Blog de Kaz I

16/06/08

There's no fight in the British summer. It drags itself up to 20 degrees and it's spent. Just when I want it to show me its guns with a 30 degree vein-bulging scorcher, it comes in for a couple of light, aerobic sunny spells and makes for the cover of the showers. Though the 20 degree stuff is a step in the right direction, the Kazakh summer promises a bruising 40 degrees from the first minute. I feel like I'm about to steo from salsa class with Frank Spencer to full contact sparing with Mr T.

And yet I have a bead on. Quite a strong bead at that. If the temperature doubles, does that mean twice the bead? It's a frightening thought, but one that could at least offer hope to the shrinking Aral Sea.

The cause of my bead is not just the weather, it's stress. It's D Day minus one and the time has come to throw some money at the problem. £160 in he bike shop, £80 in the supermarket, ANOTHER £40 in Blacks. It's panic buying and I'm not the only one.

According to Nick from Amber Supplies in Exeter, the only way that my new trailer spares will not make it from Devon is if the post office run out of fuel. As a non-motorist I have had little sympathy for the fuel price inflation and lorry driver strikes, but suddenly I'm willing to go on South West Sound and pay every driver in the West Country's duty if only they will deliver a foot long piece of steel to me by noon tomorrow. My light-headed mind wanders to cutting a deal with the oligarchs of Kazakhstan for the motorists of Devonshire and rturning a hero......

The closest I come to meeting an oligarch is a coffee with the head of SWLLC. It's a welcome opportunity to regain some of the perspective I have been in danger of losing. This is a man with real stress; like how he is going to continue to run the law centres; how is he going to continue to pay his staff. These are proper problems, rather than the self-made, escapable issues I have lumbered myself with. I leave determined to continue to work to keep the centres open, and hoping that Michael will do so too despite the obvious stress it is causing him.

A last supper allows an opportunity to catch up with a friend from Moscow who will be meeting me in Volgograd on the way to Kazakstan. Because of the uncertainty of my contactability we make a firm arrangement to meet. It's a slightly surreal conversation to have in a Clapham living room but I enjoy agreeing to meet someone again in 4 days time under the clock at 1pm in Volgograd station. It's old-school; in a good way.

I decide to end the day with a perusal of the Adventure Cycle Touring Handbook another wholly unnecessary impulse purchase that will never make into final cut for the trailer. The only reference to Kazakhstan I can find 282 page guide is worth repeating verbatim:

"By far the largest and least-visited country, Kazakhstan is known for vast deserts, arid steppes and severe environmental pollution from nuclear tests, rocket launchers and chemical plants. A trip to Ashgabat or Almaty is enough for most travellers. It's not easy to get a tourist visa but riders passing through the region can avoid Kazakhstan."

Something tells me I won't have to work too hard to make it sound a little more interesting here. Stay tuned.

15/06/08

When I'm feeling a bit tense there is are two ways (I can tell you about) that I like to relieve myself. Singing and cycling.

With only 2 days to go until I depart for the Tour I was in need of both. As time ticks by, every mention of Kazakhstan this weekend has provoked a reaction very similar to a European Comissioner's reation to the word Ireland: Mild panic and frantic promises that we are pushing ahead regardless. This is getting tense. Thankfully there has been a timely intervention from the Gwalia and the London to Brighton.

The singing this weekend was at Shoreditch Town Hall and the repertoire was familiar enough for me to get properly stuck in and belt out some of my old favourites. In particular the American Trilogy was on the programme, the rehearsal for which was the only reason for my choruses of "Glory, Glory Hallelujah" as I cycled out of Freshfields for the last time on Friday. Honest.

The great thing about going to these sorts of engagements at the moment is that the songs are so relevant, and provide inspiration as well as release. Men of Harlech summons a rousing battle cry for "Dauntless sons of Celtic sires", Stout Hearted Men taunts "would you turn your dreams to a fact? It's up to you....". The most goosebumps this week were raised by a less spiritual number - The Rhythm of Life. I'm someone who has tried to keep the powerful beat of his life as loud as possible and the result as I face this next challenge is exactly as the song describes - "a tingle in your fingers and a tingle in your feet". Just got to hope that after a month on the bike the tingle doesn't stretch to less lyrical and more delicate parts.

So the singing had done its bit to calm me down, and it was then time for the cycling. Today was the annual London to Brighton bike ride. At 54 miles it is the sort fo distance I will hopefully be covering in Kaz and so I packed up the trailer (mostly with boxed Australian Chardonnay rather than the water I'll be taking over there) and set to it.

There were jams and crashes along the way to the sea. As usual, experienced pedallers were terrorised by the exercise bike brigade who were clearly slightly confused by the concept of movement and other people beyond the ipoded gym-world they usually inhabit.

All went well and the wine was delivered - shaken, and sensibly, not touched. As an aside it is interesting to note that the cans from the slab of the other Aussie nectar in the trailer - Fosters - were opened without a drop being wasted to froth showing how stable the trailer is.

Nevertheless, as a very successful trial was being celebrated on the coach home little did i know that disaster was unfolding in the coach's boot. Having carelessly thrown the bike in, by the time I got to Clapham one end of the rear spur had been snapped off. Though it sounds insignificant, this 10mm bit of steel is all that holds my trailer to the bike. Without it it is impossible to pull my wine, or in Kaz, any of my wordly possessions. Fortunately I had a spare, but I had kind of hoped it would not have to come out before I left the country. Having technical problems and using up difficult-to-source parts without even making it across the river is not what I need. A desperate phone call to the bike's manufacturer's in Somerset beckons tomorrow. If they cannot send some spares by Tuesday I could be left teribly exposed (and that is before I get the Mankini out).

In the words of one of my choir favourites, Speed your Journey "We have drunk from the cup of affliction". Now let's just hope I can avoid the bitter tears of repentence.

13/06/08

3 months on notice is a little too long. After all the tension, excitement and relief that comes with resigning, waiting 12 weeks for the curtain to finally fall adds up to a massive anticlimax. No-one had really asked for the swansong to continue for that long so to indulge myself for the full term may have been overdoing it. Still, if four years in this job has taught me anything, it is that getting paid to indulge myself is what I do best.

When I pulled out the resignation letter back in March, I had visions of spending my last weeks cruising the corridors like a Ferrari, purring with anticipation at the prospect of the adventure that now lays just around the corner. A finely tuned engine within a lightweight chassis, all ready to open the throttle and blast off into Asia. Sadly the truth is that cycling has become a sideshow to the social whirlwind of summer in London and the only person purring is my bank manager at the prospect of another overdraft extension.

"Tapering off" the training is a well known technique before a big event designed to allow you to hit peak performance after a period of rest. However, there aren't many coaches who taper using the blunt instruments of three weddings, numerous boozy farewell dinners and an apocolyptic leaving-drinks bender......and that has just been the last week....Instead of Chariots of Fire we have had Leaving Las Vegas and I'm looking more and more like Borat's fat mate by the minute.

In mitigation I plead a weak will and an address book full of alcoholics. Whether these things will help or hinder my progress in Kazakhstan remains to be seen. Another five kilos is the last thing I need and I was kinda hoping my liver might stick it out for the duration of the ride too. Ah well, a couple of days on the boil in a bag meals, washed down with horse's milk and finished off with a toasted black widow and I'll soon be down to fighting weight again. Also the first weeks will be spent entirely on roads that look like the surface of the moon (or Clapham High Street) and the temperatures are just shaving 40 degrees so plenty of time to sweat it off.

In other news thanks to Sport magazine for running a plug for me. The last thing I needed to see coming into work this morning (read afternoon) was a cheesy Meredith insincere smile so thanks for sparing us all the photo.

Also I have been introduced to a miracle-worker called Igor who lives in Kiev. He has managed to phathom the Ukranian train system and bought me a ticket for the final leg of my Tour de Kaz trainbound torch relay from Kiev to Volgograd. That is pretty much the last piece of the jigsaw (except phone, back-up crew, force-field).

Finally thanks to everyone at Freshfields. Not only have you put up with incessant Tour de Kaz banter for the last couple of months but you were even good enough to come out and have a drink with me to hear more. I could not have asked for more from the last few years so the high points (discovering "Freshfields Pass" in the Caucases last summer) and the low points (receiving "Hospital Pass" for our glorious leader at an all-day meeting with the legal equivalent of the All Blacks) will all be cherished memories. Looking forward to terrorising a few socials in the Autumn.

12/06/08

There is a popular misconception (and in some cases hope) that by attempting to cycle across Kazakhstan I could be locked up by the Kazakh police and never seen again.

Thanks to a small group of MPs last night the risk of that sort of Orwellian nightmare coming true is now far greater for those on home soil.

Welcome to a country where the police will soon have the power to detain you for 42 days without even telling you what you are supposed to have done wrong.

The temperature in Kazakhstan can be a bit up and down and they are a little too eager to tuck into the horse meat for my liking, but at least I know that a 42 day pre-charge stretch does not have the backing of the lawmakers. In fact, Russia, the closet known comparison, has a maximum of five.

This does not mean that I (not to mention your average Kazakh citizen) will not get banged up in Kazakhstan. There may even be a small chance that they will threaten to throw away the key.

But if I do get thrown in the Kazakh slammer for longer than a week, I can at least question the legality. Something we are no longer able to do in this country.

Failing that, and if the false imprisonment goes on, I may have to rely on the power of the Yankee dollar to reduce my stretch. Here it will be up to the impartial arbitration of police investigation and parliamentary scrutiny (that'll be the parliament that voted in the power) at the direction of the Home Secretary (who suggested the legislation) to decide my fate.

Perhaps we should follow the Kazakh model and turn a blind eye to bribery of the police force as the most effective check and balance to these draconian powers? The way in which our libertarian system and is being eroded before the threat of terror, it is not beyond the realms of possibility.

I am looking forward to taking my chances on Kazakh justice to be honest. Good luck to the rest of you left living under Norsefire.

11/06/08

There is an advert on the side of Tube escalators at the moment for some clothing manufacturer that goes something along the lines of:

"Prepare for everything, then prepare some more"

Though getting past that first step on those escalators is pretty testing I'm not sure meticulous planning is requiredso I guess the advert is aimed at someone like me.

So taking that onboard (and instantly forgetting the brand that the ad was promoting and thereby completely defeating the object) I thought a little background reading might be in order.

At this point like any half-thoughtout sci-fi prequel or a kitsch musical film, enter Ewan McGregor. McGregor teamed up with an even less talented actor Charley Boorman for a book and a TV series about motorcycling around the world.

As with all of these types of trips the "craziness" of the adventure is slightly deminished by the fact that they were accompanied by a film crew and a full support team. In this case Ewan also has some pretty high up contacts with the Force which makes their whining about how they are always in extraordinary danger a little harder to believe.

(For those who have not read it, three other extremely tedious themes of the book are:

1. Their attempts to escape (and constant frustration with) media attention - he is an international film star cruising around with a camera crew in places where there is a national feast every time the President's yak breaks wind. What did they expect?

2. Ewan's pining for his children - if you want to spend time with your kids then don't bugger off on a motorbike for 6 months without them. And if you decide to, don't moan about missing them when you are there, and if you are going to moan please find better ways to express yourself than "tears welled up in my eyes when I saw my youngest daughter Esther in a baby camel". Charming.

3. Both constantly moaning about how tired they are - did anyone ask the motorbike engine how tired it was? That was the thing doing all the work. You can't really expect sympathy for fatigue from sitting on a leather seat and flicking your wrist in time with your ipod occasionally.)

Anyway despite all these very good reasons not to read the book, friends kept telling me that there was a good and interesting section on their drive through Kazakhstan. Ewan and friend went along roughly the same route as I will take through the beast so all very relevant I thought.

Well the effect of this particular bit of preparation has been to strike me with absolute terror. There are many risky aspects to this adventure, but one that I had not taken into account was Black Widow spiders.

Now you would think from the Kazakh section of McGregor's book that the steppe is crawling with them. A big crawling mass of eight-legged death squads. Climb up a tree and they will climb after you. Hide beneath the branches and they will lower themselves to make their strike. Step on them and it is the last step you will make.

I'm not usually very sqeamish about creepy crawlies but it's easy to be brave in the face of a Daddy Long-Legs. These things are bloody scary, and there ain't much I can do about them. Many thought the greatest danger on this trip was that I would be lumbered with a Kazakh bride. Now it looks like I need to be more careful about bumping into a widow.

10/06/08

Inebriated women wandering aimlessly, large mutated rodents foraging for food, rank smells wafting from the surrounding bushes.....not my first taste of the Kazakh steppe, but a night in my tent on the patio of Lynette Avenue.

Just a week to go until take off so it's time to do some more tests of the kit. Judging by last night, it will prove to be a far more realistic dummy run than I expected with the flatmates providing some notable cameos. All that was missing from the simulation was a few rabid wolf sound effects but unfortunately Hywel had an early night and is up to date on his jabs.

For those in London there should be a mention of the Tour de Kaz in this Friday's Sport magazine that they give out to sedate people on the Tube. Make sure you get hold of what will surely become a souvenir edition.