There was no soju aboard the ferry to Japan; a blessing in disguise.
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Remember the kid at school who played conkers and claimed to have a ‘hundreder’. The same applies in cycle touring.
A lot of cyclists claim to have a mythical seat that they can ride a century of miles on, day in day out, without any symptoms of ‘babooning’ of the arse.
I call them liars.
Australia was never really on the list when I set off. I’ve gone off-piste.
People make an assumption that when you go cycle touring you’ll see lots of lovely wildlife.
I’ve seen all sorts of animals. All dead at the side of the road.
When I set off six months and 27 days earlier, this was supposed to be the finish line. End game.
I’m glad I’ve done it.
The second entry in the ‘Things Travellers Say’ phrasebook. Usually preceded by a story where the protagonist has dragged their arse through an entirely unenjoyable experience in the vain hope they can look back on it one day as a character building, life affirming moment, when in actual fact the only thing they’re glad about it the fact they’ll never have to do it again.
China. I’m glad I’ve done it.
Getting back into Kazakhstan was easier than I anticipated. After horror stories of checking through laptops, phones, cameras and hotel registration slips, the Uzbek lads just didn’t seem bothered by me.
If there’s one word I can think of to describe the first 400km of Uzbekistan it’s —
Roomy
Enough room to swing a cat. Enough room to swing several cats tied together, which is fine out here, there’s probably no RSPCA.