Remember me my love, I’m the one you’re dreaming of Going for a ride, I’ll keep you warm inside I’m Gonna roll up the sidewalk, I’m gonna tear up the ground Comin’ round to meet you, The long way round Sooner or later, I’ll get me off this track Gotta do what it is that I do and then I’m – coming back Got sun in my face, sleeping rough on the road I’ll tell you all about it, when I get home Gonna roll up the sidewalk, I’m gonna
Man’s real home is not a house, but the Road, and that life itself is a journey to be walked on foot. – Bruce Chatwin There is always frustration when you relate to someone who does not speak your language and does not seem to make the slightest effort to try and understand you. In Latin America the frustration sometimes made me fume because I knew I did not speak Arabic (by now my Spanish I spoke it was relatively fluent) but sometimes it happened that people looked at me
Man is the measure of all things: of things which are, how they are, and of things which are not, how they are not – Protagoras Now I am at the latitude of Moscow – and so I am encouraged while on the Alaska Highway by the thought that by now it could no longer get that cold. I knew the climate in Moscow in September. Since the beginning of the journey from Prudhoe Bay in Alaska I realized that more than the kilometres it was important to measure my
Real adventure is defined best as a journey from which you may not come back alive and certainly not as the same person. – Yvon Chouinard, Let my people go surfing A hot, humid morning as well as ups and downs along the coast accompanied the resumption of my cycling trip after a night spent camping on the beach in Boca de Iguana, Mexico. Shirtless, dripping sweat in a hill longer than the others I checked my odometer and I realised that it has passed the threshold of 10,000 kilometers
There aren’t adverse weather conditions. There are only yielding men. – Aldo “Rock” Calandro Tuesday, 8 September 2015 I’ve been on the road for almost a month. By now, I’m wishing I had already written about how I made it through the Dalton Highway, my departure from Deadhorse (Prudhoe Bay), my face-to-face with a grizzly bear, my hypothermic hands. I’m wishing I had already had the time to write about the days of incessant rain, the snow, the pain of pitching and dismantling the tent in the cold and