In one of my first blogs I said I cycled 30km around Broome as part of my training for this ride. That was a lie, or at least an exaggeration. It was actually 20 Kilometres and I spent a week recovering. It’s quite sad, but admitting this now makes it all the more satisfying that I was able to ride 75 Kilometres on Thursday in 3.5 hours. It’s no world record, but it’s better than I expected from myself, and, having recently had a couple of slow days with knee pain, it was timely reminder that I have at least made some progress in the fitness department.

Thursday’s ride was between Vienna and Bratislava, the capitals of Austria and Slovakia respectively. I expected the difference between the two countries to be obvious and dramatic, being the border between East and West Europe, but for half the ride I wasn’t even sure which side of the border I was on. When I finally crossed the bridge into Bratislava I still didn’t encounter anything that screamed out “wrong side of the Iron Curtain”. There were Audi’s and BMW’s everywhere, nice looking restaurants, and people in nice suits. Granted I didn’t see much else in Slovakia, and I’ve since found out that residents of Bratislava earn on average three times more than the rest of the country, but I was surprised at how clean and modern Bratislava was. Having said that, what was obvious after crossing the border was the level of service. Or rather the lack of service. I ordered a round of drinks at a local bar and the barmaid literally dropped the change on to the bar, from a height, while watching TV and raising a cigarette to her mouth with the other hand – yeah they smoke inside in Slovakia too – we actually kept going back for more because the service was so shocking it was entertaining. I was at that bar with Ross and Lia, who’d come to meet me one last time on their drive back to Bulgaria. We started the night by trying some Slivovica, the Slovak national brew, then went out for a traditional dinner, which consisted of garlic soup served in a bread roll. Tasty, although unnecessary in a restaurant that I did notice also had bowls. Plus not recommended if you’re planning on talking to any of the local ladies, apparently.

I mentioned earlier that I was having knee pain. I’ve had this a bit before, but never to the extent that it hit me on the day I left Melk. Because of that I had to stop early and I was a day late arriving in Vienna. I stopped in a town called Tulln, about 35 kilometres short of Vienna. It was a pretty little town with people sitting outside all the restaurants in the main square. I joined them, ordered sausages and sauerkraut and sat there people watching – a pastime that is becoming less and less socially acceptable the more my beard grows. An hour or so after my first dinner I was still hungry, which is becoming a common (and expensive) theme, so I followed the directions on a poster to the ‘best kebab in town’. When I arrived I was greeted by three Pakistani guys who looked confused about the idea of having a customer, a scenario they eventually remembered how to deal with. They were abrupt and almost intimidating at first, but when I mentioned where I was from they said, in unison, “oh, Brendon McCullum!”. They then insisted I sit with them while I ate and we discussed cricket for half an hour; not an experience I expected to have in small town Austria!

When I did arrive in Vienna the next day I soon realised that I’d grossly underestimated it’s size. I arrived on the outskirts of the city and looked around for my hostel, almost expecting to see its name on one of the nearby buildings. When I didn’t see anything I asked a guy if he knew where exactly it was: “yeah, if you cross that bridge it’s about an hour by bike in that direction.” “Uh, excuse me? Did you say an hour..?” He wasn’t far off the mark either, apparently Vienna is the second largest German speaking city in the world (after Berlin). Cheers, Wikipedia – I’ve made a mental note now to google the population of every city before I enter it – Thankfully, however, Vienna also happens to be an incredibly beautiful city. The buildings, the waterways, and the streets were all immaculate and the footpaths were teeming with people enjoying the last of the Autumn sun. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a city that had so many people out and about. It had a great vibe, and if I were to live in Europe somewhere I’d now put Vienna near the top of the list. I checked in to a hostel and spent the whole afternoon walking the streets taking photos that I was unhappy with, then cursing myself for taking crap photos. Later on I went to the hostel bar for a beer and joined a couple of Scottish guys for the pub quiz, which we won (naturally).

Yesterday’s ride took me from Bratislava, across the Hungarian border and on to Gyor. This time I did notice a difference straight away. The towns, and roads, were much more run-down, and everything seemed to be going at a slower pace, except for any person behind the wheel of a car that is, an observation which prompted me to finally buy a helmet. But the cycle paths themselves for these few days in Eastern Europe have been the flattest, most accurately signposted and easily navigable of the whole trip so far. At least thats the sentence I’d planned to write before today, when I cycled through villages with roads inspired by the surface of the moon, then missed my turn-off and headed 6 kilometres in the wrong direction. But the end result was an amazing beef stew, and an encounter with couple of guys who were also a bit lost. A few hours later, after being ditched by my new friends (I had to stop for a snack), I ran in to an old Hungarian guy who was cycling across the country to find his high school sweetheart. That’s probably not true, but I couldn’t say for sure; I cycled with him for the last two hours of the day and, while we spent the whole time talking, neither of us could understand a word. However, through the grunts and the pointing he convinced me that he knew where we needed to go, so I settled in and followed him. The fact that I now find myself in Tata, 40 kilometres away from the town I was supposed to be in tonight (Esztergom), and facing the prospect of backtracking and adding 40 kilometres to tomorrow’s journey, or cycling over a mountain range to get to Budapest tomorrow would suggest otherwise.

Cover Image is a little lake i spotted just on the outskirts of Gyor.

I just got off the train from Munich to Melk, Austria. The train was full except for one seat – the seat next to me. There are many theories about how to keep the seat next you empty on trains and buses: Avoid eye contact, be fat, drool on yourself etc. But growing a dirty beard and having a book about Syria in your hands evidently works pretty well.

I was in Munich for a few days to see some friends and to experience Octoberfest. My brother and his wife picked me up on on Thursday on their way through Austria, then we headed straight for our hostel and got prepared. Wanting to get the authentic experience, I’d bought myself a full outfit from a nice lady in Passau a few days beforehand. I say nice because she’s the first person who’s ever told me I had ‘big arms’ or ‘big feet’, but in hindsight she may have been just trying to get a sale. Then again, she did try to set me up with her daughter when I said ‘now all I need is a Bavarian woman’.

Octoberfest is just immense. Try to imagine 6-8 million people coming together from around the world over the course of two weeks to celebrate beer and you’d probably come up with an accurate mental image. Word of warning to anyone planning on going: pace yourself… not only is the beer only served one litre at a time, it’s also brewed with a higher alcohol content especially for the event, as counterintuitive as that may seem. Of course food is also an important part of the event, and nowhere in the world will you see more meat. The germans, for all their prowess in engineering and beer brewing, could hardly claim to have the most refined culinary taste in the world, but, when it comes to festivals like this, meat and bread prove to be an effective way of feeding the drunken masses. Another example of German efficiency I suppose.

Because of my shopping experience I got away from Passau quite late on Tuesday, but the ride from there across the Austrian border and on to Linz was the easiest yet, and possibly the first day I haven’t been even slightly lost at any point. The route was what I had been expecting the whole Eurovelo 6 to be like: flat, well paved, accurately signposted, and entirely alongside the river. I spent half the day easily cruising at 25kph, which is significantly higher than my overall average. Along the way there were a couple of mandatory ferry crossings which also added to the experience, and gave me the opportunity to relax and take in the surroundings for a few minutes. The second day of riding in Austria took me from Linz, which holds the dubious honour of being Hitler’s proclaimed hometown, to a place called Melk, the town I’m back in now. It’s a beautiful little place with an amazing Monastery that appears to have more windows than this town has residents. It is absolutely massive. The cycling was easy again, but a lot of it was along a busy, narrow road, which is surprising given that this is supposedly the most popular cycle route on the continent.

I didn’t notice anything dramatically different on crossing borders between Germany and Austria, except that you can still smoke inside here(!), and maybe the spelling is a little different. That’s based on no fact at all, but place names seem to me to be missing a few vowels and are a little harder to sound out as an english speaker. I will say, though, that people here did not initially come across quite as friendly. Perhaps they’re a little more reserved. My first interaction with another human in Linz was being very sternly told off by a policewoman for cycling on the footpath (which I’ve done everywhere). I tried to explain to her that there was nobody else on the footpath, and that the roads were made out of jagged, uneven bricks from 700 years ago, but she wasn’t having a bar of it. My second interaction was later on in that night when I tried to make some small talk with the waitress in a pizzeria; she stood there and stared me down like I’d just soiled my pants and was asking her to change me. This is in contrast to a very unusual, even slightly surreal, experience I had last night in Munich. I was attempting to dance in a night club, which is unusual enough in itself, but the German people there were so kind that for the very first time in my life I did so without a single person going out of their way to come over and point out that my horrible dancing was ruining their night.

This morning, after dancing the night away, I woke up on the floor of a strangers’ apartment. It’s not exactly what I had planned, but it’s not as bad as it sounds. Because of the outrageous prices in Munich at the moment (I saw one bed in a 16 bed dorm going for 300 euro per night) I only booked two nights in my hostel, thinking I had a place to stay with a friend for the third night. Only that friend got a little too carried away early on her first Octoberfest day and was obviously incapable of using a phone by the time I was supposed to meet her. I can confirm that being alone, and the only sober person at Octoberfest while you wait two hours for a message isn’t a crazy amount of fun. Thankfully another German girl I know – Julius’ housemate from Konstanz – was there. She and her friends were brilliant fun. They allowed themselves to be seen in public with me, gave me a roof to sleep under, and even helped me add to an ever-growing, but wildly unsuccessful, repertoire of German pick-up lines.

Tonight I’m treating myself to a bed ahead of a big ride to Vienna tomorrow. It’s roughly 120km, but the terrain is going to be flat again and the forecast is good. I’ve heard a lot about Vienna so I’m excited to check it out, but I think I’m more excited about the next day when I’ll cross over into Eastern Europe and arrive at the Slovakian capital, Bratislava. I don’t really know what to expect from Bratislava, or Eastern Europe at all, but I think that’s what I’m looking forward to the most. It’ll be a lot less comfortable, but more of a true adventure. More Importantly, especially after my last few days, it’ll be a whole lot cheaper!

-The cover photo is the sunset as i crossed the bridge just before arriving in Melk the first time. Best sunset of the trip so far.

I’m sitting in a restaurant in the village of Kirchroth (population 3,600), eastern Bavaria, with a local wheat beer on the table and a schnitzel, which probably came from the farm next door, in my stomach. On the table beside me the kitchen staff are sitting down to their end-of-shift meal and chatting to all the locals as they leave. I don’t understand a lot of German at the best of times, but even I can tell that the Bavarian accent is thick here; It’s a bit more sing-song like than the German I’m used to hearing.

I arrived here about an hour ago. I’m roughly 20km short of today’s intended destination, but today happens to have been the wettest day of the trip so far and after stopping and starting of hours, waiting under trees and bus shelters as thunderstorms swept overhead, I’d had enough. So when I spotted a little hotel above the restaurant I’m now in, I didn’t think twice. I was greeted by a friendly, round woman in traditional dress who gave me a key, no questions asked and no forms filled in, and explained where my room was. She is also the only waitress in the restaurant, and her english is surprisingly good.

It seems the European weather I’d been promised by so many people has finally caught up with me, and, until this last hour, I was regretting my decision to even try to make some ground today – Yesterday I sat out the rain at a friends house in Regensburg, and I had the option to do the same today – But these experiences with genuine people in old fashioned villages are what I enjoy the most about what I’m doing and where I am right now. Having said that, my time in Regensburg was also brilliant. I arrived on Friday afternoon and met Verena, a friend and former workmate from Sydney. She took me to a Bavarian restaurant where I was lucky enough(?) to taste pig lung, then to some local bars and yesterday a local football game. It’s safe to say SSV Jahn Regensburg aren’t going to be challenging Bayern Munich for a title any time soon, in fact I think they’d even struggle to compete with the All Whites, but the currywurst was good, and the crowd was passionate and entertaining – even if at times I did feel like I was at Nazi party rally.

After leaving Ulm a few days ago I cycled a steady 110km to Donauworth, which is one of the most beautiful and lively towns yet – This is actually one of the big differences I’ve noticed between France and Germany: while French towns felt deserted, the German towns are all bustling with life and energy. You never have an issue finding somewhere to eat, the menus are varied, the food good, staff friendly (and English speaking), and prices reasonable. Granted I wasn’t in the most commonly visited parts of France, and I know my love of the Germans makes me see this country through rose-tinted glasses, but why so many people travel to France and never give Germany a second thought is completely beyond me. Anyway, I got to Donauworth late because the sunset was too epic to cycle through and I ended up getting out my camera and drone to capture it. Of course that meant cycling the last 20km into town with the dilemma of either not being able too see, or swallowing mouthfuls of bugs as they head towards the light on my head.

The next morning I got off to a late start which worked in my favour because, as I was going through my daily ritual of trying to find my way back to the Danube path, I ran in to the wind-shadow steeling German girl from a few days ago. But this time she was with Ian, a dude from Malta who happens to be following the same route as me to Romania. We got on well straight away and set off together. It was a challenging day, filled with hills and rough roads, but having someone to chat to and pick up tips from made a huge difference. At one point we stopped for a break under a tree and got chatting to a Croatian man who was cycling home (to Croatia) from Heidelberg. He had a beer in one hand, cigarette in the other, and explained to us that he was going home because he needed to relax to get over his ‘health issues’, being 60 and all. I suggested there were probably more relaxing ways of getting to Croatia, then we said our goodbye’s and carried on, only for him to overtake us up a hill half an hour later.

Ian and I arrived in Ingolstadt (the home of Audi) at around 6pm. I decided I was going to stay for a night, but Ian carried on because he likes to do 200km per day. (It goes without saying that Ian is a lot more experienced than I am. Plus he had less weight on his bike and a girlfriend waiting for him on his yacht in Malta. Pretty good incentive to get the trip over with, or pretty good reason to not go on a trip in the first place I would have thought). It would have been great to carry on with Ian, but 200km per day was just a bit beyond me and I knew I was stopping for a day in Regensburg anyway.

I checked in to another Youth Hostel in Ingolstadt and ,thankfully, this time there weren’t any kids to make me feel like a dirty old man. There was, however, an annoyingly thorough guy working at the reception. It was one of those occasions when I was reminded of a massive pet hate of mine: people who state the obvious, talk really slowly, or talk for the sake of talking. This guy ticked all the boxes. After explaining the check-in process and ‘house rules’ in excruciatingly painful detail, he went on to describe how to unlock a door with a key, and how the colours on the tap in the bathroom determine whether the water comes out hot or cold. I couldn’t help but wonder how this guy thought I’d even survived for 30 years, let alone cycled from France to his hostel, but the confused look on my face clearly caused him to go into even more detail and I was forced to go along with it. Those four hours of my life excluded, Ingolstadt and the hostel were both great.

Weather permitting, I’ll try to get an early start tomorrow and ride the 100km to Passau, my final stop in Germany and the start of the Passau to Vienna route. This is the most popular cycle route in Europe, and widely accepted to be the most beautiful part of the Eurovelo 6. I’m excited about Austria because its supposed to be stunning, but also it’ll be the first time on this trip that I’ll arrive in a country I’ve not been to before, and the Austrian border is roughly what I’ve worked out to be my half-way mark! Exciting stuff. But I’m not kidding myself; the roads after Austria are only going to get rougher, and the weather isn’t going to be getting any warmer. So Im going to make the most of the last of Western Europe.

To all the followers of my blog (Mum, Dad) I’m writing to you from Ulm, Germany. Birthplace of Einstein and home to the world’s tallest church. I’m staying in a youth hostel that truly lives up to its name, and I feel more than a little judged by the school children surrounding me in the dining hall. School children who, by the way, are freakishly tall. I wish you had fed me more sauerkraut when I was young.

I know it’s been too long between updates ( I’ve crossed two international borders since my last post!) but it’s been so hard to find the time to sit down and write anything. So here goes:

Yesterday was hard. Real hard. I started off in Konstanz, which is right on the German side of the Swiss/German border. Home to an 18 tonne rotating statue of a naked prostitute holding the Pope in one had and the Emperor in the other (I’ll let you guess the story behind that), the second largest lake in Europe (the source of the Rhine), and home to Julius. I know Julius from his Broome days a few years back, and I went to stay with him for a rest day. As always it was good to have a local show me the sights of a new city, and it was good to share a few (too many) beers with an old mate!

Because Konstanz is a little bit off the path I’m actually following, I added a few more kilometres to my total, which is fine, but I forgot to factor in my horrendous sense of direction and the extra time it would take to find my way back to the Eurovelo 6. Needless to say it was a frustratingly back and forth start to the day, made even more so by the fact that the German SIM card I’d just bought lost all its credit within 10 minutes because it was sneakily connected to the Swiss network from across the river. Brilliant.

By the time I’d finally gained some distance and momentum I started to notice that as the roads were gradually getting narrower they were also steadily getting steeper. Stupidly oversized tractors were passing me at an uncomfortably regular rate and none of it was feeling right, so I stopped to double check that I was going on the correct path. As I did so Alfred, a German lawyer wearing all the road racing gear and casually cycling 100km home from a meeting, stopped to check if I was ok. I explained my concerns and he told me I was going the right way, but that we were just at the beginning of a 900m ascent. I was on the verge of completely losing it and turing round to find a train station, but he said he’d ride it with me, so I couldn’t back out. What followed was easily the hardest section of the tour so far, and probably the toughest hour of exercise I’ve had in my life. Every time I wanted a break Alfred would point to the approaching storm clouds and tell me we had to hurry. By the time we made it to the top I was absolutely wrecked, but I was thankful he turned up because I genuinely wouldn’t have made it otherwise. Plus we were rewarded with an incredible 360 degree view of the Black Forrest, Lake Konstanz and could just make out the outline of the Alps. It was epic. Although all that effort was wasted because It took us about 13 seconds to get down the other side at 60kph, which was kinda scary with a headband for a helmet.

To top the day off I ended up in Sigmaringen where I had my first ever couch surfing experience, although I’m not sure if you can call a private room in a German mansion real couch surfing. My host Juliane was amazing; we sat up drinking beer and chatting for a while, then in the morning I was treated to a proper German breakfast and before I set off she took me down the road to where there was an epic view of the local castle.

Sigmaringen is near the start of the Danube, and it’s this river that I followed to Ulm today, and will continue to follow now to it’s Delta at the Black Sea. Which means down-hill, baby! The day was pretty uneventful aside from one point when I passed a lady going super slow, then turned around 10 minutes later to see her crouched down three feet behind me stealing all my hard work. I was having none of that, so I casually sat up and pretended I was resting, then did the same to her after she passed me. Proper badass.

Tomorrow I’ll cross the border into a strange land where the men wear leather shorts, white sausages (that you have to peel…) are served for breakfast, and beer is not just a beverage but the actual meaning of life. I’m talking about Bavaria. Germany’s largest state and the home of Octoberfest which, coincidently I promise, is about to start. To say I’m excited about the next couple of weeks would be an understatement.

For now I’ve missed out on my summary of the last section in France, and that’s intentional. I’m still trying to collect my thoughts on a country where you can buy 18,000 different varieties of cigarette 24/7 from any corner store, but it takes 40 minutes of cycling around a city of 120,000 people before you find a single place that sells things you can, you know, eat rather than inhale. So i’ll come back to France. Oh, and Switzerland. Anyway, nobody said I had to do this in order!

So today I reached 1,000km in total, I did my first 100km day, and I had my first crash. Talk about milestones. I’m currently in Dole, and getting so close to the Swiss boarder I can smell the cheese.

I spent last night in Chalon-Sur-Saone, and I can confidently say that it’s been the best town yet. I arrived and saw people. Not just a person walking home with a baguette, actual groups of people interacting and looking like they enjoyed it. It’s a strange thing to say, but it’s been a regular theme and one of the most unexpected parts of my trip so far; every small town in France has been absolutely deserted and devoid of any atmosphere. It’s been really depressing. But in Chalon-sur-Saone there were shops, and most of them were actually open. Some of them even looked like they had customers. I had to get a piece of this, so after setting up my tent I rode back in to town and sat down amongst the crowds with a beer. But before that I visited the photography museum and had a look at the very first photograph ever taken, which was pretty amazing. Amazing in the sense that it genuinely looked like a piece of toilet paper after the first wipe. Sure the late Mr Niepce invented the first ever camera, but hadn’t the dude heard of Instagram filters? Seriously.

Anyway, while I was enjoying my beer I thought I’d Google some info about the places I’ll be visiting/ have visited. It seems each of these little towns is very proud of one particular part of their history. Chalon-sur-Saone obviously had the photography history and museum, which is cool, but the town I’m in tonight – Dole – was apparently made famous back in the 16th century by some guy who decided he was a werewolf and started eating children. That’s it. That’s all I could find out about the place. So in the end he was burned to death for his sins, and of course that part came up as a link, so I clicked on it. Before you know it I’m reading about all the different ways to execute someone by burning and the waitress comes over, sees my phone, and freaks out. I found it pretty hard to get served after that, but did you know they used to pour molten lead in people’s ears as a method of execution? What the hell is wrong with us.

But really, the town was beautiful and the atmosphere was great. There were crowds of people in a square in front of the main cathedral where all the restaurants had combined seating. There was a guy playing guitar in the street, and there was a hum and excitement in the air that I’ve been craving (expecting) since day one, but only experienced in Paris.

I started today still with a bit of a buzz from last night, and I carried it with me as I managed to ride out 105km with relative ease. I feel like I’m back to my pre heat-exhaustion fitness levels, and I really enjoyed the ride today. Unfortunately I didn’t get to experience much of Dole, though, as I arrived just before 7pm and it was raining. But the werewolf guy is long dead so what was I gonna do anyway?

The main photo is from the photography museum. I don’t know what relevance it had to photography, but I sure am glad I didn’t ride 1,000km on that bad boy.

I’m currently at Camping Du Lac. It’s a lonely little camp ground in a town called Palinges. Its 6pm, dead quiet and 29 degrees. The staff have spent the last two hours trying to persuade me to eat dinner in their “restaurant” – it’s a bus parked under a tree. I told them I didn’t want to because I’d be the only person there, so they came back excitedly later on to tell me there had been a booking. I’ll believe that when I see it, but they’d cancelled out my only excuse. So that’s what I’ve got to look forward to tonight.

My parents left to go back to New Zealand yesterday. I had a great couple of days recovering in Paris with them, and then an entertaining time cycling with them for three days. We weren’t breaking any speed records, but to their credit (my Mum’s in particular) we still smashed out 100km in three days, including 45 on the final leg. (I lied and told Mum it was going to be 30 at the start of the day). I think by the end of it they were sharing a few of my frustrations with cycling in general, and with the French – when we arrived to check in to our hotel in Nevers it was closed. We were ‘let in’, as in Mum pushed the door open on an old guy who I’m pretty sure was squatting there. He told us that the owner was out and that he’d show us a room if we agreed to give him our shoes and life-time supply of cigarettes. I actually have no idea what he said because he was speaking French, but it was probably along those lines. Anyway he continued to speak French a lot after we clearly didn’t understand a thing – something that happens regularly after you tell people you don’t speak French. After a while we gave up and went to find food and beer.

Since saying goodbye to my parents I’ve put another 160km behind me, and tomorrow I plan to make it to a town called Chalon-sur-Saone, apparently the birthplace of the guy who invented photography. The riding has been nice and easy and flat for the last few days. Most of it next to canals full of old people cruising through France on old boats proudly displaying their national flags (I saw a New Zealand flag yesterday!). The canals themselves are really beautiful and generally lined with big old trees which are just starting to get some colour in their leaves. Some of the engineering is pretty impressive too; due to the constantly changing gradients there are twin gates every few kilometres for the boats to park in while the water level is raised or lowered to match the direction they’re heading, and in some towns there’s a bridge for the canal to go over the river. Impressive stuff, especially coming from the nation that’ll put 2 signs up on the bike trail to point you in the direction you’re already going, when the only alternative is a driveway, and then not a single sign at most t-junctions. Ah, you’ve gotta love the French.

As of today I have less than a week left in France, so I’m looking forward to seeing what the Swiss have to offer!

P.s the photo is the little lake in a town called Bourbon-Lancy. The last 20km yesterday was pretty up and down over country roads where I had the constant feeling I was going the wrong way. It was pretty stressful. Turns out I was going the right way (no thanks to the signage), and just after setting up camp I had the most epic sunset to date!

I generally try to keep things pretty positive and upbeat, at least when I’m writing, but these last two days have been a pretty humbling and sobering experience for me. So bear with me while I get a little bit serious for a sec.

Right now I’m sitting in a little hotel in Paris, having caught the train on Saturday morning to see my parents and give myself a break. I feel a bit ridiculous having another break already, but it seems I never really got over my cramp and heat exhaustion from a few days ago and I needed to give myself a little more time. Let me explain in a bit more detail:

Basically, one of the issues with Cystic Fibrosis (in fact one of the symptoms that’s used to diagnose the disease in the first place) is that a person with the condition loses a lot more salt than a ‘normal’ person in their sweat. Salt, or electrolyte, loss leads to dehydration and in turn can cause cramping. Growing up in New Zealand it had never been an issue that I was even aware of, let-alone affected by, but that changed real quick when I was working in the West Australian desert a few years ago. On one occasion, after a long but not overly physical work day, my whole body completely seized up with cramp and I collapsed on the ground. With every movement I made to give myself relief from one cramp, I would trigger cramp on the opposite side of my body. It was the most painful and frightening experience i’ve ever had, made all the more so by the fact that I didn’t know what was happening, and that I was in the middle of the desert with nowhere to go. I literally lay in the spot where I fell down until the next morning when I was taken to a nurses station three hours away and pumped with saline. I subsequently lost my job and along with it any chance of continuing a career in the mines. It was “too much of a risk” to take me back out on any work site.

The reason I’m sharing this is because on Friday I found myself lying next to the only tap I could find – in an abandoned camp ground – in the 40 degree heat, and feeling the onset of the same symptoms. I was faced with the decision to stay put for the night, or move on and risk the chance of ending up somewhere else in a worse condition and with no access to water. It’s not that the cycling itself was too strenuous, it’s that no matter how much I drank, and how much salt I tried to replace, I obviously just couldn’t keep up with how much I was losing. I probably shouldn’t have been attempting to make up time in that kind of heat in the first place, but I do sometimes tend to overestimate my own abilities. In the end I stayed where I was for about four hours before (very slowly) moving on another 5km to a small village where I entered a hotel, light headed and profusely sweating, and got myself a bed for the night.

I hesitate to talk about these things openly, and I’m certainly not trying to evoke any sympathy, but I feel that if I’m going to try and raise awareness the best way to do so is through my own experience. The good thing is this is not the end of the journey, just a little hurdle along the road, and hopefully the next update will involve a little more progress.

In about an hour I’ll be boarding a train back to where my bike is to carry on with the journey. The weekend has been a great opportunity for me to recover and recharge before getting back in to it, and for the next two days I’ll have my parents tagging along – so you can rest assured that I wont be pushing myself too hard!

So I never imagined I’d come from the tropics of Western Australia to central France and be overwhelmed by the heat, but here we are. Yesterday I rode nearly 100km in temperatures up to 37 degrees! By the time I’d reached Orleans I was seriously exhausted and I was cramping up pretty bad (I hope the CF dietician in Perth isn’t reading this). With that in mind, and today’s forecast being even warmer, I decided to give my body a bit of a break to recover. I also used the time to buy a few things that I hadn’t thought of before I started – Like a third drink bottle holder! I also cycled across the city to find a camera repair store that doesn’t exist. That was a highlight.

Heat and cramping aside its all going pretty well, the main issue I’ve found is keeping your mind occupied for hours on end. People who know me well may be shocked to hear this, but I’m actually starting to crave some social interaction! It’s a pretty lonely day on the road, particularly when you can’t actually communicate with anyone you do meet. But I’m booked in for my first couch surfing experience tomorrow night in Gien, so I’m pretty interested to see how that works out. Hopefully you’ll hear from me again… I figure It’s a good sign that the host has already offered to make me dinner when I arrive: rice and lentils… Which may not sound like much now, but it’ll be like a Sunday roast to me after 90kms tomorrow!

If you still want to donate towards Cystic Fibrosis research click here. Im less than $2,000 from my 20k target now!

Current location: Nearly halfway across France!

So I’ll admit that the lighting was favourable, but I just saw what can only be described as some definition in one of my legs (yeah, just one), and this means that I’m already 50 percent of the way towards my main goal here! And so there should be some definition after riding 95 km yesterday.

Despite starting out in frustrating fashion, and being the biggest day in distance terms, yesterday was the best so far. It starting off frustratingly because of one particular Tabac employee in Angers who sold me an “unlimited” data pack for my sim card. Turns out ‘unlimited’ is French for 500MB, and it was all gone by yesterday morning – it’s funny how much internet you need to use when you think your data is unlimited. Anyway, I probably would have only spent one hour scrolling through Tinder if I’d known.

The reason having no data was so frustrating is because of my severe lack of navigational skill, something that is daily becoming harder and harder to deny. However, this did work in my favour (in a round-about kind of way) in that I was forced stop and chat to a couple who happened to be riding the same direction as me, so I asked to tag along. They turned out to be really good value, and I spent the rest of the day with them.

It did start off as one of those awkward situations where you hope that they’re brother and sister and you try to think of a subtle way to ask, but thankfully she picked up on this pretty quickly and mentioned the word ‘boyfriend’. Once I got over that I was able to relax and resume the all too familiar role of third-wheel. I also picked up some valuable French lessons on language, and culture – like spending 25 minutes looking for free water (rather than going into a shop to buy the cheapest item and asking them to fill your bottles for you), and putting pieces of chocolate in your baguette: “In France we like to put a lot of thing in baguette”. Highly recommended by the way.

Maxime and Laurie were cycling from Toulouse to Paris to see Maxime’s grandma, and they weren’t mucking around. By the time we’d reached Tours (my stop for the day) they’d done over 100km, and were contemplating doing 30 more to ‘get to the wild’ for camping. Crazy frenchies.

The riding itself has been beautiful the last couple of days. It seems to change up between country roads and purpose built cycle paths. The roads often meander between vineyards and old country houses, where every now and then you’ll come across some houses built into caves, or a castle that was built 800 years ago. Its quite nice, but I personally prefer the cycle paths, because they are alongside the river and rivers are flat. Plus I don’t get lost next to the river. The tradeoff being that alongside the river means you are constantly being bombarded by clouds of microscopic bugs. And by constantly I mean any time your mouth happens to be open.

Today I was in recovery mode after trying to keep up with the french all day yesterday, but I still managed a slow 70km. Which means that all up I’m at 370km now! Tomorrow is a solid 90km run in to Orleans. Wish me luck.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]