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.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007: Water, water everywhere...
The BBC Ecuador carried us and its cargo of valuable - if a little rusty- industrial machinery through a channel between the Great Barrier Reef and mainland Australia. Atolls popped up here and there as we rode the waves on a South Easterly bearing into the Tasman sea where we picked up the remaining swell of a tropical cyclone, which had been playing havoc to the north around Cape York. We were on our way to the port of Marsdon Point, North Island, New Zealand, our last opportunity to fill up with the thick, gloopy, tar this ship uses as fuel; they call it bunker fuel. After 5 days we arrived in one piece, mooring in a bay, dotted with yachts and alongside an oil refinery nestled in the flooded, partly protruding cragy rim of an ancient volcano. With stomachs and legs accustomed by then to the pounding of the tumultuous sea, we took on the 'bunker' fuel to capacity - about 350 tons worth. The tar needed to be heated to over 200 degrees C to be liquefied sufficiently for piping it into the fuel tanks in the bows of ourship. As the tanks filled we had a few hours to get ashore and experience New Zealand. This experience was limited to the confines of the oil refinery for security reasons. The ship's agent, an Englishman with a fine moustache, proclaimed when he met us that "in 30 years of working in this industry, I have never heard of two civilians hitching a ride on a commercial vessel, let alone across the Pacific Ocean. How did you do it?" he asked in amazement. We felt very pleased with ourselves and dutifully explained the age-old tale of meeting the right people through social intercourse in a bar in Singapore almost 1 year ago.
On the bridge, as we pored over the ship's charts with our Polish Captain, we discovered that our route across the Pacific was not to be a straight line through the archipelagos of The Cook Islands and French Polynesia as we had imagined; rather disappointingly the plan was to head south east from North Island. Steaming in a sweeping, crescent shaped, south-about curve around the globe - as opposed to an A-B straight line - is the quickest way to traverse the world's largest ocean. To our dismay our course was set for the roaring 40s and the deathly Southern Ocean we came to know only too well on our recent Antarctic adventure. Unfortunately - or should I say fortunately - the seas in these lower latitudes were so devilish that the Captain, fearing for his cargo, ordered a change of course to East Nor' East and we struck out lining ourselves up with one of the most remote islands in the world, the British colony and home of recent scandal, Pitcairn. As the Captain had hoped, we successfully fled the ferocity of the southern storms and found calmer waters towards the tropics.
The ocean is big and blue and that's all there is. Since leaving New Zealand we have not seen one living thing in the never-ending water, other than a few flying fish. We haven't even seen anything drifting, really; one white plastic barrel and that's about it. On our daily water watches the lack of wildlife in our ocean desert is made up for in the myriad hues the sea exhibits for us each day. We have become keen water observers, drinking in with our eyes the richest blue of blues, a royal sumptuous colour you would have to see to believe. The sea has the same effect as fire: mesmerizing, never the same. It calls at you to jump in for a quick dip as a precipice invites you to throw yourself into space. When the sun beats down upon your back and the humidity envelopes you, the tantalizing twinkles and bubbling gurgles of the sea become the mirage of an oasis to those lost in a hot, sandy desert. Day in, day out, the confines of our cabin and decks are the limits of our existence. Our thoughts have played tricks on us, teasing us with unanswerable riddles, pushing the limits of our sanity. We read, watch films and sleep - never deeply - for two times longer than usual; we write rambling insanities into our diaries, dream of fresh fruit, vegetables and above all, chocolate: life on our steel island continues and each day we inch imperceptibly towards Callao, a port north of Lima, Peru where we will re-fuel. Then it's a stop in to another Peruvian port, Salaverry, not far from the Ecuador border to unload some of our cargo before finally steaming south towards Iquique, Chile, our port of disembarkation. ETA March 15th weather permitting. There is water watch!
Saturday, February 10, 2007: Here we go again...
Electronic confirmation flashed up in our hotmail inbox; we were cleared to board the BBC Ecuador in the northern Queensland township of Townsville. Several frantic days of dispatching parcels, packing, cleaning oil stains from carpets, calling loved ones and attending farewell meals passed; then at the eleventh hour, our jubilation was checked by some rather distressing news. The APC agent in Singapore, Mikael, hammered an 'urgent' mail to us suggesting that the ship had made surprisingly good time on its way south through the rolling China Seas and was due in ahead of schedule. If the weather remained fair and the forecast favourable, our ship would set-sail before we'd even departed Melbourne.
Deep at the back of our collective mind, wallowing in the seldom-visited vaults of thought and forged from an abundance of previous last-minute altercations, just this scenario already dwelt. With lethal efficiency and military execution, plans were changed, contingency arrangements made, refunds harvested from corporate pockets and in a blurry dash we galloped north. Late in the hour on Thursday just passed, we finally arrived.
Townsville was fast asleep, not a soul stirred, not even a mouse. It was a ghost town. On the far banks of a whispering, gurgling river inlet, the port lights still beat an orange glow on loading cranes, ship hulls, flat-deck trucks, corrugated warehouse roofs and jumbled iron cargo. Fatigued and exhausted, disheveled and haggard, but we'd made it. We pedalled down the palm tree-lined Palmer Rd to the gates but the security lines were all dead, phone lines severed from activity, and 10 foot barricades barred our access to dock 8 and the dozing German-owned, Chinese-built ship beyond.
We didn't have to wait long, though, until security spied us on their network of CCTV cameras and dispatched a heavy to come and assist us with our inquires and escort us to the ship.
The BBC could be the sister of the Princess Mary, such is her disposition. Two loading cranes on the port side, 100 metres in length with a removable top deck and bottom storage. You might have joined us in guessing that the crew and officers are all of Polish and Russian origin and what a friendly bunch they are, as such. Captain Alex (a man with a smile to rival a Cheshire cat's and with the looks of Matt Dillon) showed us around the tower and introduced us to our humble, en suite cabin on the 5th level. Broad bunk beds, desk, matching cupboards, padded chair and two sizable portholes, carpeted, air-conditioned and snug. It is our new home.
This very evening at 2am, when the cargo has been loaded and customs have waved their green flag, the BBC Ecuador and FWE will commence the 35-day voyage east. 'I hope you have your sea-sickness tablets,' said Alex, 'this ship...she likes to roll!' We can't wait.
Panniers have been rooted out, re-organised, shuffled and lightened. Bikes adorned with tear drop lights, symbolic offerings, Thai bugs and polished bells. Once again we're reduced to the bare essentials that are needed for life on a bike on the open road. Once again we are heading in the right direction. Here we go...
Thursday, February 01, 2007: FWE to sail accross the Pacific
FINALLY we triumph! Continent number 5 is but a Greyhound bus ride to Townsville and a 35- day voyage to Iquique, Chile on the APC ship BBC Ecuador away. There was a hush at FWE headquarters as we waited with baited breath for confirmation from the ship's owners of our passage East. At present we have no idea what cargo the ship takes, how large it is or what facilities there are aboard to relieve that claustrophobic insanity which always kicks in -we know from experience- after twenty-one and three quarter days at sea.
For thirty five days aboard the BBC Ecuador we will be at the mercy of the Pacific Ocean! Lord help us! Oh, but won't it be magical?!
Selling 8,000 books in Melbourne, speaking to an estimated 80,000 people personally has payed off (that's assuming that 1 in 10 people we speak to make a purchase). If you or your friends want to undertake such an adventure and go to every continent without using an aeroplane, I'm afraid you would probably have to talk to 80,000 people too. Imagine saying exactly the same thing, telling the same story to 80,000 people, each and every one of them asking similar, and more often than not, the same questions. Imagine all the jokes we've endured! Here are some examples: "So, do you ride across the water?", "Do you ride on the ships then?" "Where's ya scuba gear?" etc. Our reward is the inexorable continuation of FWE.
It was the kind words of thousands, encouragement beyond belief and the daily ego massages which gave us the motivation to get up in the morning, to believe in ourselves enough not to fly home to England and throw in the towel. I'm sure my hair is thinner and let's not forget that at one point I lost my appendix to the knife. It is more than likely that that infection was brought on by the stress of this uncertainty-packed stint of ours in Australia. Perhaps if we had been in any other country it would have all got too much and we might have actually given up. But this is Australia! It is FULL of good people who want nothing more than to help two Pommy strangers hanging out next to a bench in Brunswick Street only a step away from the cider- swilling bums who prop themselves up on walls adorned with graffiti.
At first many called us an inspiration, most gave words of support from the day we arrived to the present day; but there was one torture for us, and that was when a minority of the public began saying, "Aren't you gone yet?", "You guys are STILL here!", "I don't believe you for a second! You just want to stay in Melbourne", "Some of us have to work", "Why don't you get a job?", "Enjoy your holiday", "Don't believe these scammers" and so on. There was a brief respite from this minor loss of public faith after we got back from Antarctica and began telling that story, but in the last few weeks while we waited to get final confirmation of our ship we had hearts in our boots as we cycled up to the bench.
Now it is all over! We have been rewarded for our 10-month struggle for continuation. Thank you, thank you, thank you all those who believed in us, read our little book, communicated with us either to offer advice, gratitude or financial contributions. Since we first added our 'to help us continue East' button we have had ten donations from New Zealand, England, Canada and Australia. Thank you: Bridget Brown, Alex Naesmyth, Abby Macaskill, Zena Draz, Olivia Graham, Debby Keast, Kathryn Johnstone, Ian Coristine and Richard White.
Without these people and those who bought our publications this expedition would certainly have failed. Yet now we are about to journey in the right direction, East as it should be. But there are more to thank! What about the people with whom we have stayed at no charge for long periods of time here in Melbourne? What about Jacqaline Donchi and Kim from FAT and Gretchen and Sarah and of course, who could ever forget the Adams family who took us in as though we were their brothers / children> I am indebted to Kimba for giving me the love I needed to keep my sanity and we are both indebted to all those at the Queens Parade flat, Julia, Bryn and Courtney. It is so sad that we are leaving them, however wonderful our imminent departure may be. The relationships we have forged with these people will be with us forever and that is far from a sad thought.
The Big Day Out
We managed, through Kimba to get back-stage tickets to The Big Day Out, a festival held here in Melbourne. It began when I went out for a meal with Kimba -who is in a band called "We Came Here to Wreck Everything"- and her promoter. She was recently commissioned to work on her first record, an e.p.
Her promoter -the Australian Promoter of the year- and the Hip-Hop legend, Lupe Fiasco, plus his two D.Js joined us. All of them were behind Free Wheels East. I learnt a lot about Lupe Fiasco that night. He is a martial arts master and is not afraid to dance around a table in the middle of a restaurant telling his animated stories. I liked the man and his entourage, they were good sorts who offered to "put us out" on myspace. Seeing as Lupe has 400, 000 friends, that could be a really big favour.
Lupe's Performance was powerful. We saw it from his perspective, and afterwards we chatted with the Streets -also decent sorts- who are going to advertise FWE on myspace too.
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