Cycling the Sandbox

Here live, hot off the press is the trailer for my new film about riding from Cairo to Khartoum. The film is called Cycling the Sandbox: Cairo to Khartoum by Bike.

Enjoy the trailer and keep checking back for release dates and information about the finished film!

Cheers,
~Scott

Soundtrack

When I write I listen. I can’t imagine writing in silence. The other day I was chatting to another writer friend of mine and he was telling me that he can’t have any sound in the room when he is writing. If there is so much as a tree rustling outside he is pulled out of the zone. I couldn’t be more different. As I write this there is a stereo blasting away. So what do I listen to? Is it haunting atmospheric lyric-less epic soaring pieces that conjure up the final moments of Lord of the Rings? Err, no. it’s all about loud rock and roll. It’s my firm belief that what we write as a reflection of what we hear – I want to write with impact, melody and strive to get your mental toe tapping. If I listen to Enya – you get baby food. These same tunes often shape my adventures – I make play lists for my ipod and they form the soundtrack to the trip. So as I was riding in Africa I had a power-playlist, when I needed a pick-me-up, a mental shot of espresso I hit play. When I got home and wanted to retell the tale, I hit play again and I was back there once again. So if you really want to feel what my ride was like, have a read or go for a ride with these tunes playing in the background. Hit the title for a youtube link to the song.

Bodysnatchers - Radiohead (song of the moment for me right now)
Sure Shot - The Beastie Boys (hey I'm a child of the 90's)
Good Life - dDub (this is a link to a video I made using this awesome track)
Let It Die - Foo Fighters
Midnight Voyage - Ghostland Observatory (this video was made by my good friend Chase Jarvis - check out his great blog here)
Are You Gonna Be My Girl - Jet (crap video, but the best audio i could find)
Elementary - Lucy's Fur Coat
Comatose - Pearl Jam (such a fun song to play on the guitar!)
Corduroy - Pearl Jam (another fun one to play)
Beautiful Machine - Shihad (great looking video from a classic Kiwi band)
Little Bones - The Tragically Hip (some classic Canadian rock from back in the days when Rob still had really long 80's metal hair - hold on a sec...)
Baba O'Riley - The Who (classic song from one of the best)

Thanks for listening.

~Scott

The Importance of Suffering

Scott post offroad marathon

When I was in Africa on the TDA I had the opportunity to meet lots of interesting folks from all over the place. There were students having a crack at the fun life before knuckling down to grad school or starting out in the real world. There were bean counters who, in the face of global recession, got out of the game and are laying low in Africa while the financial world deep throat’s a shotgun. There were hardcore riders who’d put Lance to shame in terms of riding while under the spell of explosive diarrhea. There were riders who’d normally not even be called riders – nice folks, but they more identified with the idea that they’d like to have ridden across Africa – vs. actually wanting to ride across Africa. A ride like this is a ramshackle group of people from all over; there is no paradigm for participants.

Even with the diversity amongst, I was a little shocked to read something in one of the rider blogs a few days ago. One of the riders, who isn’t much of a cyclist remarked in their blog, “I’m prepared to challenge myself, but I’m not willing to suffer.” My jaw dropped when I read that line – I guess there really are the whole gamete of ideologies represented, not only in this bike tour, but within the outdoor community. What really got me thinking though was the diametric opposition that my philosophy for adventure sits in regard to the concept of suffering.

Now by suffering I’m not talking about weird self mutilation or other rubbish, such as. What I am referring to is the willingness to push yourself beyond what you thought you could do. The willingness to suffer, to dig deep and see what you find is in my mind an essential element of outdoor adventure. It’s in that shady area of the mind, when you’re hammering on those pedals harder then you thought you could or your muscles are fried and you’re just about to melt out of the crack or you have to double-time it if you expect to get off the mountain before dark. Those are the moment that we all hope to find – not for the joy that is found within them, but what you discover about yourself because of them. Lets be honest, being tired and pushing yourself further then you thought possible isn’t that fun at the time. But as the saying goes, it doesn’t have to be fun, to be fun. That push into the unknown is where the real growth occurs – that’s how we discover new shores in the ocean of internal possibility.

I feel bad for my former ride mate who isn’t willing to push through the pain and transcend the moment into the greater world of self discovery. Maybe by accident they’ll get there and be glad they did. Or maybe they won’t even get close and will always wonder why everyone else was having such a good time. If you’re not willing to dig deep, to try, to push, to give everything – then what’s the point?

~Scott

Three quick ones

“The holy grail is to spend less time making the picture than it takes people to look at it.”
-Banksy

Images from Sudan, Doha, New Zealand – enjoy.
~Scott

Ox pulled plows and sat phones

Paul

Since I’ve been home from my ride on the Tour d’Afrique I’ve been eagerly following along my comrades as they continue the adventure to Cape Town. There are a number of great blogs that I’ve been reading and watching. I’m going to be highlighting some of my favorites as the team gets closer to the ultimate goal. To start off today I wanted to draw your attention to Paul Porter’s Audio Blog – Paul is a really interesting guy, he’s professor at the University of Minnesota where he teaches in the agriculture faculty. While he’s riding in Africa he is actually teaching a course on the farming methods of Africa – by satellite phone! It’s a great project and a class I’d love to be in. luckily for us, you can listen in on his daily audio blogs via his website – the 3minute blogs are a great insight into what is going on in the ride and also what the surrounding land, agriculture and people are all about. I’d highly recommend checking it out – it’s well worth a listen!

~Scott

Sudan - in Photos

Egypt - in Photos

Touching the Void

The Team
Safety Kayaker Simon having some fun

The River
(all photos by Sophie Kennedy-Brown)

So I’ve been home for a week, and how does it feel? I’ve joked that my office chair is a lot more comfortable then a bike seat and the need to ride for 150km of a day isn’t there, but that really isn’t the whole truth. I knew this ride, my African adventure, would be life changing – what I never expected was the post ride void that would come to greet me once I got home. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been great to be home – to see my lovely wife Sophie and to share the stories of the adventure with my friends, but there isn’t a day that goes by that I can’t help wanting to be back out there, giving it my all in the heat and the dust.

The lack, the void in my life, has been an ocean to navigate. This past week I’ve filled my days with writing work to occupy my mind, but as this week begins and the reality of, ‘having some time’ beckons the tangible sense of loss, simply not being on my bike is like a figure in the room. What to do? Well I’ve never been one for sitting around and my mind (and body) is primed for the next adventure. So what’s the point of sitting on my ass waiting for the next opportunity to come my way? Time to go out and find it!

This past weekend with that mentality in mind Sophie and I went on a bit of a Valentines trip – our sort of Valentines trip. We went heli-rafting! For those not in the know this involves flying by helicopter into a wickedly remote river here in the South Island of New Zealand (The Landsborough River) and white-water rafting out! It was great fun, for three days we battled rapids, sandflies and some surprisingly warm temperatures for this country at least. In many ways it was the antithesis to my Egypt & Sudan experience – there was water – everywhere! Good fun was had by all – there is an article in the works for this trip – so more to come on this front and for that reason I won’t spoil the good stories before you get to see them in print some time soon.

As for what’s next – well there are a few ideas in the works and I don’t want to spoil the surprise, I’ll only leave with the self-coined expedition name – Solo-Velo-Aoteroa…

Keep checking back for updates, photos from Africa and more stories, adventures and other bits of fun!
~Scott

***Update - these great photos are courtesy of Sophie Kennedy-Brown, my co-adventurer in the mountains and in life***

Underpants must be fitted into your fitting room

When I was in Doha last week a funny thing happened to me. I was in a department store and I was having a look around. I found myself in the menswear section and I saw the change room – on the door was a sign. The sign was written in both Arabic and English. It was obvious that it was written first in Arabic and then translated into English, for it read something like, “Underpants must be fitted into your fitting room”. Classic ESL signage – it was referring to the idea that you have to wear your undies when you are trying on a bathing suit. I thought, wow that’d make a funny picture, good for slide shows. So I pull out my camera, line up the shot and just as I’m about to click – the door opens. A very large Arab man, in full Lawrence of Arabia attire steps out and I have the camera pointed right at him. He looks me up and down and says something in angry Arabic (the best angry language out there, just surpassing German). He obviously thought that I was trying to get a shot of him, minus his dish-dash, perhaps in his appropriately fitted underpants. The color drained from my face and I start doing the little waves with both hands as if to say, “No, there has been some mistake, I wasn’t trying to take your naked photo sir.” That’s when the security guard happens to walk by. He looks at me, the angry man and my camera and says in stern broken English, “there are no pictures here!” all I could think was I’m about to be arrested for voyeurism in a country where they chop peoples hands off and give them lashes. This is not good. So in the pocket the camera goes with the speed of an intimidated gunslinger and I turn and walk away hoping that they don’t follow/arrest/beat-up/chop me in half. I guess they figured I was just a stupid tourist and let me go. The moral of the story? Take pictures of funny signs quickly and don’t get caught…

~Scott

Looking Back to Africa

a few days ago i was asked to say a few words about my Tour d'Afrique experience for their website - I thought I'd share the same words here as the feelings are universal.

When I first heard about the TDA I thought it would be a great adventure and a fun time. I had no idea that this trip would affect me in such a profound way. I’m lucky, with my work as a Lonely Planet Guidebook Author I get the opportunity to travel more then most. I’ve been to some pretty cool places and done some pretty neat things but the TDA has topped a list of lofty heights. The ride, the sights and the people I met along the way all combined to foster an experience that I won’t soon forget.

In Egypt and in Sudan we had the opportunity to see so many amazing things. The wonders of antiquity in Egypt were nothing short of awe inspiring. To start the ride under the shadows of the Pyramids was a truly surreal experience. Like riding through the pages of a history book, everywhere you looked there was something to capture the photographers eye and drop the jaw. While Egypt was awash with history and the known – Sudan was a mystery of the great unknown. With the feel of the ragged edge of the map and the spirit of adventure we forged a path seldom traveled. While like many, I had trepidation in my thoughts as I entered Sudan, bad press is its middle name. My expectations were shattered in a friendly embrace of local hospitality. Never have I met in all my travels a more hospitable local population – within hours I was in love with the country and was already lamenting my relatively short stay in the nation.

As a bike ride the TDA was everything I look for. There were hard days – the roadless tracks of sand in Sudan. There were easy days – howling tail winds and perfect pavement in Egypt. There were days I felt great and days that I felt like I’d gone ten rounds with a prize fighter. As I often remarked along the way, if we wanted to do something easy we should have stayed home and sat on the couch. I wanted a challenge and I got it. I wanted to push myself, leave nothing in the tank and see if I still had a smile on my face and I found that answer too. Every morning, even if the day previous had been memorable for all the wrong reasons, I was overjoyed to throw my leg over my bike and do it all again.

When I look back on this experience I’ll have many memories to choose from; Fantastic sights, stunning solitude and the overwhelming sense of achievement for completing the stage. What will ultimately resonate, after the suntan fades and the photo album finds its way to the shelf are the friends I made. I never expected to find so many comrades in arms amongst such a rag-tag group of global vagabonds. Perhaps it’s the closeness that forms through the common struggle of living in the wilderness and riding a bike too far every day. I’ll never forget these people – they’ll forever be etched into my memory and be synonymous with this adventure. I think the words of a far better writer then I sum this up with the gravitas it requires:

“From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhood’s cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day"
-William Shakespeare - Henry V

Thanks for the memories, thanks for the adventure and until we meet again dream big and live your dreams.

~Scott

Central Sudan, Khartoum and the Road Home

Doha, Qatar – it’s been a long time since I’ve posted on this blog, for much of that time I was in the remote wilderness of Sudan and the idea of internet access is a lucid dream. In the past few days, I’ve been in anything but the past. Doha is a future-world where the skyscrapers grow from the desert like pine trees in the boreal forest. We’ll get back to Doha in a second, lets rewind back to Dongola, Sudan and start where we left off.

Dongola turned out to be a great little town – one of the highlights of this adventure. As a rural outpost in central Sudan it was a crossroads of travelers, farmers, nomads and locals. The dusty streets were filled with life and the bustle of a busy little town. The labyrinth of alleyways intersected to form a catacomb of nameless streets. A million and one shops all overflowing with kitchenware’s, fabrics and spices. Nary a t-shirt shop in sight, we didn’t see a single tourist beyond our rag-tag group anywhere in town. Having said that we didn’t see any other tourists ‘anywhere’ in Sudan – we had the country for ourselves.

Passing amongst the locals I was inundated by the smells of fresh falafels and the buzz of tuk-tuk’s carting shoppers around at break-neck speed. The sounds of chatting locals haggling over the cost of soup ladles, a new headscarf or joyfully debating the news of the day with long acquainted friends. Though we stuck out like sore thumbs the locals paid us little attention. Where in Egypt we were the centre of attention, the more laid back locals of Sudan were happy to let us go about our business and pass through their lives nearly unabated.

After our day of rest it was time to hit the road once again. I was sad to say farewell to Dongola – I’d become enchanted with the rough and tumble town. Maybe it was the warm feeling the rough streets left me with and maybe it was the fact that every day on the bike was one less day that I had left on my adventure. My finish line was becoming more defined and less distant on the horizon.

The road south of Dongola wasn’t the potholed disaster area that we encountered in the north, the pavement had returned and the riding became easier instantly. The mileage was still on the upward end of comfort with 140km being the average daily total. How odd that only a few weeks before the idea of riding 140km plus in a day sounded near on impossible. Now that this reality had become the daily routine, 100km days seemed pointlessly short and it was only when the distance crested 160km or 100 miles for the day that it was acknowledged to be a ‘big’ day.

The first three days out of Dongola went by without much change – the traffic was slowly building as we got closer to Khartoum and the end of the ride. Once again we raced many of the days – always the bridesmaid I managed to get on the podium and close there to on several occasions, but never manage to get the stage win. By the last day of racing much of the lead pack was pulling for me to get the win – so much so that all of a sudden I was a part of an impromptu race team. Near the finish, some 70km from the start I made a break away, putting everything on the line with 10km to go. Jumping the pace to 40km/hr I traded turns at the front, sharing the wind breaking duties with Taryn. We pushed hard, hard as we could doing everything we could to fend off the other racers. 16 of them closed in behind spinning in our slipstream. With 300m to go we were passed by fresher legs – we’d put everything on the table and left nothing in the tank. It was painful to watch the win slip away from me with only seconds to go before the finish. Perhaps I should have employed better strategy, lingering in the wings reserving energy for the final push, but I guess that just isn’t my style. With 10km to go I shifted into high gear and went for it. I battled a headwind and punished myself leaving nothing in reserve. Though I didn’t win I’d gone down fighting. Over the course of the tour I’d lead the pack into the final sprint 4 times out of the 10 or so race days – I joked with the race gang that I should join a race team and fill the role of the rider who pushes the pace and wears out the competition so my team mate can take the win.

Though I didn’t get a coveted stage win plate the warm camaraderie and encouragement from the other racers more then made up for it. The willingness of the other riders to sacrifice their own chances for a stage win to help me try and achieve mine was a testament to their collective character. I’ll never forget Mark dropping off the lead pack to break wind and help me catch up with the leaders. Bruce wearing himself ragged doing the same to get me into the lead. Taryn riding her guts out at the front pulling me into the lead, all the yells of encouragement and the quiet admissions from other riders that they were pulling for me that day. Though bike racing looks like an individual sport from the outside, the informal teamwork that resides within it is amazing. I’ll never forget those moments of teamwork. I feel humbled and honored that these fine individuals thought me worthy to put out supreme individual effort to help me try and win on the day. It’s something I’ll never forget and hope to somehow repay some day, somewhere, somehow.

The final day of riding into Khartoum was a mixed bag. In the morning we had a 20km time trail – where I placed 5th in the sprint. It was good fun to push myself (again) and have a small redemption after the disappointment of the previous days racing. After lunch we convoyed for 30km into Khartoum.

Khartoum is a sprawling city of over 2million people. Though it has a name the conjures up feelings of the ancient world and an enigmatic setting of the Istanbul vernacular. The reality is a sprawling mass of run down mud brick houses and a sea of poverty. There were few buildings over a story in height and even fewer built in the last 20years. The few modern buildings seemed to occupy the diplomatic sector of the city and stood out in contrast to the 3rd word reality of the city.

We snaked through town, choking on diesel fumes and blowing dust. The heat was relentless and despite my hope for the feeling of never wanting to end the ride – the campsite and the end of my tour was a welcome sight. As we pulled in and I got off my bike my friends shook my hand, hugged my warmly and wished me congratulations. The end was a strange experience, one I wasn’t really ready for. While my fellow riders’ carefully cleaned bikes and fixed mechanical problems I was loading my bike in a box to fly home.

That night we had an impromptu going away party for Sharif and myself. Near the camp sight was a newish shopping mall – more of a grocery store with a few shops attached. It became the defacto stomping ground with the air conditioning and fast food outlets. We gorged ourselves on cold marble floors and suspect Chinese food. To our surprise in the corner of the food court was the entrance to a 10-pin bowling alley! 12 of us shoed up and hit the lanes for a game. The alley itself was in atrocious conditions with 9 or fewer pins set down at the start of each frame, massive cracks and bumps in the lane and gangster rap blaring at full volume the whole time. At home you wouldn’t have paid for it – in Khartoum, Sudan, it was perfect.

After another rest day we said goodbye to Sharif – he was on his way back to Cairo before heading back to San Francisco the next day. In the morning as the riders got ready to head south and continue to Cape Town I loaded all my stuff into my duffel bag and sealed my bike box. At breakfast I said my final farewells, the group gave me a good clap and presented me with the “Lost Compass Award” for my escapade in the Sudanese Desert – much to the joy and laughter of my Lonely Planet colleagues who didn’t fail to see the irony in the fact that a professional guidebook writer and map maker got lost in the desert!

I was even presented with a small trophy by Graham, Corola, Lone and Nick. Inscribed in the base was “TDA 2009 Pharaoh’s Delight EFI” EFI is a coveted acronym standing for Every Fucking Inch – the title given to riders who ride every bit of the way. I was touched by their sentiment and heartfelt congratulations. It’ll proudly sit on my mantle as a reminder of the achievement and the good friends I shared it with.

I walked amongst the group and hugged everyone and wished them well. They did the same and said how much they wanted me to continue with them. The feeling was mutual, there was a distinct feel of unfinished business. Before long it was time for the riders to get on their way, I waved goodbye and they made their way out the gate and turned south. I looked for a long time and eventually lost sight of them amongst the dust and the traffic.

Where minutes before I was amongst the happy embrace of 40 new friends I was left standing in an empty field my bike and gear surrounding me. I make my living traveling alone to far off places, but this was the most alone I’d ever felt. Perhaps it was the sudden vacuum that their absence created or maybe it was just the longing for my departed friends. I know I’ll see many of them again, but never again will I see all of them. As they continue their adventure, I’ll now only be an observer.

As soon as they were gone, the chapter turned and my thoughts shifted to home. It was time to get to the airport, find my flight and get myself back home to Sophie. The flight to Doha was a breeze – I’ve been here for the past couple of days checking things out. Luckily some old family friends have taken up residence here and have taken me under their wing during my stay. Doha is an interesting place, like a younger sibling to Dubai it’s growing at an alarming rate with nearly every building under construction.

Tonight I get on yet another flight and make the final journey back to NZ. It’ll be an epic flight with a full day of flight time from here to Japan onwards to Auckland and finally to Queenstown. This adventure that has been in my thoughts for months is finally coming to an end. How will I see it with the bifocals of time? Will I look back on this as just another turn in the road or as a touchstone? Only time will tell, but safe to say my world is forever altered. I’ve done something that has changed me at a deeper level then I first suspected. Though I rode my bike for 2000km through the desert, that journey is of little consequence compared to the internal pilgrimage. As I said to one of the younger riders as I departed, “this is the adventure of a lifetime, until your next adventure of a lifetime. This isn’t the end, this is the start. Don’t settle, don’t stop and never quit dreaming.”

~Scott