23rd July to 8th August 2023

We head for the hills. A jagged outline fills the horizon through the hazy morning air. In front of us the landscape is ruffled up like an unmade bed. This is going to be a tough day.

The Trans-Uganda route that we are following steers us off the tarmac and onto a narrow, dirt singletrack that quickly points to the sky forcing us out of the saddle and using our full weight on the pedals to haul our heavy bikes up the steep gradients until we are forced to dismount and push. There is a brief respite at the top with a section of descent. A double edged sword as we know we’ll have to regain the altitude we’d just lost with interest. Repeat until fade

Eventually we arrive at our destination, an eco lodge high up in the Rwenzori mountains where we can enjoy one of the hardest earned bottles of beer while admiring one of the most wonderful views of the trip so far.

Surrounding us is dense forest and the next day we are led out into the trees by Chris, a local guide. As we pick our way along the mountainside Chris stops suddenly and points up at a branch “There! Do you see it?”. We squint and peer and try to follow where he’s looking but only see bark and leaves. “It’s a three horned chameleon!”. Eventually the tiny camouflaged creature comes into focus, but how Chris had spotted it can only be put down to black magic. We see plenty more before returning to the camp, but without Chris our chameleon count would have been precisely zero. 

We now have a lot of potential energy to cash in, so enjoy a solid hour and a half of bumping back down the mountain to the main road before our first ever crossing of the equator which takes us into Queen Elizabeth National Park. We’d been told we would be able to camp next to one of the safari lodges on the edge of the park, and they are very obliging but issue a warning. The nearby river is home to a herd of hippos that like to graze around the camp at night. “Don’t worry, they won’t trample your tent but if you go to the loo then take a torch. The light will dazzle them and scare them away.” We don’t sleep much with the eerie sound of the hippos grumbling nearby. 

We often bang on about how the beauty of travelling by bike is that it’s slow enough to allow you to see more and that you’re fully exposed to the natural surroundings. This stretch of the journey is a great case in point.

The public road across Queen Elizabeth NP is so poor that we couldn’t hurry even if we wanted to, but when we aren’t trying to find the elusive ‘good’ line between the rocks and sand, we’re busy scanning the savannah on either side for wildlife. Some distant elephant sightings are followed by warthogs hanging out with antelope and a flash of black and white as some colobus monkeys dash across in front of us.

Stopping on a bridge for a banana break, we both gasp as a baby elephant emerges just upstream to be joined by its mother for a drink. They soon disappear out of view again, but that moment is something very special.

Herds of buffalo watched us suspiciously before Kirsty spots a huge fish eagle just off the road. On closer inspection it was perched over a marshy lake full of yawning hippos with all manner of other animals around it. At another bridge a troop of baboons line the roadside with a few whoops as we go past.

We ended the day in the Ishasha sector, famous for its tree climbing lions which is where bikes have their limitations. Being slow and exposed means they didn’t allow us to venture into the bush here. Perhaps a relief for our parents.

Whether we would have seen as much from the seat of a 4×4 is hard to say, but this was a day in the saddle that will be very hard to beat.

A couple of short days from Ishasha takes us back into the hills and high up to the edge of the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, home to some of Uganda’s most famous residents.  

One of the things any visitor to this country needs to decide is whether to visit the mountain gorillas. The trek is reassuringly expensive, but when our good friend Will, who’s been almost everywhere, said it was one of the best travel experiences he’s had, we knew we had to dust off the credit card.

The day starts with some traditional dance and a briefing before we are assigned our groups. There are about a dozen habituated family groups in the forest. Ours were called Mubare and were the first group to be habituated back in the early 90s.

The length of the trek depends on how far into the forest the gorillas happen to be. Trackers go out early in the morning to follow them from where they nested the night before, and communicate the location to the guides. We’ve only been walking about 30 mins when we are told we are getting close. Then a few more steps and suddenly we see a black shape sitting in the bushes. 

It’s quite something to see these magnificent animals in the wild and so close up, so that first encounter fills us with emotion. The group consists of a huge silverback, as big as a sofa, who is joined by three wives and three juvenile males. They are very relaxed and apparently just see people as part of their group now. The silverback lounges in the undergrowth while munching on enormous handfuls of leaves. We’d been warned in the briefing not to get any closer than 10m but the gorillas have other ideas. The youngest two are wrestling together and barrel towards us, narrowly missing our legs. Then all but the silverback climb up into the treetops to pick fruit. All too soon our hour with the gorillas is up and we make our way back through the forest with a few gigabytes of photos and memories that will stay with us for the rest of our lives. 

The mountain gorilla programme is a genuine conservation success story. In 1981 it was estimated that just 254 individuals existed in the wild. Their habitat was being cut down, poachers were killing them, and war and unrest in the region was having a huge impact. Thanks to the work of the conservationist Dianne Fossey, the issue was highlighted to the world and measures were put in place to try and protect them. The habituation and tourism programme plays an important role in this by using the fees from visitors to help fund the conservation effort with rangers protecting their habitat and education for the surrounding villages. Some of the money also pays for schools and healthcare which helps to keep the locals supportive.There are now over 1000 mountain gorillas living in Uganda, DRC and Rwanda. It might have been expensive (a third of our total budget for the trip), but we decide it was money well spent. 

We leave the eco-lodge the next day and skirt round the edge of the vast forest then dive back into it. The roads are very steep and very high, topping out at a breathtaking 2500m. A tour group on e-bikes pass us with sympathetic/smug looks and later we meet a pair of Poles who have ridden up from Rwanda. Other cycle tourists have been few and far between so it’s nice to share stories with some fellow two-wheeled travellers.

After two days we reach the gate at the edge of the park and the tree line ends abruptly to return to intensive farmland again. A stark reminder of what would have happened if the forest had not been protected: There would have been nothing left.

Dropping down to Lake Bunyonyi we follow the shoreline, looking down to the many islands. This is a birders’ paradise and the name means ‘Lake of Many Small Birds’. Finally we get to see some of Uganda’s national bird, the great crested crane, up close. The original punks of the bird world. I’ve become a novice twitcher during the trip and have enjoyed spotting at least seven types of kingfisher!

The dust on the roads is now getting a lot worse as we reach peak dry season. Everything we own has an orange tinge and we have to try and cover our mouths when cars drive by. Not easy when you’re hauling up another 2000m high pass. It marks the end of this mountainous section though so it’s with some relief that we drop down onto a flat smooth road for an easy spin to Mbarara.

Feeling refreshed, the next day we head out to Lake Mburo national park. This is the only park that you’re allowed to cycle in, provided you hire an armed ranger. We had arranged to meet Aaron and his AK47 at the entrance and he arrives in the back of a pickup at the same time as us. His bike is in a poor state of repair so I give it a quick service before we set off. We enter the park and are immediately surrounded by different animals.

Herds of zebras, impala and small groups of waterbuck line the road. Warthogs scamper around with their tails in the air. Buffalo amble between the trees and are one of the reasons we need Aaron’s gun, rogue hippos and leopards being the other.

The main event though comes as we join an acacia lined sand track. We spot them from a distance above the tree tops and Aaron motions for us to leave the track. Soon we are right alongside a tower of giraffes so we dismount and walk with them for a while. Evolution works in wondrous ways, and these graceful yet ridiculous animals are an extraordinary sight. 

Before leaving the park we are lucky to see some elusive Eland antelope, the largest antelope breed and notoriously shy. As well as offering protection, Aaron was more than worth his fee with his knowledge of the park and its inhabitants.

Leaving the animals behind, we pass through Lyontonde and on an innocuous descent I hear a loud bang and the bike judders to a halt. I’d just been thinking how impressive our bargain bikes had been, having carried us 1800km on some of the continent’s roughest roads, but hitting a large rock at speed is just too much for the poor Peugeot and it has killed my rear rim. Trying to stay calm I grab the damaged wheel, leave Kirsty with the remains of my bike and hop on a bodaboda back to Lyontonde to a bike shop I’d seen earlier. On arrival I inspect the ramshackle machines they have on display and find one that looks half reasonable. After some negotiation they agree to sell me the rear wheel and between us we swap the parts I need from the old wheel to the new. 

I hop on another bodaboda and find Kirsty surrounded by children from the nearby school and discussing English football teams (not her specialist subject). We give a bike maintenance and English lesson to the crowd and soon we’re off again. The whole episode has taken about an hour and a half and demonstrates that riding an old 26″ wheel with rim brakes was the perfect choice. Anything with modern components would have meant a long bus trip to Kampala and back, taking days. Luckily we’d brought the right bikes.

Riding first to Masaka we then spin on to catch the ferry out to the Sesse Islands in the vast expanse of Lake Victoria, sharing the boat with a lively bunch of Gomba Lions FC supporters.

We’re at the stage where we’re trying to savour all the little things that have made this journey unique: The hundreds of shouts of ‘mzungo!’ from the children, refueling on rolex and fresh fruit, catching sight of another incredible bird, surviving yet another poorly timed overtaking manoeuvre, the smiles and calls of ‘safe journey’, being woken by the combined sound of the call to prayer and loud music from an early morning party.

After a night on Bugala island we take a 3.5hr ferry to Entebbe then find someone to take us across the bay in a small boat to begin our final ride up to Kampala. The traffic gets heavier and we encounter the most dangerous thing of the trip so far, a swarm of tuktuks.

While trying to keep a 360 degree view around us and expecting the unexpected, we eventually arrive at our end point, The Red Chilli Hideaway, safe and sound. Our lap of Uganda is complete.

We have become quite attached to our trusty Peugeot bikes. Both of them were found on Facebook marketplace and rescued before they were thrown on the scrap heap. With a few upgrades from Evesham Adventure Playground and some other bike recycling projects they were tour ready. They have put up with a lot of abuse but kept coming back for more during our 2000km journey.

But our time with them has come to an end. We ride through the back streets of Kampala to reach the offices of Platform for Labour Action where we meet with Lydia and her team. One of their projects is to help eradicate child labour through training and education. Two graduates of their scheme are Shafiq and Abdul who now work as a hairdresser and mechanic. Currently their trip to work is a 2.5hr walk leaving them exhausted before they even start with their jobs.

Lydia hands over our bikes to them and the smiles say it all. Our small contribution will have a huge impact on the boys and help them progress their careers as well as allow them to support their families.

We’ll be sorry to see the bikes go after everything we’ve done together but they have a whole new adventure ahead of them now and they are much more valuable here than with us.

An emotional day.

As we take off from Entebbe airport we look back down at the red dirt below us and the glistening expanse of Lake Victoria. This country has given us so many memorable experiences through the wonderful people, the incredible wildlife and the rugged landscape in a journey that has been unlike any other for us. As we rise higher the African continent opens out below before we suddenly disappear into the clouds. We will be back here one day, I’m sure of that.

Platform for Labour Action is supported from the UK by @actionon_poverty. If you’d like to help them make huge impacts on amazing people like Shafiq and Abdul then any contributions will be much appreciated and very well used. Please consider making a donation here: https://aptuk.org.uk/donate/

12th July – 22nd July 2023

“Where are you going?”

“Lira”

“That’s a long way!”

“Then after that Masindi, Fort Portal, Kasese, Kabale, Mbarara, Masaka and back to Kampala”

“Eh! On this bicycle?”

“Yes, all on this bicycle”

Then looking at Kirsty who is sat on her bike with her bike helmet on having just cycled into the same village on her bike:

“And what about her?”

“Yes, I’m riding with him”

“EH?!” 

Throughout most of Uganda women don’t ride bikes. A few small regions are an exception to this, but it is a rarity thanks to an acceptance that it just isn’t appropriate in their culture. When Kirsty arrives on a fully laden bike having ridden from the previous town heads turn and we have the conversation explaining that she is more than capable of riding round their country. she’s told that “You must be very strong!”. And she is, but so are Ugandan women who are able to carry huge loads on their head while carrying small children on their backs. Given a chance they’d be more than capable of riding with us. It’s just a shame they don’t have that chance. We have to consider ourselves very lucky to have the time and resources to be able to travel this way and to be able to see much more of Uganda than the average Ugandan man let alone a Ugandan woman. 

When you start your ride at the top of Uganda’s longest continuous climb it means you have Uganda’s longest continuous descent to look forward to. After a guided trek to see the magnificent Sipi falls up close and a lengthy bike maintenance session cleaning off the mud, replacing a broken spoke and tweaking worn brake pads we speed back down to the bottom of the mountain. 

Our pace remains high as we head towards the flatlands north of Lake Kyoga on smooth gravel roads. There is the threat of rain in the huge grey clouds overhead and when lightning flashes on the horizon we brace ourselves for another mud bath but thankfully the bad weather stays in the distance. We’re now in the Tebe region (“Yogga” is the greeting and “Yogga noy” the response) and the children seem to be more of the ‘stop-and-stare’ type than the shouting and chasing we had seen further south. Some of them almost look scared when the strange western people cycle past them.

Moving further north we arrive at Nyero and stop to take a look at the famous cave paintings. The guides seem very happy to see us and when we sign into the guest book we can see why as they haven’t had any visitors for the last 3 days. The age of the paintings seems to vary depending on who you speak to but they are undoubtedly very old and very impressive and we feel privileged to be able to walk through the site without the crowds of tourists that they really deserve.

One of the legacies of the British colonisation of Uganda was an extensive rail system and we’ve crossed the tracks several times already. But although the signs warning of trains seem to be remarkably well maintained, there haven’t been any train services for years. Apparently there are plans to modernise the lines and get them up and running again, which can only be a good thing, but for now the abandoned railway system is a handy network of paths for anyone on foot, hooves or two wheels.

We follow a section shortly after Nyero and for a while it’s a lovely route with tall grass on either side taking us over a huge area of marshland. We then emerge onto a loose, gravel causeway that stretches out to a rusting iron bridge. Dismounting we tentatively manoeuvre the bikes around the exposed sleepers and lift them over sections that have rusted through to give a view of the water below. A small crowd follows us to see whether we make it. Back on solid ground we continue along the causeway on the other side for a few more kilometres until we reach the next bridge, only there isn’t another bridge. The twisted rails disappear into a 20 metre gap that is filled with lake and swamp. We’d been warned about this in an earlier conversation and the advice was to ‘wade across but keep left!’. I give it a go and apart from nearly losing my sandals in the mud, the warm water doesn’t go beyond my waist so I declare it a goer. Kirsty isn’t quite so keen but with the prospect of recrossing the rusty bridge and a lengthy retrace as the alternative she agrees to follow me. Panniers and bags go across on one journey then the well timed arrival of a local man helps us bring the bikes across above our heads. We ride some more before finding another downed bridge. This time we hope to keep our feet dry when some local fishermen offer to ferry us across. Their simple wooden boat is barely afloat and can only take one of us at a time after bailing out as quickly as it refills. So much for keeping our feet dry. The pilot keeps things simple without the complication of paddles or oars by simply sliding a flip flop onto each hand to power us across. 

By now the sun is low to the horizon and the air is full of the sound of frogs starting up their evening chorus. We thank our helpers as they disappear out onto the lake for some night fishing. The whole episode has left us well short of our target town for the day, so we head to the nearest village and in the last light of the day we manage to find the police outpost where we’re allowed to camp.

I can only think that there is no word for noise in any of the Ugandan languages, and there is definitely no such thing as a noise pollution regulation. Playing loud music is perfectly acceptable in any town and at any time of day. In fact if you own a speaker, then the standard procedure is to point it out of your door and turn it up to 11. It doesn’t matter if the shop across the street has also got their speaker pointed towards you and also at full volume. We get used to the bizarre sound of badly dubbed kung fu movies being broadcast from the only house with a TV in the village. It’s no surprise then that when we’re camping at another police station our conversation with the officer in charge is drowned out by loud music from their neighbours. “That’s the local college having a party” Officer Adeko explains “Do you want to go and look?”. He leads me down to the college where we join a large group of students busy dancing their socks off in almost total darkness. There’s enough power for the sound system but not the lights. 

We go back in the morning and meet the principal and a few of the teachers. The Ocamonyang Technical College has been set up to provide vocational skills to underprivileged young adults from the surrounding villages and teaches skills such as welding, brick laying, carpentry and sewing. It’s a simple facility but the pupils benefit from being able to go back to support their families with better paid jobs as a result. Seeing the passion and belief of the staff despite having to part-fund the project themselves along with the small level of fees that the pupils pay leaves us feeling emotional and determined to see whether we can help support them when we get back home.

We’re waved off by the entire college and make the short ride into the town of Lira where we have an appointment with Ruth from Platform for Labour Action (PLA). This is an organisation that is supported by Action on Poverty (APT) in the UK who we have been raising money for during our trip. Ruth is another example of someone who has total belief in what she and PLA want to achieve despite considerable hurdles and dwindling funding. She takes us down to the local market where we meet some of the market traders, almost all of whom are women. PLA have been working with the women to help them learn new skills and to be better represented on the market council. Despite 90% of the stall holders being women almost all of the council used to be made up of men. PLA’s project has had a dramatic effect with many more women gaining the confidence to put themselves forward and be elected as council members, and a multitude of training sessions allowing them to diversify their businesses and even manage their home finances more effectively. Simple steps towards much happier lives. If you’d like to help APT and PLA with more projects like this then our fundraising page can be found here: https://www.justgiving.com/page/kirsty-marcus-uganda.

We leave Lira on a Sunday which has become our favourite day of the week as everyone is dressed in their Sunday best with smart suits and beautiful, colourful dresses. Songs and music spill out of each of the many churches we pass and at one al-fresco service we stop to watch the congregation dancing and waving as if it’s the headline set at Glastonbury. 

We’re now passing through the Lango tribe so our greeting is “Apoyo!” to be replied with “Behr!”. Whether it’s because they are happy that it’s a Sunday or if this is a more friendly tribe is hard to know but we find ourselves amongst smiles all along the road and have many fun conversations while buying bananas and pork skewers. It’s noticeable that there are women riding bikes here and we even see a man sitting on the back of a bike being ridden by his wife. It’s a beautiful road surrounded by woodland interspersed with immaculate groups of thatched bandas and there are brightly coloured birds of all shapes and sizes flying alongside us. There are nearly 1100 types of bird in Uganda compared to just 625 in the UK and every day we spot a whole collection of new species that we’ve never even heard of before.

Between Lira and Masindi, the next big town on our route, the villages are small and there aren’t many accommodation options. Luckily we’d been tipped off about a catholic school that is helpful to cyclists so pull over as the light starts to fade and ask a group of pupils if there is somewhere we can stay. One of them leads us to the home of Father Stan who doesn’t seem at all surprised to see us. Grinning he tells us that “It’s no problem, many cyclists have stayed here!” and shows us a small shelter in the grounds of the school tucked away next to the huge church. We decide to forego the tent and string up the mosquito net instead and settle down underneath it with a clear view of the stars. We regret this decision almost immediately as we’re buzzed by the mossies all night trying to get a nibble through the thin netting. 

Before Masindi we have to cross the Nile again but it is now about 500m wide. What appears to be a large pontoon with a diesel engine strapped onto the side pulls up to the jetty an hour later than the timetable suggested and is quickly filled with trucks, cars, mopeds, foot passengers and us, while somehow staying afloat.  We chunter across the enormous river and watch sea eagles and fisherman competing for the same bounty in the water. On either side of this crossing Chinese contractors have been busy building a smart new, multi-lane highway with the best road surface we have so far encountered in Uganda allowing larger volumes of traffic to speed along to the river. Whether an upgrade to the ferry service has been factored into the plan is unclear.

On the other side the landscape starts to fold into more undulations and we start to see herds of ankole cattle with their unbelievably large horns. After winching up a steep hill, Masindi is a welcome sight and we savour a pit stop at a comfortable hotel and refuel at a cosy cafe round the corner. 

We’re now on the west side of the country and will turn south to follow the border with the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). We realise that we haven’t seen any mzungos since Sipi but we’re now entering some of the most popular tourist regions in the country so spot a few more white faces in the back of large safari trucks. We’re out of the flat lands and have to work for our kilometres again with some steep climbs on dusty tracks taking us down to Hoima then a roller coaster of even steeper and rockier roads eventually bring us out onto the main highway. 

We should be glad to have some respite from the challenging local roads but the highway reveals a slightly different side to the country. The traffic is relatively busy (compared to the few boda bodas we would see on the local roads) and when we stop the people seem less welcoming and instead demand money. There are safari trucks speeding past all the time without stopping so maybe this has created a bit of resentment for the rich westerners? We have a day and a half of this to get through so put our heads down and turn the pedals as best we can. 

Eventually we find a turning back on to the dirt roads and instantly our shoulders drop and we can relax again. We freewheel down over a stream and into a huge forest where monkeys watch us curiously from the tree tops and clouds of butterflies fill the air. Passing through a tea plantation we end the day at the village of Kyarusozi. We head to the police station and are invited to stay in one of the little tin houses by D.I. Caiphas. Along with one of the other officers they quickly build a fire and then ask if we like chicken. When the answer is yes Caiphas disappears into one of the houses and there’s a brief scuffle and some clucking before he emerges holding a lifeless cockerel. Later, while chewing on the freshly cooked bird we chat about our completely different lives. Life in the police force offers some job security but a lot of disruption to home life. They can be posted to anywhere in the country and often have to leave their families in their home town. Caiphas sees his wife and children every month or two. There’s also the challenge of having to police a region where they don’t speak the language. Caiphas dreams of something different and even has a degree in logistics but with 100’s of applicants for any decent job he’s not been able to put his skills to good use. His ambition is to try working abroad where he believes there are more opportunities but making that happen is anything but easy. He has a steely determination in his eye though so we’re sure that one day he’ll make it. We sit for a while in silence staring into the glowing embers of the fire while again guiltily thinking about the ease with which can travel with our British passports.

We’d spent the previous three nights in hotels and even found ourselves relaxing in a pool in one, but our night in Kyarusozi was one that will we remember most.   

Riding through more tea plantations we drop down into Fort Portal where we meet up with Ailsa, a friend of my brother. She is here to work on a project trying to find a way to reduce the rate of deforestation. It seems an almost impossible task as just about all the cooking is done on charcoal stoves and with an ever increasing population the demand for wood gets greater every year. “It won’t be easy but if we don’t try then the consequences are pretty dire” she tells us. “There are already more landslides when the heavy rains come which is getting worse each year thanks to climate change.”

Ailsa is also a keen cyclist so joins us for the ride out of Fort Portal and provides an encyclopaedic knowledge of the flora and fauna that we zoom past. As we begin a climb up towards another patch of woodland she stops and points. “Cranes!” she calls in a hushed voice. On the other side of the small valley are a pair of grey crested cranes, the national bird of Uganda and something we had wanted to spot since we arrived.  Their distinctive mohican feathers stand proudly on their heads as they strut around the field foraging for bugs. We stop to watch them for a few minutes before continuing up the climb.

Eventually Ailsa has to turn back to head home so with a fond farewell we go our separate ways and end the day camping above a crater lake to watch the sun setting over our next challenge which now loom large in the west: The Rwenzori Mountains.

6th to 11th July 2023

“Mzungu! How are you?”

It’s the 100th time we’ve been asked this question that day and this time the voice comes from a small boy of around 4 years old. He’s naked from the waist down, the dark skin of his toes contrasting with the brick red dust of the road. Behind him a chicken clucks contentedly as it pecks away on a discarded maize husk. The only item of clothing the boy wears is a well-worn red jumper that bears the distinctive logo of two interlocking G’s and the word Gucci. It’s unlikely the luxury fashion house will be using this image on its next ad campaign. 

“I’m good thanks, and how are you?” I ask

“I am fine” the boy replies with a broad grin before adding “bye bye!” and waving.

We’d begun our ride in Entebbe and despite being our first time on this continent there was a strange sense of familiarity as we took our first few pedal strokes. The lack of any rules of the road, ‘boda boda’ motor bikes everywhere, the roadside stalls constructed from reclaimed wood and bent corrugated iron, shops overflowing with brightly coloured plastic household goods. And the noise. Constantly beeping horns, shouting, loud music. The chaos of the place all reminded us of countries like India, Myanmar, Cambodia and China. 

What was new to us though was our place in all of this. We were now Mzungus, a term used across East Africa to refer to “foreigners with white skin” but its literal translation means “Someone who roams around” or “wanderer”. Either way, it felt like an appropriate label. 

We weren’t quite ready to take on the full bedlam of Kampala, so skirted round the shores of Lake Victoria and found a fisherman to take us across Murchison Bay. Clicking down through the gears of our 40 year old Peugeots we rode up the bumpy dirt track from the lake and headed east and that’s when the shouting started. “A MZUNGU! A MZUNGU!” followed by “How Are You?”. As soon as we got near a village we’d be spotted by a child and they’d make the call. Straight away more children would run to take a look at the mzungus and join in the chanting. “Bye Bye Mzungu! Bye Bye!” We’d have to get used to this for the next five weeks. 

For the first few days we’re just settling into life on the dirt roads. It’s a daunting prospect to look at the map and see how much is ahead of us and we finish each day feeling battered by the hills, rocks and ruts, covered in dust and sweat. We keep our energy levels up with fresh bananas bought just a few meters from where they’d been picked. A third of the size of the bananas we can buy in the UK, but at least three times as tasty. We thought we’d bought a mango but it turned out to be a huge avocado. Larger villages and towns have restaurants where the typical dish is made up of rice, matooke (mashed plantain), cassava and either bean, goat, beef, fish or chicken stew. Simple calories. 

The staple for our breakfast though is the legendary Ugandan Rolex: Take a chapati and cook it on a charcoal stove, then cook an omelette, add tomatoes and onions and roll the whole lot together (the name comes from ‘rolled eggs’). I opt for two chapatis to help get me through to lunchtime. 

Our route winds through small villages surrounded by forests of banana trees and thick woodland. Tyres fight for grip on some of the steep kickers and we have to constantly hunt for the best line. Occasionally we veer off onto a stretch of singletrack to get deeper into the countryside then come bouncing out again and into a village or small town. We share the road with all manner of livestock: goats, pigs, cows, chickens all roaming freely. People use the boda bodas and bikes to move just about anything bulky, but the majority of people were walking if they wanted to get somewhere. If they need to carry something heavy like a jerry can then it goes on their head with remarkable balancing skills. Only a handful of cars or trucks pass us each day. 

The big, yellow jerry cans become a very familiar sight. These are used to store and carry water that can be pumped up from boreholes installed at intervals along the road. If you’re lucky the pump is right outside your house, less lucky are the ones that have to walk a kilometre or more to get to one. We’ve supported the charity Wateraid for many years and here we can see the effect of their work first hand, but also how much more there is to do. Each borehole is dated and it’s shocking how recently they’ve been installed. In one village we’re told that they only got theirs 8 years ago and before that they had to trek to the swamp, another one is only one year old. They’re a lifeline for us too as we’re drinking a lot of water each day. There’s almost always a gang of children gathered round each pump who are happy to operate it for us while we hold our bottles under the spout. To be sure that it’s clean we then have to give it a shake with the UV filter if it’s clear or squeeze it through our micron filter if there are any bits in it. A luxury that the villagers don’t have.  

After a night camping by a waterfall then another near the point where the River Nile spills out of Lake Victoria, we find ourselves in amongst a huge sugar cane plantation. For the first time since we’d landed there’s no one around but after a few kilometres we find out why. The road is taped off and a large crowd has gathered. Suddenly we hear an engine screaming and a rally car zooms past in a cloud of dust. The crowd go wild, jumping, singing, waving their arms. This is clearly the most exciting thing to have ever happened here. We watch the rest of the cars race through, almost within touching distance and each time the crowd erupts with cheering before jumping back to safety. 

Given the density of the population and the fact that we would almost certainly get surrounded by inquisitive onlookers if we tried, wild camping isn’t really an option. But a few parts of the trip would land us in amongst villages where there was no accommodation on offer. The first time this happens we get chatting to a man called Emojong Francis while filling our water bottles from the nearby borehole. We ask him if he thinks it would be OK to camp by the church. He isn’t sure so makes a call to the local councillor who soon arrives on the back of a boda boda. He initially offers his back yard but then decides we might be safer with more protection. A quick phone call later and we’re being escorted to the nearest police outpost. Moses, the policeman looks bemused but tries to remain professional and sits us down for an interview. “Where are you from?” “Where are you going?” “Why are you travelling by bicycle?” “Do you have any bombs in your bags?”. Satisfied with our responses he takes our passports for safe keeping and lets us pitch beside the station. We’re shown the latrines, water pump and a stone building without a roof that serves as a ‘bucket and jug’ shower. Moses lives behind the station in a small tin house with his wife Marion and their two sons. They grow their own vegetables, fruit and coffee and have a few chickens to help supplement Moses’ meagre wage. This is a typical life for a Ugandan policeman.

In the morning we’re given a lesson in Soga, the language for the tribe in this area and after paying a small fee we’re allowed to retrieve our passports before waving goodbye and continuing on.  This wouldn’t be the first visit to a police station during the trip.

We get a great response with our newly learnt Soga greetings of “Alotia” and “Neyaz Iza” for thank you for about half a day before we move tribe and everyone starts calling out the Swahili greeting of “Jambo” instead. There are around 40 different languages spoken in Uganda and they’re all completely different. By the time we’ve got the hang of the basics for one we’ve moved tribes and have to stop and ask someone what the words for hello and thank you are for that region.

Everyone seems surprised to see the mzungus on bikes in their villages and wants to talk to us. In one I get invited to play ludo with a group of men. I still don’t know if I won or lost. In another town a group of men beckon me over and I find that they’re all sat round a bucket of unidentifiable liquid. Each of them has a long bamboo straw dipped in so they can share the drink. Kirsty warns me “That doesn’t look good” but I want to see what it’s all about so take a seat and get given my own bamboo straw. It’s bantu, a type of home brew millet beer and doesn’t taste great so I take a couple of sucks on the straw before offering my apologies and leaving them to it. This was a mistake.

Early that morning I begin feeling ill and the whole next day is a real struggle with a complete lack of appetite and not much power in the legs. We push on regardless, and eventually the bulk of Mount Elgon fills the horizon and we roll down into Mbale. This is one of the biggest towns we’ve been to so far and is well timed as we check into a hotel and find somewhere serving pizza. Just what I needed to recover from my bantu hangover. 

The majority of Uganda has two dry seasons and two rainy seasons each year and so we timed our trip to make sure we were riding during the second dry season. In the foothills of Mount Elgon, which straddles the border with Kenya, the weather is a bit more unpredictable. We can see the dark clouds gathering up ahead as we winch higher and higher up the densely forested slopes and when the rumble of thunder grows louder and the first rain drops start falling we know it’s time to find shelter. In the next village we park up under a canopy in front of some shops and are quickly joined by half a dozen giggling children. The heavens well and truly open and before long the dusty road has turned into a river. It goes on for an hour without easing up and a few brave souls venture out using brollies, bags or banana leaves to keep the worst of it off. But almost everyone else just sits undercover watching the water pour off the roofs. 

Eventually it stops and when we see the boda bodas come out again we think it must be OK to get back on the road. This is a mistake.

The hard packed dirt road has now been turned to a thick orange mud which is just about rideable in places but further along it gathers up on our wheels and jams the entire bike up. We drag our now useless machines past trucks and cars that are completely stuck until we get to the next village. Everyone seems in good spirits about it and simply say “Welcome to Uganda!” with a shrug of the shoulders. This is the reality of the rainy season for most people so they have to accept it. When it rains, it rains hard and all they can do is sit and wait until the rain stops and the road dries.  

We’re given sticks by someone and for the next half hour use them to try and remove the caked on clay that seems to have attached itself to all of the moving parts. With the sun now shining the road is drying up fast and before too long we have bikes that are just about working and a road that is just about possible to ride on. 

The delay means that our intended destination for the day is going to be hard to reach before sunset. We are aiming for Sipi falls that happen to sit at the top of the longest road climb in Uganda. Being so close to the equator means that the sun goes down very quickly so when the light starts to fade and we still have 10km to go we know we have to find another way up the mountain. Luckily a truck laden with 5000 litres of kombucha pulls up in front of us and the driver agrees to let us sling our bikes and kit on the back. We climb up on top of the bottles and have a fantastic view of the sunset over the plains below. People point and wave as we trundle past before the inevitable shouts:

“Mzungu! How are you?!”

We are using our trip to help raise funds for the amazing charity Action on Poverty who support projects that help some of the poorest communities in Africa including several in Uganda. If you’d like to make a donation to this very worthy cause then it would be very much apreciated by some very deserving people. Here’s our fundrasing link:

https://www.justgiving.com/page/kirsty-marcus-uganda

Thank you!

We released our brakes and rolled down the hill. My riding buddies whooped as we accelerated and leant into the turns. There were a few nervous screams but on we raced past cottages and trees, with gravity on our side providing the free speed. The wind felt exhilarating on our faces, pulling at our hair and pressing our clothes tight to our chests. Tyres hummed on rough tarmac while we resisted the urge to squeeze the brakes.

Eventually the road leveled off and a couple of people punched the air, shouting “YES!”. Someone asked “Can we do that again?”, “that’s better than a roller coaster!”. 

It was a hill I’d ridden many times before, about half a kilometer in length and no more than 5% at its steepest. I’d never given it much of a thought before, just a stretch of road on the route towards Worcester that is quite pretty but nothing to get excited about. Given the reaction from my riding buddies on that day, they clearly thought otherwise. To them this was the greatest stretch of road they’d ever ridden. 

Admittedly I was riding with a group of 10 year olds during a Bikeability lesson but it got me thinking how easy it is to forget just how much fun cycling actually is. Bikes can be hard work, they can be scary, they can leave you cold, wet and hungry and sometimes they can be really, really annoying when something breaks leaving you stranded on a roadside miles from anywhere. But given half a chance, almost every time you swing your leg over one they will make you smile. Especially if you can engage your 10 year old appreciation for simple pleasures. 

Last year I needed to be reminded how much we enjoy cycle touring too. The pandemic put a dampener on a lot of things and changed all of our routines to the point where it was hard to remember what we used to like to do. Our Bog LEJOG journey was the first long trip by bike (and boat) since we visited Cuba in 2018 and it felt really good to be back on the road. That sense of elation from cresting a hill to be rewarded with a view that takes your breath away. Discovering new places and meeting new people. The freedown of knowing we have everything we need on our bikes to continue indefinitely. It stirred familiar feelings and felt exciting so since then we’ve been pondering what to do next. 

The solution came via an email in February from a brilliant local charity that we support called Action on Poverty (APT). They provide training and resources to help vulnerable communities to develop sustainable livelihoods in several countries across Africa. The email was asking us to help them plan a fundraising bike ride in Uganda next year which of course we were happy to oblige. Now Africa is a continent that we’ve never turned our pedals on so the more we looked into the options for route the more it sounded like a great place to visit. This had to be our next adventure. 

Fast forward to the end of June and we now have arms full of jabs, a Ugandan Visa and a map with a wiggly line on it. We also have two matching 1980s Peugeot mountain bikes. Mine cost £10 and I felt a bit ripped off whereas Kirsty’s was free and seemed like a bargain. We’ll be using them to ride 2000ish km around the country testing out the planned Action on Poverty route then adding a whole lot more on the fabled Trans Uganda trail. Basic bikes should be easier to find parts for if needs be and we hope to show that you don’t need the latest and greatest kit to enjoy a big adventure. We’ll see if that holds true!

As we get closer to departure there have been those jolts of adrenaline that come from knowing we’re about to leave our comfort zone for the first time in years. A friend found it amusing that a seasoned cycle tourist who had ridden round the world would be nervous about a relatively short trip like this. But it’s one thing riding out of your front door and slowly heading to foreign countries and quite another to jump on a plane and get dumped in Entebbe hours later. How will we cope with the heat? How rough will the roads be? Will we get eaten by lions? 

The only way to find out is to release the brakes and roll down the hill. 

We don’t plan to write a blog while we’re away but will be using Instagram for short updates so feel free to follow us on @shesnotpedallingontheback or on Facebook @shesnotpedallingontheback. We’ll expand these into a proper blog post when we’re back in August. 

Although our ride is a recce of the APT route this isn’t intended as a sponsored ride. But if you’d like to support them then they would very much appreciate a donation to help fund their fantastic work. Here’s a link to a Just Giving page for that very purpose. 

https://www.justgiving.com/page/kirsty-marcus-uganda

14th May to 12th June 2022

It’s been a while since we finished this trip, and we never got round to writing a blog post so I’ve put together all our social media posts so it’s all here together in one place.
The original plan had been for Marcus to run while I carried all our kit on my bike, but a stress fracture meant that running was no longer an option so we decided to both cycle and take our packrafts so that we could paddle some of the wet bits. We decided to stick with much the same route that I had originally planned to ride which took in almost every steep hill between Land’s End and John O’Groats, but it was scenic!
We were very pleased with a total of £1760 raised for the fantastic charity WaterAid.
If you want to follow us we’re now on instagram @shesnotpedallingontheback

Day 1 – 14 May, 2022

And we’re off!
With a 1400 mile journey ahead of us, the first pedal strokes have been taken. Rolling away from a sunny Lands End it feels great to finally be on our way.
You can keep track of our progress on our website here https://boglejog.uk/where-are-we/ with an update at the end of each day.
(There’s the link for donations for Wateraid on there too. 😉).
Time for more pedalling and a pasty I think!

Day 2 – May 15, 2022

A tent with a view this morning

#decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraid #lejog2022

Day 3 – May 16, 2022

The only flat bits in Cornwall are the beaches!

#engagelowgearnow #winchingup #grannygear #niceview #kernow #cornishhills #cycletouring #lejog2022 #boglejog #decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 3 – May 17, 2022

Yesterday morning, after several cups of tea we couldn’t put off leaving our amazing hosts Sue and Dusty any longer and ventured out into the pouring rain.
Luckily it didn’t last long and we rolled down into Padstow to find our planned paddle across the estuary scuppered by a fast flowing, outbound tide.
A new plan took us onto the beautiful Camel Trail (no hills!!) past bluebells and wild garlic aplenty.
Then to finish we climbed up onto the rugged expanse of Bodmin moor. A world away from the busy coast roads.

#soggycycling #changeofplan #cameltrail #bodminmoor #kernow #cycletouring #lejog2022 #boglejog #decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 4 – May 17, 2022

While we cooked dinner in some woods last night an intrigued dog walker asked what we were up to. We explained and handed her a card with our website details. This morning we woke up to a new donation and the following message:
“So pleased to have met you this evening in Wilsey Woods near Camelford. Good luck with your onward journey and fundraising. Such a worthwhile (essential) cause!”
Thanks Georgy! Don’t forget you can find the link to donate on our website BogLEJOG.uk
Once on the road we were blown out of Cornwall and into Devon with a handy following wind. Arriving at Bideford we took to the Tarka Trail to finish by the sea for the last time before we get to Scotland. We’ll miss the sound of the waves and that sea air!

#generousstranger #wildcamping #nosuchthingasatailwind #byebyekernow #devonia #tarkatrail #decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 5 – May 19, 2022

Old railway lines make for excellent cycle trails. The Tarka Trail was the third of our trip so far and gave us a beautiful morning ride into Barnstaple.
The debate continues as to how to make a cream tea. Kirsty swears by the Cornish way but I always go with the superior Devon method.
The main task of the day was to tackle Exmoor. Long, steep climbs but epic views at the top.
After being sunburnt in the morning the afternoon turned wet, very wet. Luckily we found shelter at the end of the day in time for an interview with BBC Hereford and Worcester.
41 minutes in on this show:
https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/p0c3fyq0

Day 6 pt.1 – May 20, 2022

The big hills were behind us but we still had to get off Exmoor which meant a glorious decent on narrow, gravelly roads towards Taunton.
Crossing the M5 marked our arrival at the Somerset levels which felt a complete contrast to the saw toothed profile of the previous few days.
A cattle jam gave us time for a break before we made our way to the banks of the King’s Sedgemoor Drain.

#exmoor #downdowndown #somerset #quantocks #cattlecrossing #cycletouring #lejog2022 #decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 6 pt.2 – May 20, 2022

Finally a chance to paddle!
Boats inflated, bikes loaded then a tricky entry into the King’s Sedgemoor Drain (more scenic than it sounds).
The cows on the riverbank were even more curious about us than the ones on the road. We had them galloping alongside for a while.
For almost the entire stretch we followed a flock/gaggle/serene of about 20 swans until we got too close and they all flew straight at us. Ducks and geese weren’t so bothered.
Such a peaceful way to end the day.

#packrafting #bikerafting #kingssedgemoordrain #somersetlevels #collectivenounforswans? #Peaceful #decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 7 – May 21, 2022

On the Isle of Avalon, Glastonbury Tor can be seen for miles around. A hike to the top gave us great views over the Somerset levels with the Mendips beyond.
Long straight roads then took us to Wells before it was time to climb again. There are several routes up onto the Mendips and Ebbor Gorge is one of the harder options. Lugging a bottle of wine for our hosts didn’t help either!

#glastonburytor #somersetlevels #wellscathedral #ebborgorge #mightymendips #cycletouring #lejog2022 #decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 8 – May 23, 2022

We’d planned our departure from Lands End to be able to arrive in the Chew Valley in time for a long awaited wedding on Saturday.
So cycling kit was swapped for glad rags for a superb weekend of celebrating and dancing. Such a contrast from the previous few days on the road and great to catch up with old friends.
There was still time to squeeze in a parkrun at Clevedon just to keep the legs moving. Thanks to our wonderful hosts Alex, Suzanne and Effie and their very refreshing pool too!

#happycouple #happyfamily #offthebike #parkrun #parkrunday #cycletouring #lejog2022 #decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 9 – May 23, 2022

As James Brown was fond of saying “Take it to the bridge”!
We waved goodbye to the wedding party and said hello to a few more friends as we pedalled through the familiar streets of Bristol.
It’s always fun to cross the Clifton Suspension Bridge then we were out towards the River Severn to cross the Severn Bridge into Wales. But it was only a short stay before we took the Bridge over the River Wye back into Gloucestershire to find a place to camp before we head up the Wye Valley.
In the tent we were treated to the sounds of the Vengaboys playing ljve at Chepstow racecourse about 3 miles away. The perfect lullaby (!)

#bridgecrossing #brunelsmasterpiece #lovebristol #crosstowales #woahweregoingtoibiza #cycletouring #lejog2022 #decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 10 – May 24, 2022

With an annoying ear worm about going to Ibiza yesterday we dropped onto the Wye Valley Greenway to see Tintern Abbey from a new angle.
The road down the Wye valley is one of our favourites: smooth and scenic.
After paying homage to Rockfield Studios and belting out renditions of Bohemian Rhapsody and Wonderwall (both recorded there) the road took us to Whitecastle.
Along the way we stopped at an ancient stone trough to find it had the inscription “Dwfr Yn Rhydd I Bawp” which means “Free Water for All”. It seems even in 1880 people realised how important it is for everyone to have access to clean water. Hopefully our trip will help WaterAid get a little bit closer to that goal.
The day ended at Llanthony Priory at the foot of one of Wales’s all time classic climbs. As the clouds closed in and rain began to fall we decided to save that challenge for the next day.

#cyrmu #tinternabbey #wyevalley #willyoudothefandango #llantonypriory #whitecastle #freewaterforall #decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 11 – May 25, 2022

When we woke up in the morning the hill was still there but the rain had stopped. A couple of steep ramps took us up to the Gospel Pass, the highest paved road in Wales. There were even a few flakes of snow at the top.
An amazing descent with fantastic views dropped us into Hay on Wye where we inflated the boats and took to the water again.
Back on the bikes at Whitney, and a few bonus hills later we found a great wild camp for the night.

#wateraid #finishthirst #gospelpass

Our progress so far:
Cornwall ✅
Devon✅
Somerset✅
Gloucestershire✅
Monmouthshire✅
Herefordshire✅
Radnorshire✅
Shropshire✅
🚲🚲🚣🚣‍♀️⛺
https://boglejog.uk/where-are-we/

Day 12 – May 26, 2022

We climbed the last few hills in Wales before crossing into Shropshire where things weren’t much flatter but a useful tailwind helped us along.
Just after The Bog (yes this is a real place), we winched up and over the Long Mynd with some impromptu sheep herding along the way! 🐑
Then it was down to Ironbridge where we loaded Marcus up with several kilos of food before the steep climb out of Coalport. All good training!
At the end of the day we set up camp with a nagging feeling that something was missing. It was our lock, still lying a field 106km away near Presteigne 😓
Marcus had another call with BBC Hereford & Worcester last night and you can listen to his interview here at 1hr 40mins.
https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/p0c4rkjr

#wateraid #finishthirst #lejog2022 #longmynd #bbcherefordandworcester #lostlock #decenttoiletsforall #thebog

Day 13 – May 27, 2022

We spotted this old CTC sign on a hotel in Brewood. These were to signify that an establishment offered facilities for cyclists. I’m not sure whether the fancy hotel could have competed with the doggers’ car park we just slept in – it had a picnic table!
After a quick stop in Penkridge to buy some cleaning cloths and use the leisure centre showers, we headed up to Cannock Chase with clean chains and clean bodies.
Marcus resisted the temptation to do a test run on the Commonwealth Games mountain bike race course.
Dropping down the other side, we were soon entering our 10th county of the trip, Derbyshire. A quick stop in Ashbourne to pick up a replacement lock and the start of the Tissington Trail.
The heavens opened to give us a good drenching for the last hour of riding.

#wateraid #finishthirst #cannockchase #tissingtontrail #peakdistrict

Day 14 – May 28, 2022

We rolled into Tissington yesterday to discover they have a tradition of ‘Well Dressing’ that takes place on Ascension Day each year. Each of the 6 wells are decorated with amazing designs all made from natural materials like petals, stones, feathers and fur.
When is Ascension Day? Turns out it was yesterday so we got to take a look at the wells this morning.
It’s great to see water sources being celebrated for being the life saving resources that we all need. Luckily Derbyshire is not short of spring or two but 1:10 people in the world aren’t so fortunate. We’re using our journey to help WaterAid provide clean water, decent toilets and good hygiene for those who need it most. If you can afford to donate to give them a helping hand then it could change someone’s life.
Here’s the link: https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/bogLEJOG
🙏 Thanks to everyone who’s contributed so far, it really helps us keep going!

#tissington #tissingtonwelldressing #derbyshirewelldressing #tissinftontrail #valuablewater #finishthirst #decenttoiletsforall #wateraiduk #lejog #BogLEJOG

After a little ride around Tissington to look at the well dressings, we finished off the Tissington Trail.
An unfortunate shopping error meant we had had nothing for breakfast so we waited in Monyash for the cafe to open where we met another cyclist who was interested in our trip. We gave him a card and he later made a very generous donation – thank you!
We set off towards Castleton into a ferocious headwind which made the hills seem twice as steep but the views of the Derbyshire Dales were spectacular.
After Castleton one option was Winnat’s Pass – steep (25+%), narrow and incredibly busy. So we took the other route, the Mam Tor “broken road”. This used to be the main road until numerous landslips made it uneconomical to maintain and it was abandoned in the 70s. Most of the tarmac is still there, just not in its original location.
Marcus managed to ride most of it and then I was treated to the very rare sight of him pushing his bike. I found even pushing difficult because the wind was gusting so strongly it stopped me in my tracks.
Back on the main road we eventually made it to Glossop where we rewarded ourselves with a 16″ pizza and very nearly finished it.

#wateraid #finishthirst #mamtor #brokenroad #peakdistrict

Day 15 – May 29, 2022

Camping in a park where parkrun takes place leaves few excuses for being late to the start! After a nice trot round the Glossop course we were out on the bikes again for a lovely last bit of Derbyshire.
We knew we’d entered Yorkshire when Kirsty was greeted with an ‘Ay up’ by another cyclist. The Yorkshire bingo had begun with various games of cricket, a pigeon racing lorry, steep cobbled streets and a few flat caps getting us near to a full card. Just a whippet left to find.
The riding today was the hardest of the trip so far. Steep drops into gritty mill towns before even steeper climbs out the other side. Then repeat. The last climb of the day from Hebden Bridge took every last bit of strength with a cruel cobbled section to finish us off. Thankfully a camp spot with a glorious view was our reward.
Team BogLEJOG did raise a smile when we found Flush House Lane. But 20% of the world’s population don’t have a decent flush house or even a toilet. Please help WaterAid turn this around.
If you can afford a donation then here’s the link:
https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/bogLEJOG
It’s all very much appreciated and every donation helps give us more power for the journey! 🙏

#parkrun #derbyshire #yorkshire #t’hill #howsteep? #needmorecake #hebdenbridge #pavé #cycletouring #lejog #boglejog #decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 16 – May 30, 2022

These days all our views are framed with grey, dry stone walls. And the views kept improving as we crossed Widdop Moor before dropping down to the Liverpool to Leeds canal.
A very welcome lunch stop with our friends Nikki and Dave complete with incredible ginger cake set us up nicely for the climb to Malham Tarn. Now in the Yorkshire Dales National Park this steep climb took us onto a high moor with rocky crags and a thin ribbon of road to follow.
Occasionally the walls were punctured with a ‘sheep creep’ which works well for cyclists to creep through too.
After a brief but chilling shower before the high speed decent to Stainforth we were treated to a clear evening for the final spin up to the Ribblehead Viaduct. A mighty finish line for a great day in the saddle.

#drystonewalls #yorkshiredales #fuelledbycake #malhamtarn #sheepcreep #creepingcyclist #cycletouring #lejog #boglejog #decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 17 – May 31, 2022

A gentle climb and then descent to Hawes served as a warm-up up the main event: Buttertubs. This is a famous climb amongst cyclists, but from the Hawes side there are a couple of steep 20% ramps and the rest is easily ride-able. It just goes on a bit!
Coming down the other side we bumped into Jeff, our friend from Evesham who was heading home in his car after spending a weekend cycling in the area.
We dropped down into Swaledale, the hillsides dotted with the eponymous sheep and stone cow barns, and took the turning for Tan Hill, home of the highest pub in the British Isles.
There was a bit of unpaved road for me to practice my non-existent mountain bike skills, and then we were out of Yorkshire and into County Durham and the North Pennines.

#wateraid #finishthirst #lejog2022 #buttertubs #swaledale #tanhill #100climbs

Day 18 – Jun 01, 2022

A day of superlatives: the highest road of the trip over Yad Moss at 599m where a sleet shower made us the wettest and coldest we’ve been so far too.
Somehow we extracted ourselves from the cafe on the other side to find the South Tyne trail that felt like a bit of a work in progress in a classic Sustrans way.
Then we were up through Hadrians Wall as a nice indicator as to how far north we’d come, and entered Northumberland. Rocky forest tracks took us across Wawk Forest and Kirsty’s off road skills improved with every pedal stroke.
We’ve got 20 minutes more daylight compared to when we were in Cornwall so we kept on pedalling late into the evening for our longest day yet. The end point was a soggy Kielder Water shoreline to be shared with an officious night watchman and several thousand midges. 🦟

#yadmoss #northpennines #northpenninesaonb #countydurham #cumbria #freezingtoes #southtynntrail #sustrans #hadrianswall #kielderforest #kielderforest #boglejog #decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraiduk

Onwards and northwards!
Cornwall ✅
Devon✅
Somerset✅
Gloucestershire✅
Monmouthshire✅
Herefordshire✅
Radnorshire✅
Shropshire✅
Staffordshire ✅
Derbyshire✅
Yorkshire✅
Lancashire✅
County Durham✅
Cumbria✅
Northumberland✅
Scottish Borders
🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿✅
🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿✅
🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿
🚲🚲🚣🚣‍♀️⛺
https://boglejog.uk/where-are-we/
Nearly halfway to our fundraising target too! 🚽🚰💰🙏
https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/bogLEJOG
Thanks folks 🙏

Day 19 Part 1- Jun 02, 2022

We woke up on the banks of Kielder Water and crawled out of the tent eager to see where we’d pitched it. The night watchman had moved us on from our first choice location at 11pm the night before. “If I can’t see you I won’t move you” he said so we’d packed up in the dark and rain and moved a couple of hundred metres further into the woods.
A bit further along the shore we found the perfect beach to launch from and the boats were soon inflated.
The water was flat calm with barely a soul to be seen. We were lucky enough to see an osprey flying overhead with a fish in its talons. The only issue was finding somewhere to land with easy access back to the trail.
Apparently Springwatch are filming in Kielder this week so look out for us – we may feature as some new and strange aquatic life they’ve discovered.

#wateraid #finishthirst #packrafting #packraft #bikerafting #lejog2022 #frontierpackrafts

Day 19 Part 2 – Jun 02, 2022

Back on the bikes we headed out through Kielder forest and soon had to get out our passports for the border crossing into Scotland. A big milestone and the start of the final stage of our journey.
True to form for this country, the sun was out and we had blue skies for the rest of the day. Up we climbed on a beautiful road alongside a burn that opened up to give huge views over the surrounding hills of the Scottish Borders.
A slight catering error meant a detour for one of the team to collect supplies before reuniting and finding a hillside where we watched the sunset while tucking into the best meal a petrol station could offer.
There was another chance to chat to BBC Hereford and Worcester too which you can catch here at 2hr 50m
https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/p0c623p3

#kielderforest #northumberland #scottishborders #scotland #alwayssunnyinscotland #smoothroads #cycletouring #lejog2022 #boglejog #decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 20 – Jun 03, 2022

Arriving in Innerleithen we found the town rammed full of mountain bikers. In the cafe Marcus had a haggis scone and “the best coffee of the trip”.
Outside the Co-op we bumped into James @craven11_ from Bristol who was attempting the fastest known time for the Capital Trail and had 120km to go.
A couple of gentle climbs and we were rewarded with an amazing view of Edinburgh. Marcus thought it was smaller than expected, but maybe it was just far away
Climbing into the Pentland Hills we passed James coming the other way, now with only 35km to go. He returned one of the Snickers we’d given him earlier as it was obviously weighing him down.
Camped next to the reservoir, we witnessed a touching family reunion as a ewe and and her lamb were calling to each other from opposite sides of the valley. Unfortunately the lamb decided the quickest route to his mum was through our camp. He leapt over my legs and then seemed to hover in midair above the bubbling pot on the stove. Noooooooo! Somehow he reversed mid jump and disaster was averted. That was until Marcus dropped the pot as he was lifting it off a few minutes later.

#wateraid #finishthirst #lejog2022 #haggisscone #pentlandhills #cycletouring #boglejog

Day 21 – Jun 04, 2022

A misty, grey and chilly morning took us up and over the pass through the Pentland Hills on a testing, rough track. Then it was down to pick our way through the jumble of towns that make up the M8 corridor between Glasgow and Edinburgh.
It felt like a filler day, simply getting from one side of the urban sprawl to the other using lanes and canals where we could.
Another creature encounter occurred when I was attacked by a swan on the towpath. Its huge bill took a jab for my bike but narrowly missed taking a chunk out of my tyre. Looking back we saw the reason was he had a clutch of cygnets with his partner nestled in the bank. Sorry Mr and Mrs Swan 🦢.
The canal was fairly tedious but livened up with the crossing of an aqueduct on a narrow cobbled path. Water on one side and 50m drop on the other.
Into Falkirk we found the famous wheel and watched tourists queuing up to take a ride. Sadly packrafts were not allowed on board.
It’s a huge and impressive water engineering project that cost £78m. WaterAid could provide clean and safe water for around 5.2 million people with the same amount. Now that’s an impressive water engineering project!
Just £15 per head can change someone’s life. If you’d like to help then here’s the link to make a donation:
https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/bogLEJOG

#pentlandhills #midlothian #unioncanal #swanattack #linlithgow #falkirkwheel #waterengineering #gettingitdone #cycletouring #konaute #lejog2022 #boglejog #decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 22 – Jun 06, 2022

If the previous day had been hum-drum then this was a hum-dinger.
Now off the planned route to avoid the canal, we found ourselves on a ridge running parallel with The Trossachs giving us a panoramic view of Ben Lomond and chums.
The sun had most definitely got his hat on and given the clouds the day off too so arms were out and suncream on as temperatures crept into the mid 20s.
A pit stop in Callander gave us the chance to shower at the leisure centre, stock up with 2.5 days food for the next remote section and top up our bottles from a free water fountain. Imagine if every village in the world had one of these?
Then a superb path on NCN 7 took us up the valley on an old railway line before winding through the forest on swooping cinder tracks. The sunshine, the bathers in the loch and the towering hills made it feels like mid summer in the alps rather than June in Scotland.
The day ended with a 400m climb to camp under the imposing hulk of Ben Lawers with a reservoir just below us. Scotland has treated us well so far.

#lochlomondandtrossachsnationalpark #benlomond #sunnyinscotland #sunsoutgunsout #collander #neededthatshower #freewater #ncn7 #benlawers #agranddayout #decenttoiletsforall
#finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 23 – Jun 07, 2022

We set off down the hill with the wind at our backs, amazing mountain views ahead, blue sky overhead and freshly laid, buttery smooth tarmac under our tyres. Cycling heaven!
At the Bridge of Balgie we stopped to take a photo of the red squirrel sign and then literally 2 seconds after I put the camera away a red squirrel came hopping along the parapet of the bridge. It was gone before I could get the camera back on so you’ll have to make do with this photo of Marcus’s best squirrel impression.
On today’s route there were two sections of steep rough stoney track over Rannoch Moor which put my non existent mountain biking skills to the test again. The usually patient Marcus even made a comment about the amount of waiting, but eventually, hot, tired and sunburnt, we arrived at the oasis of Loch Ossian.
A few days ago we saw a sign which said “Difficult roads often lead to beautiful destinations” and I think this may have been exactly what they were talking about. We pitched the tent next to the stunning loch, and I crawled in and collapsed.

#wateraid #lejog2022 #finishthirst #benlawers #lochossian #rannochmoor #redsquirrel

Day 24 – Jun 07, 2022

After the heat of the previous two days Loch Ossian was all too tempting for a refreshing dip in the morning.
Our planned route out was due to take us through a boggy footpath but some local guides advised against this. Despite being BogLEJOG the prospect of a 4 mile carry with our heavy bikes was not appealing.
Instead we took the service road that had been described as ‘Sublime gravel’ by another cyclist. He was right. This was a wide valley with a newly laid gravel road that we had all to ourselves. Grins hung from ear to ear all morning.
We worked around Ben Nevis, still with snow on the top and down to the main road into Spean Bridge. Despite only being out of civilisation for two days the bustle of the tourist town felt foreign and noisy.
Loading up with more food in our stomachs and panniers we left town alongside the imaginatively named Loch Lochy on a forest road. We were glad not to be on the A82 on the other side which was nose to tail with camper vans.
The top temperature for the day was 30 degrees and our solar panel is being so effective we’re considering signing up for a feed-in tariff.
As the evening drew in we found a quiet road up to Loch Garry to pitch up and enjoyed the silence again.

#lochossian #wildswimming #gravelriding #greatoutdoors #bennevis #rannochmoor #speanbridge #needmorefood #evenmorethanthat #fullpanniers #solarpowered #ibigbluesolar #lochlochy #offthrlebeatentrack #cycletouring #lejog2022 #boglejog #decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 25 – Jun 08, 2022

This was a day that packrafts were made for. When planning the route for this trip I’d found the most amazing road leading down to Kinloch Hourn but it finished at a dead end at the loch. Round the other side of the peninsula was the end of another dead end road which led back to civilization. The rafts would allow us to connect the two.
The Kinloch Hourn road exceeded expectations. Steep mountains either side, a view down to the loch, and a tiny road which twisted and turned through the landscape like a rollercoaster.
Arriving at the loch, the water was calm and the wind was behind us. Inflating the boats we set off on the longest paddle so far (12km/7 miles). We had a brief encounter with a seal and a longer encounter with a couple of other paddlers who turned out to be from just down the road from us in Malvern.
Eventually a village hove into view. Back on the road, a couple of stiff climbs took us into Glenelg where we discovered the shop was shut, but the pub was open. A great camp spot suggested to us by some friendly Belgian tourists was the perfect place to finish a great day.
#wateraid #finishthirst #lochhourn #packrafting #bikerafting #deadendroad #frontierpackrafts #whereweregoingwedontneedroads #wellearnedpint #isleofskye #glenelg #sheenasteahut

Day 26 – Jun 09, 2022

This was a day bookended by two incredible views. The first was overlooking the Five Sisters at the end of Loch Duic. We’d earned it with a lengthy climb up from Glenelg, unlike the coach of American tourists enjoying it too. “Aren’t you cold?” one of them asked “Not after cycling up here!”.
We made our way up to Loch Carron in more traditional Scottish weather with grey clouds and steady drizzle. Then the glen widened out and we were hit by a headwind as stubborn as a highland cow and nearly as strong. Pushing a low gear on a nearly flat road is never much fun.
Luckily after 40km we turned 180° into a parallel glen and the bull was behind us pushing us up to our 2nd view. This time we stood and looked down towards Loch Maree with Bein Eighe Nature reserve all around it. The most rugged and massive landscape of the trip so far. A long day in the saddle took us to the shore of the Loch ready to take to the water in the morning.
Up here the Highland Council have been busy closing the public facilities to save costs. The local communities were devastated, realising how important it is to provide decent toilets and fresh water for locals and tourists. A lot of them have now been adopted as community projects run by volunteers and funded by donations. We’ve been very glad to have them available to use.
The communities that WaterAid work with are often starting from scratch to provide something similar but the aim is the same: Clean water, decent toilets and good hygiene for everyone. If you’d like to help WaterAid get closer to this goal then please make a donation if you can afford it:
https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/bogLEJOG

#glenelg #fivesisters #iloveagoosclimbinthemorning #earntheview #liquidsunshine #lochcarron #hateheadwinds #lovetailwinds #highlandcoo #lochmaree #beineighe #communityproject #decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 27 pt.1- Jun 10, 2022

We awoke to the sound of waves lapping the shore of Loch Maree a few metres from the tent. Although the water looked a bit rough, the wind had dropped and we decided to go for it.
The wind picked up again as we were launching and blew my packraft side on to the waves, one of which came crashing over the side and filled the boat with water. I hoped the panniers were waterproof…
Getting out onto the water was a bit hairy but once we were going the packrafts bounced around on the waves quite happily. They really are very robust.
I bailed my boat out with a water bottle and with the wind behind us we reached our landing beach in double quick time.
This was probably the last paddle of the trip. They’ve been a great way to get to places we wouldn’t otherwise have got to and to see things from a different perspective. It was totally worth getting Marcus to carry them all this way, I’m sure he’ll agree.

#wateraid #finishthirst #lejog2022 #lochmaree #packrafting #packraft #bikerafting #frontierpackrafts #bikesonboats #paddleontheloch

Day 27 pt.2 – Jun 10, 2022

The wavy water was replaced with a wavy road once we were back on the bikes. Following the coast around Loch Ewe the water was as clear and blue and the sand as white as you’d find on the most exotic of Caribbean beaches.
We passed the most romantic of the Scottish islands: the Isle of Ewe (say it out loud). Heart rates were up and cheeks were flushed but that was probably due to the steep hills!
Eventually we dropped back to sea level alongside Little Loch Broom and found a kind old lady who filled our water bottles. Then we settled in for the 12km climb back up and over to join the main road towards Ullapool.
The midges haven’t been too much of a problem so far as we’re early enough in the year and there’s been enough of a breeze. But the wee beasties were being a bit of pest while we set up camp so the nets were on and we dived into the tent as soon as we could.
The keen eyed will have spotted that we’ve been working our way up the west coast when John O’Groats is in the north east of Scotland. We managed to get ahead of schedule so instead of racing to the finish line and putting our feet up we decided to add some extra distance instead. This was all about the journey rather than the destination after all. After Ullapool we’ll be turning east and we’re now inside the last 300km. Time for the final push!

#isleofewe #nc500 #northwestscotland #northwestscotlandbeaches
#upanddown #clearbluesea #ullapool #weebeastie #midges #thefarnorth #cycletouring #lejog2022 #boglejog #decenttoiletsforall #finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 28 – Jun 11, 2022

We started with a short blast into Ullapool where we found breakfast, a shower and Tesco. The road out was one we had ridden in 2013 and it was good to see the familiar, jagged mountains again.
We shared the road with the convoy of campers and motorbikes from all over Europe on the North Coast 500 which has been a wildly successful driving route, some say too successful with the added traffic.
Soon we were turning away from the west coast with its dramatic landscape and onto a quieter, moorland road. Rolling hills and small lochs with stone bridges over the rivers. A very different landscape from the previous few days.
We rolled into Lairg towards the end of the day with the sprinkling of a shower overhead. Luckily they’d provided a covered picnic table as well as a bike work station with a pump for passing cyclists. This is a popular stop for the traditional LEJOG route.
Tomorrow’s forecast looks a bit grim so we’re bracing ourselves for wind and rain. We’re used to dealing with weather now though!

#wateraid #finishthirst #decenttoiletsforall #cycletouring #ullapool #lairg #nc500 #lairg #lejog2022 #boglejog #rainraingoaway

Day 29 – Jun 11, 2022

The promised rain storm never materialised but the wind was back with a vengeance. Handily on our backs for the first 30km so we made rapid progress with time to stop at the Crask Inn on the way. This legendary house has cared for end to enders for decades and is run by the Scottish Episcopal Church. Great homemade biscuits too. 🍪
Then we were blown along the road beside Loch Naver that was as choppy as the North Sea. We kept the packrafts safely in the panniers. Fly fisherman were trying their luck in the River Naver but we didn’t see anything being caught.
We couldn’t have the wind on our side all day though so a right turn took us into the teeth of the gale for a short stretch and then it was on our sides. The bikes had to be leant at a steep angle just to stay upright while we wrestled with the bars.
In a fitting penultimate day we were now in The Flow Country: Europe’s largest blanket bog. By far the most bleak, desolate and wind-blown road we’d ridden so far. This area is teeming with life though with birds of all shapes and sizes shouting at us all afternoon and a couple of red deer ran across the road in front of us. This area feels very much like we’re at the edge of the island.
Eventually the road bent round so the wind was behind us again and literally blew us up the last small hill. The rain began to fall and the prospect of a night in the tent became less and less appealing. Luckily we arrived at Forsinard to find the station waiting room was large enough to make our home for the night. The bikes were wheeled in and the stove was on. Kirsty managed to catch the very moment I kicked the pan of water on to the floor!
Just one more day to go.

#laird #craskinn #endtoend #lochnaver #tailwind #headwind #crosswind #bloodywind #flowcountry #peatbog #reddeer #tinyhouse #lejog2022 #boglejog #cycletouring #decenttoiletsforall
#finishthirst #wateraiduk

Day 30 – Jun 12, 2022

Spoiler alert – We have made it to John O’Groats! If you want to know how we got here then read on…
We had a very peaceful night in our cosy waiting room. Only two trains stop at that station on Sunday so the chances of us being disturbed were small.
First we went for a walk to the Forsinard Flows nature reserve to see the peat bog up close. The colours in the moss are really amazing.
Back on the bikes we still had a useful tailwind, but not as strong as the blow-you-off-the-road-sideways one of yesterday.
We turned off into the last off-road section of the trip, a lovely 25km of gravel through the bog and forest. Then all too soon we were back on the tarmac for the final wind-assisted blast to the finish.
As if on cue, as we rode up to the famous sign, a bagpiper started playing. It took three attempts to find a passerby capable of capturing us, the bikes and the sign in a photo, but we got there in the end.
There’s still a bit more pedalling to do because we’ve got to get to Thurso to catch our train on Tuesday. And we’ll post some final thoughts once the dust has settled.
Could we be the first to bikeraft Land’s End to John O’Groats?
We’ve had a great journey and all for a great cause. If you’d like to help WaterAid provide clean water, decent toilets and good hygiene to the poorest communities in the world, a donation here would be much appreciated.
https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/boglejog

#wateraid #finishthirst #decenttoiletsforall #flowcountry #peatbog #bogride #europesbiggestbog #lejog2022 #bikerafting #packrafting #boglejog #johnogroats #missionaccomplished #gravelriding #cycletouring

The Final Map and Stats

Cornwall ✅
Devon✅
Somerset✅
Gloucestershire✅
Monmouthshire✅
Herefordshire✅
Radnorshire✅
Shropshire✅
Staffordshire ✅
Derbyshire✅
Yorkshire✅
Lancashire✅
County Durham✅
Cumbria✅
Northumberland✅
Scottish Borders ✅
Midlothian✅
Falkirk✅
Stirling✅
Perth & Kinross✅
Highland✅
🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿✅
🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿✅
🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿✅
Total distance: 2243km (1394 miles)
Distance by bike: 2206km
Distance by packraft: 38km
Total elevation gain: 28,858m (94,678 ft)
The equivalent of 3.2x Everest or 38,477 toilets stacked up! 🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽
🚲🚲🚣🚣‍♀️⛺
https://boglejog.uk/where-are-we/
We’re just a few hundred pounds from our fundraising target for WaterAid too! 🚽🚰💰🙏
https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/bogLEJOG
Thanks for your support folks 🙏

Here’s a little video we made with an action cam attached to Marcus’s handlebars.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P8JviPwtFg0?feature=oembed&w=950&h=534]

We’re working on a new project that shockingly doesn’t just involve cycling, there isn’t even a tandem involved!

In April this year we’ll be taking on the classic journey from Lands End to John O’Groats which is a rite of passage for any cyclist, but it’s only Kirsty who will be riding it. I’ll be tackling the route on foot and just for fun I’ll also be dressed as a toilet to help raise funds for the charity WaterAid. 

If you’d like to follow our progress then take a look at our website here: boglejog.uk. You can subscribe to the Bog Blog and also make a donation if you like. We’re also keen to meet up with people along the way so if you’d like to trot with the bog for a few miles, feed us cake or even offer a warm shower and a bed then we’d be very grateful. You can see if we’re coming past your doorstep here: boglejog.uk/route/. 

It’s a whole different kind of adventure to what we’re used to which makes it all the more exciting but slightly terrifying too. We hope to be flushed with success by the time we reach the end!

Stood in the middle of a peat bog high above the Hafren Forest we’re surrounded by pools and trickling streams. It’s been raining more on than off for most of the 4 km hike up from where we left the bikes. Hardy sheep shake off the worst of the weather from their water-logged fleeces before resuming their suspicious watch of the passing walkers. Stepping over a carefully laid path of flagstones we arrive at a well weathered wooden post etched with the words “Tarddiad Afon Hafren”. Plynlimon is a hill so wet that two of the longest rivers in the UK spill from its summit. The River Wye begins its life just south of where we are, but the focus for our journey is where the water at our toes will be heading. The words on the wooden post translate as “The Source of the River Severn”. 

The idea for this trip had been brewing for a few months. I’ve found that following rivers is a great premise for an adventure thanks to my brother suggesting that we run the length of the Nene, an ongoing project that we’re taking on in stages (you can hear a bit about it here). Another opportunity to explore the idea came last October with a weekend in Dorset along the River Frome (Mr Bisco made an excellent radio programme about that one). These trips had introduced the pleasure of watching a river grow as it winds its way round hills, through valleys and down to the sea and meeting all of the people and wildlife that live along its banks. The logical next step was to look for something a bit longer and without leaving this country there’s nothing longer than the Severn. Over its 225 mile course it meanders through Powys, Shropshire, Worcestershire and Gloucestershire. Some parts would be familiar while others would be new to us. All in all it looked like a beautiful route.

As we walk back down from Plynlimon, the ambling stream quickly gathers pace on the steep hillside. A series of cascading waterfalls broadens out into something that could probably be classed as a brook as it enters the Hafren Forest. Hopping back on the bikes, the descent into Llanidloes is a high speed thrill ride and we spend our first night in the first proper town on the river. 

To get to the source in the first place we’d ridden the 30km over from Caersws, which we’d found to be the nearest train station. It had been a road typical of the national cycle network being very quiet, very pretty and very, very hilly. We now had to head back to Caersws but this time we would be taking a much flatter option because as well as using bikes we were also carrying packrafts. These tiny inflatable boats pack down to the size of a sleeping bag but blow up to be big enough to carry a person, gear and bicycle. They introduce a whole new element to adventure planning as you can include the blue lines on a map in your route as well as the usual roads and paths. So to get from Llanidloes to Caersws we could paddle some of the stretch on the river instead of pedalling up and down the hills alongside it.

While tucking into breakfast in the park in the morning a slightly stern looking woman approaches and asks if we were the ones camping here last night. I nod sheepishly but she smiles and asks if we need a hot drink. After porridge and coffee we inflate the rafts, stow the panniers and lash down the bikes before pushing off from the slipway. It always feels a bit unnerving trusting all our kit to what looks like an inflatable pool toy and my knot tying skills are quickly tested with a little weir just under the bridge.

The river is now 20m wide but only a few cm deep so we wince at each bump and scrape with the rocks and gravel bed. There’s a bit of stepping out to push off but on the whole we keep moving. It’s great to be on the water with the warm sun overhead and little more than the splash of our paddles to disturb the peace and quiet. That is until we reach the rapids. To an experienced paddler this section would probably be classed as trivial but to two novice packrafters the route ahead looks intimidating. The river gets channelled between a series of rocks and boulders with barely enough room for us to squeeze through. I pick a channel and give it a go but get turned on a rock and wedged across the flow. Kirsty gets dragged in after me and we’re then stuck together with water pouring over the side of the boats. The bikes are also a bit tangled up but somehow we shove against each other and I’m freed only to then get tossed onto another rock. This time I’m sat high and dry but the front of the boat with its precious cargo (bike) is hanging precariously down off the rock. There’s nothing for it but to step out and guide the whole thing downstream where it calms down again. We’re both left a bit shaken up by what the fledgling river has managed to throw at us so soon and apprehensive about what might lay ahead. Another short rocky section causes a few difficulties but we eventually make it down to our exit point, conveniently located near to a roadside cafe. The boats are hauled out and rolled up, the bikes are reassembled and we discuss the morning’s events over an egg and bacon sandwich. It’s been the sternest test of our Frontier packrafts so far and it’s amazing how much abuse they can put up with. Although they look flimsy and delicate they are actually incredibly tough and have managed to shrug off the bumps and scrapes with barely a mark.

We’ve got used to keeping our plans fairly loose and flexible when we’re out on the bikes. On a road or trail you can stop where you like and take any turn that takes your fancy safe in the knowledge that, provided your map is up to date then there will almost always be a way to get the bikes through. But on the water there needs to be a bit more planning. You can only get in and out at certain points (made even more tricky when you need to get a loaded bike to a road too). There are some obstacles that can be navigated such as small weirs or the rapids we’d encountered. But larger weirs, raging rapids or fallen trees might not be packraft friendly. Luckily the paddling community are a nice bunch and share useful information to help others plan their trips. I’d used the Go Paddling website to try and work out which bits of the Severn would work for us and it proved invaluable. 

Safely on dry land we continue our journey through Wales back to Caersws then on to Newtown to pick up a trail following the now abandoned Montgomery Canal. In its heyday ‘The Monty’ would have been a busy thoroughfare with boats carrying limestone, coal, timber and slate between Llanymynech and Newtown. The section we’re on now has largely been reclaimed by nature and apparently the wildlife is thriving with reports of water voles and otters. We’re not lucky enough to spot any of those but through the trees and undergrowth we can see our constant companion, the Severn gently following our path.  Resupplying in Welshpool we eventually end the day camping behind the Green Dragon pub close to the Offa’s Dyke path with a clear, starlit sky over the tent and slightly-too-close railway line. 

After a wake up call by the 6:25 from Shrewsbury we’re back on the road early. Although the Dyke marks the traditional border with England we stay in Wales for a few more km in the morning. The Shropshire hills fill our view to the east and the river runs alongside us to the west. Each time we cross the river it changes slightly, either a bit wider or a bit faster. In some places, unseen rock formations have twisted it into tight meanders across the valley floor then further down it flows arrow straight and unhindered. A few Welsh flags before the bridge at Crewgreen signal not only another crossing of the river but also the border into England. Shortly after we spot a couple of cyclists wrestling with a back wheel and so we pull over to see if we can help. One of the men admits that the bike is new and he’s not sure how to get the wheel off to fix a puncture. It’s a new-fangled through axle so I tell him how it works and he’s relieved to finally get the thing off. Both of them are veteran cyclists and both of them are on electric bikes. “I suppose you think we’re cheating?” one of them suggests but in actual fact it’s the opposite. Forget gravel bikes, disc brakes and bluetooth shifters; e-bikes are getting more people into or back into cycling than ever before and for that they have to be the greatest innovation in cycling for decades. One of them is recovering from a stroke but today he’ll be riding 40km thanks to a bit of assistance which can only be a good thing. With a strong Welsh accent one of them confirms that we’re now in England “Can’t you tell from the air that you’re not in God’s Country now?”.

Pedalling on into Shrewsbury a wide, riverside path gives us an easy passage through the town and out the other side. Before long we part company with National Cycle Route 81 that had largely steered our route up to this point. It’s also the point where the river begins to turn south for the first time. There’s a theory that the Severn used to continue north into Cheshire to discharge into the Irish Sea but a big lump of ice during the Ice Age blocked the way and sent it round to form the Ironbridge Gorge. The river has now been joined by the River Vyrnwy and has swelled in volume but gets channeled into this narrow, steep sided gorge. However it was formed, this is a section I’ve been looking forward to. It’s time to unroll the boat again. 

From the water the Ironbridge Gorge is even more impressive but it’s the bridge itself that takes centre stage. Gently paddling up to the towering structure it’s amazing to think this was built over 240 years ago. Kirsty has decided to stay on her bike for this bit and waves at me from the bridge as I float underneath. The town recedes behind me and I’m back in the tranquility of the river. There’s a flash of blue and orange as a kingfisher darts in front of me. Moss covered rocks line the banks and the water is flat calm but moving me along at a useful pace. Rounding a corner the scene changes quickly as the noise of rushing water fills the air and the river is being churned up into swirling eddies, and boiling waves. I’ve arrived at the Jackfields Rapids, a 200m stretch that local paddlers love to come and play on. There are several lines and I chose the right side between a ridge of angry waves and the rocky bank. The boat shoots down and I just manage to keep it running straight as the bow gets pulled by various colliding flows. That was a lot of fun and it’s tempting to go back up and have another go but the day is quickly running out. I find a beach further downstream to meet back up with Kirsty and after transitioning back to cycling mode we’re back rolling towards Bridgnorth. We’re now on NCN route 45 which turns from a smooth road into a bumpy track on the bed of the old Severn Valley Railway. We’d hoped to find somewhere to pitch the tent along here but all we find are muddy fields grazed by sheep. A golf course further along looks much more inviting but we push on to the town and find a large park on the east bank of the river that is just what we’re after.

I’d originally pitched the idea for this trip to Kirsty back in June after running a section of the Severn Way near Bewdley. Running along the river bank with the Severn Valley steam train racing past on the other side made my mind wonder what it would be like to be on the water instead. In the middle of summer the whole thing sounded very appealing so Kirsty agreed that we should definitely do it. But somehow that illusive 5 day window that we needed never quite got booked into the diary and the summer ran away from us. I was sure there was still time to do it before the year ended though and in fact the beauty of the changing colours of the trees and the crisp morning air make autumn an invigorating time to be outdoors. We found a week in October and Kirsty reserved judgement until a few days before we started but when the forecast promised mild and largely dry weather we knew we had to go for it. 

Leaving Bridgnorth, NCN 45 takes on a slightly more adventurous nature as it steers us into some woods onto leaf strewn bridleways. In modern parlance this would probably be called gravel riding. The result is a drop in average speed and I nervously check my watch at every junction because I’ve got a train to catch this morning, or more accurately: a train to spot. The path gets steeper both upwards and downwards and eventually Kirsty sends me off ahead. She’s been feeling under par for the last few days and wants to take her time on this tricky section. We arrange to meet up again in Bewdley. I then push on to Arley to find the slipway and quickly inflate my boat and leave Kirsty’s boat with some friendly fishermen to pick up when she arrives. Taking to the water while scattering the crowds of ducks, geese and small children feeding them I paddle hard downstream for a couple of km. Rounding a corner another impressive bridge comes into view. This is the Victoria Bridge that carries the Severn Valley Railway and I’d wanted to arrive in time to watch the steam train crossing. I can hear the train blowing its whistle at the station just up the track so there’s just enough time to get lined up and set up my camera. The steam clouds billow over the treetops as the train chuffs along towards the bridge. I raise the lens to my eye just as it appears and then the camera beeps three times and shuts down. The battery has died! I fumble to find a spare but by the time it’s locked and loaded the last carriage is rolling off the bridge. At least I got to see it even if I didn’t manage to capture the photo. 

I continue paddling down past the Wyre Forest which is resplendent in its early autumn colours. This is the stretch I’d run alongside 5 months earlier and it’s just as pretty as I’d hoped with a few fast flowing sections to keep things interesting. I check my phone to make sure Kirsty is OK and pick up a message asking me where I am. When I call her back I ask her if she’d found her boat? “You’re joking aren’t you?”  comes the reply “Are you meaning to tell me my boat is at the bottom of this bloody great steep hill I’ve just ridden up??”. It turns out the patchy phone reception meant that she didn’t get my message to go and see the fishermen and she’d ridden straight through Arly and out the other side. “sorry” is as much as I can muster. I quietly continue paddling and pull up at Bewdley Rowing Club before being reunited with Kirsty (and her boat) and finding a cafe for a consolitary lunch. 

We’re back in our home county of Worcestershire now and the surroundings are beginning to look a bit more familiar. Into Stourport we pick up the towpath of the Staffordshire and Worcestershire Canal which is a stretch of water I’d pedalled a water bike along a few years ago while collecting litter. Rubbish in the waterways is an ongoing problem with plastic waste in particular being a common sight bobbing around in the river. For another trip we’ll have to pack our litter picking equipment as the packrafts would be a great way to help doing some cleaning up. 

After Ombersley we soon approach the outskirts of Worcester. Kirsty hasn’t been feeling much better and being a few miles from a warm bed she makes the sensible decision to head home. There’s a bit of kit swapping and a wave goodbye and then I’m on my way again but it’s a great shame not to be able to finish this together.  I end the day in Tewkesbury and find a picnic spot right by the river to spend my last night. In the fading light the dark water silently flows past a few metres from my tent as I tuck into the staple meal for a cycle tourist: pasta and tomato sauce. 

The sound of a strong wind in the trees wakes me early but I head straight out onto the water. This is the last paddle on the last day and I want to enjoy it in the golden morning light. Since our last encounter the river has been joined by the Teme and I’m launching at the confluence with the Warwickshire Avon so in places it’s swelled to nearly 100m wide. Out in the middle a brisk headwind is whipping up white horses so I try to stick to the bank where it’s more sheltered. Packrafts are not very fast and not particularly manoeuvrable so are susceptible to getting blown about in strong winds. It’s a great morning to be out on the water though with the air filled with migrating geese, herons patrolling the banks and the occasional kingfisher catching my eye. For long sections the high banks hide any signs of human activity and it feels like I’m the only person for miles around. This is what makes the difference compared to being on the bike as these boats allow us to gain a completely different perspective during our journey. I sit for a few moments with a contented smile. 

Eventually Haw Bridge comes into view and I pull in at a pontoon. For the last time the boat gets deflated and stowed away in a pannier and I’m back onto two wheels. Continuing along NCN 45 takes me down to Gloucester and the point where the river becomes tidal. In the middle of the city the docks still display their industrial heritage with dormant cranes alongside towering warehouses all now converted into flats and gyms and restaurants. Moving south I join the Sharpness Canal then swing closer to the Severn again at Epney. On the right day and at the right time this is a good spot to watch one of this country’s great natural phenomena: The Severn Bore. Some very strong coffee at a friend’s house in Slimbridge sets me up nicely for the last stretch which again gains some familiarity from our days of cycling when we lived in Bristol (and the LVIS audax). The river is now a source of great power with wind turbines spinning wildly from the banks and two huge nuclear power stations drawing water up to their reactors. The tide is on its way out revealing vast expanses of mud flats that are teeming with life and I watch wading birds pick out tasty morsels from the sludge. 

It’s hard to define where a river becomes an estuary and where that estuary becomes the sea but for the purposes of this trip I’d decided the Severn Bridge would serve as a fitting finish line. It’s the last point on the river where I can get to the middle (safely) under my own steam so that is where I aim for now. For the last 10km the sky clouds over and it begins to rain. This is the first time the weather has turned since that day on the top of Plynlimon and it feels entirely appropriate. Battered by the weather I roll out onto the huge suspension bridge with the brown water of the River Severn swirling far below me. It’s now 3km wide and the River Wye is pouring into it on the other side of the bridge, the rivers finally meeting after taking very different paths to get here. I stop in the centre of the bridge for a photo as the traffic on the motorway behind me roars past. It’s been a fascinating journey following this mighty river over the course of the last 200 miles, watching it grow in stature and carve out the landscape around it. The combination of bikes and boats has worked really well to allow us to see the river at various angles and at various speeds.

As I look down off the bridge I can’t help but wonder if any of the water below has been accompanying me all the way from that soggy peat bog in mid wales. 

22nd January to 13th February 2018

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=82upZUmMCG8]

“So, why Cuba?” asks David, as we sip on Cuba Libres on his balcony in Havana. We’re still in short sleeves despite it being 9pm on a January evening with the heat of the day stored up in the chipped concrete all around us.

It’s a good question without a single answer. There are many aspects that make this island an appealing prospect for cycle tourists with flat, quiet roads, a  few mountains for the grimpeurs, miles of sandy beaches and year round warm weather all wrapped up in a unique culture shaped by a complicated history. Alongside this, the message from other visitors had been a resounding “Go now before it changes!” as if the western world was waiting offshore about to launch McDonalds restaurants and Tesco supermarkets at any minute. At the risk of sounding like a box ticking exercise, Cuba was also the last of the five remaining communist countries for us to visit and we were curious to see how it compared to the others.

There were a few reasons for us not to go as well though. The governing regime likes to keep control of what happens in their country which imposes certain restrictions on where you can stay which in turn limits where you can get to. As a result many cyclists travel without a tent as camping is prohibited, and stick to the main tourist regions. This style of travelling sounded less appealing with the lack of flexibility, lack of variety and inevitable increase in cost being common criticisms.

But then we found a report from bikepacking.com that gave us hope that there was another way to see the island. Following a mostly off-road route, three Americans rode from east to west and enjoyed the freedom to get away from the more popular areas, camping without being challenged while being welcomed with open arms by everyone they met. This was much more encouraging, and with a tip off for a deal of half price flights the decision was made to give it a go.

With the first turn of the pedals as we rode away from Havana airport my mouth curved into a smile. I’d missed that familiar feeling of freedom that comes from sitting on a bicycle with everything I need attached to it. Behind me Kirsty called out the directions to get us into town before speeding past me as we turned onto the almost deserted highway. There was no doubt that she was pedalling because for this trip we had broken with tradition and brought two bikes. Kirsty’s was a vintage Specialized Hardrock bought for £15 from a charity shop while I was on a 30 year old Post Office bike complete with an enormous tray on the front and a Sturmey Archer 3 speed hub spinning away at the back.

The first hurdle to our usual way of travelling  is that hosting foreigners in Cuba is illegal without a licence, which makes the concept of WarmShowers and Couchsurfing difficult in theory. You’re supposed to stay in government run hotels or casas particulares – a licenced home stay. In practice we found that ex-pats from other countries who live in the suburbs are more likely to get away with it so we found ourselves staying with Maria and Jonathan for the first few days in Havana. A couchsurfing love story, Maria from St Petersburg was hosted by Jonathan in Strasbourg and the visit eventually resulted in a wedding. Through Couchsurfing we also met up with David, a Cuban who loves to help others enjoy his home country. Although we couldn’t stay with him, he became an invaluable ‘fixer’ during our trip and also provided a fascinating insight into life on the island in 2018.

After a 17 hour journey on an uncomfortable bus with an over-enthusiastic air con system we arrived in Santiago de Cuba, 1000km east from Havana. David had arranged for us to stay with some of his family here so we spent the first night enjoying some wonderful Cuban hospitality. Fidel was no doubt turning in his grave in the cemetery round the corner as we tucked into rice and beans while our hosts showed us the latest dance moves. Music is intrinsic to everyday life in Cuba with rhumba and salsa rhythms  pouring from every open window. 

It seemed fitting to be beginning our ride skirting round the Sierra Maestra mountains where Fidel and Che set the wheels of the revolution turning in 1956. The foothills take us up away from the busy city and down past palm trees and colourful adobe houses. Life in this region seems to take place at a leisurely trot with motor vehicles few and far between and one horse power being preferred.  Unfortunately one of the few trucks that does pass us manages to pull in a bit too soon after overtaking and forces Kirsty off the road. Her tyres get caught in a rut and she’s promptly thrown from the bike. Of course it’s her ‘bad’ knee that takes the brunt of the fall and it loses a layer of skin. It’s a painful first day that will leave another scar that tells another story. 

By the time we reach the town of Manzanillo the hills have given way to huge plains of sugar cane, their tips bending in our direction of travel as the wind provides some welcome assistance.

A huge screen in the town square is showing the final of the baseball league between home team Granma province and neighbouring Las Tunas. Everyone seems to be here and when the final whistle blows to seal the victory for Granma it’s bedlam. From nowhere drums, cowbells, banners, whistles and stalls fill the square with noise and music and colour so we join in the spontaneous party that parades round the streets. Some of the best experiences when we’re travelling happen by chance, a case of being in the right place at the right time.

As we continue west we dip on and off the route described in the bikepacking.com article. Affectionately named ‘La Ruta Mala’ or ‘The bad way’ it follows rutted, muddy tracks, through thorn bushes that lacerate our legs, and into saddle high undergrowth. When the ‘ruta’ got a bit too ‘mala’ we find respite on the smoother carretera central, the main artery across the middle of the island. Although not as exciting as the rough roads this highway does have the advantage of being serviced by occasional roadside cafes to help keep us cool and hydrated as the temperature rise into the mid 30s. For 1 national peso we can buy an ice cream and another peso buys us a coffee. 1 national peso is less than 3 British pence.

Cuba operates a slightly confusing dual currency system with Convertible Pesos (CUC) valued 25 times more than National Pesos (CUP) . Basic goods and services are sold by state run shops that charge in CUP while imported goods and anything intended for consumption by foreigners are charged in CUC. It’s not always clear which currency prices are being quoted in and there is the opportunity to pay 25 times more than you should if you get it wrong! It also means that popular tourist destinations are considerably pricier than the more workaday towns that barely anyone visits. That 1 CUP coffee would be 1 CUC in Old Havana.

One skill you never lose once you’ve been cycle touring for a wile is the ability to spot a good camp spot. Even after we’d finished our last trip we’d still automatically look out for patches of grass next to rivers, secluded copses or little hill tops that would be ideal for pitching a tent whenever we were out and about. So it wasn’t too tricky to find somewhere to sleep each night, off the main road and out of sight. Or at least somewhere where no-one would mind.

There was only one night where we got caught out. As the sun dipped below the horizon we were riding past endless fences on one side and a soggy marsh on the other. Eventually we arrived in a village and asked someone if it was ok to camp on some open ground on the outskirts. A shake of the head was not the response we wanted, but then he offered to drive us to the nearest ‘Campismo’ – somewhere with pre-pitched tents and cabins. A kind gesture but one that would take us 15km in the wrong direction and leave us somewhere that foreigners were unlikely to be able to stay. Some swift Google translating to explain we had our own tent turned the situation around and we were ushered into a garden and told we could pitch there. Our immediate neighbours were a flock of chickens and a herd of pigs but inside the tent we were safely in our home from home. These small villages were often filled with animals as cowboys guide their herd down the high street and goats graze the verge. This is the way of life for a large proportion of the population.

It’s a tricky place to be totally self sufficient though as buying food to cook for ourselves would have been nigh on impossible. Food shops do exist of course but are hard to find and have unexpected contents. Peering through a doorway, the first clue that it was a shop would be the set of scales on the counter. Alongside it might be some sacks and a few large jars with unknown contents. The rest of the stock would almost always be made up of rum, cigarettes, flip flops and electric fans. There might be a few slabs of raw meat too if you get there on the right day. Cubans still receive a ration book so these essentials are provided by the state but for visitors who just want a bag of pasta and some tomatoes the shops were sadly lacking.

Luckily the abundance of cafeterias in every village provided enough sustenance to keep us going. These state owned establishments have a largely identical menu based on what is available that day. We dined out on rolls filled with eggs or meat or spam for breakfast. Pizzas for lunch then if we found a proper restaurant, dinner of rice and beans, usually with pork and a side salad. These are all charged in national pesos and a day’s food cost us about £1 each.

After crossing the flat, cattle country of the central provinces, the next range of mountains appeared on the horizon. Before we got to them though we took a detour up to a farm that David had suggested we visit. Finca del Medio began life out of necessity during what Fidel named Cuba’s ‘Special Period’ in the 90’s. The collapse of the Soviet Union pulled the plug on a lot of the funding that had kept Cuba going and the state began struggling to support its people. They began to starve. José Casamiro and his family decided to take matters into their own hands and moved out of the city and onto a patch of rough land in the country to try and fend for themselves. 25 years later and they have created a rich and fertile farm that produces 98% of the food that the family and its frequent guests consume. Using permaculture techniques, they grow everything from plantain, yucca, rice, and taro to coffee, tea and sugar. Barely anything is wasted so energy use is minimal. Even the waste from the toilets feeds into a biodigester that then produces gas for the kitchen. They are part of a growing organic movement in Cuba that is spreading amongst smallholders and they hope will spread to the larger farms too. 

José loves to teach other farmers how his family works and on the day we arrive a group from Switzerland are coming to have a look around which is good timing on our part as we join in the feast that has been prepared for them. Two Canadians, Charles and Jonathan, are also staying and are full to the brim with enthusiasm about what they are learning. It’s infectious and we can’t help thinking about how we could try to reinvigorate our veg patch when we get home. Kirsty gets given some of their homemade honey for her injured knee, one spoonful on the wound and one spoonful to eat. 

Before we leave the next day we get to take part in the family’s morning ritual. A strong shot of coffee, made with beans grown on the farm, is topped up with warm milk squeezed straight from the udder of one of the cows. It’s about as tasty a cappuccino, and also the freshest that we’ve ever drunk!

Heading south from the farm we encounter a few hills that surround the Escambray Mountains and begin following the coast from the popular town of Trinidad. It wouldn’t be right to go on a bike tour without a ferry trip so the short hop across the Bay of Cienfuegos allows us to get our boat-fix while also getting us back onto the Ruta Mala. Before turning onto the sandy track we pass the hulk of a never finished nuclear power station. Construction started during more prosperous times but it was never fired up which, given the state of disrepair of everything else in Cuba, is probably a good thing

 

We bump along the sandy track, weaving through trees with occasional glimpses of the sea alongside us. The only other person that we see on the 60km stretch is a man riding along with a bird cage in his hand. What he’s doing out there with a bird in a cage is anyone’s guess. Then one of Kirsty’s tyres succumbs to the vicious thorns littering the track and not long after I get that sinking feeling too. Up until this point the Sturmey Archer hub has been brilliant. Yes it’s only got three gears but that was enough to get me up and down the roads we had been riding. With a tail wind top gear was a bit low but it’s all good for the leg speed. Now, however, the hub was to prove less useful. With the wheel off, a few vital bits of metal crumbled and fell into the sand. The washers that hold the axle in place had disintegrated which was a bad thing to happen at this point. Some bodging and over tightening helped get it all back together and working (with some creaking and complaining) for another 10km then a sickening clunk signals a fairly major mechanical incident. Hopping off the bike I can see that bearings are exposed that really shouldn’t be seeing the light of day and the wheel is at a jaunty angle. The axle has broken.

As we sit and consider our next move a car pulls up and its French occupants ask what the trouble is. We explain and they offer to find a lift for us. An hour later a spluttering old truck arrives and we gratefully jump in the back. 30 minutes after that and we haven’t gone anywhere as it won’t start. Actually it had gone about 30m when we tried to push it. Some passing fishermen lend a hand but only succeed in pushing it another 30m so we jump out and I start to run the 15km to the next town while pushing the broken bike. There is some small mercy in this as we soon arrive at a secluded cenote which had been recommended as a swimming spot. On a hot day and after all the pushing this couldn’t be more welcome so we dive in the submerged cave before carrying on with the run.

Our saviour arrives a few km further on in the form of Jeso who invites me to hop on the back of his motorbike and sling the bike across my shoulders. With Kirsty’s help we manage to load up and before I know it we speed off in a cloud of dust. Somehow I keep hold of the bike and manage to stay on board and soon we’re in Playa Giron where I’m delivered to a guest house and wait for Kirsty to catch up.

Our only hope now is to be able to buy a new rear wheel to be able to continue. The alternative being a bus to the nearest beach resort to spend the rest of the trip under a parasol ordering cocktails. Some enquiries lead us to a mechanic called Pico who we find surrounded by cranks, frames and spanners behind his house. Bikes are valuable forms of transport here so vital parts and components are much sought after. Despite having several wheels hung up on his wall, all of them are spoken for by his customers so he can’t sell any of them to us. We’ve run out of  options so we despondently push down to the bus station. While we wait, Pico’s assistant pulls up on his bike clutching an unusual bit of metal. It couldn’t be could it? Surely it’s not possible to find the axle for an English made Sturmey Archer 3 speed hub here in a little beach town on the south coast of Cuba? He holds it up for inspection and sure enough it’s just what I need! $5 changes hands and I set to work on the pavement next to a cafe. A couple of hours later, and with hands black with oil, the hub is back together. It wasn’t a perfect fit but I’ve got at least one gear and a wheel that goes round which is as much as I can ask for. The beach and cocktails will have to wait!

One of the most famous events following the revolution was the Bay of Pigs invasion and it’s alongside this notorious stretch of water that we are now riding. Everything seems calm and peaceful now as the road follows the deep blue water on one side with dense forest on the other but every now and then a huge billboard reminds us who it was that won the battle.

Turning inland again, we cross the island passing orchards and huge collective farms.  A far cry from what we’d seen at the Casamiro Farm . On the outskirts of Coliseo we stop to watch some children practising baseball with the intention of using the pitch as our campsite for the night. Curiosity gets the better of the children so they drop their gloves and bats to come over to see what we’re up to, just as we were hoping they would go so we could get the tent up. Eventually one of the mothers comes to call them in so we ask her if it’s ok to camp there. She tells us it’s no problem so we begin unpacking with half a dozen excited helpers who then try to all get into the tent with us! Luckily the mother manages to drag them away and we’re left to sleep in peace.

We then join the northern coastline and arrive at the city of Matanzas. Like all of the cities we’ve ridden through the streets are busy with ancient vehicles that make for great photos but are not so great for the air quality. Clouds of black smoke pour from old Buicks and Russian trucks and we get a lungful as we climb away from the centre. Then we round a corner and suddenly find ourselves in a lush green valley of forests and farmland. This is the Valle de Yamuri and it’s incredible that it sits so close to the city but seems a world away.

Part way up the valley we stop for lunch and watch a convoy of shiny black 4x4s trundle past. Cameras and phones stick out of each window as their occupants hurry to capture a slice of rural Cuba. These trips are a popular excursion for tourists staying in the nearby resort of  Varadero and we see several throughout the day. It must be strange for the people living in the valley to be gawped at like this as if they are exhibits in a safari park. I hope a few of their photos featured two cyclists stuffing their faces though.

For the last stretch into Havana we take the Auto Pista which is Cuba’s answer to a motorway, only without the motors. It’s beginning to get more built up and we pass a huge rum factory, nodding donkeys drilling for gas and industrial plants before reaching the outskirts of the capital.

We’d arranged to meet up with David again so after a shower and good night’s sleep back with Maria and Jonathan we pedal over to his flat. “What did you think of Cuba?” he asks. How to answer that? It’s a fascinating country and works in a unique way. The lack of commercial activity and advertising make it feel so far removed from almost every other country that we’ve been to. The commitment to providing free healthcare and education has proved successful at raising life expectancy and literacy rates but has also nearly bankrupted the country. Everyone seems well dressed and healthy yet average wages are just $30 a month.

“But things are changing” David explains “much too slowly but we’ll get there”. Licences for private businesses are starting to become available under strict conditions which is a huge change from the 98% state owned system . Since 2015 the internet has become more widely available through specific wifi hotspots (identifiable by the dozens of people sat around looking at smart phones). Raul Castro is set to stand down in April so some fresh blood may bring new ideas. There was even a glimmer of hope that they could start trading with the US until the change of staff at the White House.

But despite the mistakes and hardship over the years David is clearly proud of his country and what the revolution has achieved. He believes the revolution has shaped them and they can help shape the revolution. Whether it can continue to evolve and survive remains to be seen but Cubans are resilient and resourceful so I’m sure they’ll give it everything they’ve got.

We leave David with his customary big hug and also with our two bikes. We’d always planned to donate them to a worthy cause as it’s so hard to get bikes here and they can make such a difference. David tells us that he plans to take them to his uncle’s farm where they will be a great help for his family. It’s an emotional farewell as the bikes have served us admirably, if not always reliably. The post office bike was great fun and the tray at the front was handy for carrying awkward items like wet tents and pineapples. But the star of the show has to be Kirsty’s £15 Specialized mountain bike. That bike had allowed her to pedal 1200km across Cuba, even carrying most of the bags for the last few days after my wheel broke, and that’s a whole lot of adventure for for less than the cost of a slap up meal back home.

Would we recommend Cuba to other cyclists? Absolutely, but go now before it changes. And take a tent.

Below is a map of our route showing where we spent each night. Purple indicates a night in the tent, red are Casa Particulars and green are couch surfing hosts.

[googlemaps https://www.google.com/maps/d/embed?mid=1cbmbdj5eGzRi-VX8C5mRAWTomRSav7oK&w=640&h=480]

It’s been over seven months since we returned from our jaunt around the world by tandem which is the longest amount of time we’ve spent in any one country in the last three years. Time is a funny old thing though and can be stretched or compressed depending on what you’re up to.  A day full of constant changes and new encounters seems to last a lot longer than a day with a routine in a familiar place. So if you want a week to feel like a month then go cycle touring. If you want a month to feel like a day then stay at home.

Since the bike got parked up life has taken enough twists and turns to keep us entertained. The sore knee that Kirsty was nursing for the last few weeks of the trip decided it hated stopping cycling even more than it hated cycling, swelling up and making for a painful Christmas on crutches. After some head scratching the doctors decided she’d contracted septic arthritis and rushed her into Redditch hospital for an intensive course of IV antibiotics. From a daily routine of pedalling miles and miles to three weeks in a bed on the wards couldn’t be more of a contrast. Eventually she was allowed to escape but it was clear that her knee would take a lot longer to return to its normal state as a pedalling powerhouse.

The poorly tandem has also had some surgery to get the back wheel working properly again. On receipt of our damaged hub the folks at Phil Wood replied with an email that started with ‘Just wow’. The only piece that could be salvaged from the old hub was a single nut but that didn’t stop them honouring their warranty and sending back a shiny replacement all the way from California. The trusty machine has spent most of the year resting with just the occasional short outing but we feel that this is very well earned after lugging us around the world for so long.

Other than this, the main challenge has been adjusting back to life in civilised society where sleeping in parks and washing in rivers is generally frowned upon.  We opened up the container where all our possessions are being stored and after a quick glance shut the door again. Why do we own all that stuff? Besides, making decisions like which t-shirt to wear have become almost impossibly daunting. Getting used to driving a car again has also been difficult and to begin with I had to open the sunroof and windows so I knew I was actually moving.  Getting around by bike is still the preferred method of transport where practical. We’re slowly expanding our diet beyond the limitations of two pans and a petrol stove and don’t need to try and get the maximum number of calories to the dollar when shopping.

Soon we had to face the reality of being back in the UK though and the enormous and omnipresent ‘What Next’ question kept tapping us on the shoulder and asking, well, what happens next? The stock answer for a while was to grin and boldly reply “A second lap”. The world is a huge place and there’s a whole new hemisphere that we didn’t even touch but that’s an adventure for another day. So the alternative, in the meantime is to do what everyone else seems to do and that’s to try and earn some money so we can afford to stay in this expensive country.

The short list of options  looked something like this:

Deliveroo cycle courier
Pro: Get paid to cycle!
Con: Don’t get paid enough to cover cost of maintaining bike let alone buying food as well

Uber driver
Pro: Get paid to drive!
Con: Driving is rubbish

Lidl checkout assistant
Pro: Get paid to go to Lidl every day!
Con: Have to spend all day in Lidl

International bike courier for high price, low environment impact and non-time dependable consignments.
Pro: Get to cycle to other countries to deliver parcels!
Con: Market research suggests that we would have exactly zero customers

Back to what we did before.
Pro: Good salary, job security, benefits package
Con: 9-5 in an office in front of a computer for 5 days a week

For a few dreadful moments both of us had our fingers hovering over the ‘apply now’ button on listings on some faceless recruitment website but there had to be another way.

Nearly two and a half years of cycling should have given us plenty of time to come up with a few ideas to make use of our skills in an enterprising way but to be honest we were so caught up with the whole process of actually cycling that a Grand Plan never really took shape. But in the cold light of a UK winter we began to piece together some of the things that we’d learnt throughout our journey and to mould them into some sort of business proposition.

The overwhelming feeling that we’ve taken from our journey is one of gratitude.  The number of people who helped us get from place to place, day after day runs into the hundreds. Using the theory of Karma we’re seriously in ‘good deeds’ debt. So lots more volunteering and charity work required for starters and perhaps some way to make other people happy.

People would sometimes ask if we ever got bored on our journey but the excitement of new experiences discovering different places never wears off. If we can offer something new and different to people then perhaps they too will experience that surge of excitement?

Being outdoors  and getting to enjoy nature in all its beauty at close quarters is something that enriches the soul and shouldn’t be underestimated. Not enough people take the time to do it and some people think they can’t when really they should and they can.

There’s a risk that smart phones and social media will soon replace conversations and physical communities. Ok, that’s a sweeping statement but almost every city in every country (except Pyongyang) we visited was inhabited by screen watchers who didn’t say a word to each other. It would be nice if there was some way to switch off and look up more often.

Adventure takes many forms and means different things to different people but one thing that I think is clear is that life is pretty dull without it. I’ve mentioned Al Humphries and his concept of Microadventures before and it’s still a fantastic idea. If we can help people squeeze a little bit of adventure  into their daily routine then  they’ll feel better for it.

Lastly we’ve seen a small sliver of how incredible our planet is but sadly we’ve also seen how easily it can be ruined. Minimising our impact on the environment is more important to us now than ever.

So how to wrap all this up into something that actually earns us enough to get by? After a couple of months living on my parents’ farm in the Vale of Evesham an idea took hold. It’s a beautiful part of the world made all the more special having been deprived of it for so long, and more people should be encouraged to visit. So we thought ‘let’s get people to sleep in our orchard!’ The idea needed some work but eventually The Orchard Getaway was born.

Borrowing from what we’d seen on our travels through Central Asia and after some fortunate browsing of eBay we became the proud owners of a yurt (actually a Mongolian Ger).  We added some bell tents and dusted off some dormant carpentry skills to set about providing facilities for people to be able to enjoy a stay in the country in comfort. It doesn’t sound much like the camping we were used to, but the point was that we wanted this to be accessible to anyone, particularly the ‘I don’t do camping’ set. How can anyone go through life without at least one night under canvas?? We hope our site gives them a glimpse of what sleeping outside has to offer: The sound of the birds, the fresh air, breakfast with the sun streaming though the trees, all with a hot shower and proper mattresses nearby.

So here we are today, running an off grid glamping site providing little camping adventures in Worcestershire.  We had no idea what would happen when we got back from our travels but this seems like a good place to have ended up. Our summer is set to be a busy one as bookings are filling the calendar fast but so far the whole experience has been thoroughly enjoyable. New skills learnt, a few challenges overcome and we’ve met some lovely people along the way. Not actually that far from a day on the bike really.  Feel free to drop by if you’re in the area and if you arrive on a fully laden touring bike then you can stay for free.

Is it enough to satisfy our own hunger for adventure though? They say that when the travel bug bites it bites down hard so we still catch ourselves scanning the roadside for nice places to pitch a tent whenever we’re out and about and browsing other cyclists’ travel blogs for inspiration. It’s also a contagious little critter so as we try to settle down several friends are setting off on their own amazing journeys (including these two). But the great thing about our new business is that it’s largely seasonal leaving at least a month or two over the winter available for going places. And a month on a bicycle is a huge amount of time.

How many times have you heard that well used cliche “Live for the moment”? Well we’ve lived through  some very unexpected moments during this trip. For instance the moment the front tyre went pop at a very bad moment in Turkey. The moment when Kirsty woke up to find an Uzbek taxi driver was massaging her feet. The moment I popped my head in the tent and told Kirsty the bike was gone. But for all the unexpected moments there was always going to be one that was guaranteed, the moment when the journey would come to an end. 

11th December to 13th December 2016

After a night being rocked to sleep at the back of the onboard cinema we step off the ferry in Plymouth surrounded by thick fog and a colourless, grey scene that could only be British. Things soon brighten up when we spot some Marmite sandwich vendors excitedly trying to get our attention. Is this how things work in this country now? Returning citizens are immediately welcomed home with cheers, hugs, Marmite and a fry up? Actually this is a special treat laid on by our good friends the Biscos but I think it’s something that the government should consider. Another special moment. 

After mopping up the remains of what can only be described as the best full English breakfast we’ve had for over two years we’re ready to get going again. More familiar faces arrive in the car park in the form of the Whitley family then we swerve from the right to the left side of the road before heading out into the town.

British roads are terrifying. There are queues of cars everywhere and the ones that aren’t queuing are driving at 100 miles an hour down roads that are barely wide enough to fit a mini. Ok it’s Christmas time and we’ve just come from Brittany where traffic only builds up when a farmer leaves a gate open and a few cows get out, but I don’t remember it being quite as bad as this before we left. A fellow cyclist comes alongside us and asks “Going far?”,  Kirsty replies: “Bristol” , “Really! Thats a long way!”, “We’ve been further….”.

We survive Plymouth and emerge onto a lane that begins to skirt round the edge of Dartmoor following the Dartmoor Way, part of the National Cycle Network. Our tyres crunch over wet, gritty tarmac, gaps in the high hedges on either side of us offer a glimpse to church steeples in the valley below, sheep munch away in the steep, rolling green fields. A scene and a road that could only be found in Devon and its simple beauty brings a smile to my face. Perhaps riding on this island isn’t so bad after all.

We pass through the villages of Didworthy and Badworthy then past Buckfast abbey whose Bendictine monks have been blamed for many a Scottish brawl fuelled by their fortified tonic wine. We refrain from stopping for a sample, partly to avoid the risk of any violent tendencies but also because we have any another roadside rendezvous to get to in Ashburton. It’s a sign of how long we’ve been away that we left Kat with an imminent baby under her maternity dress and now she’s in a similar state with her second one. We haven’t even met the first! She and Stu have had an exciting couple of years that have probably been as exhausting as ours. As we’re chatting away and munching on mince pie Danishes someone calls out my name from a car in the street. James and Jess have driven out to meet us too and join in the reunion. James advises that the last obstacle on the road ahead to Exeter is Halden Hill which he warns “…is a bit cheeky in places”.

Only in Britain can you see village names like Bovey Tracey and pedal up through a town called Chudleigh Knighton. Unfortunately we won’t be passing through my personal favourite, Nempnett Thrubwell.  But the smiles soon turn to grimaces as we hit Halden hill. We realise that “a bit cheeky” needs to be interpreted as “near vertical” as the chain dances over the chainrings into the lowest possible gear and we get to work winching up through the forest. The malfunctioning rear hub isn’t enjoying the strain and neither are we but somehow we get to the top in time to see the sun disappearing into the horizon.

I went to university in Exeter so there’s a strange feeling of familiarity as we dash down into the suburbs and circle around the city. We pass the university rowing club, scene of many a cold morning outing on the canal, and then continue on down now pitch black cycle paths to the home of Digz and Lisa. Our first night back in England couldn’t be better, staying with good friends, reminiscing, telling stories and enjoying a home cooked curry, our national dish.

Britain really does have world class weather. There’s nowhere else that can match it for drizzle, mist and what weathermen refer to as ‘overcast’. This soggy atmosphere accompanies us the next morning as we approach the Blackdown Hills.  Since we left in 2014 we’ve crossed the Carpathians, the Lesser Caucasus, the Pamirs, the Himalayas, the Japanese Alps, the Cascades, the Rockies and the Appalachians and this is the final major geographical obstacle that we have to negotiate before home. The lane narrows, the leg cadence drops and we slowly begin ascending. The bike isn’t happy, Kirsty’s knee isn’t happy but eventually we summit at Dunkerswell, some 256m above sea level and survey the views all around us. At least we would have if it wasn’t for the freezing fog that covers the whole village. As we park the bike outside the local shop someone asks “Going far?”, I reply “Bristol”, “Really!…”

As well as the weather, Britain is also a world leader in savoury snacks. I didn’t realise how much I’d missed sausage rolls, pork pies, pasties and scotch eggs until I saw the greasy display in the heated cabinet in the Dunkerswell Co-op. There’s nothing better than a steak slice to keep a cold hungry cyclist fuelled up.

It’s going to take more than some overcooked pies to get us home though. As we push down on the pedals they begin slipping forward without moving the bike. Every other pedal stroke it works then it begins slipping again. The Blackdown Hills seem to be the final straw for the hub. With only 100km left of the trip it looks like this could be as far as the bike can go and in frustration I’m ready to chuck it into the nearest ditch. But no, we can’t be beaten by a mere technicality like this. There was that moment when the front fork cracked in Tajikistan but we managed to get it welded (it still holds to this day). The moment when the old rear hub fell apart in Laos and we managed to find another wheel to get us up to Hanoi. There has to be a solution. Digging into the rear pannier I pull out the finest invention known to man: a bundle of zip ties.

For a long time I’ve been an advocate of the theory that there’s nothing that zip ties, gaffer tape and pipe clips can’t fix and once again this proves true. After some fiddling around and with the sprockets firmly secured to the spokes we manage to get the bike moving again. It’s not strong enough to cope with any hard pressure but with care on the flatter sections we can pedal along quite happily. Unfortunately we’re still in Devon so there’s no avoiding some lengthy pushes over the last of the hills. We make for a sorry sight as I struggle with the bike while Kirsty limps behind, her knee getting more and more inflamed with every step.

Finally the hills give way to the flatlands of the Somerset levels and we manage to get into Taunton, the next large town, only having to replace the zip ties once. Although the bike shop here would love to help, our requirements are just too specific to be able to fix it for us. Our ‘bombproof’ rear hub follows the rule that “The major difference between a thing that might go wrong and a thing that cannot possibly go wrong is that when a thing that cannot possibly go wrong goes wrong it usually turns out to be impossible to get at or repair.” (from The Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy). Just up the road is St. John Street Cycles which just happens to be home of Thorn Bikes and is the birthplace of our own not-so-trusty steed, surely if anyone can help it’s them.

Begrudgingly we hop on a train for the 15km journey into Bridgewater and arrive shortly before the shop is due to shut. Our high hopes for a solution are quickly dashed when we’re told that they don’t have any spare wheels available for us to borrow. It seems even the largest tandem specialist in the country can’t help. “We can build a wheel up for you tomorrow if you like?”. Now with 60km left this sounds like a very expensive option so instead we ask for a fresh supply of zip ties and decide to continue tentatively on with the bodged solution.

Our last night on the road is spent in Burnham on Sea. A less than auspicious location nestled on the banks of the Severn Estuary but with some very appropriate hosts. Before we get to them however there’s time for a pint of Somerset’s famous Thatchers Cider with my brother Justin. We last saw him as he jumped into a taxi in Tbilisi after our week together cycling through Georgia and the moment of our reunion is full of emotion and laughs.

It turns out that Burnham on Sea is home to some original comedians. Not content with the industry standard “She’s not pedalling on the back!” hilarious jape, one observer shouts “Get yer own bike!” when he sees us ride past. This is by far the best tandem heckle we’ve heard to date so we have to congratulate him for making our day. Our final Warmshowers hosts for the night appreciate this joke too as Allan and Maggie have also travelled the world on a tandem. Being able to chat and share similar stories about the moments we’ve all experienced travelling on a bike made for two is just what we need to round off our last night.

I manage to squeeze a few more zip ties onto the wheel before we set off in the morning. This arrangement means we can change gear but we can’t stop pedalling. If we do, then the zip ties will break which we discover 1km after leaving Allan and Maggie’s house.  I attach a fresh set and then we’re off again. It’s the last day of a very long journey and it’s not far to Bristol now so the sights become more and more familiar. Up ahead we can see the top of Cheddar Gorge cutting into the top of the Mendip Hills, a classic road climb that I’ve scaled countless times. Today we’re looking for something a little less taxing for our route home though so make our way up to The Strawberry Line, an old railway line converted into a cycle path. Railway lines have the advantage of being as flat as possible so this serves our purposes perfectly. It also takes us past the home of Thatchers Cider in Sandford where we’re met by two cycling legends: Matt and Drew. Their warm welcome is aided by some complimentary glasses of the fizzy apple stuff fresh from the brewery. Somerset is to cider as Bordeaux is to wine, Porto is to port, Kentucky is to bourbon and Georgia is to chacha.

Our small and slightly wobbly peloton then continues on to Yatton, increasing in numbers when we meet two lads from Birmingham who are on a trip from Brum to Burnham and back. Aircraft strength zip ties are issued in Yatton by the Las Vegas Institute of Sport‘s very own Director Sportif Dylan who informs us that they are “Stronger than the ones used by police as handcuffs”.  The riding has been anything but hard so far today but I eat a chicken pie to keep my energy levels up just in case.

The roads we’re on now used to form my commute into work. I used to know every twist and turn and pothole but today it feels fresh and exciting and different again. Nick has joined us and we all make slow progress, counting down the kilometres. Even a railway bridge is enough of a hill to force us to get off and push so our lead-out men have to be very patient.

With what must be only 10km left to ride we get a a bit too excited, push a bit too hard and break all the zip ties again. The last batch get fitted and now we have to be extra careful as if these break then that’s it. We could walk in from here but that would be a disappointing way to end the journey. We crawl through Long Ashton then into Bedminster before we get our first view of the Clifton Suspension Bridge one of the most recognisable icons of Bristol. Another moment to capture and remember. A lump forms in my throat as we skirt around the docks, past the City of Bristol Rowing Club where Kirsty and I first met. Past the Cathedral where a car turns in front of us and comes close to knocking us off which could have been an even more disappointing way to end the journey. Unscathed we then roll down into traffic chaos in the centre of the city. It may have taken 54 zip ties and countless boxes of ibuprofen but it looks like the bike and its crew are actually going to make it.

Matt has not only been my wingman on many an adventure but he has also coached me through various races. I remember one piece of his sage advice quite clearly at this point and that is to remember to savour the finish line moment.  It’s easy to get carried away in those last few pedal strokes or footsteps and to not pay close enough attention to what is actually happening around you but it’s really important that you do. So much effort and time has been invested to get to that moment where you finally achieve your goal and if you blink you’ll miss it.

I reach behind me to find Kirsty’s hand as we gently spin up to the Roll for Soul Cafe, the place where it all began back on 16th August 2014, 851 days ago. This is the finish line, the end of the road, the completion of our journey.  We step off the bike for the last time and wrap our arms round each other. We’ve done it!

After this moment it all becomes a bit overwhelming. I’d almost forgotten that it’s my birthday so the celebration of getting round the world is combined with a celebration of another lap around the sun.  Friends arrive to share a few drinks, some have come a long way to join us and it’s amazing to see everyone. There are so many moments in our friends lives that we’ve missed that it’s going to take a long time to catch up properly. Technically we’re still homeless having not had the heart to turf out our tenants just before Christmas. It’s tempting to pitch the tent somewhere in the city but at the same time we’re grateful for the offer of a bed for the night from our friends Lynn and Dave.

Waking up in Bristol should seem very strange but at the same time feels surprisingly normal. We’ve become so used to adapting to new situations that it seems we’re able to settle into an old situation just as quick. But I think it’s going to take a long time to gather our thoughts about everything we’ve been through over the last 851 days. Behind us we can trace a tyre wide path that stretches full circle around the world and all along it are memorable moments.  So many places, views and countless amazing people. I’m not sure if linking up these moments into a continuous line makes the world feel smaller or the fact that it took a long time to ride around it makes us realise how big our planet is. One things for sure is that there’s a lot more to explore either side of that line and certainly a lot more moments left to live.

I’ll be back with the much requested list of statistics sometime soon along with an extensive list of thanks to everyone who made the journey possible or helped us along the way but for now we’ve got Christmas and New Year to celebrate. I hope everyone has a great festive holiday and wish you all the best for an exciting 2017. Thanks for following our adventure.

….and if anyone can guess the exact number of kilometres that we finished on then they get to choose five items from our bag of international single serving condiments.