1. First, could you please give us a few facts about yourself; age, location, what kind of work you were doing until you started cycling, and a few of the countries you have visited by bike?

I'm 28 years old, originally from a small village in the English Midlands. I began travelling by bicycle in 2007, two years after finishing university. I had no career at that time, so leaving home to travel was quite easy, as I had very little to lose. Since then, I've crossed nearly 40 countries by bicycle, going as far afield as Sudan, Ethiopia, Yemen, UAE, Mongolia, and of course the Scandinavian Arctic.

I'm currently living in London, where I've spent the last year writing a book about my travels. A documentary film has also been produced, and we hope to release it to the public this year. I have two major trips planned for 2012.

2. What was the turning point that made your transition from 'normal' to 'hardcore' cyclist, and what is your main motivation for cycling today?

I don't think of myself as a 'hardcore' cyclist, although I can see why it looks that way! I guess the transition was in 2007, when I began my first long trip. I had no previous experience of cycle journeys at that time - I just used a cheap bike to get around, and occasionally go mountain-biking in the countryside near my home.

On all of my journeys, the bicycle has always been a tool to do a job. I see cycling as one of the few truly independent and self-sufficient ways of exploring a country. With a bicycle, I can travel at my own pace, cover 2 or 20 or 200km in a day, go where buses and trains can't reach, and stop whenever I like. I can sleep almost anywhere. And the image of a lone cyclist brings out the best in people along the way. It's humble and non-threatening, so it also gives me access to the society and culture of a place in a way that other forms of transport rarely can.

3. There are many places with a comfortable climate for cycle-tours – why did you choose to ride through some of the coldest and most desolate parts of Norway during the dark mid-winter?

There are a few reasons for this. The first was that after nearly 20,000km of bicycle travel, I wanted to experiment with how far I could push what I was already doing. I wanted to disprove the assumption that darkness, cold, snow and ice were reasons not to travel by bicycle, and the only way to do so was to give it a try. A handful of other people had already done such journeys, in even more difficult conditions, but I wanted to find out for myself. Scandinavia was close enough to the UK that I could get there quickly and cheaply by bus for the month that I wanted to spend on the trip.

4. What was the highlight of this tour? 

The incredible juxtaposition of beauty and hostility that defines such a place in the mid-winter. If you're outside 24 hours a day and active, you're fighting a constant battle with nature to stay warm, dry and functional. But you're doing so in this staggering, inspirational, otherworldy environment. It's a very unique set of conditions to find yourself in.

The other highlights were, of course, those moments of hospitality from the people I met along the way. Settlements were pretty sparse, and people were quite reserved, which made the encounters all the more memorable.

5. When temperature drops just a few degrees below zero, most cyclists start feeling cold and numb in fingers and toes after 60-75 minutes, and after 90 minutes it gets painful. Yet you manage to go on for four to six hours, day after day. What is your secret – how do you dress?

It's difficult to say - I pedalled hard enough to generate plenty of body heat, since that's the only available source of warmth, and the circulation kept my hands warm. I wore big skiing mitts when it was really cold, and when I was getting going in the morning, and a pair of fleece gloves once I had warmed up. However, despite wearing huge boots, I often had problems with cold toes. I found the best thing for that was to get off the bike and jog with it for a few minutes.

6. Most of your days ended in a small cold tent. How did you manage avoiding the discomfort of sweating on the bike, and then almost immediately start freezing when you stopped riding for the day?

I avoided sweating as much as I could. I paid a lot of attention to getting the balance of clothing and exertion right. Because the temperature fluctuated a lot - between -33°C and 0°C - I could never forget about it entirely. I wore a skiing jacket which had lots of vents and closures for expelling heat and moisture, and I wore merino wool baselayers underneath, which is a great material for keeping warm while exercising and drawing moisture away from the body and allowing it to evaporate through the jacket's vents.

When I stopped in the evening, the first thing I would do would be to take off the ski jacket and put on a down jacket. This kept in the warmth I'd generated whilst riding.

7. How did you dry your damp/sweaty clothing inside a tent?

I couldn't! Any sweaty clothing I took off at night would have frozen solid. So avoiding sweat was a top priority. My neckwarmer, for example, was constantly made wet by my breath, so it would always be as stiff as a board in the mornings. Luckily it still did it's job of keeping the cold air off my face and out of my lungs, even if it was mainly composed of ice for most of the trip!

8. Your blog has lots of good photos. How did you manage to keep the batteries for your camera and computer going for four weeks in the cold?

I charged them whenever I could - in cafes, petrol stations, people's homes. By day I kept the camera battery in an inside pocket of my tights, against my skin. It was annoying to retrieve it every time I wanted to take a picture, but I suppose it made me more selective with the shots I took. Whether that improved the quality of the pictures I don't know!

The laptop battery would need to be warmed up before I could use it. Naturally, at the end of a long day and while lying in my sleeping bag, the warmest place was down my pants!

9. Apart for the temperatures and snow, what are the biggest differences bike touring in England versus Norway?

I have very little experience of touring in England. But I'd say what makes Norway special is the amount of wild land and the way in which it is respected, used and enjoyed. In England, the population is far more dense, and every inch of land is owned and used for something, so it's impossible (at least, it looks impossible) just to wander off into the countryside. Even in national parks, camping is forbidden, and it's discouraged to stray from marked trails.

The result is that we as a nation are fairly illiterate when it comes to outdoorsmanship, and our concepts of nature and wilderness are narrow and highly institutionalised. I really admire the approach that is taken to the natural landscape in Scandinavia, encouraging responsible enjoyment and stewardship of the countryside.

10. Where are you heading for your next bike trip?

I have two journeys planned this year. The second is still at the 'ideas' stage, but the first will be a two-month journey through the Western US, from Canada to Mexico (or thereabouts). It begins in April, and I'll be telling the story on my website.

Click here to view the embedded video.

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Click here to view the embedded video.

So far, James and I have received four rejections from four of the biggest film festivals - Sundance, Berlin, South By South West and Rotterdam. (Technically, we've received three rejections: Rotterdam didn't feel it worth contacting us at all.)

It does beg the question: Why are so many film projects unsuccessful?

There is the cliquey nature of the industry, where money and marketing are key components of success (and of which we possess neither). The quality of an actual film is not the only consideration of those selecting for a big-name festival in need of a big-name lineup.

More than that, though, is that the art of filmmaking is broadly misunderstood. It's not just 'photography with movement'. That's cinematography, not filmmaking. Having a video camera doesn't make you a filmmaker, in the same way that having a dictionary doesn't make you a writer. But this notion launches a large number of projects, and the result is that many films are simply of little interest to anyone but the hardcore enthusiasts of the genre/activity/people portrayed. This is a shame, because film has an immense amount of potential for far broader appeal and effect, if done well.

Whether Janapar is or isn't a good film is not for me to say - so far, audience reactions have been encouraging, and that's all. But I have learnt a few things about the art of documentary filmmaking, even if we have neither the money nor the marketing power to get Janapar on the bill at Sundance. Here's the advice I'd give to someone considering launching their own documentary production. This is adventure-oriented, but I think most of it applies broadly:

Story

• At its core, a successful film is a good story well-told. This has nothing to do with stunning visuals or fancy cameras.
• Work out what the story is - or at least, what the story's beginning is - before it begins. Follow it through its twists and turns until the end. And be prepared for the story to change.
• Every piece of storytelling advice for writers is equally applicable to filmmakers.

Character

• Especially in this relatively eccentric field of adventures and expeditions, the story is much more likely to be driven by the characters' core motives - their raison d'etre - than by any special mission they might have.
• Anticipate that one character will probably emerge dominant. Consider that this might end up being you yourself.
• An audience won't care about what the characters see or do until they're emotionally invested in their hopes and fears and can empathise with them. Focus strongly on this early in a trip, or even before it begins.
• Drill through superficial layers of motivation until you've reached the driving force.
• Audiences have incredibly sensitive bullshit detectors. Any character who attempts to imitate Michael Palin or Bear Grylls will inevitably come across as a fraud.
• Finding a genuine voice on camera is really, really difficult for many newcomers. It requires practice. Tons of practice.
• A director needs to be able to bring that voice out. This is largely about asking the right question at the right time.

Solo or Team

• Self-shooting a solo expedition means that you'll have to bear all of the above in mind for yourself, as well as spending most of your time setting up tripod shots and pointing the camera in your own face for context - not to mention having the adventure itself.
• In a team, one (very diplomatic) member should assume a directorial role to ensure consistency and completeness, even if others are operating the camera(s) at his or her command.
• Either way, prepare to be mentally exhausted. Take regular steps back, and pack the camera away for significant periods of time.

Shooting

• Stories can be broken into sub-stories. During shooting, focus on capturing one complete sub-story at a time. Later, review what you have, and consider how these sub-stories fit into the bigger picture.
• For each sub-story, establish the dilemma or challenge. Capture the action and nail the story's resolution. Get your characters' immediate responses to what happened. Then go back and shoot the cutaways, establishing shots and general views that you missed.
• Be on the look-out for a new story to emerge, and switch your attention to it if it's the stronger one.
• Get 2 or 3 times more shots than you think you need.
• No good film (including documentaries) was ever shot chronologically. Remember that you're shooting for an editor. Your job is to deliver source material for him or her to work with.
• Expect a quality level of shooting to take far longer than you expect. It can and will eat hours of your days.

Post

• Once you've finished shooting, take a break.
• Hire an editor. A fresh pair of expert eyes will bring your hard-earned story to life in a way that you simply won't be able to see.
• Put together a team of talented, committed post-production people who care about your project.
• Do not attempt to self-shoot, script, direct, produce, edit, score, grade, dub, mix, title, caption, master, market, distribute and sell a film on your own if you want it to have broad appeal / win loads of awards / get on telly / make much of a difference. Allow your project to become a platform on which other people's talents can come together and shine.

I'd love to see the increase in expeditions being filmed being matched by an increase in successful finished productions. There is a very good reason I haven't mentioned cameras, shot composition, editing software - all of that is secondary. I hope that these points will help newcomers to the world of filmmaking understand where their priorities should lie.

Do you have a documentary project up your sleeve? What do you think of the adventure film scene? How would you tackle the impenetrable film festival circuit?

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Hi Tom,

It's been great following your adventures thus far, and I look forward to the book with anticipation.

I also want to say a massive thank you for giving me the necessary push, along with Andy last year, to embark on my own adventure!

You may remember an email from me to you both at Ride Earth, when I was not sure of the merits of going on a long distance bike trip at the grand old age of 41?

Well, with the spark of youth that you both put in my mind, when I received redundancy back in February this year, I finally had the courage to say "to hell with it" and set off from Leeds across Europe, heading for Istanbul which I reached 3 months later after the best experience of my life and raising over 800 quid for cancer children. I then decided to head to Iran via Turkey, Georgia and Armenia.

However, in true adventure style, whilst I was in a small town in Turkey I met a Georgian girl who was holidaying there. When she left for Tbilisi I decided I would spend a little time in Tbilisi with her on my way through...

We are now married and living in Tbilisi and I am happier than ever earning peanuts for teaching English to Georgians!

So thank you for the inspiration that started my adventure, as without it I would still be in the UK trudging the daily treadmill of suburban life.

Merry Christmas, and a prosperous, adventurous new year!

Regards

[name omitted for privacy]

This post is not about my writing; it's about the author of the email and his actions. An example of the effect of meaningful and honest communication, as opposed to the disposable 'entertainment' and 'information' that society supposedly craves, and which people such as myself are under increasing pressure to provide.

So if you really value your message over your follower or 'Like' count, keep at it: stories such as the one above have more value than any number will ever have.

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An awful lot of cycle tours one hears about on the social web suffer from bloat, from concept over experience, from too much planning (a bit like my first one). I've written before about our tendency to cover up with information the simple fact that very little of a cycle travellers' daily life can be planned in advance, short or long term. For the first-timer, it's a scary thought. But the truth is a typical bike tour needs very little planning.

Bike Touring Basics, from the very first page, re-casts the bike tour as a gentle, rewarding, non-intimidating pursuit, accessible to all with relative ease, and with near-unlimited adaptability to one's ambitions. This portrayal is badly needed, and says a lot about the authors' wisdom, earned through their first-hand experience of a slow and meandering round-the-world tour.

I get my fair share of request for advice from new cycle tourers. From now on, I'll have no hesitation in pointing them in the direction of Bike Touring Basics. I've learnt plenty myself from reading it!

The fact that it's free belies its real and great value. Thank you Friedel and Andrew. Please spread the word!

Check out TravellingTwo.com for everything you could ever want to know about cycle touring.

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(In case you don't know, Twitter is an online community based entirely on real-time public status updates. You can publish what you like, as long as it fit into 140 characters or the length of an SMS. My own feed, for example, is here.)

Well, I won't be 'live-Tweeting' my future trips; not for my friend, nor anyone else. And here's why.

Tweets, by their nature, are free-floating snippets of information. Each one inhabits a single drop in an ocean of content. In any given Twitter user's feed, this could span mainstream media headlines, celebrity gossip, a viral video or two, links to random interesting articles, or photos of your mate's swollen foot.

Then along might come the following:

"Spent a night in no-man's-land between Kyrgyzstan and China."

I assume that this is the kind of update my friend would like to see. It would save him having to read a tiresome thousand-word diatribe on the same experience, which he doesn't have time to do. My adventure travelling experience could be happily digested alongside the remainder of his Twitter timeline. In my friend's eyes, there's no difference.

Now I have no doubt that the Twitter user who posted the update above (which I took from today's feed) is perfectly happy with his or her Tweet, and feels that it accurately represents what they were doing at the time. And there is little doubt that somebody who has done their fair share of self-supported adventure travel might be able to roughly guess at the context in which one might find oneself camping between two distant Central Asian border posts.

But to my high-flying friend sitting in a coffee shop or office in central London, exactly what would this message mean? What context would he have for it? What first-hand experience of the Tien Shan mountains does he have? When was the last time he spent a month sleeping under canvas? What was the longest man-powered journey he took in his adult life? What is it actually like in 'no-man's land'? What are the Tweeter's motives for being there, and why is it important that he or she let the world know?

The Tweet invites imagination, and sheer invention is what inevitably follows. 140 characters leave every aspect of the words' true meaning to guesswork. And, assuming that the majority of us have yet to spend the night in no-man's-land between Kyrgyzstan and China, our guesswork and assumptions will be all over the shop, and the chance that any of the guesses might resemble reality is practically zero.

And in any case, my friend will look at the Tweet, consider it for maybe half a second, and then be distracted by the next in the never-ending stream of informative nuggets. Then something even worse will happen: the guesswork and the assumptions will be done in the background, subconsciously, where all the misconceived impressions unwittingly held by those who haven't experienced the world for themselves will be built into a vague and ever-more warped idea of the Tweeter's journey, as told through his or her Tweets.

Here's another example from today's expeditions on Twitter:

"Had a road rage incident.... Dave got tackled off the bike and kicked in the nuts... eventful day."

Can I feel Dave's pain? Do I know how he feels; what his sensibilities tell him to make of it? Do I know how blissful his previous month of cycling was before this cruel blow to the family jewels took place? Do I know what events caused the incident? What does his riding buddy make of it? Why am I assuming that a car driver was involved, even though it was never mentioned?

My top priority when writing about my journeys is to take my reader with me, as much as such a thing is possible. Why? Because it's enjoyable. It might be educational. On rare occasions, it might even be a little bit inspiring. But I know that my reader probably doesn't have the luxury of first-hand context for the experiences of which I write, so I have to paint pictures, evoke atmospheres, invest emotions, provide some insight into the whys and wherefores.

Without these things, my stories would encourage readers to build works of imaginative fiction in their minds. Some self-titled adventurers actually rely on this; cherry-picking the pieces of information that they know can be used to construct superhuman-sounding tales of high adventure by people who have no defence against their own lack of context and overactive imaginations. This appeals to people who sell media, and of course to the oft-massive egos of the protagonists.

Adventure - being a state of mind rather than a set of criteria - should be without limits; without restrictions on who can partake of it, without it making the slightest difference how impressive it can be made to sound. So it's not worth pretending my projects are elite or daring or impossibly difficult, or inviting others to do so on my behalf. There are the inconsequential details, and there is the irrelevant information, little of which survives the editing process, but the bottom line is that I have no reason to write at all if I can't take my friend away from his office, just for a few minutes, and show him a different world; a set of events outside his own experience, something to provoke new thoughts - but in a way which avoids the kind of misinterpretation that is so easy to make.

Other than providing a link through to a fully-formed piece back here, these are things that a Tweet in a timeline - for the vast majority of followers - will never do. If you don't believe me, try making all the points in this article using 140 characters or less. My friend honestly believes that there is no difference in consuming a handful of vapid Tweets and investing 15 minutes in reading a considered, crafted and complete piece of creative non-fiction (or, for that matter, investing a few days in reading a book). He is wrong. The difference is as great as between a single note and an entire symphonic movement. As someone who creates, I'd rather reach one person on a meaningful level than a thousand people on a level that is ultimately meaningless.

So I won't be 'live-Tweeting' my next journey, and I hope that these thoughts might provoke others in the field to reconsider their own use of the technology (not to mention reminding myself of these reasons when I'm tempted to start doing it!). As for my friend's "I don't have time" argument, well, if he has better things to do, then good for him - I need not worry that he's missing out.

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This old faithful tent I’ll donate to my brother, a newcomer to bicycle adventuring, and on a budget possibly tighter than I am, if such a thing is possible. But which replacement to choose? Which canopy to rest beneath over the coming years of far-flung wild-camps and hidden bivouacs?

As time goes by and priorities shift, the characteristics of the ideal nighttime shelter swing this way and that. I considered spending five of the next twelve months in a bivy bag, but the truth is I would rather have the flexibility to stay dry in a downpour and seal myself off from the elements when it takes my fancy. I can still sleep outside whenever I feel like it, and the weight difference wouldn’t be as big as you might think.

However, I’m happy to try a 1-man tent, saving weight and packing space, as over the years I’ve learnt to get by with less and less luggage. A porch big enough for 2 panniers or a backpack is all I really need. I might occasionally find myself in sub-zero temperatures, but I’ll be mainly using it in warmer climates. A tent ticking these boxes should be both fast and light.

When I explained my needs, Tami at Cascade Designs in the USA, the parent company of MSR, suggested the ‘Hubba’ or ‘Hubba HP’. They’re both 1-man tents, tried and tested, striking a balance between lightness and durability. The Carbon Reflex 1, at a shade under 1kg, was an enticing-looking ultralight option, until Tami pointed out that it is necessarily less suited to long-term living, being built for short, fast and focused expeditions where every gram really does count. That’s not quite the nature of my longer, more methodical trips, so I was glad to take her advice and get something more rugged and liveable, even if it did weigh a little more.

The Europe-only ‘HP’ version has an inner tent built of opaque ultralight fabric, with a couple of mesh panels. This, she explained, would be better for cold or dusty conditions, but if I were to be using it predominately in warmer climates, it might be too warm. There’s nothing worse than spending the night in a stiflingly hot tent, as I remember all too well from southern Arabia in June 2009.

The Hubba, by contrast, has an inner tent constructed mainly of insect mesh. Pitched on its own on a clear and warm night, it would essentially be a free-standing mosquito net. And in the mosquito-infested parts of my journeys this year, I would value this massively, as I love sleeping under the stars, and this would let me do so without the inconvenience of being eaten alive. At 1.3kg, the extra hundred grams or so over the HP should be negligible. So, after a bit of dithering, I plumped for the classic Hubba.

Remembering back to when I chose my first tent — and this may sound a strange priority to have, but bear with me — the green fly-sheet of the Vaude won me over. Big deal, you may think, but the difference it makes when you’re trying to stealth-camp in a built-up area can be literally the difference between a good night’s sleep and no sleep at all. And I do a lot of stealth camping. Bright yellow or orange tents are conspicuous, and this was my big gripe with MSR’s range. So I’m really happy to see that they’ve brought out a new range of natural-looking green fly-sheets. I’m already looking forward to finding out whether they pass the acid test!

With a minimal sleeping pad and a thin down bag, plus my usual bundle of clothes as a pillow, my entire camping setup should occupy less than half a pannier. I follow the rule of thumb that ‘less is more’. It’s interesting seeing how far this can be taken while remaining as practical and flexible as need be.

I have no intention of “selling out” by branding my trips up to the hilt — as I said to Tami, I think that small outfitters and perennial journeymakers have a great deal to offer each other, and I’m glad to have the opportunity to work with such an innovative firm again.

If you have a favourite or recommended tent for lightweight solo journeys, please feel free to share your thoughts in the comments.

I spent quite a portion of this interview trying to defuse an underlying assumption that I was some kind of legendary overachieving extreme sports fanatic, which I am most definitely not. Since I answered these questions I’ve spent some time going through this site in an attempt to ensure that this isn’t the portrait I’ve painted of myself. It’s a difficult thing to balance, as there is always going to be a degree of mismatch between the writer and the reader. I hope I’ve got it roughly right.

In any case, do enjoy the full interview. Grab a cup of tea — this might take some time.

What are your emotional motives behind your adventures?

Mostly I go on adventures to satisfy my own curiosity. But what I’m curious about has changed since I started. On my first trip I was naive and idealistic, so everything was interesting and new and it broke my preconceptions. As time went on I became curious variously about my own endurance, my ability to tolerate discomfort, whether places in the world would live up to my fears, how it would be to learn a completely new language, how I might best communicate this whole process to those who stayed at home – so it’s curiosity and satisfaction at the root of it all.

Are you looking or have you found a certain fulfilment in your life of adventure?

It’s true that my post-university options didn’t look particularly exciting and fulfilling, so quitting everything and heading off into the sunset was almost the only choice I had left! As for fulfilment -  yes, but it hasn’t come about through a list of achievements, rather through realising that adventure is a way of thinking and therefore can be a lifelong process, rather than something that starts and ends at distinct points. It follows that the only judge of success in that process is me myself. Because of that there’s no risk of disappointment of having ‘failed’ to achieve some abstract mission in the eyes of someone else, and none of the anticlimax that happens when you finish a trip, because ‘home’ and ‘away’ are two parts of the same whole. Living in London is just as much an adventure in one sense as cycling across Lapland last winter. Everything is new and ready to be explored in a multitude of ways.

Do you have limits?

Very abstract question! Yes. Who doesn’t? Exactly what limits are I’m not quite sure. There are obvious limits such as physical endurance, but there’s nothing very mysterious about that. My life right now is all uncharted territory — I’m about to take my first feature documentary to the international film festival circuit, and I’m in the middle of writing my first book, without a publisher or editor. I have no idea what I’ll be doing in a year’s time. It’s a massive adventure in itself. (I have no idea whether that relates to the idea of limits!)

Tell me the story about when and how you decided to become a full time adventurer?

There’s not actually a particular moment in time, I don’t think. If you pressed me, it would probably be the day I set off from home in 2007 on my bike. I jacked it all in and didn’t look back, and I never have, even though I’ve been back to the same physical location since then. I didn’t set off thinking ‘I’m going to be a full-time adventurer’, though. What I’m doing now has pretty much emerged organically from that starting point. That, and my stubborn refusal to get a ‘real job’!

What is it about these extreme expeditions that pull you in?

I think the answer to the first question covers most of it. I’ve never thought of myself as an ‘extreme expeditioner’, though. Some of what I do might look extreme to people with different perspectives, that’s all. I think that could relate back to the idea of ‘limits’. Maybe a limit is a point past which your imagination can’t go. When you try something new and a little daunting, though, your imagination gets new material to draw from – even if you screw up. So, little by little, the goalposts start to move. And one day you realise that people are calling you ‘extreme’!

You are clearly a bike man, but have you tried all the other sports and settled on cycling or has your focus just always been cycling?

I began travelling by bicycle as a reaction against traditional notions of travel – inevitably motorised or relying on public transport or someone else’s schedule – which had never appealed to me. I wanted the fundamental freedom to go literally wherever I liked, not just where I liked from a list of towns and cities on a timetable. I wanted to be able to travel under my own steam, but at the same time I didn’t fancy the restrictive slowness of walking while travelling was still a new experience. Cycling ticked all of these boxes, and has proved to have an enormously long shelf life. It’s not a sport, though. I’m no athlete. Ask my mates.

What is your favourite bike, I am guessing you have a few?

I’m not really attached to any particular bike, but I was a bit gutted when the custom-built frame I’d inherited from my Grandad got stolen from outside the university library when I was a student. That had sentimental value. My expedition bikes are fantastic machines, and I’m hugely grateful to Kona Bikes for supporting my trips with them, but they’re tools to do a job.

What age were you when you embarked on Ride Earth?

I was 23 when I left – two years after graduating from university.

What did your parents say when you told them about your mission?

They were pretty cool about it. They knew I wasn’t content to mope around at home or apply for jobs I didn’t believe in. I think they were glad when I’d found something to focus on. I really appreciate that they supported me rather than telling me it was a silly thing to do and trying to stop me.

What did you study in University? Has it been of use to you in your unconventional career?

I studied Computer Science. It was about as interesting as it sounds! But I did well in it, and it has come in useful, particularly when it comes to web technology. If you’re self-employed in this way and you rely in part on the web in order to build an audience, knowing how to build and run a website from the ground up (and fix it when it breaks) is a really useful area of know-how to have. It’s also allowed me to earn money as a web consultant while I’ve been living in other places, funding subsequent adventures.

You have your first book coming out in 2012, are you shitting it?

Not really. I’m enjoying the process of writing it immensely – I don’t think I’d be writing it at all if I wasn’t. There’s no pressure from the publisher, because as yet there is no publisher! I guess if I’m afraid of anything it’s that I’ll never be 100% happy with the finished product. I’m a recovering ex-perfectionist still struggling with minor details that nobody else will notice.

Your expeditions so far include:

• Scotland Off Road 2006
• Europe and near the East 2007
• The Caucasus and Iran 2008
• The Middle East and Africa 2009
• Mongolia 2010
• Scandinavia 2011

Why do you do so many of them solo?

Only two of the above were solo trips, actually. One of them was pretty epic, though – the Middle East and Africa – and by far and away had the greatest effect on me. There’s a huge value in having at least one such adventure, in which you’re entirely responsible for everything and you’ve gone to the place about which you have the most doubts – you learn a huge amount that way. Now, whether I do a trip alone or in a pair or group largely depends on my motivations for doing that particular trip in the first place. Next year I’m planning one in a pair and another solo, and it’s for very fundamental reasons that they’ll be done that way.

How long does it take to plan an expedition?

It has varied. My first big trip was massively over-planned. I spent a year preparing for something I could now easily depart for and do tomorrow. A bike ride is pretty simple once you’ve got a few essential bits of kit and an idea in your head. The Scandinavia trip took a few days of preparation – I decided to do it less than a month before I arrived in Oslo. Mongolia took a bit longer, but that was almost entirely because of the complicated Russian visa application process. I rarely bother planning routes until I’m already on the road and have a better feel for where I am. And even then I change my plans all the time!

Which was your favourite trip?

The ride through the Middle East and Africa was a definitive journey, in which I lost and found myself and travelled through the most unearthly places (physical and mental) of all. Because of what it taught me, it’s my favourite trip. But it certainly wasn’t the most ‘fun’. Far from it.

….and your favourite moment of that trip?

I honestly can’t come up with a single moment of any trip which I could describe as my ‘favourite’! I suppose waking up on the banks of Lake Khovsgol in northern Mongolia and looking out of my tent over a few thousand square kilometres of floating ice, before taking a swim in water so pure that I could drink it without any kind of treatment. That’s going to take a bit of beating!

What’s next?

Next spring I’ll head to the West Coast of the States for a couple of months. It’s easy to assume that we know what America is like, because we’re force-fed American culture through our screens. But it’s probably no less of a misconception as we hold for the rest of the world. But I have a feeling that 2012 is going to be mainly about getting the documentary film, Janapar, out to as many audiences as we can find.

Will you stick with cycling until the very end?

I’ve no particular attachment to cycling. I’ve just found that it gives me access to all the things I value about adventure travel. When something better comes along, I’d like to think you’ll find me giving it a try. Or maybe my priorities will shift of their own accord. Long distance walking and packrafting are two things I’ve definitely got in my sights, because both of them are close the the ground and give you the kind of freedom and unthreatening access to society that cycling does – just from slightly different perspectives.

You have an advice page on your website, it is one of the first I have seen, why have you done this? How important is helping others out to you?

I received so much help and advice during the planning of my first trip, and it was all given freely and enthusiastically. Most of the articles in that section are ‘how-to’ style articles or equipment reviews. But the real value of that kind of content is that it reassures people that what they’re planning is possible, and that it’s actually pretty simple. The subtle considerations of wild camping, for example, are something everyone will learn through experience. My article about it is there to defuse people’s fears. They’re unlikely to remember anything I wrote, but it might convince them to give it a shot and find out for themselves, and the same goes for the other topics I’ve covered. In general, I believe that there are countless individual and social benefits to people going on these kinds of personal journeys of discovery, so I’ll do anything I can to encourage it. Putting the new film out there is part of that.

Does the rest of the world (non – adventurers) ever frustrate you? Why or why not?

There’s a lot of imperfection in the world. We have all of life’s basic needs here, whether complacency has blinded us to that simple fact or not. So a lot of our so-called problems are now existential ones: What am I doing with my life? Why am I always stressed out? Why am I afraid to leave my comfort zone?

My adventure stories implicitly advocate simplicity, risk-taking, curiosity, spontaneity, non-conformity – these aren’t answers, but ideas that might have value in the context of these problems. So I think I’m doing my bit, and that stops me getting too frustrated!

Do you believe in fear?

Is fear an article of faith? It’s real enough, I think. Whether a fear is justified is another question, as is the issue of what you do with it.

“Sure. Sell everything. Quit your job. Get a bike. Ride it. The rest of it will work itself out.” – I love this line, but is it really as easy as that?

Yes.

How did you learn to shoot videos, take decent photos….etc?

I learnt by experimentation, imitation, and by making mistakes. I didn’t have any training or education in these things. Living on the road, I could dedicate as much time to these pursuits as I liked, and I ended up spending a lot of time on them. They were rewarding and important creative outlets.

Are you happy…..always?

Happiness is a fleeting emotion, isn’t it? Contentment, on the other hand, might be something more long-term. I’ve never been more content than now. (Incidentally, it might be worth mentioning that the UK government defines me as living below the poverty line.)

When en route in an expedition, do you camp out, couch surf, hostel it?

I almost never stay in hostels or hotels, because I don’t go travelling in order to escape from the place I’m in every night. I’m probably a bit of a snob when it comes to this! My first choice is always wild-camping (sometimes this has been in urban areas). Second is asking around for a place to put my tent or sleeping bag – the list of places that’s led me is long and fascinating! I’ll never decline an invitation to stay the night in a local household, which I’ve now done probably hundreds of times. In cities – which comprise a very minor part of my journeys – Couchsurfing is the norm.

What are your must pack items on an expedition?

Everything you need, and nothing that you don’t. Every non-essential item you leave at home will make your trip a better one!

Have you ever went on a normal holiday (aka no bikes included)?

Loads of times when I was a child. A small handful since.

Is there always another adventure, something better to be chased?

I’m not sure how to answer this. I just try to follow my nose and enjoy the ride. But I don’t believe in some far-off, unattainable Holy Grail.

Does that make it difficult to be content in the moment?

I imagine it would, but I’m perfectly content in the moment.

Is it a race/chase for happiness or for an adrenaline rush?

Neither of the above. I lead an adventurous life because it gives me a greal deal of intrinsic satisfaction. There are bursts of happiness and adrenaline in life, as well as their opposites, but my motives are nothing to do with instant gratification.

Travelling and expeditions broaden your mind so much, you are a global man now. Is it difficult to return home, come back down to earth and engage in the UK’s everyday banter once more (moaning about the government etc)?

There’s a definite sense that a lot of the banter you mention is fairly insignificant in the grand scheme of things. It depends how far you want to take it, though. For many people, these things are very significant. Being able to see how lucky we all actually are here doesn’t make me ‘better’. Also, being in the UK isn’t a ‘return home’. I would say my home is equally in Yerevan, Armenia where I spent nearly two years. My travels have also given me the ability to feel at home pretty much anywhere – when camping, or in someone’s home – although that’s much more temporary. Am I waffling?

So this interview is all about you and this is a totally random question but is your wife much cooler than you?

Of course she is. I’m just a grumpy old man!

If you weren’t working in this market, what career could you see yourself in?

Never thought about that, really. I’m good at web consultancy, but it’s boring and involves too many screens. I’ve occasionally applied my photography and filmmaking skills to other industries, which has been fun. At times I’ve tried to imagine other careers, but I’d want them to involve a lot of exercise and being outdoors. That points to the military, of course, but the idea of it seems to clash on a few levels.

Do you ever find that people are jealous of your achievements or are the majority completely supportive? How do you deal with this?

I’ve never found anyone who’s jealous. But many people who don’t know me well write me off as an eccentric and don’t enquire far enough to know more. A few clearly believe that I’m simply procrastinating from getting what they think of as a ‘real job’. The fact is that how I spend my time is very difficult to explain in a nutshell, so most people I meet are left with very little meaningful idea of what I do. That’s probably my fault for not being a good enough communicator. I’m still not sure how to deal with it.

Who is your hero in the adventure world? Why?

I have a huge amount of respect for Bruce Parry – his shows are heartfelt, well-made and unpretentious, and he does them for the right reasons. I don’t know that many names in the adventure world, though – I don’t really read adventure books, and when I began my first trips I didn’t know the industry existed. In the world of cycling, James Bowthorpe did a round-the-world record-breaking attempt. Several others did, too, but it was his motivation and attitude that struck a chord with me. Despite breaking the record, he didn’t bother completing the paperwork for it, because his core reasons for doing the ride lay outside the field of fame and sporting achievement.

Any advice for our readers on their own quest?

Follow your heart. Stop making excuses. Take the first step right now. These well-worn mantras are well-worn for a reason!

Still here? Bloody well done to you! Why not read the article that Orla wrote based on this interview over at the Beyond Limits magazine website?

Having said that, my New Year’s Resolutions are thus:

• To arrive at the end of the year and feel that there is nothing that is in sudden need of special attention
• To accomplish this by paying careful attention to what’s important, enjoyable and worthwhile, 365 days a year
• To shun the target-fixated mentality — especially prominent here in London — in favour of an attitude that brings fulfilment from the process, not from some far-off imagined result
• To continue to avoid building unnecessary structures around life (career, financial obligation, schedule, ownership, competition) that pretend to provide convenience, progress and meaning, but instead bring restriction, stifle spontaneity and breed resentment
• To continue this adventurous existence which has brought so much joy and intrigue, remembering that it came about through plenty of toil and introspection
• To go further than I have been thus far — not in terms of physical feats, which don’t interest me, but in the realm of communication, exploration and tenacity.

So much for abstract resolutions. These are things I already practice every day. Long may it continue.

Why are we only willing to change the things we dislike about ourselves on 1 of the 365 days we have available to us every year?

Is it an honest guilt we feel about our perceived failings, or should we stop taking ourselves too seriously?

Can we, our imperfect selves, just learn to be happy with this imperfect world, and get on with living in it?

Let’s see facing up to these questions and challenges as a positive thing, and make doing so our resolution for 2012.

Running a daily blog from my tent added generously to the challenge. Temperatures dropped to -33°C. People thought I was nuts. But it stands out as one of my favourite experiences of all time. The blog story picked up interest, and by the end of the month, thousands of readers - more than ever before - were vicariously enjoying the adventure.

Storytelling took centre-stage on that journey through the frozen forests and lakes; a combination of solitude, long nights, a good story and the technology with which to tell it. On a whim, I put together a (very) short film, 'Letter From Lapland'. It'll be broadcast across the Middle East next year on Al-Jazeera Sport as part of the 'Better Than Four' cycling series. (Easier to watch it now on Vimeo though!)

It's storytelling that has been the theme for the whole of 2011. I've spent more time on book-writing than on any other pursuit. Nobody's paying me to do it, but it's been far more rewarding than any number of pay packets could ever be. By the summer I'd finished the first draft of the book, and I'm currently mid-way through an 87,000-word second draft. It's a work of non-fiction, obviously, but with so many memories to choose from when spinning this long and complex tale, it has actually become a most creative endeavour.

More immediate has been the development of the documentary film, which I blogged about throughout the year. This was always going to be hit or miss, so I'm really happy to be able to say that - for me - it's a hit. It could so easily have gone the other way. Entrusting four years of footage to someone else's editorial judgement was never going to be easy, but James has done a truly fantastic job, and I'm genuinely proud of the 78 minutes we've created together.

And it was humbling to receive so many great ideas for a title for these two projects when I put the question out on my blog. More than a hundred people contributed to the brainstorm - by far the most comments on any article I've written - and we eventually settled on the title 'Janapar', which will apply to both the book and the film, as they tell the same story and will hopefully complement each other well.

So, if the years 2006 to 2010 were about adventures, and 2011 was about spinning adventures into stories; then 2012 will be the year of refining and telling these stories, connecting with people, spreading messages, and simply providing a bit of enjoyment and interest from all these journeys I've made.

It's a nerve-wracking prospect, to say the least - but it's going to be another exciting year. Do sign up for the newsletter below, if you want to stay in the loop!

How was your 2011? What was your highlight of the year? What's in store for 2012?

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The viewfinder is my vocabulary. The focus ring and exposure dial are my spelling and grammar. These are basic things that I’d better get right. And I need a good mixture of context and detail, otherwise my tale will become muddled and hard to understand.

Now I’m an editor, looking from afar at the creative mind’s raw vision. I point out that it might be better without this chapter or that story. This shot would work better here; that sentence might be more effective there. I’m confused, because I don’t know what this character’s motivation is for doing that. This bit is boring and unnecessary. And that section is really effective. Let’s see if we can draw it out a little more.

The editing is done. All that remains is to add the final polish, which will set off the passion that’s gone into producing this work of artistic endeavour. And finally, let’s put the finished story in front of our audience.

Are book-writing and film-making the same thing?