Doubt. The belief that it can’t be done. A fundamental component in the human psyche that can hold us back from doing things beyond the ordinary.
Fourteen months earlier I had woken up in Auckland, wishing it was any other day but the 21st of May 2017. I doubted myself, I doubted our vision, and I loathed the prospect of leaving the comforts of home. I know I was not alone in doubting us. I assume most people did. How can you convince others to believe in you, when you can hardly believe in yourself? I knew it could be done, but was also aware that it was very unlikely for Fred, Sean and I to all board the boat from Dunkirk to Dover fourteen months down the track.
But it happened. Fourteen months to the day we left friends, family, (ex) girlfriends and our beloved New Zealand, we woke in our tents at Dunkirk at 5.30am, on the brink of realising a very special dream. Though it had rained in the evening, the tents were bone dry by morning, and we quickly ate our muesli with apricots, before hitting the road toward the ferry terminal.
Dunkirk was just how we’d imagined it, having watched the movie in our bunkroom in Tbilisi all those months ago: grey, bleak, old and weathered. It wasn’t exactly an inspiring final ride in Europe, as we completed the last 20kms to the ferry. We discarded the last of our Euro at a local bakery, stocking up on croissants, pain au chocolate and cokes for the trip across the channel. We patiently waited with the cars to be processed by border security, soaking up the last few gulps of exhaust-infused European air. As we stood there contemplating the enormity of the occasion, a man exited his campervan and made his way towards me. He proceeded to shove 30 pounds in my top bag and told us to “spend it on Maccas or something when you get to the other side”. We were completely thrown by this random act of kindness. He told us he had seen our t-shirts and looked us up online, before returning to his vehicle. We stood there shocked. The English were already treating us, and we hadn’t even left Europe (tempted to make a Brexit joke, but will refrain).
"If you are depressed, you are living in the past. If you are anxious you are living in the future. If you are at peace, you are living in the present" - Lao Tzu
The weather wasn’t exactly what we’d envisaged for the crossing of the channel, as we left the dreary shores of France, towards Old Blighty, which remained shrouded in cloud. We had had a grand vision of a perfectly clear channel crossing, with the White Cliffs of Dover sparkling in the distance as the ferry approached country number twenty-four. But it was not to be… or so it seemed.
It was a bleak start to the morning, as we left France
Getting a bit weird as a result of the occasion - not that we ever needed an excuse to get weird on this trip
Halfway across the channel, the clouds parted, and sure enough, in the distance emerged the White Cliffs in all their glory. Our grandfather had fought in the Battle of Britain, flying Spitfires over those very cliffs, making this moment that little bit more special. For so long we’d dreamt about this day, and it was finally upon us.
A man very happy with his 14 months of growth on his chin, as well as having the skies clear
Somebody get this man a modelling contract!
Not a bad first view of England
We disembarked, and eventually found the correct route out of the port, to then be met by Jacqui (mum), Tom (brother) and Emily (cousin) who had driven from London to see us. It was an emotional reunion, but cut short by the fact that we still had mileage to cover to get to Folkestone where we were staying. The short ride certainly didn’t lack drama however, with a young English hooligan telling us to “turn that shit off” when referring to the sweet sounds of Tom Misch (which I can assure you is certainly not “shit”) and a lapse in concentration on my part sending me into the side of a stationary vehicle. Rest assured, we didn’t turn off the music and I managed to stay upright, with no damage caused to either the stationary vehicle or myself. Funnily enough, we still managed to beat mum, Tom and Emily to our accommodation.
It just so happened that our arrival in England aligned with the 100-year anniversary of the RAF, so we were treated to a flyover by a Lancaster, Spitfire and Hurricane. Freddie was a pig in shit!
Arthur John Gillies bringing out his inner John Arthur Gillies (grandfather who flew Spitfires all those years ago)
Mum wasn't overly comfortable sitting so close to the edge as we waited the flyover
The Red Arrows also treated us to quite the spectacle over the English Channel
We spent two nights in Folkestone before hitting the road again, negotiating beautiful but narrow country lanes on our way through Kent. We stayed with Martin and Sara, two friends of my godmother, Monique who joined us for dinner that night with her husband, Pete. We shared stories of the trip, and discussed Spitfires with Martin, being treated to the tastiest Rioja, French white, and a banquet of food, before later cracking into a very special bottle of 1961 Port. Timmy serenaded us all with his wonderful jazzy blues on the piano, before we hit the sack.
Some exquisite little country lanes we had the pleasure of riding on our way through Kent
Martin and Sara's backyard. They assured us that England always had weather like this
Sara and Martin. Two amazingly generous and welcoming people. The most wonderful hosts
We all agreed that we could very easily have enjoyed another night of Martin and Sara’s hospitality, but our schedule pushed us on towards Wisborough Green in West Sussex, where we would stay with Monique and Peter for the final four nights before London.
An air of anticipation loomed over us these last few days. Sean’s bike required a full drive chain refit, with the rest of our time spent swimming in the pool, walking the dogs (Erik, Daisy and Mini), playing unhealthy amounts of table tennis and consuming only the best food and beverage we could ever ask for. We didn’t really know what to with ourselves after dinner on that final night, with the four of us going for one final swim in the dark. There we stood, Frodo (Freddie), Aragon (Arthur), Legolas (Sean) and Gimli (Timmy), on the precipice of something huge. It was, as Gandalf once said, “the deep breath before the plunge”.
England was experiencing the biggest heatwave for some time, so it was nice riding under the canopy of the trees on roads like these
You could almost mistake this for NZ
On a wee roadie with Pete after arriving at Arundel Holt Court
Where we spent most of our last few days, mentally preparing ourselves for what was to be a momentous occasion
From left: me, Minnie, Freddie, Josie, Erik, Monique, Peter, Timmy, mum, Tom and Nikita
We are beyond grateful for these two wonderful humans, Monique and Peter. A wonderfully relaxing and entertaining four nights to wrap up our fourteen month journey.
And you wonder why people call us 'sheep shaggers'
Erik and Daisy weren't pleased to see us go
The day had finally come. We woke to clear skies above Wisborough Green, with the roads still damp from the day before. It was almost like any other morning, as we busied ourselves, packing our panniers, filling our bottles and loading the bikes one last time. After some delectable scrambled eggs on toast, it was time to set course for London. The four of us mounted our bikes and began the final ride, bidding our departure committee adieu.
The sun beat down on the old country lanes of West Sussex as the wind blew us gently towards Leatherhead Station. As we rode into the town, we heard a yell from the bushes to our left, where we found our eldest brother, Tom adorned in a party shirt and aero-helmet with his good mate, Harry Sheppard. Harry proceeded to lead us to his parents place for refreshments as we were ahead of schedule up until this point. There we were met by Tom’s workmate Jack, and very soon the nostalgia that had dominated the last few days, was quickly replaced by a flatulent excitement for the entertaining day ahead.
It was on the brink of realising our dream, that we both knew that we'd found our true love... Papi Chen
Signs for London. Motorists must have thought we were slightly weird.
These two miscreants were found hiding in a bush. We thought they were just a couple of homeless people when they yelled at us
Tom donning the party shirt we'd bought for him back in Vietnam, as well as an aero-lid (limited protection) on his fixie
Jack, Harry and Tom ready to rock and roll to London
Following a GoPro interview and photo-shoot with the lads, we meandered on down to Leatherhead Station where we were met by the rest of the peloton, totaling 16 riders for the final 50kms to London. As we set up for group photos outside the station, locals sneered at us, with the Prudential Ride London happening the following day, creating road closures on the rural fringe, and very much encroaching on the very important lives of these locals. They were met in return with merriment and the sweet chime of our bells, as the peloton/fellowship fanned out along the increasingly busy roads.
The peloton (minus Sean who was taking the photo) who accompanied us for the last 50kms of our trip. Note the Boris bikes that were used by of three riders. Legends the lot of them!
Crossing the Thames. There weren't a lot of photos taken during the ride this day.
Sean became the victim to the final puncture of the trip, but before long we found ourselves in Richmond Park. It all began to feel very real, with the London skyline coming into view. For fourteen months, I had played this day in my head hundreds of times, and now it was happening before me. I didn’t really know how to react, but soon found myself laughing, as Freddie broke into tears.
Before long we were riding parallel with the Thames, and stopped off for a beer at a bar, munching away at some fries as a small crowd began to amalgamate outside Buckingham Palace. I was in charge of orchestrating the very important Instagram live video that our dear friend, Caitlin was so kindly documenting for us, but my phone was rapidly running out of battery due to extensive use throughout the days ride. I soon received a message from my mum at the finish line, telling us to hurry up as the BBC were waiting. I thought she was taking the piss, but after a beer or two, we re-saddled and headed for Tower Bridge.
Tower Bridge held comparable symbolic significance for us, as the White Cliffs of Dover had a week earlier. Though it was my first time in London, I had had detailed accounts of how this moment might feel from Freddie who had scoped out the city back in 2016. The four of us pulled out to the front of the peloton, blocking the lane to traffic, as ‘Lean on Me’ played from Sean’s UE Boom. We each embraced each other as best we could with one arm still on the handlebars, and tears impeding our vision. I looked left to where we were soon to head, knowing that I was soon to complete the greatest achievement of my life to date.
We rounded the Tower of London, and negotiated our way through the traffic barriers towards the Ride London circuit. The 16 of us then descended into a central London underpass that was closed to traffic, taking up every lane, yelling, screaming and ringing our bells knowing the end was nigh. We soon joined thousands of other cyclists, and slowly approached Trafalgar Square. We were outside 10 Downing Street when we waved on the other 12 riders to go ahead to the finish line. I had been sharing my live location with our dear friend, Ainsley, and had given a rather premature call on going live on Instagram with Caitlin (apologies to all those who were patient enough to watch us arrive that day, but it was better to be safe than miss it!).
The earth stood still for a second as the four of us embraced one last time, before making our way towards Buckingham Palace. We were ushered down Birdcage Walk that runs parallel with The Mall, and soon the crowd came into view. The four of us lined up next to each other, and the pace increased. It was an exhilarating moment, as the crowd began to erupt. I managed to hit a comfortable speed to throw my hands off the bars and pump my fists out the side, before coming to a stand still before hoards of loved ones. We were showered in bubbles, confetti and love, seeing friends and family from all walks of life. It was a surreal experience, living the moment we’d dreamt of for years. After months of toil through all the elements, crashes, injuries, illnesses, stolen and broken bicycles, fatigue and our own personal struggles, we had made it to Buckingham Palace.
To a job well done! The beautiful faces of those who were there to see the end
Mum wasn't lying when she said the BBC were waiting for us
Our dear friend William who flew all the way from NZ to see us arrive. He proceeded to steal Sean's bike to make sure Sean never leaves him again
The final monument shot in front of Buckingham Palace. Love the oblique angle
Clockwise from left: Timmy, Fred, Brook, myself, Sean and William. You wonder why Sean looks so happy? Just ask William where his hand is
The day Tom taught me to ride a bike, he probably didn't think I'd end up riding 23,000kms around the world. It was at this moment that he realised how much he loved me :)
Before the trip, Fred, Sean and I flatted with Brook. His life was without direction for 14 months, but he is now back on track and having the time of his life!
I had doubted whether we would all make it to the finish line in London, and looking back, it is a minor miracle that we did:
Freddie almost trod on multiple landmines while taking emergency shits throughout Laos, and was hospitalised in Yangon with severe stomach pains
Sean had a meat cleaver pulled on him in Cambodia and almost died from a broken heart.
I was ravaged by giardia and campylobacter, before a crippling knee injury had me convinced I wasn’t going to make it through Europe; while
Timmy arrived in Istanbul woefully unfit, had his bike stolen, crashed more times than I care to count, and almost bled to death as a result of a severe dose of chafing.
Every day we were reminded of what could go wrong, but our comradery, resilience and determination to achieve what we’d sacrificed so much for, kept pushing us forward. This trip will forever and always shape our lives and who we have become, and it was, without a doubt in my mind, the trip of lifetime. Thank you for coming along for the ride!
And then the party started...
