A little while ago I entered a competition run by Discovery Channel UK called 'Make Your World Bigger.' I love the concept - it's exactly the sort of adventurous mindset I champion through my trips. I'm therefore delighted that they chose my photo and caption from the Gobi desert (above) as one of the 25 finalists!

At the risk of sounding like I'm begging (which is exactly what I'm doing...) please would you take thirty seconds to vote for my image? Here's the link -http://mywbcompetition.com/gal.aspx?og=2

All you have to do is click 'Vote' and then also select 2 other images from the 25 (they're all good!) If you also fancy sharing it via Facebook or twitter, that too would be wonderful! (You can copy the link direct, or click on the social media 'sharing' icons at the bottom of this post.)

Thank you - it's very much appreciated! #mywb

The alarm klaxon annihilates the silence of pre-dawn. I roll to my right and paw feebly at the source of the sound. It dies an instant death, and my world is at peace once more. This is the moment of truth right here – it could all fall apart now before it’s even begun. It’s the simplest thing in the world, getting out of bed, but I’ve fallen at this hurdle before.

I edge closer to the outer reaches of the blanket, then place a first exploratory foot out onto the floor below. I’m being a lazy wimp, I know that, but still it's a struggle. The rest of my body eventually follows the foot, reluctantly, and I’m out – vertical, if not yet truly alert. It’s all plain sailing from here. I’ve passed the first major test.

I stumble around and find some shorts, then a shirt. Shoes and a helmet lie on the stairs. That’s it – I’m ready. My bike sits by the door, always ready, eternally eager. We stagger out the door into the cool morning breeze, I hoist a leg over the top tube and instinct takes over as we roll out onto the tarmac. Immediately contentment and familiarity set in. It's an action as familiar as breathing now, and being sat up high on the saddle is comforting. I know this thing, I know it so well. There is satisfaction to be had in having made it out the door, coupled with an impatience for the rewards of the road. This, these feelings, are why I ride.

My watch says 5.03am. Light burns at the edges of the world and I shiver in the dawn chill. My bike glides effortlessly down narrow streets by my house, then right onto the main drag. Edgeware Road, a main London parallel, completely deserted. I’m still waking up, but am just conscious enough to enjoy pretending this is London in the post-zombie apocalypse.

I move faster now as my muscles warm up. The sun makes a first fiery appearance, an orange ball of fury rising up over the walls of ‘Mecca Bingo.’ Three teenagers lie slumped on a wall nearby, empty cans of Fosters by their feet. In the distance, down a side road, I see a white van idling outside a house while three men load it with tools. To my left an elderly Indian lady walks one of those dogs that looks like a fat rat. The drunks, the workmen, the old people – this time of morning is their domain much more than it is mine. They live it regularly; I just visit. This morning I am glad I did – the worries and stresses and duties and chores I bother myself with during regular hours of life seem a million miles away from here. This freedom is why I ride.

I ignore traffic lights, another luxury of the spectral hour. I see details on Edgeware Road that I’ve never noticed before - markings at junctions, shapes on the tarmac. I try to remember the last time I ever saw this place without a queue of traffic on it. I can’t – perhaps I never have. After a few miles I pass the megastores – Ikea, Homebase, Staples. The smell of French pastries from the industrial ovens of the Asda bakery is tempting beyond belief, and it takes everything I’ve got to keep going. 

Finally the sun breaches rooftops and those first sweet rays of warmth sooth the goosebumps on my arms. The deep blue of the sky fades to a pastel shade, slashed mercilessly by vapour trails from flights going who-knows-where. It's odd, but I feel strongly that I'd rather be here, pedalling past a run-down Cash-and-Carry in North London, than dozing on a trans-Atlantic aircraft at 25,000 feet. The moon appears faint, also high above me, not yet set but still defeated by morning. These small things, they’re mine. I take them in greedily, no-one else around to share with. I think back to all the other mornings I’ve had like this on the road. No cars, few people. Warm air, the uncertain promises of the day ahead. I’ve ridden roads like this thousands of times. It feels like more of a home to me than four walls ever will. This is why I ride.

The concrete fortifications of the city fall alarmingly quickly. There is one roundabout that signals the changing order – on one side a McDonalds, the other green fields. I make the transition and stand up on the pedals to signal acceptance. Suddenly I’m in a very different place. The bowed light of morning projects light shows on the bitumen, dappled and strobed from the overhanging trees. Beyond the hedgerows fields extend to the horizon, rolling gently at will. A rabbit dashes out in front, stops, looks, and dashes back into the thicket from whence he came. Next a fox, then a squirrel. Ubiquitous birdsong is my soundtrack. I ride hard now, wide awake and relishing the movement. Hills come and go and I attack then with all I have. I’m sweating profusely and my legs scream in acidic rage, but I pay them no heed. This is why I’m here. Small towns pass in the blink of an eye – country pubs closed, signs telling yesterday’s news – and always I’m returned back to the greenery of the country. So close to the madness of London life, yet a world away. This is why I ride.

After a couple of hours I reach my destination. The location of no real consequence, and all I do is refill my water bottle and take a picture of the cathedral. Then I turn around and head home. I’m meeting a friend for breakfast at 9am. There’s no time to dawdle. In a few more hours I’ll be gobbling up fried food in a greasy café and watching a million people bustle past the window in one of the liveliest cities on earth. Few will have begun the day like I have. That uniqueness is a comfort and a source of constant encouragement. It is the essence of adventure, the beauty coming from the simplicity, and it’s as easy as getting up early and cycling to somewhere new. This – all of this – is why I ride.  

One more thing...

A little while ago I entered a competition run by Discovery Channel UK called 'Make Your World Bigger.' I love the concept - it's exactly the sort of adventurous mindset I champion through my trips. I'm therefore delighted that they chose my photo and caption from the Gobi desert as one of the 25 finalists!

At the risk of sounding like I'm begging (which is exactly what I'm doing...) please would you take thirty seconds to vote for my image? Here's the link -http://mywbcompetition.com/gal.aspx?og=2

All you have to do is click 'Vote' and then also select 2 other images from the 25 (they're all good!) Thank you - it's very much appreciated! #mywb

A year and a half has now passed since Al Humphreys and I walked 1000 miles through the Empty Quarter desert, and it's just over six months since we were finally able to screen the film for the first time at the wonderful Royal Geographical Society. How time flies.

We made that film, on one level, to chart our journey and to improve our skills as filmmakers, but mostly we made it to show the beauty and simplicity of adventure. Al and I are both passionate about encouraging everyone to escape into the wilds as often as possible, and making a film that we could share with a wide audience was a great platform for that message. 

We also found, pleasantly, that we really loved travelling in Oman and the U.A.E. The landscapes were stunning, of course, but it was the people we met that made this trip memorable. Oil workers, truck drivers and government officials stopped to chat with us in the sands, some even treating us to ridiculously great gifts of watermelons, Pepsis and even ice-cream (in the desert!) A secondary aim of this project quickly became showing that positive, friendly side of the Middle East, and doing our bit in redressing the majorly negative media coverage the region often receives from the West.

We've been really chuffed with the positive reception to our film. It's played in quite a few festivals already, and sold well on DVD and download. For a bit of fun (and perhaps a bit of self-indulgent ego-building...) Al and I recently began to create a map of all the countries our film had been shown in. Rather annoyingly, it seems that the movie is now much more well-travelled than I am! 

The map below shows the places where Into The Empty Quarter has been seen. It occurred to us that it would be really fun to try and get it seen in every country on the planet (next stop, world domination?) Aside from giving us a good story at dinner parties, the real reason for this is to spread those same messages that inspired us to create this film in the first place - that adventure is simple and wonderful and accessible, and that the Middle East is not a place to be feared (rather one to be enjoyed and appreciated by all.)

So here's what we're going to do. If you have a friend in any of the countries where our film has NOT been seen yet (the grey spaces on the map - hover the mouse over them to see the name if your geography isn't great!) then send me their email address and I'll send them a free film as a small gift from Al and I. That way, hopefully, everyone is a winner.

So where are your most exotically based friends? Or perhaps you're currently somewhere very exciting yourself? Or maybe there's someone you know that has been exiled somewhere grim and far-flung...in any case, get in touch! Either comment on this post or send me an email and I'll get a free copy of the film sent out straight away.

Thanks!

I love cycling, and I love cycle touring. Riding from New York to Hong Kong was probably the best and most formative experience of my life to date. Now that I have a (semi-)permanent base in London however, for the time being I have to get a lot of my epic touring kicks vicariously from following the trips of others online. Luckily, there is no shortage of seriously cool bicycle journeys going on all over the world. Here are some of my favourite (some ongoing, some recently finished.)

1. Tim and Laura Moss
Tim and Laura set off from England last year and have have ridden through Europe, the Middle East and India. They are currently pedalling across South East Asia (and even managed a quick detour into Japan and South Korea.) Tim grows a wonderful beard and Laura is really clever - their blogs make great reading!

2. Charlie Walker
Charlie starting pedalling in 2010 with a hugely ambitious plan for getting around the world. At this point in 2014 he's still going, and if anything he's managed to make it even more ambitious and exciting as he goes. Highlights from his blog have included his cycling experiences in the Middle East, a bit of horse-powered travel in Mongolia (not to mention walking in the Gobi) and his current adventures in Central Africa.

3. Cycling Cindy
I've only recently come across this site, but Cindy's adventures (alone) around the world make a great read - especially her stuff on the Arabian Peninsula. The blog is an excellent mix of slightly mad and wholly marvellous. 

4. Andy Smith, Smudger's Samba Cycle
This is one that's just finished, but Andy's ride around Brazil (between all the World Cup Stadiums, finishing in Manaus for the first England game) was one of the most jealously-enducing rides I've followed for a long time. That's the highest compliment I can pay a journey! His blog is full of great stories, and he's still out there soaking up the football.

5. Tom Allen, #FreeLEJOG
Tom's previous bike trips have taken him to far-flung wild places, but this is one of his best, I think - a trip north through the UK on a recycled bike with a budget of £0.00. After reading this, there are no more excuses left for the procrastinating tourer....

Finally, two special mentions - firstly for Rob Lutter and his Lifecycle project. Another round-the-world-er, Rob's trip is exceptional because of the photos - they're some of the best I've seen from any cycling trips. 
Secondly, the Young Philanthropists - three Americans riding across Europe, doing good along the way. Great stuff!

Any that I've missed out? Let me know which cycling trip you're following (or are on yourself, perhaps...)

This week's guest blogger is Sam Mould, an 'artist-adventurer' who regularly combines these two passions to create works of art inspired by and facilitated by the undertaking of long journeys by bicycle. Here she discusses why cycling is such a desirable way to travel:

 
Why travel by bike?

My first response to this question was ‘it’s obvious isn’t it?’ The pursuit of happiness is on two wheels. My bike is a beautiful thing. In working order it responds to my every whim. It’s an extension of one’s being. But that’s a relatively short and uninformative answer and I began to wonder, why, in fact, I actually choose to travel by bike. It’s a fundamental part of who I am, and cycling as I recall doesn’t always breed happiness, in fact sometimes it feels rather like you’ve shot yourself in the foot and you ask yourself, why? why? why?

In London I ride to work, to the studio, from work, from the studio, sometimes for work, sometimes for art, to the lido, to keep fit, to bathe in the air and frolic in the sunshine, to get to the foot of a hill, to go climbing, to freewheel, to see the sights, to smell the sea, to escape, to forget, to remember, to quench my restlessness, to get home, to stay sane. Travelling by bicycle in London represents life beyond my physiotherapist’s tunic, life beyond who people think I am. It’s a way of being outside the daily grind.

But there is more to travelling by bike. Last year I made a promise to a kiwi friend of mine. She wanted to see more of Europe before returning home to New Zealand and after devising numerous ridiculous ways of seeing more of Europe, the sanest way seemed to be to cycle the length of the continent. That promise, made on a whim, led to a two month, self supported cycling adventure from Nordkapp in northern Norway, to Tarifa in southern Spain.