Fear is a gift others give to you. You’re about do something and a voice at your side tells you that “you should not do that as it is too dangerous”. Out of politeness you listen you pay attention and weigh the words in your mind. You wonder what is the danger and you look at yourself in the mirror and think this is the person in danger.
When I was a child I was told that the most dangerous job was that of a deep sea fisherman. This I accepted without ever having met one or been on a fishing vessel. thinking about it perhaps worse still would be. A mine clearance expert who tap-danced as a hobby. Yes, that sounded weird and very dangerous. But remember that there are many different people in the world all trying to get on.
With all I know I am a cyclist; my great fear is high-speed horseflies able to fly faster than I can pedal. As far as I know there are no statistics for the number of cyclists who have been dinner for cannibals or swallowed whole while on their bike by cyclist hungry anacondas. So what fear can a cyclist reasonably have?
That is why fear is a gift. it is not yours it is a present from another who tells you that you will certainly be attacked and robbed. I remember the first time I arrived in Bogota being told in all seriousness not to put a foot outside my hotel door as if I did “they will steal the shoe”.
But please note that despite this danger within three years I married the most beautiful woman in the world who stole my still beating heart.
Such is life but how to deal with other people’s fears as every minute people are attacked. The strangeness of the lone cyclist does give some protection because almost all of the worlds wildest places have become used to the nervous panting mechanical human patchwork with bulging pants that arrives from nowhere in their midst; a peculiar object perhaps from outer-space, speaking a strange language which is eventually understood to mean it wants to buy a bottle of water or could it just please sit in the shade nothing much here to make even the hungriest cannibal start to think of the best recipe for this person.
When the cyclist does go in harm’s way it is done of their own accord it is they that decide that they can cycle faster than the foaming dog at their heels and it is the cyclist who starts to shout as the children surround his bike and touch all his things he will remember too late that children every were do the same thing. Mainly these are silly and not dangerous. You can go swimming in the Amazon even knowing that there are 35 different strains of piranhas. If the locals go everyday so can you.
So what fears are my own. Almost all of the fears I’ve collected after the event. For example I learnt in the Middle East the certain knowledge that my forward motion can be stopped immediately by the sound of a rifle bolt being cocked I was not afraid at the time but I certainly found real fear thinking about it afterwards.
I also managed to do some really stupid things on boats in the English Channel which again in retrospect makes me scared of my own stupidity. I crash and burn with fear and shame at the memory of being in Panama when a large hand was placed in my shirt pocket. I grabbed hold of the hand and much to the surprise of the owner I bit it as hard as I could. the owner then fled up a dark alley. I followed and caught the thief. Then I stood ready in the classic boxing stance I then looked again at my huge dark opponent turned around and ran back out into the into the sunshine.
Today my I fear that I may not show respect or understanding to the community as I’m travelling through. In Cuba my bike was the equivalent of the total value of a professional salary for four years. Naturally this is not something I mention unless specifically asked. Other touring bikes can easily be twice or even three times this cost. Fortunately the amount is so bizarre that most people in the community you are travelling through will have no idea. Cameras are another problem I was amazed and perhaps disgusted to see foreign tourists in Cuba walking around with $3000 plus cameras hanging around their necks. This scares me as does a man wearing a gold Rolex watch.
Certainly it is wonderful to have nice things but respect the community your travelling through and keep them hidden.
You are not allowed fear in your mind. If it comes to visit get it to sit down and listen to what is has to say but then get on your bike and pedal and leave the fear behind.
Here is my first email on my bike travels in Spain. You will remember that I have only been traveling for two days so things will get better. I started the trip on Sunday afternoon by getting the train to Reus so that I could set off early on Sunday morning from Edo´s parents farm. When we arrived at the station Edo´s father had very kindly drawn up a map showing me the route to follow to the farm. Easy enough. Except that if your drive a car you see the world through different eyes to a cyclist. The first part through the town was perfect but after that I got lost on a network of unmarked internal farm roads that seemed to go on for ever. Eventually a very kind man spoke to Edo´s Dad on my cell phone and agreed where I was and the place I should go to be met.
In the morning I left at about 10.00am. It was cool and overcast so there was no problems. I wore the same jeans I had had on the day previously. Ouch. I did not get to the end of the farm road before I stopped and changed into my special padded cyclist shorts as even on the first day I had a severe case of `bike bottom´. Without too much problem I found my way to the coast and immediately drank a litre of water so I would be ready for the day. My first error was to follow the ´bike path´ that ran along by the beach as this really takes the longest possible route. Once again I toppled off my bike. Not sure why but by now a number of ridding difficulties had made themselves known. The bike has a tendency to pull to the right although this may be because it is not correctly balance.l so I find I have to use a ´mounting block´ as there is no way I am able to swing my leg over the top of the panniers. (when I am able to send some photos you will see the reason for this). Also the tip of my saddle constantly gets caught in the back of my cycling shorts so that at times my bottom smiles back at those behind. I am still not use to the gears but that will come with time and yes my legs do hurt.