On the 6th of April 2005, cousins Jamie Mackenzie and Ben Wylson set off on their bikes on a journey which will take them to over 50 countries and to every one of the worlds great continents, all without the use of an aeroplane.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005: turtle back trail
After a day's fishing on the banks of the Mighty Mekong in which another lure and ample amounts of line were lost, it was decided that we had outstayed our welcome in northern Luang Prabang and a change of scene was needed.
On Saturday morning the team journeyed south, via the un-mentionable mode of transport, to Vang Vieng, the town that now plays host to FWE during these glorious days. Firmly rooted to the relentless treadmill of the backpacker trail in which constant steams of 'turtle-backs' hump their packs up and down the road in either direction, we observe and slowly adapt to their familiar chat, familiar bandanas, knee-length shorts, ankle bracelets, beards and BO...life off the bikes could not be more different.
The injury has been rested for three weeks now, the swelling has all but entirely subsided and we are ready, once again, to take to the track FWE style. Ah yes, we yearn for the open road, the sun burn, hills and rain, the confused babble of strange village folk and the wonder of what lies around the next corner.
Saturday, September 17, 2005: if mountains were crisps
A bus has been taken. There are no regrets. We feel we have done the right thing.
I am pleased to announce that we are in Luang Prabang, Laos, ready to give this ankle of Jamie's a rest. Another border has been crossed, our tenth country to date, after 6 months' travelling and 4000 miles (6000 kilometres) of cycling.
It was a bus that carried us across the border, yes, but no less triumphant are we! The bus bulleted us through Kiplingesque jungle, past thatched huts on stilts, past the tallest of palm trees and amongst the most breath=taking of mountains. Let me say that if mountains were crisps, these Laotian ones would be our favorite flavour, their limestone heads like those of wise old men wearing balding afro hair-cuts.
The joy of our arrival was no anti-climax. Somewhere on the outskirts, we found a bar, blissfully fell into a satisfied stupor with glassy eyes and stupid grins plastered across our faces. One of us said the words "We've made it to South East Asia" and we were delirious with happiness. Our path across China and all the little things that had begun to grate has fallen beneath the horizon behind us: the greasy food that tastes of wok, the manic screams of "HELLO!" from passing vehicles, the pollution that leaves you as black as coal, the horns of trucks so loud that your ears ring and the world becomes a constant high-pitched ring, the boulder-strewn roads of deep gravel and tyre-ripping, bone-jarring rubble, the climbs lasting for days on end, meandering up, up, up, the landslides that threaten to wipe you from the road like chalk from a black board! Ah, but Laos, sweet Laos, peaceful, sit-down-loo Laos, in the nick of time you have saved us! In need of a change we were, and you have come to our rescue! Laos with your uncultivated lands, Laos with your jungle as far as eyes can behold.
This morning we ate an English breakfast, which we ordered from an English menu from people who could speak English. Tonight we will go to a club and speak English with other people who can speak English! We will exercise our tongues, practice the art of conversation we have all but lost, revel in the reality that we have made it onto the legendry back-packer trail of South East Asia, into a place where life moves at half its usual pace, a place that is peaceful, no sound of phlegm being brought forth from the depths of the throat or ear-splitting chatter or horns.
Now my friends, I think we will sit in the tropical sun and drink an ice cold, fresh fruit smoothie, for after a low, there will always come a high, and this is most very certainly one of those!
Wednesday, September 14, 2005: a heavy blow on the noodle bus
There comes a time in every adventure when the cards stack against you, when the odds weigh heavy, tipping the scales firmly the other way and all you can do is face up to your fate and get on with it as best you can. For so many months now we have battled hard against everything that has been thrown at us and in doing so cycled many thousands of miles. What a bitter blow it is, therefore, that we must be forced from our bikes and take to the roads in the company of a bus. I cannot describe how sorely disappointed we - and specifically me, Jamie - are that this must happen. So much of the distance complete, the hard work done and just as the rewards of success are about to loom, just as we near the threshold of SE Asia, satisfaction is torn from our grasp.
We woke this morning, refreshed from our extended rest in this strange town, with all intentions of putting a fair distance under our belts. Local directions were poor, however, and after biking three miles in the wrong direction we returned to where we had started from and tucked into a lunch of noodles and chili. Between slurps I broke my concern over the ankle to Ben and so we settled into a long discussion. It makes my blood run cold and my skin crawl to recall how serious FWE became for these moments. The bogus three miles revealed that the damage had not cleared, far from it. The swelling had returned with interest and although the burning pain was not great, it was not far off and no doubt would also return with an extra bite if pushed. The mountains in Southern Yunnan are not to be sniffed at and in the end, at the bottom of our second beer, we settled on the only viable option: with visas running to a close, we have decided that a bus to Luang Prabang, Laos, is the choice for us. Here we shall seek fresh opinion and after some time sit down and look hard at our options once again.
We await our bus with heavy hearts, our fate laid bare before us. We hope the news is well received and understood, both here and abroad by fans, family and friends alike. We can only assure you that FWE will rise again; a fitter, stronger, happier, more productive machine than ever before.
: a thankyou, a plea
As you are probably already aware, Free Wheels East hopes to raise money for 'Practical Action', formally known as ITDG. Practical Action are a charity, who aim to use technology to challenge poverty, and are involved in some wonderful projects around the world. Have a look at their site www.practicalaction.org for further information.
An enormous thank you those who have made a donation. We know there are some regular donors out there to whom Practical Action and ourselves are extremely grateful. For example Jamie's parents make a donation each time we enter a new country. These donations all add up, and remember, we're not intrepidly taking on this dangerous world for nothing!
If you really want to splash out, Jo Self, one of our patrons, has donated a painting of hers to the expedition. She has been in the Dalai Lama's garden for months now, painting hard and on her return to England will release her exhibition, at which point her work will be priceless. For her painting we are asking for 11,000 pounds. A percentage of the proceeds will be allotted to Practical Action. The painting 'Petunia' is viewable on the page 'Patrons'.
If you've not yet made a donation, please be sure to do so, If you're an avid FWE follower, next time you click on line simply go to our 'Charity' page and follow the instructions. Once you have done that, tell your friends and family, tell everyone you know to make a donation. Thank you
Sunday, September 11, 2005: Dr Nic, the ankle and the verdict
Still the team are delayed, held-up in a town with no name. After popping a zillion tablets, the problematic right ankle remains a problem. What to be done?
Yesterday morning Jamie hobbled his way along the potted pavement to the local hospital in order to have an x-ray. 'Hi everybody,' announced the Dr with a broad grin, 'It alright, yes...you no cycle though, it not alright, no,' came the educated opinion after he'd scrutinized the pictures with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his stained mouth. 'Hmmm, a bandage is good for you?' said the doctor as he plastered the white cloth in a pink and black goo. He roughly strapped it to the offending area and with a new bag of pills, fresh from Willie Wonka's factory, sent Jamie away, to return in several days for another viewing.
It was also remarked upon by Dr Nic, that we would not be able to cycle for a week, perhaps longer. It was a fresh blow and our sprits took a turn for the worse. Frustration grows daily over the distinct lack of forward progress south. We read, write, eat and sleep and little else. Out of our window we can see the hazy mountains that sweep across the blistering horizon, bathed in sunshine, swathed in dappled green, beckoning us forth and willing a speedy recovery. Soon my mountainous friends, soon.
Thursday, September 08, 2005: 2nd injury
The push south has been halted in its tracks. An unfortunate injury has occurred for which we can find no explanation; Jamie's foot has become unusable. Yesterday he began to feel stabbing pains around his ankle. We made it to a nearby town, where his foot promptly began to swell. It is most out of shape and not a pretty thing to see. We have no option but to rest the offending extremity until it is strong enough to propel a pedal. It is a frustrating thing, poised -as we are- at the gates of paradise.
We wait in restless anticipation for the ankle to mend itself. The healing process is being sped along -we hope- by the administration of a concoction of Chinese drugs: 16 pills that look similar to the heavenly Smartie, are to be swallowed four times a day. Add these to the many anti-inflamatories, a few anti-malarials and vitamin c tablets, and the pile of pills really does look impressive; it takes minutes to swallow.
We have heard from our contacts at the two Chinese television companies that filmed us whilst we were here in China. The chat show has been made into two episodes and is being shown three times a week for two weeks. The other program is ready for its premier soon.
Jamie's injury is a dark cloud hanging over us. We cannot know how long we'll be in this quiet Yunnan town; it may be a while before we escape.
Thursday, September 01, 2005: the market slaughter hotel
Our stay in Kunming is drawing to a close. We've been staying in a little hotel on the outskirts. It is illegal for us to be there of course, but we -as old hats at it- negotiated with the police ever-so successfully and were granted permission by a big-shot police chief to stay.
We failed to mention the unique location of our accommodation. It's right on the main market street, you've never seen anything like it. Along with all the weirdest of fruit and veg, there is a chicken-slaughtering and fish-descaling section right outside our window. When departing from our residence on the way into town we're presented with life coming to its end. Our eyes are confronted with bloody slaughter men, grappling with struggling birds, slitting their throats, dipping them into boiling water and then plonking them into the incredible de-feathering machine.
Then there's the fish that float in pools of water, gulping and looking very sick. If a punter wants one, the stall seller plucks the unsuspecting gulper from death pool and takes off its scales while the carp wriggles and writhes. Fish scales, chicken offal and blood flow on the pavement -the chicken blood gets between the toes when wearing flip-flops- and the pungent smell of decaying meat wafts up into our room.
The purpose of this publication is to bring your attention to a change of plan; we are no longer visiting Hong Kong for expense and visa purposes. Something for the next trip we think...
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