonmagyorovar-Gyor-Komorom-Tatabanya-Budapest-Dunaujvaros-Baja-Backi Breg-Sombor-Novi Sad-Strazilova-Belgrade-Pancevo-Smederovo-Pozerevac-Petrovac-Bor-Pirot-Dimitrovgrad-Sofia-Plovdiv-Edirne-Istanbul-Beykoz-Kayagze-Sile-Karacaköy-Kaynarca-Adapazari-Bolu-Ankara-Cappadocia-Kayseri-Sivas-Zara-Erzincan-Erzurum-Horason-Agri-Dogubayezit-Çaldiran-Van-Ozalp-Khom-Tabriz-Bostan-Abad-Zanjan-Esfehan-Yazd-Shiraz-Firuz Abad-Bandar Abbas-Sharjah-Dubai

This is my last day in Dubai - it's been an enjoyable couple of weeks and Les and family have been wonderful, But, I'm ready to move on, and since there is no feasible alternative, tomrorrow I'm on a flight to India, Delhi in fact.

Sadly, the dhow boats were unwilling to take me to India - I expect you have to be both determined and lucky to get a passage to India on one of those things. I soon got the message that they weren't interested in taking passengers - I'd ask their destination, and when they said "India" and I expressed an interest in taking ship with them, they'd change their minds and say they were going to Somalia instead. I would probably have preferred a straightforward "Piss off", but I got the message,

This will break my longstanding record of not flying anywhere, and I must admit to being disappointed at that, and at having such a chunk of terrain over which I haven't cycled.

However. I have a plan to circumvent that. First, though, it's India, and my mate Jonathan is flying out to ride with me a bit, and my sister Anita will meet me in Delhi in March. I wont be rushing through India.

Kitlist (or, What Is All That Shit You're Carrying?)

A few people have asked me about my kit and how I organise it. Since I wanted to take an inventory here in Dubai and see if there was any weight I could do without, I took the opportunity to write this list. Only read on if you're that bored. Rather than try to categorise anything, I've just listed where on the bike it goes.

The reason for the organisation is to have my most valuable/nickable items in the front two panniers where I can lift them off quickly, with the front right pannier being the things I tend to use most often. Getting the weight distribution just so is another factor, too. And of course, after four months this is where I'm used to things being.

I've also written a 5,000-mile review of my kit, which goes into more depth about the equipment, and you can see this here.

This is everything I have with me in Dubai. I'll be adding a mozzie net for India.

FRONT RACK

Sleeping bag
Silk sleeping bag liner
Bivvy bag
Sleeping mat
Tent (without poles)

FRONT RIGHT PANNIER

Patches
Chain lubricant
Electrical tape
Brake cable x 1
Pedal bearings
Spokey
4 mm Allen key
5 mm Allen key
Matches
Toe strap
Chain splitter
Plastic bag
Elastic band
Cable ties x lots
Innertubes x 2
Leatherman Skeletool (knife, pliers, wire cutters and screwdriver plus various torx and Allen key fittings)
Cone spanner
Gaffer tape around spanner
Next Best Thing 2 (lightweight tool for removing cassette)
Gear cable x 1
Security key for hub skewers
6 mm Allen key
Pump adaptor for using presta valves with a schrader pump
Cable ties
Velcro strap
Nuts and bolts
Dog Dazer
iPod
Camera
Sketch pad and pencil
Spare pencil
Compass
Wallet containing cash, second Credit card and second bank card, copy of passport, plus contact lens and spectacle prescriptions
Glasses case
Sunglasses
Hip flask
Pritt stick
Pens
Marker pen
Journal and notes
Current map (which is usually on top of the luggage on the front rack so I can see it when I'm riding)
Current phrasebook
Head torch

FRONT LEFT PANNIER

Sony ebook
Spare cash and travellers' cheques
Insurance documents
Spare passport photos
Spare batteries (AA x 4 and AAA x 4)
Dynohub charger and leads
Portapow USB battery
USB cable
USB battery charger
iPod/iphone cable
Spare SD cards
MP3 player which takes a AAA battery
Spare earphones
Various charging bits
Freeloader solar charger
Wind up radio
Collins Guide to the Night Sky
Pen
White gold
One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

REAR LEFT PANNIER

Trangia
Optimus stove plus spares
Matches
Zippo
GI tin opener x 2
Sandwich bags
Tinfoil
Bowl
Cups x 2
Clips and stuff for sealing food
Food (varies, but always enough porridge and pasta/noodles for one day and usually more)

REAR RIGHT PANNIER

water filter (Katadyn Pocket) and puritabs
Baby wipes
Soap
Shower gel
Comb
Deodorant
Razor
Nail clippers
Lip balm
Contact lens case x 2
Spare lenses
Lens solution
Eye drops
Savlon
Antiseptic wipes
Immodium
Anti histamines
Plasters
Pro plus
Ibuprofen
Paracetamol
Earplugs
Multivitamins
Suncream
Dry wash
Rain jacket
Heavy duty rubble bag
Spare bottle
Tyvex sheet for use as groundsheet
Maps for future destinations
Phrasebooks for future destinations
Fifteen litre water carrier
Tubes x 3
Space blanket
Gear cable
Brake cable
Kevlar spoke
Cable ties x lots
Waterproof matches
Repair kit for sleeping mat
Heavy duty cable ties x 2
Lotsa patches and glue
Length of rope
Spare clip for panniers
Nuts and bolts
Spare brake pads x 3
Shimano synonym connector
Tiny backpack
Bandages
Plasters
Antihistamines
Pro plus
Ibuprofen
Paracetamol
Immodium
Needle and thread
Tape
Antiseptic wipes
Soluble aspirin
Doxycycline (for malaria) - 6 month supply...
Kryptonite mini D lock and cable
Lightweight combination lock

REAR RACK

tent poles
Travel towel
Cycling top x 2
Merino t shirt x 2
Lusso cycling shorts
Aldi socks x 2
Woolly socks
Buff
Merino buff
Altura night vision gloves
Spesh BG Gel mitts
Camo arm warmers
Fleece
Rapha soft shell jacket
Craghopper trousers
Leg warmers
Cap
Boxer shorts
overshoes
Jingas (lightweight shoes for off the bike)
[that's all my clothes apart from my shoes - feel free to assume I'm wearing some of them at any given time! Anything not in use goes into a stuffsack]

ON THE BIKE FRAME

Spare spokes x 20 (ten of both lengths: the rear drive side spokes are the same length as the front spokes)
Spare tyre (Panaracer Pasela 1.5")
Topeak Road Morph pump
Cannondale mini pump
Optimus fuel
Trangia fuel

ON MY PERSON

Passport
Cash
Wallet
Credit Card
Bank card
Phone

I do occasionally move things about so that's not set in stone. The rear right pannier is the hardest to organise as it's stuff I use fairly frequently, and inevitably the thing I want at any given moment ends up at the bottom.

By the way, I didn't throw anything away - it's all stuff that I need. Although I am fitting the spare chain and cassette. Or at least the spare chain.

Dubai (5000 mile) Equipment Review

Bike Stuff

My approach has been to choose and fit parts for reliability and simplicity, cheapness, and hopefully universality, so I can get replacements easily when things do go wrong. As nothing has failed dramatically [I]yet[/I], I can't say how realistic the last element is, but hopefully that will help to explain the decisions I made when buying and fitting the equipment.

Tyres: Schwalbe Marathon XR 1.6". I fitted these in Istanbul to replace a pair of Schwalbe Marathon 1.75" tyres. I had no problems with those but they were a bit worn.

I don't especially like these tyres: they do give a bit of extra grip over the vanilla marathons, but they feel sluggish and I've had a few punctures since Istanbul. The roads haven't been that bad - they just seem to be susceptible to damage and penetration by glass, thorns, bits of wire and other miscellaneous bits I've pulled out of the casing. Finally, they are a pig to fit; they don't sit correctly on the rims, so the ride usually feels a bit up-and-down where the tyre stands proud of the rim. Still, they were on offer so I got them cheap and I'm going to persist with them.


Wheels - front is a 32-hole Shimano DH-3N71 which I built into a Mavic rim and have used for commuting and touring for two and a half years. The bearings sound dreadful and there is a distinct amount of play in the hub (which the guy in the Tabriz bike shop didn't notice, which rather sucked away my faith in his skills). Now serviced by the lovely folks at the Cannondale bike shop here in Dubai.

The rear is an XT Parallax 36-hole hub (second hand when I bought it and I rode about 5000 miles on it before this trip, and I serviced it before I left the UK) built into a Rigida Sputnik rim by the LBS and which I rode for about 600 miles before the trip. No problems. Double butted spokes all around, DT or Sapim, I think.

26" (559) wheels are as close to a worldwide standard as you get, so in the event of catastrophe I could hopefully get replacements wherever I am.

Frame is a 531 Peugeot Dakar from about 1984. I had it resprayed and v-brake bosses added and crappy u-brake bosses taken off. Then, when a crack developed around the seat clamp, I had the seat tube replaced (a 75-something tube, I think it was: Kevin Winter, a local framebuilder, did the repair, and I'm responsible for the paint job) and downtube lever bosses added. All a bit much for a factory Peugeot, but it fits and has performed admirably and I love it. I've treated it with Framesaver.

Forks: steel Kona P2 with a 1" steerer. I was also incredibly lucky that they came with bosses for low-riders. The one minor issue I had was that they came with really inconvenient lawyer lips which made removing the front wheel an utter pain until I got around to filing them down. They make for a good ride and seem utterly reliable.

Saddle: Brooks B17 special. Say no more.

Seatpost: I only mention this cos my mate Kat gave it to me before I left, as the one I had kept slipping. It's from Bontrager, and it's been fine since I fitted it on a rainy morning in Beverley, ninety miles into this journey.

Bars: Salsa Bell Lap 46". I really like these bars, I have the same on my other bike. The width suits me, and I love the shape of the curve.

Brake levers: Tektro v-brake levers. Brake OK and are OK comfort- wise. They are the best solution I've found to the issue of using v-brakes with drop bars. The hoods have started to disintegrate in the rain (this pre-dates the trip, and in fact little on the bike was new) and with wear, but electrical tape is a good enough bodge.

Shifters: Shimano Ultegra 9-speed downtube jobbies. I have them set to friction as I'm using a 7-speed cassette. I've tried to pick my parts to be simple and reliable, and these epitomise that approach: they just work.

Brakes: Shimano XT on the rear and LX on the front. They've been fine. I'm using Koolstop brake pads front and rear, which are simply excellent. I replaced the front pads in Istanbul, after many many miles of use. The only problem I've had is that I lost the pin on one of the rear pads, so it fell out if I braked when holding the bike on a hill. I became quite adept at slotting it back into place, though, and I can't really blame Mr Koolstop for this. I put a new one in when I was in Istanbul.

Chainset: Truvativ something-or-other which I found at Darlo tip. I have replaced the chainrings since then, though. The middle ring, which I use the most, is a Middleburn ring and one of the few things I bought new before this trip. The outer ring is TA and the inner is Shimano. The spread is 26-36-46, and I spend most of the time in the middle. The cassette is just a Shimano HG 7-speed jobbie which I've had a while, combined with a Sachs 8-speed chain. I think the largest sprocket is 30-tooth, and I haven't had to walk anything yet, apart from where the grip has failed on mud or sand.

Mechs: the rear is a Shimano LX 9-speed. I've been using it for some while now, so it must be approaching 15,000 miles. It has worked uncomplainingly so far. Front mech is a Shimano something-or-other which I bought for a quid from Chain Reaction before I left, and shimmed out with cans of Stella I blagged from my neighbour. I don't really drink lager, except where there's no alternative, and I felt slightly guilty for enabling his alcoholism. It shifts fine.

Rear rack: Tubus Cargo. Sturdy and solid and trustworthy.

Front racks: Nitto thingummy which attaches at the brake bosses and the fork crown. The fork crown snapped when I was descending the rough track on Sleightholme Moor (before it was resurfaced), and though I contacted the shop where I bought them, I didn't get a reply so I bodged a repair with heavy duty cable ties and decided to use it anyway. All proper cycle tourists' bikes have some sort of repair with a cable tie or toestrap, otherwise it marks it as the steed of a dilettante.

Also, Tubus low-riders which have been fine.

Rear panniers: good ole Carradice Super Cs. A classic. I had the seams replaced before I left, and though they're not entirely waterproof, they're big and rugged and lovable.

Front panniers: Ortlieb. Awkward to fit and they have a tendency to sway about, making the steering juddery. The hook adjusters on the left have gone west somewhere, so I've padded the low-riders out with electrical tape and clamped them down with more cable ties to stop them rattling. But they're waterproof, and quite easy to get on and off. At least, when they're not cable tied down. The shoulder straps are handy and I like the inner pockets.

Excepting the front hub, I've had very few mechanical issues: there was an annoying knocking sound which developed in Austria. I thought it might have been the cassette, so I tightened that, but it persisted through Hungary, to the point where the French couple I was riding with commented on it. But it went away by Serbia, so I'm not worrying about it, despite its occasional reappearance. I've had to re-wrap the bar tape and bodge the brake lever hoods with electrical tape. I've had to tighten the bolts on the low-riders. The usual punctures. I adjusted the headset in eastern Turkey when I noticed a bit of play in it (actually, I first noticed this in Serbia but it took me a while to bother fixing it). The pop rivets on the front mudguard popped out off when I was dragging my bike through the bush to a campsite, and I fixed this with a cable tie. I can't think of anything else - it's all been very minor stuff.

I am carrying plenty of spares - a spare rear mech is probably an extravagance, but I already had it, so I'd rather carry it than have to buy another XT mech on the road. I'm also carrying a spare headset, which is ridiculous, but since 1" threadless headsets are bastard rare, and I had to buy the whole headset to get spare bearings, I thought I may as well carry the whole thing. Other than that, I have a spare tyre, tubes, inner cables, spokes, brake pads, patches. Nothing extraordinary.

I'll be replacing the chain in a couple of days, and I may replace the jockey wheels in the rear mech. That's it.

Camping Stuff

Tent: Hilleberg Akto. Very good indeed - light, easy to pitch or strike camp quickly, pretty roomy inside (though I do occasionally yearn for more headroom) and very sturdy. also a subtle shade of green which is useful when camping stealthily. It's not freestanding, but you can use rocks and bungees to peg it out, in a pinch.

Mat: Exped Downmat Pump. Heavy at a kilo and pumping it up is healthy exercise, but the comfort factor outweighs everything else. It is probably more comfortable than most beds I've slept in. One of the seals can make a weird farting noise at times.

It did start spitting feathers at me in Turkey, but it has lasted through Iran despite this, and the very lovely people at Lyon (the UK distributors) have arranged a warranty replacement for me.

Sleeping bag: Snugpak Softie Kilo. Officially a three season mat, though I've had no problems down to -20 (on a different trip) with the addition of a silk liner, a bivvy bag and most of my clothes. No comments, as no problems. It packs away nicely and doesn't yet stink.

Bivvy bag: Alpkit Hunka. It's been great on the three nights I've used it when I didn't want to pitch my tent, such as sleeping rough in Wiener Prater. No problems with condensation despite the damp, and it was warm and roomy. It's not so heavy that I've resented carrying it, either. It has also served a secondary purpose as a sleeping bag outer when the nights got cold across eastern Turkey and northern Iran.

Stoves (yes, plural): firstly, an Optimus Nova Plus which I bought to be the solution to travelling in remote areas. Sadly, it refused to get any hotter than a Dutch Oven for most of the way through Europe. I like things which just work, which is one reason I brought the Trangia, and I am very glad I did, as I found myself relying on it. I did fix the Optimus stove in Istanbul and it worked OK after that (it's quicker than the Trangia, and you can fry chips on it), but it's temperamental. The Trangia is a classic but it can be difficult to get fuel for it. I only saw fuel once in far eastern Turkey so I'd have been stuck without the multifuel stove (and the intervention of the meths fairy). It packs away nicely, is very sturdy and I'm happy to use it just outside the porch of my tent, which is not true of the Optimus. I think they complement one another well so I'll continue to carry both.

Sporks (for what would a camping trip be without sporks?): I was actually carrying two titanium sporks, one attached to the Carradice with a cheap carabiner for easy access when eating yoghurts and emergency coffee, but the carabiner broke and deposited the spork somewhere in Bulgaria, so I am now down to one spork. I am (semi) bereft. Both sporks are things of beauty and a delight to use.

Miscellaneous

I also carry an iPod and a Sony e-reader, for entertainment and to ward off madness. I also have an iPhone which I bought second-hand in Istanbul - charging these devices was always going to be the issue. Now read on...

Charging devices: Portapow USB battery, which I charge from the mains whenever possible. Works well.

Secondly, a Freeloader which I used to charge my phone or iPod or ereader when the sun was hot. Not powerful enough on its own for everything I have, but useful.

And the Dahon Biologic Reecharge, which I only got cos it would directly charge my iPhone (lost in France after PBP, so even more of a waste of time). It did work, but it came with a serious flaw, compounded by a couple of secondary flaws.

Firstly, the battery had to be set to take a charge, meaning it had to be on when it was connected to the hub dynamo, or there was a chance of frying the innards at high speeds.

(the use of the past tense here should be giving you an idea of what's coming)

Fair enough. Unfortunately, the only way to tell that it was on and charging was to lift the front wheel and spin it, and look for the green light to come on. The designers had clearly never tried to use this in a bicycle touring situation, as the on-off button has no clear difference between on and off, and the green LED is only marginally brighter than the green plastic covering. Imagine trying to check this: lift the heavy front end of the bike with one hand, spin the wheel with the other, check that the green light is coming on, but the daylight's too bright so you can't tell and drop the wheel.

It was only a matter of time: I set off without checking one morning, it was wet and miserable and I was convinced I had left it on the night before. I stopped at the bottom of a huge, fast, wet descent to check, and there was no response. Bastard. As I said, I like things that work without too much intervention, and such a huge flaw as that makes the Reecharge utterly inappropriate for touring. I did dry it out, hoping that it might have been the wet which it disliked, but no. It's dead, and I suspect the innards are fried.

I sent a sharp e-mail to Mr Dahon along those lines, and though they didn't comment on my feedback, they have agreed to send me a replacement thingy which was waiting for me in Dubai.

But in general there have been relatively few problems. With an iPhone I have a greater power demand, but I have kept everything charged so far with occasional access to mains electricity.

Anything I haven't mentioned has probably just worked without me thinking about it. For maps, I had the Michelin road map of western Europe to start, which I thoroughly disliked, though I managed. I didn't find the distinction between a-roads and m-ways especially clear, so I had a hell of a time avoiding prohibited roads, and the level of detail was disappointing. I bought maps of Hungary, Serbia and Bulgaria en route. Freytag and Berndt was the mapmaker and they were PDG. The scale was 1:400,000 and I found that OK for everything except dirt roads in Serbia where the tracks I was using probably wouldn't appear on the local version of OS Explorer, and in cities, where much more detail was useful. But all the roads I would use were on those maps. The Marco Polo map of Turkey was excellent - I especially liked having spot height at the top of the passes (although not every pass was marked, which caught me out a couple of times) and I miss this on the Gizi map of Iran, which is otherwise fine.

Feel free to ask about anything else, or for more details. There isn't a great deal I'd change, except to have a more reliable multifuel stove and power supply, and different tyres, and possibly different front panniers.

Where I Am and Where I'm Going

5200 miles ridden so far.

The route: Darlo-Northallerton-York-Beverley-Hull-ferry-Zeebrugge-Brugges-Antwerp-Maastricht-Verviers-Stadtkyll-Cochem-Rheintal-Bingen-Mainz-Frankfurt-Mains-Tauber-Rothenburg-Altmuhl-Eichstatt-Landshut-Vilshofen-Donau-Passau-Linz-Krems-Vienna-Bratislava-Mosonmagyorovar-Gyor-Komorom-Tatabanya-Budapest-Dunaujvaros-Baja-Backi Breg-Sombor-Novi Sad-Strazilova-Belgrade-Pancevo-Smederovo-Pozerevac-Petrovac-Bor-Pirot-Dimitrovgrad-Sofia-Plovdiv-Edirne-Istanbul-Beykoz-Kayagze-Sile-Karacaköy-Kaynarca-Adapazari-Bolu-Ankara-Cappadocia-Kayseri-Sivas-Zara-Erzincan-Erzurum-Horason-Agri-Dogubayezit-Çaldiran-Van-Ozalp-Khom-Tabriz-Bostan-Abad-Zanjan-Esfehan-Yazd-Shiraz-Firuz Abad-Bandar Abbas-Sharjah-Dubai

So here I am in Dubai, just about getting over the shock of the transformation from Iran to Dubai. I'm not very hung over - I took it easy on the drinkahol, as I felt pissed halfway down the first pint. I'm staying with a friend of my dad's in Dubai and luxury.

I still plan to get to India somehow, and the choices are to take a flight (which I'd rather not do), or talk my way onto one of the dhow boats which brave the seas to India. This is also slightly complicated by my friend Jonathan possibly coming to meet me in Delhi - if he is, I'll probably just get a flight. Although I could ship to Mumbai and get on a train to Delhi.

Anyway, for the moment I'm enjoying the chance to relax, and stop, and take stock. ALso, to eat some bacon, a roast dinner, drink some alcohol, all the luxuries available in a crazy place like Dubai. I'll be visiting the Burj Khalifa (world's tallest building) and I should probably check out the ski slope. A ski slope in a desert. It's midwinter and 28 degrees. It's only a short hop from Iran to Dubai, but the differences are profound.

A Bike, a Tent and a Spoon: Across the Straits of Hormoz from Bandar Abbas to Dubai

Paranoid, I rode to Bandar Abbas ferry port about 2 pm for the 9 pm sailing. This gave me time to fix the recurring front wheel puncture, or so I thought...

As I was updating my diary in the terminal building, the Iranian cyclist I'd met in Bandar Abbas the day before came up, and he had an Italian backpacker in tow. Later, we were joined by Marek, a German cyclist whom I already knew of, as he'd stayed at Mohammad's homestay in Toodeshk a day or two before me. We compared bikes, and came quickly to the conclusion that Marek's kit was much heavier than mine - as his kit included a guitar, a noseflute, a recorder and a sock puppet, all on a bike able to accommodate his 6'5"frame, this probably isn't surprising. I felt positively lightweight.

Marek also mentioned a Swiss cyclist, Yannik, who had caught the previous week's ferry. I'd spent the morning in the hotel reading blogs and journals from other cyclists' journeys around India and Central Asia, trying to plan the next stage of my journey, and here I was with two other cyclists, and a week behind another, all going to India. It's a blessing to follow such well-trodden paths and have so many fellow travellers with whom to share times and stories and tips, but it's also slightly bruising to my ego to be reminded that I'm not a pioneer venturing into the unknown. But I can't be blasé about it - part of every day is reducing the huge scale of the journey into ordinariness and manageable bites, and I'm still struck so often by the wonder of it all, such as when I awoke before dawn on the ferry and saw the full moon over the water, the fourth full moon of my trip, and the perfect sun emerged over the horizon. I don't think I'll ever be able to take it for granted and refer to "the circuit", though it does feel a bit like that sometimes, as I've discovered when I started riding and meeting other cyclists. But to me, it's all still new, especially as I'm the first in my family and circle of friends to do it, unless you count my dad's mate Walter, who packed in his job after he came back from serving in World War II and went off to tour Europe, setting off with nothing but a bike, a tent and a spoon.





On the ferry, Marek brought out his guitar, and as Mousa was carrying a flute, they made beautiful music together, to the amusement (not to say bemusement) of the other passengers. I laid myself out on one of the benches on the open deck and drifted to sleep, awaking just before dawn.

Immigration in Sharjah was a combination of entertainment and tedium and bewildering administration. We disembarked at about 9 am local time, and everyone on the boat was shepherded into an eye test for some reason, at least the Iranians were: they weren't interested in mine or Marek's eyes. We then waited...and waited, for about two hours, until the two most disinterested government officials I've seen outside of Darlo Jobcentre showed up, looking the worse for wear. They did manage to check a few passports, inbetween calling and texting on their mobile phones, and I mean phones plural, the guy was taking two calls at once with a phone to each ear.

They worked for about half an hour, then left the building, muttering something about the system. Marek said they'd probably gone for their dinner. I told him he should use his computer skills to fix it, but he opined that the problem was probably in the chair, not the computer. We prepared ourselves for a long wait - the security guards wouldn't let anyone leave.

A bus turned up to take us to an alternative immigration office in Sharjah, which was pleasing in a way, as we had an impromptu tour of Sharjah port, and got a look at the dhow boats, which I and Giorgio were hoping to catch to book a passage to India. Stampy stamp with the passports (though the styaff looked no happier in this environment), then back to the port for the most cursory baggage checks imaginable, then we were free, free, after a mere five or six hours. My puncture repair hadn't taken, so my front tyre had to be periodically pumped back up.

I'd read somewhere on the internet that the journey into Dubai was impossible to cycle, but we managed OK, following the coastline and the quieter roads rather than the 7-lane megahighway. Mousa seemed a bit taken aback by the whole thing - I think it was his first time outside Iran. To be honest, I was feeling a bit overwhelmed myself by the shift from conservative, down-at-heel Iran to glittering Dubai.



We went to a Subway, of all places, and guided Mousa through the complexities of ordering. I'm hardly an expert - I've been in Subway three or four times, and one of those was when they had a mega-deal of 99p sandwiches so we went from work and bought about a million, annoying everyone else in the shop. I really just want a sandwich, not a choice of four different types of bread.

Anyway, since Moussa only had worthless rials we bought his sandwich, then went to find a mall where he could change them and Marek and I could find sim cards. I also had a task of my own to perform - we needed to find alcohol to celebrate leaving behind Iran and prohibition.

So an Englishman, an Iranian and a German walked into a bar, and the barman said "is this some kind of joke?".



It wasn't the world's greatest beer, but it still went down smoothly, so well in fact that I had another to make sure the first wasn't lonely. Cheers!

Riding Into Summer: Shiraz to the Persian Gulf

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My last couple of weeks in Iran, riding down to the Persian Gulf to catch my ferry to Dubai, reminded me of the vastness of Iran. A country ten times the size of the UK but with the same population has a lot of empty spaces. I felt (mostly) healthy for the first time in a while and I wasn't chasing time so I could take the quieter roads to less-frequented places and make camp at two in the afternoon if I felt like it. Which I often did.

The weather and climate shifted as I rode south and descended from the mountainous terrain which makes most of Iran to the hot flatlands around the Persian Gulf. Lower and warmer. There was still harvesting going on, then palm trees started to appear, and I stripped down to just a couple of layers for the first time since... I couldn't even remember. Probably October.

Riding back into summer while snow fell in Tehran - a few Iranians had told me that Iran is a land of contrasts. I think I'd go further and call it a land of contradictions, as it's a place where you can be met with cold suspicion and warm hospitality. The government wants tourists and their money, but they make you jump through hoops to get a visa and (if you're British) they charge a small fortune for it. The people were the friendliest I've met, but they drive their cars with a cheerful heedlessness, and smile and wave while they're within inches of your bike. Overcoming and dealing with these challenges was part of the fun and it all added spice, making it the most fascinating country I've visited so far. I'd made friends who I'd been sorry to leave behind, and as I had my leisurely ride south through the dry mountains and hills of Hormoz, I wondered if I should have stayed a bit longer, and determined in any case to go back one day.



I had some wonderful camping spots, amongst plantations of palm trees or near Mount Hormoz, where I walked down to the river to fill my bottles with the salty and barely-drinkable water. One scary night, I was awoken by the sound of a huge pack of dogs howling and baying as they passed, what sounded like not much distance away. I lay awake while the sounds passed away, then in the still night I couldn't get back to sleep as every slight sound or rustle was amplified by my imagination into an immediate, intimate risk. I was planning to fight them off with my bicycle pump if they did come close.

Further south, I had a moment of severe grumpiness with a pack of lads on motorcycles who were determined to have a conversation with me when I wanted five minutes by myself to eat my dinner. But, this led to my meething Ehsan, who asked why I was so angry and fed me a huge plate of pasta. Luckily, I regained my sense of humour for the procession of punctures and pump failures which marked my afternoon at his house in Abgarm. Thanks for cheering me up, Ehsan.



There were no hotels and few facilities between Firuz Abad and Bandar Abbas. In fact, the only hotel in Firuz Abad was hugely overpriced so I rode out of town to camp, accompanied by the local kids on motorbikes who practiced their English on me: "Ï love you! What time is it?". And showering was strip-washing in the water reservoirs which dotted the side of the road and, one luxurious day, a waterfall.



I timed my arrival in Bandar Abbas so that I'd only have a couple of nights in hotels before I caught the ferry. It was high season in Bandar Abbas as half of Iran heads south to the warmth, which must be ferocious in summer. To be honest, I was quite hot myself.



The lush beaches and endless sands I'd been expecting of the Persian Gulf coast didn't materialise, but I was quite pleased at the vistas of cranes, lifting equipment, shipyards and oil refineries which marked the coastline. Since I grew up near Teesside and my dad spent most of his working life on the rigs, it made me feel quite at home. Only the blue stillness of the sea gave away that I wasn't sat at Port Clarence...honest!



So farewell to Iran. The next day, I was on the ferry, crossing the Straits of Hormoz, looking at the huge supertankers shipping oil away to Japan, or the USA, and half-expecting the British destroyer to breast the horizon, in response to Iranian threats to blockade the Straits. Again, realpolitik was starting to intrude upon my ordinary life, so it mightn't have been such a bad time to leave after all.

Photos on Flickr