Modern airport, middle aged bloke with a hip Klitschko beanie hat, uninterestingly shaking hands with someone he’s introduced to in the currency exchange queue at the airport. Lots of neatly presented young women on their phones. Fat, grumpy, older women serving behind counters. Language may be a bit of an issue here, this isn’t like the rest of Europe where you can rely on the fact that everyone speaks a modicum of English. They don’t. I locate confirmation from Ukraine International Airlines that there will be no flight into Simferopol until April. So putting aside any forthcoming admin nonsense for a potential refund on that part of the flight and my hire car, am heading into Kiev. But I change up the £30 I had left in my wallet and move outside to locate the 322 into town.
18h46, 21.03.2014: Am on the bus. Clean straight road heading into central Kiev, about 45 minutes away. To all intents, just another prosperous eastern European city. Going to go straight to the railway station in the hope that I might be able to catch a sleeper south this evening or suss out what options there are. And surely someone there would know whether I’d be allowed into Crimea (‘Crim’ they pronounce it).
At the railway station I’m immediately accosted by various hawkers with alcoholic breath, I play hide and seek with them for a bit then queue at a ticket window after seeing that there’s a train that leaves tonight bound for Simferopol. After 20 minutes queueing I’m told by another fat grumpy lady that it’s sold out so I go down to the platform to see if I can just get on anyway. I once, maybe 1997, got a train all the way from Mumbai to Calcutta for free this way but no luck here. Every entrance to the train has a guard wearing a really large hat, indicating that they mean business so I retreat back upstairs for a ham and cheese roll (bonus: coriander), beer and a Bounty then queue for another twenty minutes for another fat and grumpy lady to see if I can get a ticket for tomorrow. With a bit of help from a kind woman who clocks the communication breakdown, I walk away a little later, ticket in hand. Looks like I’m going to Crimea after all. And this on the day that the BBC has as its headline: Putin Signs Crimea Annexation.
I haggle for a 40 hryvnia taxi (started at 100, thank you) to the Chillout Hostel not far away. Settle into a dorm, head to a 24 hour coffee shop for a couple of hours so find myself up until 03h20. The guy in the bunk below has obviously been placed there to test me.
12h50, I’m in the air and above the clouds already. Seatbelts off.
I booked this flight a fortnight ago. Yes I had just returned from the pub but at the time I wasn’t working and saw this as a little opportunity to do something different; to get me a mini-adventure. A UK to Ukraine return flight at less than £300 is money bloody well spent for someone who’s otherwise sitting around twiddling their thumbs/ jobhunting. In the two weeks since booking though, I’ve now got a couple of job offers – so all the more reason to make hay whilst the sun shines.
What’s the big idea? What kind of hay are you making? I’m not quite sure but I have my camera, I have this here laptop and I have intrigue and a want to just see what’s going on out here and share, if it is that I do chance upon anything of note. I also have a workout schedule of sorts to keep. London Marathon is only three weekends away and I keep getting emails from the charity I’m running for telling me that I’m supposed to be tapering. I’ve been tapering for about 6 months now. So shooting, typing, reading, exercise, travel. All good.
Woke up this morning to my phone (Google Now) telling me that the second leg of my flight was cancelled. That’s the Kiev to Simferopol bit which would take me into Crimea as originally intended. No surprise, but not what I wanted. First thoughts are to now have tonight out and about in Kiev, and speak to whoever I can about what would happen if tomorrow morning I took the train down to Crimea. Would I even be able to get in if I got down there? If the bloke at the gates is Russian then he’ll want me to have a visa, which I don’t have. So if I really cannot get into Crimea I’ll travel around as much as I can, maybe keeping close to the Black Sea, we’ll see, until I fly back next Weds 26th morning.
I already find myself saying that this trip was one of the best things I’ve done in my life. I didn’t want to stop. If the girls were with me and getting back to reality to earn money wasn’t necessary, I would have just kept on going. I don’t say that lightly, I would have.
“Right now I’m sat in a bar in Briviesca and I have that feeling that every evening brings. You feel hotter than normal, slightly puffy eyed/face, exhausted but not wanting to sleep but knowing I should.
The whole experience has been great. Without doubt. I’ve hurt and I’ve questioned what I think I’m playing at but then you do, don’t you, in things like this.
Again, I’m sat on my bed in a hostal in Plasencia and feel that hot, puffiness. Knowing I need to sleep but not wanting to.
Choose the correct frame size. Mine wa a 56cm frame. I’m 6′ and ideally should have gone for a 54cm frame. Not a biggie but if I were a pedant of a peddler (speaking to a peddle pedlar).
Disc brakes are good. Had a had normal ones, getting through some of the mud would have been even worse.
Waterporoofs are good. Don’t buy Sealskinz gloves though.
The French are more welcoming and interested than the Spaniards. Sorry Spain that’s just the way I saw it (had actually expected the reverse).
Dependency on phones. Not a great deal one can do but it’s still as if we’re in the dark ages for data roaming. Add a roaming premium if you can, so as not to blow loads on data charges.
Phone batteries are crap and there’s not a lot we can do about that at the mo. Switch off the radios you’re not using as you go. And get a back up charger.
From the evening of the Tues 23rd October through until the 10th of December, I’d been making notes, researching, and buying up kit. Now, what with this trip meaning me not working fora little while, I’m relatively budget. But I don’t want to skimp and then regret purchases or lack thereof when I’m halfway up a hill, cold, wet and lacking in morale. Planning and preparation as a preventative, right?
I’ve had a ScottUSA road bike that’s taken a load of pounding over the time I lived in London. I bought it from new in 2000, it’s good but I don’t trust it. I’ve recently replaced a wheel, there’s a small crack in the frame, so to make up for me blowing a bit on other kit, it’s currently on eBay. I just didn’t have confidence in it. So I needed a touring bike – did a bit of research and it seems to me that a touring bike is really just a road bike with panniers. There are a few that are renowned for the job, but the bargain I saw was a grand’s worth of a bike, which had had zero use as the guy I bought it off had recently come off his other bike twice in London so lost his confidence in cycling the city. One man´s loss is another man´s gain.Â£530 for a £1000 bike. Happy with that.
I came across what seems to be the site for cycle tourers: Crazy Guy On A Bike, looking for a similar example as to what I was planning. There I found Julian who´d done a very similar route last summer. Couldn´t have been more helpful, we spoke on the phone for a few pointers and I even have his number in case I get into difficulties. Top guy. I love the kindness of strangers that the Internet can hold.
So Julian in turn told me about Warm Showers, the cyclist´s social network. You open your place up to other cyclists, and they´ll do the same for you. Works for me. Would be happy to have randoms come stay some day at my place, so signed up for that too.
Then once the majority of my kit was in place, I needed to give it a dry run, so on a Monday at the end of November I headed down to Brighton fully laden. 74 miles I think. Getting used to the weight of the bike, the pressure on your knees and relentless work on the quads was an eye opener. Have I bitten off more than I could chew? I revised my daily estimates and therefore timescales. 100 miles a day just wasn´t going to happen. I needed to knock some kgs off too, so out went the bladder (2 bottles should be fine) and out went the SLR and sundries. I wouldn´t have time to fanny about with that along the way anyway. So I reduced 25kg to about 20kg. But that 70 odd mile figure was still heavy going and to do that every day for up to 1300 miles: I have my work cut out.
A few weeks ago I went to the 3rd birthday party evening for EscapeTheCity.orgÂ (the only organisation I’ve ever invested in because what they do really chimes with me, look’em up). It was all good (apart from having to invest another Â£8 for a G&T!). Some of it I didn’t connect with so much but all of it was interesting and inspirational. The adventuring part rang loudest for me: The idea of setting yourself a challenge and just doing something adventurous, even something small so that it’s affordable in time and money.Â Like Alistair HumphriesÂ walking around the M25, something that’s a little unknown, perhaps risky,Â challenging but actually quite doable. If only you just take the first steps, the next ones are bound to follow.
Well, I’ve been a little weary of my current contract for some time, and have wanted to ‘do something different’ (as is Escape’s strap line) for some time. So there and then it clicked that what with the old man having recently moved out to Seville, and me having a bit of time out coming up, there was the perfect window of opportunity for me to do something: Cycle down to see him. Then even better, complete the ride by making it down to the Costa and hopping over to Maroc. Berkshire to Africa somehow sounding better than Wargrave to Seville.
So on the 11th of December after saying goodbye to the girls before they leave for South Africa for Xmas, I will get on my bike, and cycle. It should be about c.1,300 miles and I’ve warned my father that there’s every chance I might not make it in time for Boxmas. 1300/14=93 miles a day for 2 weeks solid. That’s not a small ask of myself. If I’m up to a week late, that could be 1300/21=62 miles a day. So as I go, I know that I need to be aiming for about a ton a day in order to then put miles in the bag.
I do however have this vision of finding myself stuck up a mountain in Spain on Christmas eve, dark, cold, lonely as a cloud, blizzard incoming, rear puncture being repaired, drivers covering me in slush, half my kit having been stolen or fallen off along the way. But that’s just not going to happen, is it.
Converse toÂ this rather more methodical example, a couple of months ago I aimed to renew some kind of fitness drive. It didn’t really work out. And after about 6 runs with my shiny Nike+ running app (actually best phys app I’ve come across and I’ve tried a load), I returned to making excuses to myself. Culminating in yesterday’s brutal, arduous, painful, plain silly, tear-inducing trot around the countryside around Eastbourne. This was how not to do a marathon. Had this been a half marathon, no problem as at the 13.1 marker I was doing just fine. But marathons are inherently no walk in the park and not to be taken lightly. Yeah sure, there’s a sense of ‘aren’t I good, I can run a marathon without even training’. But 99% of the world could if push came to shove. I see it like this: If you thought that one of your loved ones was being held captive and if you didn’t complete the run that they’d die, then of course you’d bloody complete it. And no I don’t run the course thinking “SHIT – THEY’VE GOT THE GIRLS!”. But you’re picking up what I’m putting down, right?
One day on and I was quite proud of what I did. Two days on and for a second this morning I was thinking of signing up for next year. Weird innit.
5:13 is a poor, but then not surprising time, especially given that the organisers suggest you add 40 mins on to your regular time. But it’s another marathon down all the same. #6 for me. Next challenge please.
Update, 01.11.2012: Results are up, turns out I was in the top half of the field. 616/1299.