April 23, 2018 by foonbikeride

A Farewell to London

It is a little over 5 years ago that we pedalled out of Melbourne. Back then it was hard to imagine what adventures lay ahead and what our life would look like. Sometimes it all still feels quite surreal and now our time in London is drawing to a close. We have both finished full time work, our house has been packed up, our possessions given away and in a few days we will begin our pedal through Scotland (to finish our failed LEJOG). After that we will have another week or so in London before heading towards Harwich, reversing our journey of a few years ago. A ferry will take us to Den Haag from where we head north to the Danish port town of Hirtshals. Here a ferry will take us to Iceland and we will finally pay homage to the wild beauty we have heard so much about. After more than two years in London my heart craves for nature and quiet. For the wild and desolate places, devoid of humans, buildings, noise. After Iceland our plans are loose. From Denmark we will probably head south east, or maybe we will head to Nordkapp first. Perhaps we will go to Africa, perhaps not. We might cycle home. We might not. Our plan is not to have a plan, to stay open to opportunities as they arise and embrace the freedom of the road.

: View from Greenwich observatory. Same view as almost 3 years ago..

Bikes outside our home

In the mean time, I’m having to say goodbye to a place that has become a home. For both of us. We have both struggled with London for different reasons and for varying periods of time. Astrid has had a much tougher time than me and it is a testament to her spirit that she has prevailed and eventually found happiness and a sense of belonging as well.

Same view we saw when we first arrived nearly 3 years ago

While we have obviously travelled through many different cultures, it was always quite transient. There is something very different from passing through a country, with fleeting connections, to moving to a place and making some kind of life. This is further complicated by the fact that we always knew we would be leaving, which is actually so common in London. It is a huge globalised city with a population that is often shifting; people come to make money, to study, to live a little while in the craziness, for music, for theatre, for any number of reasons that people are attracted to big cities. This is part of what makes it so exciting but also part of what can make it so isolating and soul destroying. It can be hard to connect to Londoners and many people seem to drift towards their expat communities. Perhaps in a way this is a protective mechanism as well. A friend said to me the other day something that rang really true; when you move countries (and as a side note I want to add this goes for those of us choosing to move countries, not those forced to flee their homes) you need to do it like you are going to stay. That’s another way of saying do it with presence and your with your whole heart. And when you do this you ultimately leave people behind you love.

Victoria Park

And while it is mostly the people I will miss, I also want to celebrate and remember the places and often seemingly mundane moments that make pieces of a life anywhere you find yourself living. Perhaps I am being unnecessarily nostalgic or sentimental but I think that’s probably okay.

When I think of London in terms of physical spaces I think firstly of our home; a solid Victorian brick house in an east London suburb where gentrification hadn’t quite fully arrived. It was the first house since our journey finished and I loved it for all the simple reasons; coming in from the pouring rain, knowing I didn’t need to put up a wet tent or crawl into a damp sleeping bag, heating, a kettle, baking bread, cooking with more than one pot, building garden beds from reclaimed wood, growing vegetables. All those things filled me with a quiet, simple joy. It helped with the transition from a wild traveling life to something more quietly wild. Things we hadn’t been able to do while travelling brought a different kind of meaning to our lives; hosting couchsurfers and cyclists from all over the world (giving back a little of the kindness we received!), cooking dinners for our friends, parties and nights by the fire in our garden. All these little moments made our life at Downsell Road feel so full.

While our home was my anchoring point, my sense of connection to London as a place also grew. First through exploring London on my bike, and then rattling around the streets in an ambulance. There is something quite unique about working as a paramedic in a city you don’t know. It gives you an understanding and insight into a place that is somehow fast tracked. I don’t think I’d know London and specifically Hackney half as well if I hadn’t spent hours upon hours driving around the impossibly narrow streets, dragging equipment into flats, tube stations, work places and even the Tower of London a few times. There is something intimate about the work we do. Very few jobs allow you to glimpse people’s lives so closely and this certainly added to my fondness of London and all its people.

I want to remember all the places and moments and keep them in my heart.

Firstly, pedalling to work in all seasons; in spring when the geese and their babies are around (the geese are quite intimidating!), in summer when I often saw ravers leaving the woods on my way to work (wish I was cool enough to join them), to autumn when the pure beauty of the colours filled me with joy, and then winter when it was sometimes so cold I wanted to cry but none the less a thrill, and beautiful in its stillness.

Canal boats in the snow!

Also, Victoria Park; summer picnics, jumping the fence with other cyclists when we all hadn’t quite made the dusk curfew, rare summer days where we would get enough of a break to grab a coffee and park the ambulance by the lake, enjoying the sun and brief interlude to an otherwise hectic shift.

dav

dav

Rare moment of quiet, Vic Park

Then the Hackney Marshes; So many runs – in sun and snow, blustering wind and icy cold. Sitting by the river with Astrid and having dinner on summer evenings, trying to recapture some of the wildness in our life. Parties at the stone circle.

Old tree man found on a run

The very snow Hackney Marshes

And more random moments, the ones that are just flashes and feelings and seemingly insignificant but still contribute to it all. Driving an ambulance through the crazy traffic around Dalston junction. Getting curry from my favourite place near the royal London. That time I got to go in a crane at work (career highlight). That curb I once rode into after a night shift, causing me to fall of my bike and look around in embarrassment. Dinners at the Black Cat. Riding down Homerton high street after work, or a few pints at the Adam and Eve (the Adam and eve!). Running through the Epping Forest. Pub quiz at our local. Climbing at mile end, then going for pints. Eating an amazing amount of Pampelmouse. Staying up all night dancing and watching the sunrise in the park. The smell of woodsmoke from the canal boats in winter. Getting a backie on my bike after several pints. Incredibly long summer evenings in our yard. Pedaling home drunk in the snow and laughing at the joy of it all. So many small moments and places that are in my memory and give me a sense of meaning and belonging.

Heading back from a run in the forest

There are also a few things I am going to miss about living in Britain, things that over time I have incorporated into my life, or learnt to appreciate. Firstly and foremost the NHS. I have worked both in the British and Australian healthcare system and while not without it flaws, I have a deep appreciation and respect for the NHS. Healthcare should be free at the point of use for everyone. By chronically underfunding it and then pointing out its failings the Tory government has been seeking to destroy the NHS and this is something I deeply hope does not happen. It almost feels like a gift from another era, from when we cared about things like healthcare for all and the welfare state.

London Bike Kitchen

The more random things include the tube – while I actually dislike going on it (think intimate relationship with someones arm pit but no speaking allowed) I love the fact that it exists. I am definitely a huge fan of public transport infrastructure and this is something I very much appreciate about London. Also, being able to go on trips outside of London without needing a car – I love this. I never once felt I needed a car to explore Britain. The national cycle network. Off West End theatres (and theatre in general). Old British pubs. Dogs being allowed in pubs. Hand pulled ales. London’s first fully vegan pub opening up right work. All the delicious vegan food in London. Radio 4. Radio 6. The BBC in general. Access to the Eurostar. Off licenses. British summer days (although rare, those perfect summer days are so bloody lovely). Canal boats (of course). British festivals and partying in general (the British do this so well!). London buses (in melbourne I mistrust buses but in London I prefer them). Urban foxes. The ability to sleep with the window open and no fly screen. Squirrels in parks. London bike Kitchen (DIY space for fixing bikes). Royal mail (twice a day pick up!). The postcode system. How multi cultural London is (Australia seems rather white, even Melbourne). Prosecco. Affordable dentistry.

Ultimately it is the people I will miss most however. We have solidified some friendships here and forged some strong new ones. You all know who you are and I want say a heartfelt thank you for making London something special. Without your friendship, laughter, crazy all nighters and so many other wonderful moments London wouldn’t have been half the experience it was.

Also, please move to Melbourne (-: Or at least visit.

Much Love

Jude

September 30, 2017 by foonbikeride

The Dunwich Dynamo

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I never intended to cycle the Dunwich Dynamo. In fact when someone had mentioned its existence a few months before, I thought it sounded crazy. Why would I want to cycle nearly 200km through the night from London to the Suffolk Coast?

It sounded decidedly unpleasant and would probably rain.

Yet, somehow in late June when a friend mentioned he was cycling it, I found myself enthusiastically saying I’d join him. Astrid was going to be away that weekend and I thought it sounded like a solid (possibly type 2 fun) way to spend a Saturday night. I’d conveniently forgotten I didn’t actually own a road bike – only the green fairy; a well made steel framed touring bike with the heaviest rims on the planet, fat off road tyres plus front and rear steel racks. The ideal bike to tackle the dirt roads of Kyrgyzstan fully loaded – not so ideal to ride 200km through the night on tarmac with a bunch of people (mostly) on road bikes.

The Dunwich Dynamo or Dun Run (as the cool kids call it) began sometime in the 90’s – when a group of friends decided it would be fun to ride to the coast overnight. Since it’s humble beginning it has grown into one of the more obscure and fun things to do in London during the summer. No roads are closed – it’s not an organised event – part of it’s charm. And it’s also free. You just rock up and ride. Famously people have done it on a Boris bike and a unicycle. While some people probably take it seriously, most don’t. Pubs along the route stay open and some villages have pop up stalls selling food and drinks to weary cyclists.

Although I had hesitations after my initial enthusiasm I realised having a heavy bike wasn’t actually an excuse not to do this. Instead I recruited Ben to join me as well. He liked long bike rides after all.

The week before the ride I had a brief fantasy that I could make the Green Fairy lighter, less like riding a tractor. I pedalled over to the London Bike Kitchen (an awesome DIY space where you get helped to fix your own bike) and set about giving her a slight make over. This included finally changing my chainring after more than 30,000km, replacing the chain and swapping my fat off road tyres to slightly less fat (but still huge compared to road bikes) tyres. I also spent a frustrating hour trying to take off my rear and front racks which was an exercise in futility.

By the time Saturday evening rolled around I felt more or less ready. I had even bought a novelty shirt from a charity shop to wear, deciding that being a bit ridiculous was going to be my way of tackling 200km. I mean, cycling a long distance overnight is kind of crazy. I packed what I thought I needed (which included a flask of whiskey) into my handle bar bag and pedalled over to London Fields, collecting Ben on the way.

Ben and I looking keen

The park around Pub on the Park in London Fields was full of cyclists, milling about and sipping beer. I liked the vibe of the event already. After meeting up with Tony and his friends Lenny and Alex, it was time for us to also partake in the drinking of beer.

Tony and I – a pint is the best way to start a 200km bike ride!

Looking keen and full of energy!

We milled around chatting and drinking beer until around 8.30pm when people began to move off. It was a bottle neck getting out of the park at London Fields but soon we were pedalling in a ramshackle group out of Hackney and north eastwards into the suburbs.

As we made our way along Lea Bridge Road I longingly thought about how my bed was currently 15 mins south of where we were. It would be a further 17 hours before I would see my bed again. I didn’t quite realise what the night had in store.

Heading out of town

On the first bit I pushed a little hard, I wanted to keep up with the road bikes. I tried to ignore the fact that when they were coasting, I was still pedalling. Still, I felt good, the mood was light and we all intermitently chatted as the light faded from the sky.

Feeling good and having a little whiskey..

Soon the suburbs gave way to the Essex countryside and it felt like we were really heading somewhere as the darkness enveloped us. The others went ahead and Ben stayed with me as we rode into the night. Eventually we reached a village which was full of cyclists spilling out from a pub. We couldn’t see the others so Ben and I rode on to the next village.

Turns out we had somehow missed Tony and his friends so we waited and partook in the drinking of whiskey and beer to pass the time (15 mins). To be honest I was beginning to get tired and worried about the road ahead. Ben mused that at the rate we were going we would reach Dunwich after midday (the idea is to make it for sunrise) and this instilled a quiet panic in me. We had barely done 50km and I was pretty shattered. The others soon arrived and after a quick break we rolled on. Our goal was the half way point at Sudbury, where the fire station puts on a feed.

The general mood began to plummet in our little group. We were all feeling it. I definitely did not have enough snacks and was running super low on energy. Plus I was cold and exhausted, the Green Fairy felt like a tractor and every undulation in the dark felt like a Kyrgyzstan style pass. Someone said it felt like a bad trip; we couldn’t figure out why everyone was having fun while we were all so miserable. My one consolation was, unlike all the guys in our group my saddle which was basically moulded to my bum was not causing me pain. I think everyone else was in utter agony. Tony looked like he was done. Ben was morosely silent. Someone talked of getting the train back from Ipswich.

Although at this point I felt utterly melancholic I had an inkling that things would get better. Perhaps it’s the 2.5 years spent traveling on the bike, but you soon learn that often after the most difficult times come the most rewarding. There is something powerful in being okay with discomfort.

These are some of the things that I thought of as I pedalled those slow and grim kilometres through the darkness.

Eventually, after an eternity we seemed to be reaching a town. It was nearing 3 am, well passed the time I had calculated in my head that we should be at Sudbury, the half way point. Although the fire station was just ahead I stopped at an off licence that had remained open and bought a jar of peanut butter and some bread. I shoved some calories into my face and then set about trying to find the others.

I found them morosely discussing Ipswich and when the trains would start. Everyone looked as shattered as I felt. We limped on to the fire station to take a well earned break and to eat some food.

Disaster. The fireman nonchalantly informed us that they had run out of food two hours ago.

Devastated is probably an understatement.

I am not proud of this but a string of expletives left my mouth. Then I nearly cried. Looking over at the others I felt like they were in a similar headspace.

The low point: bread and HP sauce

4 am and everyone’s a little broken..

We were left with no choice but to eat the left over bread rolls with some left over HP sauce. Other cyclists were turning up all the time and being met with the same fate. It was probably the ultimate low of the night. The only thing that saved me was the fact that I had managed to shove some peanut butter and bread into my face before I got to the fire station. My mood despite the tragedy that is bread rolls, HP sauce and instant coffee, began to lift.

I think the break and the food (even if it was far from what we had hoped it would be) slowly began working their magic and eventually we all rolled out of Sudbury, towards Dunwich and the hint of dawn. Ipswich and it’s train station were forgotten.

We had been gifted with quite a mild summers night, and as we now cycled the light began to touch the sky, bathing the countryside in the most beautiful gold. The fields, hedgerows and woods we pedalled passed filled me with the pure joy of nature and my mood soared. It is hard to describe the utter delight the daylight brought. It felt more like a spiritual experience than a bike ride.

Sunrise!

It was during this beautiful sunrise phase of the cycle that I gained the most important insight into a ride; I think in our modern life we spend a lot of time avoiding discomfort. Surrounded by modern conveniences in our daily lives we often don’t get very uncomfortable. We have cars and uber, takeaway delivery services, electricity, kettles, heating, soft beds, public transport, smart phones and fridges. Everything is designed to make our life easier. I mean when is the last time you collected wood to built a fire to cook a meal? We rarely in our modern, wealthy western existence get faced with real discomfort. And when we do it’s usually for short periods of time while we do exercise or perhaps are rammed on the tube with our face in someones arm pit.

To be honest, I’d forgotten what discomfort felt like. And that’s probably why in the end the ride meant so much more than just a novelty cycle to the coast. It reminded me of our cycle trip because travel, especially travel by bicycle makes you embrace discomfort; From pitching your tent in minus 10, to being soaked to your undies, or pushing your 50kg bike up a 3000m pass along something that more closely resembles a river bed then a road. Not to mention the countless times you are invited to stay with complete strangers, with whom you share no common language, or culture. These things, which happen almost everyday to some extent on a big cycle trip, push comfort zones.

And it is in these moments of discomfort that growth happens.

Obviously here on this bike ride I am talking about physical discomfort but it’s a metaphor really that you can apply to other parts of life. By embracing challenges; be it physical or emotional we force ourselves to reach somewhere beyond our comfort zone. It is precisely when we feel the most uncomfortable that we grow and push out our boundaries, making our world that little bit richer.

As the sun rose and wonderful pink hues coloured the sky my soul was reminded of this, and at the same time also filled with the utter delight of just being alive. It was one of those rare moments where I fully appreciated how amazing a sunrise is. How beautiful and perfect the trees and woods were and how everything just felt wonderful. Looking around at the others I felt like they were experiencing a similar high. It seemed we had all come out of the dark night of aches, pains and fatigue together. It now made sense to me why people do this ride. It is pretty bloody magical

The magical morning

We were still a long way from Dunwich though. As the high of sunrise slowly wore off I became a happy kind of fatigued. I knew we would all make it and I was tired but happy. We pedalled on, stopping a few more times at pop up stalls for a coffee and a bite to eat.

Pretty chuffed with life

We rode on through undulating farmland and towards the Suffolk coast, eventually reaching heath land before at long last the coast. Ive often been tired after a bike ride but this was a special kind of exhausted. Some kind of combination of having just finished a night shift, an epic bike ride, and being on some kind of high. I was shattered but in a good way.

Happy and exhuasted

We walked onto the beach, enjoying the early morning sunshine and the pure elation of having made it. Tired cyclists had spread themselves all over the rocky shore, the place was a hive of activity. People arriving and leaving, excited conversations and murmurs of congratulations filled the air. It seemed almost everyone was in a place of happy exhaustion. After eating, I managed a swim in the sea (wonderful!) before piling onto a bus with the others back to London.

We are done.

Lovely

What can I say about the Dunwich Dynamo? It was difficult and amazing and to me much more than just a bike ride. It reminded my of life lessons I’d half forgotten and inspired me to keep pushing into the places that are that uncomfortable because they are often the most rewarding and inspiring.

Although next time I might bring more snacks.

January 19, 2017 by foonbikeride

Learning to Love London

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When Astrid and I left Melbourne in 2013 we had always had a vague plan that perhaps we could work as paramedics in the UK at the completion of our ride. At the time the process was quite difficult and I had only heard of one other Australian trained paramedic having done it. Then way back in Western China, when a friend emailed us and told us that London Ambulance were actively recruiting Australian paramedics, it seemed perfect. The ease of getting a job in London ultimately caused us to change from our original plan of cycling to Glasgow. Instead we arrived in London on our bikes, jobs already secured. On paper it seemed ideal.

Yet by the time we were faced with the actual reality of an employed existence everything felt wrong. Who I was and what I wanted from life felt like it had been shattered. I was questioning everything. Did I really want to be employed? Did I want to live in a house? In a city? Slip back into my old habits, my old life? My heart longed for something else. To keep traveling, to write, something. The adventure had opened my mind and soul to different possibilities. I was no longer sure I wanted the life I had so fully chosen before.

London Bridge, looking onto Tower Bridge

We talked about our options but in the end pragmatism won out. We were already here and there was no obligation to stay. Plus, it wouldn’t be forever. With hindsight, I feel we made the right decision. I am happy here. We both are. Perhaps in the future I would consider doing it differently. While I don’t think regret is a useful emotion and I don’t regret the decision we made to work for LAS and live in London I am wary of planning too far ahead next time. In the same breath I will also say that sometimes making a practical decision from a solid place ends up feeling like the right one, once things have settled down. Probably there are no wrong decisions, just a series of choices we make through life that take us on different paths.

Classic London

So after our summer of hiking and then visiting friends we arrived back in dreary London on a chilly and dark November afternoon. We pulled up on fully loaded bikes in front of the Croydon Park Hotel (Croydon being a far flung suburb of London). The doorman did a double take. We didn’t exactly look like people who could afford this kind of place. And actually we couldn’t. The LAS were putting us up as part of our induction. After the initial shock, he escorted us to our padded cell – also known as a hotel room. We set about trying to make it home. I don’t think we we fully succeeded. I am not sure I have ever been quite as miserable as I have living in that place for a month. There were many factors but its beige walls and dull tones didn’t help. I felt like the wildness in me had been caged. Our one point of rebellion was to fire up our petrol stove in the bathroom and cook dinner on it.

Cooking in the bathroom of our hotel

PPE training

Looking cute, even though the uniform is ugly!

Dramatic Winter sunset

It is a huge process of rediscovery coming from life on the road back into work and conventional existence. Sitting in that fluorescent lit classroom, wearing that ugly green uniform, not seeing the sun. I felt like a small part of me was dying. Luckily these feelings passed in time and I slowly remembered that I had been happy in my life back at home. Working and living a settled existence doesn’t have to be a bad thing. The freedom I have known and the things I’ve learnt, I can keep them with me, even in London.

Winter gloom often matched my mood

So while living in our padded cell, adjusting to a settled life and being taught how to be a paramedic London style, we also got partake in the fun task of becoming a human recognisable to British bureaucracy. Not an easy feat. I feel deep empathy towards anyone who does not speak english well. It was a mind numbingly frustrating and difficult task and english is my first language. I won’t go into the ins and outs – it’s pretty boring but its something like – you must have an address to get bank account, but in order to get a bank account you need an address and to get a national insurance number in order to work you need an address which in turn you need a bank account for….AHHHHHH!!

Hackney Wick, near home

Once our work induction was over and done with I was faced with the stark realisation that I kind of hated London. We both did. It was miserable and grey with heavy clouds obscuring the sky for days. The service that now employed us seemed archaic and struggling. Equipment was often missing from our ambulances and technology we had had for more than 10 years back at home was non-existent. This was compounded by the harsh culture of austerity we found ourselves working in and the continued attacks on the NHS. The patients we visited lived in tiny, poorly insulated flats with rising damp. Everywhere was crowded and while you were often intimate with complete strangers on the tube at rush hour (think face in someone’s arm pit) to smile or to talk was a definite no no. People and the city itself appeared generally harsh, unfriendly and morose.

Eerie light pollution

Street art, Hackney Wick

How do you learn to love a city that you do not get along with at first?

You get on your bicycle.

For me cities are more than just a bunch of buildings thrown together where lots of people live. They have a soul and a mood of their own. I first really fell in love with Melbourne when I began cycling everywhere. Being free to cut through back streets, parks and along rivers gives you an intimate glance into the life of the city that is hard to replicate. You cycle passed people’s open windows and smell their dinners cooking, find short cuts through small streets and stumble upon neighbourhood cafes you never knew existed. Through the seasons you feel the city shift – the hot northerly that will become a cool southerly by the evening (which is inevitably always a headwind), the swollen creek that spills onto the bike path after the rain, warm summer evenings, the smell of cut grass and neighbourhood barbecues. These collection of seemingly insignificant moments are the ones that connected me to Melbourne on a level that was different to the one I felt to the people that lived there. If you can have both of those – a connection to place and to people, well for me that’s what makes a place worth living in.

Biking around London helped come to terms with the city

Canal side bike and pedestrian path

In London it began with canals. Not long after moving to East London I stumbled upon the canal while cycling and this is where my heart began to open up to this strange new place. Canals offer another insight into the city, something beyond the brash, often harsh globalised capital that is London. There is something almost other worldly about the slow moving canal boats with their charmingly painted exteriors. In the summer people sit on their roofs, a few boats gathered together, drinking wine and sharing food. In the winter, they seem to huddle together for warmth, wood smoke mixing with the chilly air. I fell in love with canals, cycling along them, running along them, sitting by their edge and drinking a beer. It was the first thing that delighted me about London.

The Canal

And even more

With the canals as my grounding force I cautiously explored further, sometimes with Astrid, often alone (our shift patterns didn’t match up particularly well at that time). I would cycle into the city, explore a museum or gallery, then find my way home just by cycling east. Sometimes I used the luminous winter moon to guide my way, knowing that the glowing red AcelorMittal Orbit sculpture (i had to google what it was just now) would eventually appear on the horizon and from there I knew I was nearly home. These long winter cycles began to give me a feel and appreciation for the city that had become my home. It broke it down for me, into neighbourhoods, each with their distinct feel and character.

Foggy morning cycling through Victoria Park

Slowly the season began to transform. The gloomy dark gave way and the incredibly long evenings of spring delighted us all. London began to feel different. The mood shifted, life moved outdoors. As soon as the sun shone the parks and green spaces (of which there are many) filled with people picnicking and barbecuing ( I feel Britain is in dire need of the free BBQ’s so prevalent at home). Our friends and family began to visit as the weather improved and Victoria Park practically became our second home. More and more I realised that London is filled with wild little nooks and crannies. You don’t have to go far to find a little bit of wilderness and it is actually considered the greenest capital city in Europe.

Spring!

Victoria Park picnics

Long summer evenings with wine and a fire. Perfect.

Exploring the Greenway

Epping Forest, inside the M25

With the parks and canals as my founding love, as time wore on I began to add other things I appreciated about London to that list.

It is a city of many cultures, which seem generally more integrated than even my multicultural home of Melbourne. There is a mosque at the end of our street, a bunch of small shops that sell Halal food, a Romanian corner shop and a pub, all within 5 mins walk of where we live. Even in post Brexit Britain London in general remains a place of more liberal and open values. There is an underlying edginess, it feels like a place where anything can happen. Because it is so big and diverse there is always something going on . No matter how random your interest is, in London you can probably find a group of people into the same thing. I like that about living here.

Wondering around East London I also grew immensely fond of the humble corner shop. In Australia the equivalent of a corner shop – the milkbar is a dying, almost extinct phenomena. Here, at least where we live, the ‘Offie (off license) appears not to be going anywhere. The whole high street is dotted with them and they are all through the back streets too. Our local one stays open for 24 hours (great for 2am wine runs). I almost never go to a supermarket which makes me pretty happy.

Like offies, the neighbourhoods are also dotted with pubs. You can still find some old man pubs which are a strange mix of hipsters drinking craft beers and locals doing the crosswords (drinking fosters), probably sitting at the same place at the bar that they have for the last 15 years. I love wondering into a warm cosy pub on a winters night. And yeah, I totally love room temperature flat beers now too!

Our tube stop

By the time autumn rolled around again these collection of experiences and realisations had shown me the good in London. I think we have both more or less found our place amongst the contrasting and shifting landscape that is east London. A pillar of our existence has certainly also been our home. After the time on the road I appreciate the simple things wholeheartedly. Being able to make cup of tea without lighting a fire or pumping our fuel bottle, baking bread and learning new dishes that require more than one pot. Building garden beds, planting vegetables, inviting friends over for a fire in our yard. All these seemingly everyday tasks delight me. While I look forward to the time when our tyres hit the road once more, for now I am very content.

Home

Autumn again, Vic Park

Autumn Vic Park

Eerie autumn fog

Our winter Garden

And while I have written about the city itself and the things we enjoy doing now we no longer pedal for a living, it is our friends that truly make London feel like a home. They anchor us to this place and really give it meaning. There is something quite amazing after a year of living somewhere when you realise you are surrounded by people that you care about and who care about you, some of whom you have known for less than 12 months.

So I want to say a big thank you; to the friends we knew when we moved here – you certainly kept us sane in the first few bleak months, I don’t know what we would have done without you. To our families and old friends who visited us – your gaze helped us see the city in a different light and connected us with love from back home. And lastly to the new friends, the ones we have made since moving here – you have inspired us and helped us feel happy and at home here. It is going to be hard to leave.

Loads of Love

Jude

bty

August 8, 2016 by foonbikeride

One Year On

One Year on. We survived!

It’s one year since we pedalled into London and brought this part of the cycle journey more or less to a close. I thought it would be as good a time as any to take a moment to reflect and update. To say it’s been a full on year would be an understatement. I always knew it would be hard to adjust back to more or less conventional life, but it nearly undid me.

It was fucking brutal.

I will try and explain. Bare with me, this is still not completely figured out in my head but here are some of the insights I have.

Cycle travelling cuts out the bullshit. You are suddenly and very quickly faced with the things that are universally important. Where do we get food? Where do we get water? Where will we sleep tonight? Those are the things we all really need. And human connection. On the road you have fleeting but wonderful connections with people who invite you to stay for the night, people who stop to give you water, or simply want to ask if you are okay. The overwhelming feeling is of universal kindness. Sure there is the odd twat, but most people you encounter are pretty awesome. There is also a pretty fabulous community of long term cycle travellers and hosts out there who really get what you do. So it’s almost like life it stripped down to the minimum and most important things that we as humans need. Not to say that there aren’t other ways to achieve this. But it happens organically with cycle travelling. It’s almost impossible for it not to happen. In my experience anyway.

This can leave you somewhat disconnected from mainstream society. Because just like most people can’t relate to the time you got deported from Turkmenistan, you often can’t relate to their lives. It’s a little alienating and takes time to remember that not everyone is excited about wild camping in Iran and how long you can go without showering. It wasn’t exactly that I felt lonely, more that I was disillusioned with people and conventional life in general. I just wanted to get back on my bike and leave. But ultimately I have learned it’s not about having to fit back in. With time you find your kind of people and learn to take joy from different things. I don’t want this journey to be the one amazing thing I’ve done. I don’t even want it to define me. It’s just part of what has makes mine and Astrid’s life so rich.

I also found myself feeling much more sensitive to the planet. I think we both did. After spending most of our time living outdoors, it’s hard not to feel a deep connection to the natural world. Cars, waste, lack of recycling, environmental destruction and cruelty to animals affected me in a more intense and emotional way than it had before. As a result Astrid and I have become more or less freegan, something we had been discussing for quite a while on the trip. This means we eat mainly vegan unless say, someone has made us a meal, or we are dumpster diving. It is as much about waste reduction as it is about being plant based. This might be confusing for some but I would rather eat a non vegan dip out of a dumpster that was perfectly fine and would go to waste, than some vegan chocolate that has been flown in from Brazil. Ultimately it’s about reducing our impact on the planet.

Another strong impact that this journey left on both of us was the lack of fear. Sure, we still get scared about things from time to time and I would never call myself fearless, but hell, a lot of people are scared. After being around people who generally carry less fear as they are also traveling and exploring, it was confronting to see how much fear is out there. People are afraid to cycle, afraid to travel, afraid to do anything out of the norm. Afraid of the stories we are told by our politicians. Afraid of refugees. Afraid of fucking everything. I totally get where it comes from, mainly the media, and I don’t really blame people for it, but it does make me sad. Because like any cycle traveler or even half adventurous backpacker will tell you, the world is full of kind people. People who will invite you in off the street to sleep in their houses, people who will stop on the highway and give you food, people who will help you with the endless small tasks everyday on the road. This is the reality of people. Not the bullshit the media and our governments want us to believe. So coming up against the way most people see the world was exhausting and alarming.

For us moving to a big city in the darkest, bleakest month of autumn to start work didn’t really help either. I really questioned for a while the wiseness of going straight back into the same career I was doing back at home. There hadn’t been any time to reflect or really ask ourselves wether we wanted to go back to working as paramedics. It had always seemed like a good idea, but I felt like another me had made that decision. Now I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t feel like the person I was before I left, and there are things I want to change about where my life is going. Things that might be harder from the sphere of a conventional job. And London itself really dragged us down for the first few months. It felt big, unfriendly and dark. We spent a lot of time asking ourselves; what are we doing here?

dressed for winter cycling

But finally, out of this rather dark phase I feel like I have gained some clarity. Ultimately Europe is not our home. Neither Astrid or I want to live here long term (as much as we love our friends that do). It makes sense to slip into a job that is both familiar and relatively well paying. We both want to travel more (probably cycle home) and therefore saving money here makes sense. Not only that, but living in England has its advantages; Europe is on our doorstep and we taken advantage of the travel opportunities. But above and beyond that we have been experimenting and learning. The things we missed while traveling we have started to establish here.

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To begin with, a kettle. We probably spent the first 6 months drinking tea and not leaving the house. That combined with an oven; bliss. Along with this I am slowly learning how to bake kick ass bread. We are growing veggies. Astrid is learning about bees and we are both experimenting and learning about permaculture. We are figuring out how we want to live when we return to Australia and learning new skills to take with is. Plus we have our super friends and family visiting us, as well as our wonderful London friends. Things are pretty awesome.

It’s certainly a different lifestyle to climbing 4000m passes but one that is fulfilling in different ways.

For us the cycling is not over either. I think some people end a big bike trip ready to move on and try new things. Perhaps it’s because we haven’t actually cycled home, but both of us are super keen to get back on the bikes and get pedalling again. This is just an interlude before our next journey begins. It is shaping out to be a pretty good one.