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. 

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.