Across Continents

Ken's Blog

Magic plastic

September 11th, 2010

Magic card - web

Normally I jealously guard just two things. Practicalities you understand. My wallet. And my passport. In China, add my phrase book, frustratingly limited though it is. And a small, laminated plastic card. Describes my venture in Simplified Chinese, and asks that you help make my journey safe.

I’d similar cards for Europe and Central Asia but none had ever had quite the impact as my Chinese one. Opened doors. Literally. Where, in all probability, I’d have been turned away from shelter, I’d be allowed to stay. Sometimes for nothing, perhaps just the equivalent of a few pounds.

But it’s usefulness extended beyond just a room for the night. Struggling in the midst of the Gobi desert, barely able to stop the bike from flipping over in gale force crosswinds, the card allowed me to quickly explain to a passing lorry driver what exactly I was up to. I’m sure he’d have helped in any case. But, if he ever thought otherwise, it did show there was some purpose to my apparent madness.

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Neither backwards or forwards

September 10th, 2010

The situation wasn’t quite desperate, but it was looking dire. Despite no obvious abatement in the weather, I’d decided to make a run for the town of Turpan. I’d reckoned on thirty miles or so, and knew I could walk that in a day if it came down to it. What I’d overlooked was the sheer strength of the crosswinds, and the propensity for a fully loaded touring cycle to act like a sail. And a large one at that.

Started well enough, the wind directly on my back. But, as the road gradually curved further east, it became increasingly difficult to control the bike. I pressed on. Towards the wind farms, their huge rotors stationary rather than risk damage in the gale. Soon forced to walk, riding now quite impossible. Hoping conditions would improve ahead. Impossible to judge. The flat, bleak, rocky landscape devoid of any feature to indicate wind strength. Not even a culvert to provide shelter.

The wind strengthened, stiff gusts becoming steady, unrelenting. My pace rapidly falling away, struggling just to keep the bike upright. Almost an hour to cover less than a mile. Retreat a no more appealing prospect than going forwards. Or feasible, conditions worsening.

Brief respite as a passing lorry driver stopped a short distance ahead of me. No hard shoulder, instead coming to a halt on the inside lane of the dual carriageway. Apologetic that strapping the bike safely onboard would be an impossibility. I nodded in reluctant agreement. A few minutes shelter, enough to consume some chocolate, replenish my energy levels.

As he pulled away I spotted another lorry, parked up on rough ground a few hundred metres away. Must have stopped whilst I was having my break. Glimmer of an idea. Spurred on by the prospect I might be able to hitch a lift, it appearing possible there might be room to secure the bike, I pushed on. Hoping the driver didn’t head off before I reached him.

Took about twenty minutes to stow the panniers in the cab and lash the bike down onto boxes of bottled water in the open-topped trailer. Buffeted by the wind, the driver then obliged to manoeuvre the lorry so I could safely open the passenger door. Then off to Turpan.

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Making a run for it

September 9th, 2010

Making a run for it from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.

Ken describes his plan, despite continuing gale force winds, to run for the Turpan

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Ken’s vital statistics

September 8th, 2010

A few facts and figures about life on the road… strictly to entertain and amuse

 

Greatest weakness – decent cup of black coffee – on a mission to find the best…

Second greatest weakness – my razor – nothing comes close to a good wet shave – not a huge fan of beards, indeed, never dated a woman with one, and no plans to start now..

Third greatest weakness – fluffy towels and a hot shower – it’s not a crime you know – dreaming that is!

Fourth – and final – greatest weakness – cotton boxer shorts, one pair carried, special occasions only. Along with my deodorant.

Favourite television programme – Shoestring” – early 80s drama about private eye Eddie Shoestring, filmed in and around Bristol and Bath, lead played by Trevor Eve – three episodes available on www.trevoreveonline.com – am almost word perfect now!

Favourite internet radio station – UK’s Absolute 80s – www.absolute80s.com – fortunately without a ’no repeat’ guarantee!

Food I miss the most – rum truffles, the proper ones made from old cake, laced with essence, or even the real stuff

Favourite weather – nothing beats a nice temperate climate, just like that in Blighty…

[Editor: That’s enough for now.. Back to the Gobi]

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Getting the story out

September 6th, 2010

Getting the story out from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.

Ken discusses the importance of sharing his experiences on the road with others, and reveals some of the tools he uses to achieve this

[Author’s note: Video recorded prior to the end of the first year on the road, but publication delayed due to absence of WiFi to upload]

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Frustrated in the flea pit

September 5th, 2010

Bottles - web

Feeling trapped, frustrated, in my flea pit, I’d resorted to re-reading a few pages I’d earlier downloaded from fellow cyclist Steve’s website. He’d come this way a few years previously, also in late summer. I hoped for inspiration. And I found it. Descriptive, but succinct, prose that resonated sharply with my own experiences earlier in the day.

Perhaps, as he’d done, I should have pressed on towards Turpan, discreetly declining Police advice to stop. Were conditions out there tougher than those Steve had faced? I wasn’t so sure. Even the wind direction he described tallied to a tee.

I’d learnt that whilst conditions were expected to ease overnight, it’d be a fairly marginal improvement. And that’d taken a while to determine, my phrase book not well suited to explaining even the rudiments of the Beaufort Scale. Force five on the stern, shifting to the port quarter later.

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Abrupt halt

September 4th, 2010

Abrupt halt from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.

Forced by gale force winds to pull up abruptly for the day, Ken describes the experience, and the dubious flea pit he’s forced to spend the night in

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Descent to Turpan

September 3rd, 2010

Garage window - web

I was tired. Very tired. Hadn’t slept well the previous night. Few hours dozing, only to be woken once more by lorries rumbling into what was clearly more a truck stop than a petrol station. And the odd goods train trundling past on the main line across the road. Maybe not as over-staffed as I’d thought when I’d arrived. Just a lull.

But it did mean I’d got an early start. My notes said mountain day, the small scale map suggesting the road followed a pass through a range with quite a few peaks over the four thousand metre mark. Thus prepared for a tough ride to Turpan. Only to discover early on that, whilst my expectations were strictly correct, it was downhill. I shouldn’t have been surprised, for the town sits in a depression, over five hundred feet below sea level. Third lowest in the world. Just hadn’t expected to descend so soon.

Descent scenery - web

Through the mountains a few sandstone outcrops, but otherwise now a dark, volcanic rock, fine grit, the odd tree, dusty building but otherwise barren, empty. The wind had begun to come up, thankfully largely on my back, but soon too strong to be able to safely control the bike. Quickly found myself struggling to keep it upright as I pushed it along the hard shoulder.

Eventually reaching a petrol station and some respite from the wind, by now gale force, perhaps Force 7 or 8, I found myself contemplating how to reach Turpan safely some thirty or so miles away. If the wind remained directly on my back it’d be possible, albeit very slowly and cautiously, but that seemed unlikely for such a distance.

But then the traffic police arrived, to help rather than hinder. They’d spotted me passing through one of the toll points along the dual carriageway. Vehicles had been blown over ahead, they explained, the wind strength was expected to increase further, but would diminish overnight. I should not continue, they advised. Conditions had become unrideable. They had a point. And, they indicated, there was a hotel across on the other side of the carriageway where I could stop for the night.

Thanking them for their advice, I huddled behind the petrol station, considering my next move. Perhaps the police were just being cautious. Understandable. Maybe things were not quite as bad as they had portrayed. But I doubted they’d invented the story about vehicles getting blown over. If I continued on and things worsened, it’d be difficult, if not well nigh impossible, to retrace my steps. And little chance of shelter to pitch the tent if benighted short of Turpan.

Hotel it was to be. Frustrating but probably wise. I could quickly make up the ground in the morning. Took a while to reach it across the carriageway, crossing the wind beam on. And a similar struggle to secure a room. At first flat denials they even had accommodation. Showed them my card, explaining my venture in Simplified Chinese, gestured to indicate my dilemma, that I’d be delighted to continue on to Turpan, but it simply wasn’t possible. Nor could I retrace my steps back towards Urumqi. I was stuck.

Flea pit - web

They relented. Hard concrete floor, dubious bedding and if you wanted en suite, there was the petrol station a few hundred metres along. But it was shelter. And just two pounds for the night. I assured them I simply wanted to sleep, keep out of sight, then be on my way. Suspected they just didn’t want the hassle of having to register my presence with the Police. Ironic given who’d advised me to stop there. And I had sought to explain that to my reluctant hosts.

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Discovery road

September 2nd, 2010

 “Life is a journey, not a destination” – Ralph Waldo, American Philosopher

After a year on the road, and exactly a quarter of a century since completing a three week “Standard” course with The Outward Bound Trust, time for some reflection….

It’d been a little rash of me. Shortly before I’d embarked on this venture, I’d suggested it was not about discovering who one really was, for I already knew that. Sounds crass now. But that was a year ago. Actually, I’d always known they’d be expedition necessities that’d be strongly counter-intuitive. Private hurdles to be overcome.

Like a deeply ingrained desire to do things properly. Or not at all. Not perfectionism – that’s Fool’s Gold. But I do like to strive for the very best. Apparently, as a toddler, I never gave any real indication of aspiring to walk, or talk, then just did it as if it were something I’d always done. Haven’t stopped since.

If this strikes you as potentially problematic for a venture such as mine, then you need to understand my equally strong desire for tackling issues head on. Bold, decisive solutions. But only when I’m ready. For example, I’ve always been uncomfortable with my head under water, despite a love of swimming. So I learnt to kayak, eventually mastering the self-righting eskimo roll. Perhaps not quite as drastic as four years cycling around the world, but you get the idea.

But how does the desire to do things properly manifest itself? Just take a look at the cycle I use, the kit I carry. Well-engineered, in part a reflection of my own technical background, the best I could afford, an investment in the project. A love of what mathematicians call elegant solutions, beauty in their simplicity.

Allied to that is a resolutely logical approach to problem solving, an unwavering belief that careful analysis of the facts, as they appear at the time, will yield the answer. Just need to be calm, considered. A love of order, seeking to impose it where it does not exist. Not to control, simply to help clarify the situation. A framework. But not overly rigid, the desire for the elegant solution, to be bold and decisive, helping ensure lots of creative thought gets woven in.

Take my first Chinese visa, expiring before I was permitted to cross the border. On the face of it, seek another at the nearest friendly Consulate, continue on and hope you could get enough extensions in country to enable you to ride to Hong Kong. But a careful analysis of the facts, many of them ambiguous or largely non-existent, taken together with a desire for the bold, elegant solution, and the answer became self-evident. Jump on a plane, return to the UK, get a fresh visa – three months duration – and then return to the road.

Learning to deal with often very scant information in the field has been an education, having to quell any desire to fill in the gaps before making decisions. And whilst my life hasn’t exactly been closeted, corruption has been a new concept to get to grips with at the same time.
 
Then there’s my own approach to riding, in chunks, moving on only when I’m quite ready. Admittedly because this project is more about meeting people and seeing places, rather than simply grinding the miles away on the bike. And, as time has gone on, sharing those experiences with others, through the website, has become almost as important. And that takes time. Besides, I enjoy producing things, writing, filming, taking photographs. Helps a great deal with the loneliness, gives me a focus.

Why share these rather personal thoughts? Because if you think you can’t do this sort of thing, or something close to it, there’s a good chance you’d be wrong. And that is my point. Besides, put these normally private tussles into context. They’re incidentals to the expedition, not its rationale. Am I winning? Well, I’m now deep into China.

[With especial thanks to Jackie who’s quite convinced – despite my strenuous denials – that whenever I do things I mutter “Box ticked. And that’s another task off the list for today…. And to Mark who, it seems, has christened me ’The Planner’. Which I’m rather fond of, even if it’s probably not quite as true as I’d like it to be]

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Looking back..

September 1st, 2010

obtlogo

“A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams” – John Barrymore

Sailing past the vast wind farms south of Urumqi had put me into a reflective mood. A quarter of a century ago, an expanse of time I find difficult to conceive of, I was in the final throes of The Outward Bound Trust’s flagship three week “Standard” course at their Eskdale centre in the English Lake District.

The timing was perfect. In the intervening years life I don’t think I’ve shied away from challenges, grasping opportunities to improve myself. And yet nothing has ever come close to influencing the path I’ve taken as much as the course. Inward learning in the great outdoors. Doubt I’ve ever discovered so much about myself in such a relatively short space of time.

Sometimes wonder what I’d have made of it if, twenty five years ago, someone had said to me that one day I’d be cycling around the world to raise funds for the Trust. Not sure. But I am quite certain I’d not be spending tonight above a petrol station somewhere in Western China if it hadn’t been for those three weeks back in 1985. Course E341.

[The Outward Bound Trust relies on charitable donations to help young people, from a wide variety of backgrounds, to have the opportunity for similar life influencing experiences. Please consider making a donation to help with their work – simply click here to find out how to do so securely]

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