Nothing what-so-ever to do with biking – but still total genius.
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There’s always been a connection between biking and Buddhism. I can’t explain exactly what it is, but as I grow older, as I spend more time navigating the streets and avenues of this life, I continually find myself bumping against blockages and and dead ends confined, and defined (that wasn’t mean to rhyme) by organised religion.
Why must I live my life defined by strict rules that where set out 100s of years ago, why must I think every-time I turn around what it is that God wants me to do.
I watched Tribe last week and saw as a monk explained that we all have within us the ability to make our lives what we want it to be. Nothing to do with a greater being, but if you’re good to others and work hard, if you believe in yourself and work towards making your dreams a reality; you can attain those goals.
So now I’m exploring what it is that drives us. What is it that makes us want more? Is it ‘more’? Or is it that we want to attain a comfortable level existance. If we look at Maslow’s hierachy of needs we see that, right there at the bottom are the basic needs, the things that simply make us tick… at what point in our lives do we move beyond those basic needs and start to look for wider meanings?
Is it possible to bury ones head until these things go away and you allow yourself to blindly believe…. should you ever allow yourself to blindly believe?
There’s no easy answers to any of these questions, but I believe, blindly or not, that we must strive to answer them. That we must take our time to ask, examine, and explore the issues surrounding these thoughts, and that we must, move forward from strict doctrine that so binds and harms the world in which we live.
Just been on my first observed run for quite a while… a really nice guy called Phil Roethenbaugh took me out, and after a quick chat in the Tescos car park we hit the road.
I’ve not ridden ‘advanced style’ for over three months. I was amazed how much of it has actually integrated itself into my everyday riding. I didn’t have to try hard today, it all came quite naturally. My town riding still needs work – I move around far too much – if I see someone on the pavement looking around, or if I run past a gate or turn I can’t see properly I’m putting as much space between me and them as possible. But I think that’s what comes of riding through London everyday.
You learn to give yourself as much space as possible, as much room as you can manage to ensure that you can get out of any issues that may arise. Sometimes that means going very very slowly, and sometimes that means giving yourself a lot of space.
Then again sometimes that means thinking hard about the new London Mayor – is it time to see Ken go? Perhaps – take a look here
I’m back in blighty – not only that but I’m back in London as it all seems to be kicking off. Grabbed a copy of MCN on the way out of the country a few weeks ago and caught a large article proclaiming to be organising a ride through Central London to let the government know what we think about road pricing.
londonbikers.com have a great article explaining why RiderConnect and MCN have teamed up to deal with this issue – it’s worth a quick read – but what gets me, and what worries me is why MCN are involved. I have a horrible feeling it’s only to increase their circulation rather than do any good. It’s that dreadful double edged sword of getting into bed with any red top… you get wonderful publicity, but you’re also sleeping with the Devil.
It’s a great cause, and I’ll be there with the others ready to have my voice, or engine, heard outside No. 10.
I’ve been lying low for a bit and the other two have been out and about on their bikes so all in all a busy period where not much has changed as far as my Africa Twin is concerned. I’ll say sorry in advance as this bike has turned into an obsession.
I’ve spent the entire summer spending every weekend at college which has meant only being able to look and think about the work required on the bike. Until now that is…
So the panels have gone off to the paint shop, new fork internals have been ordered and are on the way and I have one remaining part to find and it’s the front brake master cylinder. The cost of replacement parts has shocked me. At a rough guess if I’d looked to replace all the parts with new Honda OEM stuff I’d have spent more than the trip itself will cost me (and probably us a group too).
Thankfully I have been inundated with help from all quarters. From free parts to tip offs about parts for sale I’ve got the lot bar the one outstanding. It’s out there somewhere (it’s probably on German ebay – everything else is…) and I will find it.
Going to take my front wheel to be sorted at college – new term has started and hopefully this will save me at least £40.
So stay tuned for photos and more details of the rebuild. At this rate I’ll be finished in time for winter – nice!
… and everything in between.
I’m sat in a little cafe on the harbor front at Dieppe. Wonderful little place that sums up France perfectly. It’s full of locals chewing the fat, drinking extremely strong coffee, with extremely strong cigarettes, whilst a dog sniffs around their feet being greatly ignored by all but me.
Other locals sit in a corner on their own contemplating the rain and cold that has gripped this coastal town. They nurse their larger (you simply can’t call it beer) with two hands, hoping that by clutching it so close they’ll some-how warm it, and turn a 1 euro bier turn into a 10 euro brandy. I do love the French.
I don’t know if it’s the rain, the fact I have 2 hours to kill or the idea that this is the last stretch of time I’ll have on this trip where I’m not within England’s borders, but I’ve been going over my thoughts for this trip; I’m troubled.
It seems that after 2 weeks I’m starting to get a taste for this travel lark. I actually want to head back to Morocco right now and finish what I started. Another part of me is screaming that I’m insane. Perhaps.
I’m coming to the conclusion that travel isn’t easy, it’s not something that you can just pick up and ‘do’. The problem is of course we’ve all learnt that travel is easy, it’s as easy as a few mouse clicks, a trip to the airport and a genial conversation with your tour rep in Tanger to arrange a nice air conditioned bus trip out to the ‘real’ Morocco. Once there you can buy pottery and Fez hats to your hearts delight. In the evening you can settle down to your steak and chips, enjoy the pleasant company of your fellow country men, then retire to your European hotel – complete with bidet – has anyone in the UK actually worked out how you use one of those?
But travel isn’t easy, and it shouldn’t be. When I decided that it was time to come home it was a decision that meant 5 more days on the road to even get back to the UK, never mind home. Had I made that decision on a package holiday I could have been home within 24 hours.
I like the idea that this is hard, I like the idea that this is something I’m going to have to work at, something that doesn’t come naturally to me, and something which I’m going to struggle at.
I’ve worked hard these past 2 weeks, and I’ve learnt so much. The most important of which is that I need to learn French before I even attempt to go away again – and I need more than a smattering of the local language before I even attempt to travel there. Language is so important. I feel I’ve broken the back of this travel lark, that I know what to expect and what I need to do in order to make it what I’ve always dreamt it would be.
It takes work, it takes dedication, and most of all it takes more than 2 weeks before you start to lose the feeling of being ‘away from home’ and instead start to adopt the feeling of ‘on the road’ – I may change all the tags for my articles to ‘away from home’ until todays post; it would be more fitting.
I envy people like Wilfred Thieger and Ted Simon, people who can pick their things up and depart for the wild regions of this planet and enjoy them without the pull of family. Perhaps that’s too strong, Wilfred loved his mother dearly and his letters home show how much he missed her and his brothers. He had no close tie to a wife, a partner, certainly no close tie to anyone other than his aids and comrades on the road.
Wilfred Thieger made his friends on the road, employed them, and took them with him ensuring a constant companion that was there when he needed a crutch. Ted Simon on the other hand, as he says in his own books, has lost several women to his travels; something which he says he doesn’t regret, but still…. perhaps that’s something I’ll never be able to achieve. I must find a way to do this without the heartache of wanting a family who does not wish to travel this way.
I still have an hour before I leave for the ferry, I’ve already drunk 4 espressos, can I stomach another, or should I order another Croque Monsieur? These are the questions that only another 2 weeks on the road can answer. Roll on Russia.
Well this is it, the last but one post on the road. I’m playing with the idea that once I’m back in Britain it’s hardly ‘on the road’, but I’m going to get every last post out of this blog!France was a delight again, even when you take into account that in Northern territory the land is so flat that there’s nothing else to do except build very long, very straight roads; and then sell people very small, very slow cars. It’s hardly fair, and I think there’s no coincidence that once I passed Bordeaux the number of Harleys went up and up.I stopped in a truck stop for a lunch of salami, bread, cheese and jam, washed down with a wonderfully sweet bottle of water I bought in Spain – I’ve tried looking for it here but it doesn’t seem to exist.The day started to drag around 4pm when I realised there was a mere 150 miles left to go, the Tom Tom bang on again as it took me to the Dieppe Formule 1 where I’ve booked in for the evening. I’ve spied the ferry port, know exactly where I need to be when and tonight I’ve fulfilled a dream I’ve had since I entered France 2 weeks ago. I’m eating at a Buffalo Grill!Boy this is fun! It’s like the wild west, but in French. They’re everywhere out here, a bit like Little Chef or Pizza Hut, although it’s more like TFI Fridays with it’s theme interior, happy staff, and menus handily printed on your place mat.Just one question, why have I had to ask for butter with my bread EVERYWHERE!?That’s me for now, waiting for my Entrecote Cow-Boy and frites with baited breath and wishing I could find a waiter who understood what butter is.See you all in blighty tomorrow.
I had decided that this trip was going to be a solitary one. I’ve not been approached by anyone who wasn’t after something, and the people I’ve approached have either recoiled in horror at this massive Welsh man or thought I was after something.
So last night came as a pleasant surprise. As Ted Simon says traveling on your own means that you are easily approachable, and as you travel around the world you find yourself in situations that would never occur if you were in a group. Up to this point I’ve only seen the negative side of that, but the last but one night before I get home I meet Raymond.
Raymond adopted me as I finished my meal at a wonderful little bar in La Couronne, he talked to me in broken English about his life, his love of wine and his time in the French Foreign Legion. I ate it up. What a wonderful man, full of color and history. Finally he invited me back to his house to drink some ‘real’ wine, not the wonderful wonderful glass already sitting on the table I’d enjoyed with my meal.
We got back to his place which contained, amongst other things, a full suite of armor, a full size bar, and a store of wine that would make many Lord of the Manor’s hang their head in shame at their multi million pound collections. As he opened a bottle I found my heart beat quicken as I realised I was going to drink a glass of £150 wine…. Raymond knows the chap who owns the vineyard and keeps a stock in, as you do.
Wow, if anyone ever tells you that cheap wine tastes the same as expensive wine slap them around the head and tell them not to be so stupid. Come to Bordeaux and drink the cheap wine here, then try the good stuff and by God you’ll nearly cry with delight.
Last night was wonderful, I was taught about wine by a Frenchman from the Bordeaux region who has spent his life in the Foreign Legion and growing the vines that make this nectar.
I couldn’t persuade him to sell me a bottle but he has given me the address of the vineyard and the owners name, I may make a detour home. He did however give me a World War 2 (early) French Army helmet to go with my British one, I tried very hard not to take it but pushed it as far as I could before it become a problem that I wasn’t taking it.
Raymond, thank you, what a wonderful evening.
What is God calling you to do?
Listen to my Thought for The Week on BBC Hereford on Worcester about vocation and what God may be calling you to be or do