One man and his bike…

For me cycling is one of the purest forms of travel, and biking on the open road is such unbridled freedom, with a pace that can’t be matched. A swanky sports car will get you there in style, but the enclosure of a car reduces the connection with the landscape, and the little details get lost in the blur and noise of powered transport. For a pure experience you can’t beat walking, but there’s just not enough time to see all the wonders of the world on shank’s pony.

Getting on a bike, and heading off aimlessly into the lanes is something that’s been almost hard-wired into my brain. The youngest of four boys, childhood ‘holidays’ were spent cycling en-masse, along with an additional six elder cousins and their parents, around the lanes of Norfolk, Wales and Northern France. Little legs, a bone-shaker bike, prison-camp youth-hostels and a diet of hard-boiled eggs and pockmarked apples ensured that these fledgling ventures into the wonderful world of cycle touring were not without their trials and tribulations.

However, a strong sense of independence, self-reliance and desire for adventure had been instilled into my young frame. A strong pair of lungs was also a useful by-product. Although competitive riding never really had any lure, riding bikes would remain a constant and reliable companion throughout the years. Teenage years spent Mountain Biking in the hills and forests of North Staffordshire, helped to reduce the less healthy effects of an increasingly active social-life. Summer holidays in France would often lend themselves to detours to the Alps and Pyrenees with my Dad, to watch the insane riders of the ‘Tour-de-France’ hauling themselves over the high mountains.

University years eventually put paid to the strong pair of lungs, and the diet of apples and eggs had been replaced by kebabs, baked beans and house music. The thirst for adventure was ever-present though. Shortly after gaining a degree in Architecture, the call of the wild barked much more loudly than the squeakings of the rat-race. 12 months spent travelling and working in Australia (including a stint working at the Olympic Games in Sydney) was followed by a short pit-stop back to the UK to swell the coffers once again, before heading out on a 6 month round-the-world trip.

Eventually London called, and the bank-manager told me I should answer for the sake of my credit rating. Work at Pinewood Studios was followed by employment and freelance work for various DVD authoring houses in London’s Soho. Commuting the mean streets of London by bike ensured an adrenaline high at the start and end of each day, but the claustrophobia and traffic had re-ignited my desire for the open road. A plan for my first long-distance ride was hatched, and in September 2004, I rode the classic UK charity ride of ‘Land’s End to John O’Groats’. My inexperience was manifest in an over-laden, ill-suited bike that suffered 13 broken spokes during the 15-day, 1100 mile trip. However, I’d held up physically, and was determined to plan something bigger as soon as I had the chance.

Spending my working week in darkened rooms watching straight-to-DVD films and pushing buttons like a monkey trying to type the complete works of Shakespeare was taking its toll on my sanity. I decided to quit, and cycle to India. Only I didn’t get quite that far. During the months of May and June 2005, I managed to get as far as Istanbul on the bike, before deciding to return back to the UK.

My dad had managed to ride as far as Jerusalem when he was 27 years old. It had proven to be a real inspiration to me, and I still have admiration for him riding there when cycle-touring and ‘travelling’ really was hard-core, and had little in common with the comfortable and common ‘gap-year’ experiences of today. I’d had a great time on my trip, including a bizarre experience being interviewed for a Serbian TV station.

However, I knew that I’d want to get on the bike again soon, and was disappointed that I hadn’t made it further than Istanbul. But, I was in a serious relationship at the time and to carry on further would have put unnecessary strain on the relationship and would simply have been unfair on my girlfriend Caroline. It turned out to be one of the wisest decisions of my life so far – we got engaged in November 2008 – and were married exactly a year later!

After Istanbul, it would be 3 years before I’d be back on the bike for a ‘proper’ ride. Another charity ride was planned, and in September 2008, I rode from Monaco to Andorra via Northern Spain and then back into Central France. It was during this ride that the very first ideas behind the ‘Continental Cycle Climb Challenge’ started to bubble into my consciousness. I had climbed the 2408m ‘Port D’Envalira’ in Andorra, and was absolutely, unreservedly blown-away by the beauty and majesty of the mountains. I had been on my bike in high mountains before, but hadn’t really thought of the mountains as being the destination of a bike trip, but rather a painful (if beautiful) area to pass through on route to somewhere else.

I would still love to cycle to India, In fact, I’d really love to cycle around the world non-stop. But the truth is that this would take at least 18-24 months, and would stretch the limits of my physical endurance, finances, career ambitions; not to mention the limits of my already very understanding and patient wife! (Maybe one day I’ll get chance to do this; a lottery win or perhaps a tandem ride with Caroline could always be an option.)

So the idea of ‘Continental Cycle Climb Challenge’ was born. 6 climbs on 6 continents that would take me to some of the most beautiful scenery, highest mountains and best cycling in the world. I’d get to contribute to an important international charity, and realise an ambition of cycling all ‘around’ the world, even if it wasn’t quite all in one go…