Hey,

Originally, before the start of my trip, a friend explained to me that he was to drive a clapped out Saab 900 from the UK to Naples in Italy. He gave me a spare set of keys and we discussed the prospect of locating the vehicle after he had flown home, and I driving it back. That would have been cool. Although, I did have ideas that he would have left something unsavoury to fester in the car especially for my discovery.
Anyhow, for whatever reason the banger didn't survive the journey, and I couldn't drive back, I had to fly from Rome Ciampino airport.

The day before my flight, I picked up some cardboard boxes from a hardware store waste bin. Two boxes stored my bike perfectly, one for the wheels, and the other for the frame. I strapped the card to the back of my bike and rode 80km, with my new super-spoiler keeping the downforces ultra-strong. The image was pretty funny to both myself, and undoubtedly, passing drivers. I kept having ET like thoughts of flying home on my new plane-bike. Unfortunatley, this too did not happen.

The next morning at the check-in desk I disassembled my bike, packed it up, and then realised I had no tape to fasten the boxes. With 200 people queueing behind me in some kind of absurd, modern-day, airport security fiasco from hell, I coolly persuaded the lovely check-in girl to assist me with a roll of baggage tags. For 10 minutes, I could hear disgruntled sighs as Magdallena and I pasted my bike boxes together. Hell! I enjoyed the exercise. My fellow passengers probably did not. But I was broke, hungry, and did not care, especially after I noticed that I would arrive in Liverpool thirsty too, due to the water carrying restrictions that are now in force. If people ever suggest that art is absurd, and ridiculous, like this for example:

Dali

Or this:

Duchamp

Then I feel that Airport security is equally, if not more absurd and ridiculous than any Dada installation. I mean, I can't drink water, yet I can keep my shoes? Oh well. You know, Napoleon once said "From the sublime to the Absurd, is but a step".

My baggage at liverpool arrived ok. However, and again, for reasons absurd, My foldable coffee mug vanished? Did it post a 'tourist threat'? Yet my Swiss army knife didn't? Pfff! My Uco candle lantern was not so lucky. Man Down>>

Perhaps it was for the best. My lantern was good for a while. However, I figured that tea lights do an equally good job and are dirt cheap. So, God rest its' soul, burn brightly amongst the stars in heaven..

My Teflon cooking pots started out like the one on the left, and finished like the one on the right:

Not that I didnt know this would happen. I have non-stick innards now, but pot cleaning was easy, and I never once burned a meal.

What was most appropriate I think, was the morning after condition of my bike tyres. They simply gave up the will to live. Like conan on the tree of woe...Like the starship enterprise after a dose of Warp Speed 9... Like Devon Loch in the Grand National 10 strides from home...

Remember people, To be rich nowadays merely means to posess a large number of poor objects.

I have been contemplating my trip and considering what impressed me, and what did not. I thought I may as well publish my thoughts, just in case anyone might be listening. Well here you go:

Thumbs up to:

Druids - They rock. Like attending a greenpeace meeting, mixed with religion & elderberry wine. I love them.

Nant Peris' Campsite - A rose in Europes' fluctuating standard of campsites.

French Women - Always a smile and a nod.

University Towns - The place to be if you're young and seeking something. Bangor, Bath, Rouen, Avignon, Aix-en Provence all get the nod from me.

French Cyclists - They gave me constant appreciation, and support. I even got a round of applause from a pelloton on my way towards Les Baux. It felt good. However, thats' not the first time I have received clap, whilst entering a lesbian.... ho-ho.

Italian Police - Something about that laid back attitude, and lack of interest in proletarian control.

French Wine.

Italian Pizza - by the slice, priced by the gramme I might add.

Vineyards - I just loved camping in them. Olive groves too.

French Cycle shops - Kind and supportive. Free use of pumps in case you have a puncture, and even lent me some tools! Allez!

Old English tourists - They were just real friendly and considerate. Except when they are driving their motorhomes!

Tuscany - Never seen rolling hills, and farmland like it. Camping on the grounds of dilapidated farmhouses, is something I will treasure in my big dumb head.

Pasta - I love you.

Old Italian Men - Always happy to talk to you. In Pseudo conversation. I like their gestures of "Wow, thats amazing" - Slap of the hands kinda thing.

French Drivers - Thankyou for the wide berth. All, except for the idiot who ran me over in Aix-en Provence.

And a BIG ROTTEN Thumbs down to: 

The Welshman - Who deflated my tyres for no apparent reason.

The french Police - So, its not just a stereotype.

French Landowners - You suck more than the English gentry.

French Garages - That treatment in Provence astounded me. I hope you burn in hell.

Sand Flies - Beware! Beware! when camping on beaches in the Welsh Coast.

UK Lorry drivers - Do they all have tunnel vision? Or do they just not care?

Romes' Scooter driving population - You should take note of all those roadside memorials, that I noticed.

Campsite Owners - How can you justify charging 13 euro per night to place my tent in a mosquito ridden field, then charge me more to wash my dishes, shower, and do some laundry. Cos' I can bleedin' well justify roughing it in a field for free after your games matey.

Bridge crossings on the Seine - Good God almighty! Like that scene in Indiana Jones & The Last Crusade, where he steps out into nothing and lands on a bridge. Except Indy wouldn't have the balls to do it on two wheels, with Trucks whizzing by. 

Welsh Nudists - you dirty dirty dirty.... Im all for that freedom & Liberation thing. But masturbating whilst you're your being liberal? You'd give a politician a run for their money. I have the bizzare memory of holding a conversation with a nudist, on the subject of why... Whilst he is.... I can't begin to describe. Whiskey Shiver. 

The Welsh Coast - More ups and downs than Bury Football Club. Don't get me wrong it was beautiful. Just demoralising.

Bike Locks - I hate you. I have enough trouble knowing what day it is, than to know where my keys are. I hate you too.

Welsh Mountain Instructors - Why did I have to approach YOU, to ask for my stove windshield back? Eh? Dickhead? I'd have liked to punch you in the mouth.

Italian Cyclists - They catch the train and ride back, so that they can have a tail wind. All lycra clad and carbon fibre, yet you couldn't look me in the eye and see my pain! Could you!

American tourists - ...

The Idiot who ran me over I Aix-en Provence - Fairly justified for a thumbs down to be fair.

Ligurian Coastal Villages - Such a source of beauty, yet such suffering cycling back out. St. Marguerite, for example. Enjoyed the gazes of astonishment from the locals at my insanity.

St. Tropez - Bardot et al, I hate you. Proof that being rich, doesn't mean you're clever. Or respected.  

The Price of a can of pop in France - What's that all about eh? 2 Euro for a can?

English Pub Landlords - Just because Im not drinking myself into a stupor from the moment your doors open, doesn't mean you can enforcibly ask me why I am not.

UK Airport Security - I realised this country has gone mad, when they started putting microchips on our refuse bins. You just add salt to my wounds. Whats next? Mandatory finger searches? Why can I not carry a bottle of water, yet I can keep my shoes? Which of these two items has been supposedly used as a bomb previously eh? Final straw came in Liverpool Airport after CLEANING STAFF, bollocked me for my bike.

Alpkit kindly published my letter of dissatisfaction about that camp mat. On a plus, they have agreed to replace my mat free of charge.  

Click here for a laugh. NO! Here Dummy!

Strongly thinking about another tour soon. My heart is on Istanbul to Israel, through Syria, Lebanon, Jordan etc. It was my plan for my first tour. However, some people persuaded me not too. I guess they watch too much television.

later. 

Well, this is me a few days into my journey, just cycled the Pen-Y-Pass in North Wales. 30 minutes of pain, but well worth it. I guess it was good preparation for the hills to come. I.e Mont Ventoux.

Anyone fancy dieting, then I recomend the Daly diet. Get on your bike and cycle 100-150km every day for 6 weeks. And lose almost a stone in fat. Also, see the world in the process, which in my honest opinion, is a damn sight better than staring at your sorry sweaty self in the mirror, inside some hamster cage of a gymnasium. You get a DEEP tan my way too. Do IT!

Alright, Ihave been home now for less than 24 hours, and things are getting a little bit weird. Last night, for some reason, I couldn't/wouldn't, for whatever reason bring myself to sleep under my duvet. I had to sleep in my sleeping bag. I even contemplated sleeping in my tent in the garden. Weird? six weeks in my tent has done this to me.
I also ate with a spoon. This lunchtime, I cooked food in the kitchen with my camping pots & pans. Weird? Well, I have just returned from Lidl supermarket, where I had an intense attachment to all things Italian. Ciabatta rolls, Passatta, Artichokes, Olives, Funghi, grilled Aubergine, salami Milano, Panchetta, Proscuito Crudo, and Chianti wine. To name just a few of the items which I bought. I also, had a compulsion to buy, mars bar multipacks, bananas, and baked goods.

Hello my dear friends.I write this email sat at the same desk from which I left. I am not as yet homeless. Hurrah! However, I wait with anticipation for the future.

I arrived back around 8pm last night. I flew into Livepool, and cycled all the way back, with a typical English welcome (i.e, rain! Lots of rain!). And no money. I stopped, ever once in a while to eat leftover Italian rossette bread, nuttella and banana sandwiches, which I might add, has kept me alive for the last 7 days. Didnt need any water, I just stuck out my tongue. Anyhow, The ride was much easier than from day 1, the distances seemed shorter, my legs were stronger. It astonished me to notice my tollerance & understanding of distance. 3500km probably does things to you like that.
Anyhow, I cycled from Liverpool, to Southport, to Leyland and Chorley. As I arrived in Blackburn, Everything seemed familiar, and weird. I was cycling on the same path which I set off from! But in the other direction! I recalled how in Blackburn, at a point called Eanam Wharf, where I forgot to start my bike computer, so technically trip actually began there right at that very point. It was at that very point, when I was observing, and thinking to myself, how cycle friendly Blackburn was with its pavements, and pathways. Then, the familliar sound of air hissing entered my senses. Puncture. Right at Eanam Wharf. How ironic. My journey began there, and ended there too? Nope my friends. I contemplated briefly phoning one of my friends to collect me, then I considered hopping the train. Then I accepted that I am going to return all by myself, in the pouring Lancashire rain, whether it kills me or not. As you can tell by this blog, It did not kill me. I rode the bike on the rim some 20km, which was very exciting and takes quite a bit of skill. I have destroyed my rear wheel. however, after getting hit by the dickhead in France, and having my wheel buckled, I figured it was time for a little payback. That alone felt good. when I returned, My friendly neighbours chatted in wide-eyed amazement at my feat. And kindly gave me cigarettes. Yes, people, I started to smoke again. I think it was the feeling of total freedom, that caused it. And probably that Aussie bird Helen.


So, what do I plan on doing now? I am going to write up my journey in greater detail. I am going to add some photgraphs (sadly my batteries ran out after Tuscany, So I am relying on the Internet to jog my memory). I also plan on reviewing my equipment. God I have alot to say about some of that stuff. And now, I must go find a job, as I have only a jar of Nuttella to sustain me.

A big thankyou to everyone I met on the way. Helen, Rob & his missus, The many cycle tourists, Ruth, the crazy Quebecian, The Wino kid in Provence: sorry for not waiting for you I got the itch to travel, The airline hostess with Ryanair, Dannielle I believe (thanks for the beer), The fucking French Police, That old couple I met in Roen and laughed about burning JOan d'arc, and the old English couple at Omaha beach. And many many more who I just cant recall right now. And finally, cheers Tatler, for the support.

Until my legs start to wander again.

Ok. I am now in Viterbo, about 80km from Rome. Last night... The whole of yesterday was terrible. I cycled through Tuscany which was great, camped on a disused farm and ate grapes, and apples picked from the plant.





Then the next day I continued until I came to a mountain.

The mountain looked like MOrdor from TLOTR movies. I cycled up. then as soon as I got over, the rain began, and began. It began for 12 hours. I finally arrived in Viterbo at 5pm. soaked. I chilled under a motorway bridge with some Goomba hobos. I spent the night there with franco and his pals, sharing smokes, and food, and cheap wine. I had to drink from the bottle. I have probably got some illness now.
Next morning, I have a tyre puncture.

I am now in the motions of finding a cycle shop.

But, ask me if I would sooner be working the night shift at Tesco.....