I awake in the tent. Tussock green outside and a calming glow of cream inside, it's my home. Not a home away from home; a home away. It's a structure whose temporality is stretched permanently nomadic. 'Celeste' is battle-scarred with patches holding it together outside and underneath. An improvised plastic shopping bag between the fly and the inner saves the interior from the dripping leaks past the two-year-old strips of life-support duct tape. Pinpricks made in the floor from spiny grass and curious insects of Australia admit water from the damp grass below. Condensation has built up in the high humidity and airless conditions of the rainy night. My sleeping bag lost its purported water repellency such a long time ago that it now seems hydrophilic, holding dampness in its outer layer. All in all, it's a veritable 'wet blanket' of a way to start the day. But, that's OK. I won't suffer this morning. I have granted myself a permanent reprieve from a two and a half year imposition of endurance. Today is my final day of the bicycle expedition.
I make the customary morning porridge cooked and eaten from the one pot I carry. "This is the last meal I eat in the tent on this expedition," I declare to myself. As I prepare to move on, "This is the last time I roll up my sleeping mat". I announce to no one: "... the last packing of the panniers", "... loading of the bike", "... the last 30 kilometres" (of a journey over a thousand times longer). I remind myself of these facts prodding my consciousness to see how my subconscious reacts. 'How does it feel?' I'm asking myself with these provocations. 'What's it like to draw to an end a significant chapter of your life? That's two and a half years and a worldwide span of achievement concluding today - in a few hours - just down the road. What do you make of that?' I dunno. I just ride a bike every day. That doesn't feel so special. The sum of the parts is an equation of an arithmetic that is beyond my comprehension. I just know that yesterday I rode the bike, as I did the day before that, the week before that, the month and the year before that and year before that too. There is no tomorrow on the bike though. I know that. Do I understand it? One day at a time is all I can do. It's all I've ever done to get me around the world under my own steam.
Everything is tacky with a mix of road grime, sweat and rain. I've not had a shower in this country; in fact I've only had one complete wash this week. I know the end is in sight in that regard and that I welcome, but only on this single-day scale. There are some major maintenance issues with the bike that should be addressed too, but I have been riding it in the style of 'to the end of the world or bust' since its last overhaul about 10,000km back. Making do and a cavalier 'she'll be right' attitude carry me and the bike through.
The journey has been an adventure of new sights, new cultures, people and places. Today though there is incontrovertible proof that I am coming full circle. I have ridden past London Black Cabs before. I have had to dodge around the distinctive rattle of double-decker buses while rolling down the dedicated red lanes for bikes, buses and taxis of central London. With this bike, loaded with these pannier bags I have cycled past London Underground Tube stations previous. That was 'outgoing'. That was in the middle of 2002. Now is October 2004. I have cycled these streets before. I am returning.
Self portrait of arriving in London
with tanned and soiled feet |
I meet Maria and Nic in Parliament Square, Westminster in the heart of London at 11am. Maria's a familiar face in a place that's not far removed from where I had known her before. The start and end of the journey draw ever closer. Although I had already met his brother and his family in Canada, I was meeting Nic for the first time. We check each other out to spot any differences from descriptions, life journeys and comparisons with how we expected them to look. The year 2002 wasn't that long ago, but as Dr. Indiana Jones said in Raiders of the Lost Ark, "It's not the years, honey, it's the mileage".
The hands of Big Ben are winding around towards noon, the time I had planned to be at Greenwich to cross the Prime Meridian, like I had on the 25th of April 2002. Any further catching up would have to wait. There were still some roads to ride and people to meet up with before the end.
We ride along Embankment and past London Eye, all alongside the River Thames. Yes, I know these places. I have been here before. It's just like I remember. I'm not picking up where I left off; I'm dropping off what I picked up.
Ready and waiting, fresh off the train from York, Caron is poised, ready to go, at the far end of Blackfriars Bridge where the mini entourage stops long enough for hugs and for Nic to point us in the right direction until signs for Bicycle Route 4, the road to Greenwich, guide us the rest of the way.
Riding in file was reminiscent of my first departure from the Greenwich Meridian Line where a group of us cycled to Parliament Square to join the London Parade on New Year's Day 2002. Full circle alright.
We ride through the iron gates of Greenwich Park along King William's Walk and continue up The Avenue. I had tried to arrange it so that I would approach the famous section of the Greenwich Meridian Line that dissects the courtyard of the Royal Observatory from the west without having crossed it first. Press Officer Carol Baxter for the National Maritime Museum and Head of Visitor Services Mark Grover had done what they could to accommodate my request but the enclosed courtyard is just not set up for my quirky ideals. Instead we would use the famous line for photos and not the actual crossing of the Meridian to signify the end of the circumnavigation.
One small push of a pushbike; one big world trip.
Nic looks on as Maria lines up a shot.
Thanks to Caron for taking the picture. |
As the road rises even steeper up Observatory Hill, I stop in front of a trail of paving stones cutting across the road. "Here it is," I call to the others, some of whom had already cycled across it. Here is the Meridian Line. I stare at it. For the world it symbolises the start of terrestrial space and time. For me it marks the end of an odyssey. By rolling my front wheel across these stones I would be ending an adventurous and wonderful time of my life. Here is the end. I almost don't want the bike to cross it. Mixed feelings of joy, relief, elation, sadness, ambiguity and puzzlement swim through my mind. I pass my camera to Caron to record the moment. With the final release of the brakes and a push against the handlebars the wheel rolls on to the Line. Done. Complete. Around the world by bicycle in 36,110 kilometres and 873 days. I am a circumnavigator.
Maria, Nic and Caron congratulate me and I feel somewhat inured. Praise and accomplishment had lost meaning in my modest 'one day at a time' goals. I wonder when I could feel like the champion it seemed I had become with this planet-sized, human-powered accomplishment. I am happy, make no mistake in that, but why should I expect some emotions to blindside me when I'd had a year's planning plus two more years living on the road to get used to the idea that I would actually have to have completed a big bike ride to claim the triumph? Stood there with my front wheel across the finish line was I basking? Yes, to a degree. I was also trying to remember the moment.
I know a friend, Sat, is waiting at the Royal Observatory to see me over the 'official' line so we continue up to the rendezvous and for photos. Searching for feelings is not going to be difficult just a hundred metres on, I was soon to find.
(L-R)Matt, Laura, me, Cathy, Sat, Caron, Maria, Nic, Lyna |
Rounding the corner and approaching the Royal Observatory courtyard and buildings, just coasting along the footpath, I hear a cheer and looked up to see some people clapping. I have to do a double take. That looks like Lyna and Laura, travellers I met in Tibet. And that's Matt, my cycling companion from Nepal to Laos, here in London not Holland. But the biggest surprise is seeing Cathy. Was I seeing right? Did I miss something? I knew my girlfriend living in Vancouver, Canada wanted to see me across the line as she'd already shared so much of the journey with me on a daily basis through our phone calls and emails, but I didn't remember her saying she'd actually be here at the finish. Whatever. Our embrace is real and strong. "What the ...?" is all I can think.
This really felt like a homecoming now. But it was surreal too. Cathy? Here in London? Matt too? Far out. Lyna and Laura? Last time I saw them was when Matt and I were cycling out of Lhasa, Tibet. There's Sat, my London bro, someone I was counting on to share the day with me and I am certainly glad to see him too.
0° Longitude: finish (above: Oct 04) and start (below: April 02) |  |
We file in to the courtyard through the gates. The security guard forewarned of my arrival greets me with "So you're the one! Congratulations" then ushers us through to the cobblestoned courtyard with its famous dark strip of glass and stainless steel with marble inlaid with the names and longitudes of various cities around the world. As it's a place of international interest, I wait my turn to share The Line with the tourists already there. With cameras poised for this one photo opportunity, my group of supporters outnumbers the tourists so the guard exercises his authority and asks people to make way for me, my bike and my pictures. Once he explains the request and circumstances I have a few photos taken of me by the very tourists I'd just displaced.
With the formalities of photos out of the way and friends catching up with friends, I could finally look around and see that the people around me had become more important than moving my bicycle across a line on the road. My cheeks were hurting from smiling so much. I had received a really wonderful welcome. Full of surprises and happiness it was a fitting end to an expedition filled with experiences made real by sharing with others; more real than a solo journey for emotional and personal meaning out there on the open road.
