I used to love camping . . . as a kid. Bare feet, muddy dams, and falling into bed each night without a thought for my mum who’d be dealing with my washing at the end of the weekend. But…
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By the second time we arrived in Provence, (or close enough to it), I was all but over riding up mountains. Of course there would be the obligatory second ascent of Mont Ventoux, but spring had turned to summer and…
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There was no fucking way I was riding in Italy. It had seemed like a good idea at some stage because we’d set our plans in motion, booked flights and made commitments. But as I lay stewing in an undignified…
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Wales. You know you’re there from the instant you cross that invisible line from England. From the alphabet soup of consonants splattered across roadside signs to the straw hanging from the mouth’s of matted-haired locals. I’d threaded my way into…
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A rare ray of sunshine trickled through the window as we huddled over the large scale map covering the kitchen table, my uncle tracing his finger along a road. “ . . . then up out of Clun.” He paused…
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It was always going to be awkward. Creeping downstairs in my PJs in a stranger’s house, pushing through the living room door and sitting down in front of our host for the first time. But awkwardness settled quietly onto the…
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Cycling the Cumbrian countryside was always going to be a far cry from the Swan River loop. And as Colby pulled up Ireby, where we would spend our first month, on Google Street View we were filled with excitement. Sheep…
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Just one of the beautiful defining features of the Lake District, England, are the intricate drystone walls. Entire towns, painstakingly crafted from thin slithers of stone, slotted together like a jigsaw puzzle. Hotels. Farm buildings. Even circular chimneys perched precariously…
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