Sun cream?

A few weeks of being outdoors in the elements had left my skin a little worse for wear and last night, in a moment of Ran Fiennes meets Estee Lauder, I moisturised my skin with the only thing available: Factor 50 sun cream. Perhaps it had got into my eyes.

To be honest, I didn’t really care what caused it. They were still burning and opening them was a bit like taking your hand out of the freezer to stick it in the oven – different but still not altogether pleasant.

The morning before we’d got up in the cold darkness of a Bolivian winter to enjoy another oat and Brazil Nut surprise on the stoves before trudging up the valley across the rocks. It was the team’s third big day of climbing having knocked off two or three first British ascents between us in the past few weeks. First ascents, that is, by virtue of our quiet location within the Quimsa-Cruz rather than our expert climbing abiliities (or, at least, mine). The Quimsa-Cruz is one of four “cordillera” mountain ranges in Bolivia. Located some 80km south east of La Paz, the Bolivian capital, it was still a good five hours drive to get to. It’s the smallest of the four ranges and, with no peaks over 6,000-metres, it’s also the least visited. So, our victories beneath a British flag were easily won since no other UK expeditions had ventured into the area.

But still, it was pretty cool.

Extracting my upper torso from the sleeping bag, I held my finger tips trembling anxiously an inch from my eyes. Touching them was out of the question but ignoring the pain also didn’t seem quite right and thus I settled for hovering my digits uselessly in front of my face. I fumbled for my Nalgene bottle and tried various permutations on the theme of washing out the “acid”. I’m not sure it helped much but now my top was a bit soggy.

Day light had expanded slowly into the crisp air that previous morning, imperceptibly warming the core and rendering our torches impotent without our realising. Crampons were fitted and knots were tied without a word being spoken. Two pairs moved together across the ice on a connection of nylon strands, the teeth on our feet biting into the iced cake beneath us with each rhythmic step. My mind shifted easily to the memory of that peak on the other side of the glacier that we had straddled earlier in the trip.

Despite having worked in and on expeditions for some time now, and having been based inside the Royal Geographical Society for two years, I’m still not entirely sure if there’s any kind of official list of “who climbed what and when”. To the best of my knowledge, each of those peaks we climbed were the first time they had seen British feet. I’m not a big one for first/fastest/longest/toughest in my expeditions. In part because I’m not that good at anything but also because it’s just not what it’s about for me.

I enjoy adventures for the thrill of trying to something new, the buzz of finding out what something you don’t know anything about is really like, testing your mind as well as your body. For me, at least, that does not require doing anything extreme or ground breaking. And, presented recently with the opportunity to break a World Record, I’m still not sure it’s what I want to do.

That said, I got a real kick out of standing on a summit that had barely been visited before. I’m staring now at a photograph of one such summit that sits framed on my desk. A hypnotherapist friend once asked me to go the most calming, tranquil place place in my head and that’s what I came up with – that photo, that summit. I definitely got a kick from the remoteness. And I got an even bigger kick when my teammate, JC, returned from climbing a small peak deliberately on his own so as to claim all the glory of what he thought would be a first ascent only to discover a large shovel buried on the summit.

(This article was originally written for Wide World Mag)

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Being a budget expedition, I kept track of my £100 hitch-hiking adventure in February by Tweeting with the free text messages I get on my mobile phone. This is the story in bite size chunks:

I am setting off with the bag on my back and £100 in my pocket – http://twitpic.com/137pf4

Result. Bus driver had no change so let me ride to Heathrow for free. Good start.

Stove’s churning away on a park bench.

Happy Valentine’s Day from a distinctly unromantic bivouac within earshot of the M4 and Heathrow airport!

Commuters drive past through the mist while I’m cooking up porridge in a children’s playground.

Two hours unsuccessfully trying to hitch a ride and running on the spot to stay warm. Time to move on.

Wandered through Eton. Nice buildings but a distinct lack of budget supermarkets. Ah, Slough! Now that sounds more promising…

After a ridiculous afternoon marching up and down the A4 – and moments before the heavens opened – two kind souls have picked me up.

Walking across a wet and windy Severn Bridge.

Never thought I’d manage it but can safely say that tonight’s bivi location is even grimmer than yesterday’s. Beneath A48 with beer cans.

Man emerges from bushes into Tesco carpark eating a banana, cleans his teeth in the customer toilets and heads on his merry way.

Walking to Cardiff.

Arrived at the Welsh capital and a couple of hours ahead of schedule. £89 remaining

Just got online and seen website hits went through the roof yesterday! Thanks so much for your support everybody…

Screaming somewhere between pain and euphoria. Objective #3: Swim Outdoors… Done.

Not quite sure where to head next. My original plan is looking a bit over budget. Perhaps I’ll just let my thumb decide…

Back on the road with my thumb pointing north.

Dropped outside Aberystwyth, I started hiking only to be picked up by the same friendly couple an hour later! Still headed north.

“I wouldn’t leave a UCL boy in the valley” …the alumni bond brings me direct to Holyhead port.

Got the summit of Holyhead Mountain with the lights of Anglesey and a view of the Irish Sea all to myself.

Tonight’s bivi spot is perfectly flat, well sheltered and has running water. Oh, and strip lighting.

This should do for Objective #8 ‘Explore New Areas’… Ireland.

Been to the castle, Trinity College, the Spire, Chester Beatty Library, Hugh Lane Gallery and National Museum but one last thing left…

…a €4.80 pint might seem frivolous on a £100 budget but then it IS Guinness and it IS my first time in Dublin

(Just heard this wicked band on Grafton Street: ‘The Riptide Movement’. Apparently they’re on Facebook/MySpace – check ‘em out!)

Tonight’s bed is either Waiting Room floor (warm + easy) or the bushes outfront (uninterrupted + outdoors). Gotta be the latter.

The sun rises over Dublin and hits the frost lining my bivi bag (or is it the ferry port flood lights?)

Run down the ramp, rush through baggage claim but I’m too late to catch the cars off the ferry – surely prime hitching fodder.

In a truck heading for the M6.

Doubted I’d make it in a day yet here I am, mid-afternoon, and only 10 miles from my destination. Walking distance!

Didn’t even need my thumb this time. Driving south with friends.

Bed for the night in London then homeward bound in the morning. Still got a few quid left.

Feels a bit like cheating but it’s raining and I’ve got change so think I might take the train home (£2.40)

Forked out 30p to use a toilet. Bit of a blow for the budget but when a man’s gotta go…

Removing the in-soles from my shoes has provided instant relief from blisters. Almost home now.

Home (with £30 change) – http://twitpic.com/14q71g

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My friend Rob has taught me a lot about running and life in general over the last few years. It’s been a privilege to know him but I am not the only person that benefits from his experience.

His latest project has seen him work with some long-distance runners from Nepal and he is about to put them to the test. Here’s some news from Rob…

Davos is a big marathon through the Swiss Alps that draws a big crowd at the end of each July.  And this year it is drawing an audience from further afield – two runners are coming all the way from Nepal to compete with the best European trail runners.

Nepal isn’t that well known for running, if at all.  But it is well known for its massive hills.  Not surprisingly the Nepalis go up and down them, a lot, every day which gives them a pretty good background for hill running.  And wow are they good.  I don’t think they’d do well on the flat tarmac of the Tube lines (Sudip had never even run on tarmac before he met me), but comparing the results of the Annapurna 100km race, (which is higher, further and harder than Davos) the Nepalis are just as fast as the best Europeans at Davos. 

What will they achieve at the end of July?  And what will the Europeans think when two small, wild looking Nepalis turn up next to them at the start line, beaming smiles as they dance off up the trail?

Project Davos is an experiment to see how the Nepali mountain runners, with none of the modern physio, nutrition and equipment backup, can fare against the best European mountain runners.  It’s also an opportunity for my two runners, Bed and Sudip, to experience a different country, and give themselves a new horizon beyond the hard lives that they lead in Nepal.

We’ve arranged for them to have three months off work to concentrate on their training.  They have been housed and fed well and given massage and treatment for injuries and problems.  They’ve also, for the first time, had some higher quality coaching, which just doesn’t exist in Nepal, and they have responded wonderfully.  And now there are only a few days to go…..

You can follow their progress and get involved on the Project Davos website and blog. Drop us a line!

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The bicycle, the bicycle surely, should always be the vehicle of novelists and poets.

Christopher Morley

The bicycle is the most civilized conveyance known to man.  Other forms of transport grow daily more nightmarish.  Only the bicycle remains pure in heart.

Iris Murdoch

When I go biking, I repeat a mantra of the day’s sensations:  bright sun, blue sky, warm breeze, blue jay’s call, ice melting and so on.  This helps me transcend the traffic, ignore the clamorings of work, leave all the mind theaters behind and focus on nature instead.  I still must abide by the rules of the road, of biking, of gravity.  But I am mentally far away from civilization.  The world is breaking someone else’s heart.

Diane Ackerman

Melancholy is incompatible with cycling.

James E. Starrs

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Twitter really is the best way to generate live updates as we run the Tube. Here are some updates from the last few runs:

Northern Line – February 28th, 29 miles, 5.5 hours

The first twinges of cramp creep into each calf moments before the final whistl. Not what I need before running the Northern Line tomorrow.

The first map for this morning’s run across London shows the M25. This, I feel, suggests it may be a long day.

At High Barnet headed for Morden (via Bank). On foot, naturally.

Just ran the extra dog leg out to Mill Hill East and back. Feeling pretty virtuous (if a little soggy).

Rain’s eased off for now. Just crossed the North Circular.

Coming down the A1 and I can see the dome of St Paul’s in the distance.

Not often you get to run through Central London with mud splattered legs and soggy trainers. Going up the hill from Kings Cross to Angel.

Started near the M25, ran under the North Circular and now over the Thames on London Bridge. Feels like progress.

Not far from Kennington now, where I’ll be keeping my eyes peeled for Nahom.

Pit stop at Laura’s before tackling the last 9 stations south.

On a Tube carriage headed north from Morden having run 29 miles to get here. And I’ll tell you what… It feels like it.

Bakerloo Line – March 28th, ~18 miles, 4 hours,

What better way to welcome in British summer time than run along 15 miles of railway track? Doing the brown one today.

Man winds window down in traffic and says to me: “You were side stepping there. What does that do?”. “Stretches your inside leg sir!”

Ah, Marylebone Road! How my lungs have missed you.

Feels more like a day out than an endurance event today. Snacking in Paddington Rec.

Sun’s out now. Passing the time by saying “Harrow” in silly voices so it sounds like “Hello”.

Hello Wealdstone! That’s Bakerloo done, taking us to 6 lines completed out of 12.

Jubilee Line – June 7th,  38 miles, 9 hours

Not been running once since April but about to run 20-30 miles along the Jubilee Line. Wish me luck!

Eating Jaffa Cakes on the Thames Clipper to Greenwich. We’ll swim across for one of the runs but not today.

Sorely tempted to give up halfway with sore legs and a headache but pressing on. Ham sandwiches outside Green Park.

Reduced to walking from Baker Street by niggling injury but made it to Stanmore after a 9hr epic.

Fish and chips on the Tube home, a cold bath for the legs and now time for bed. PS Covered about 38 miles today.

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The rickshaw I used to cycle 1000 miles from the Highlands back to London is being auctioned for charity this week.

It may be pending Guinness World Record status but it is, in my books, already the stuff of legend having been pushed so hard, so far and so fast.

It’s fully functioning and ready to roll. It started at 99p and all the money will go to Special Olympics Great Britain.

Please put your bids in and pass it on to your friends.

View the rickshaw on eBay

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I ran an advert a couple of months ago looking for a British Olympian to join an expedition to the South Pole that I’m organising to coincide with the London 2012 Games.

Well, I actually got quite a bit of interest from an exciting range of athletes and have finally picked one. Specifically, Derek Redmond.

That means our team of three athletes is now complete as follows:

1. Paralympian – Marc Woods (Swimmer)
2. Special Olympics Athlete – Declan Kerry (Footballer)
3. Olympian – Derek Redmond (Sprinter)

You can read more about these athletes, the project and our progress at the new website I’ve created – www.2012inspire.com

As you’ll see, our focus is getting sponsors onboard who share our values and will help us get to the South Pole and deliver our messages.

I believe word of mouth is important. If you could help me to spread the word about what I think will be a really exciting project with a lot of potential interest outside of the small expedition-sphere, then I would be greatly appreciative.

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These things happen like an avalanche. A sense of foreboding. The tiniest of movements. And before you know it, the world is in freefall.

I set off this morning on a low. Emails were typed without feeling. Conversations were held without engagement. I went out on my bike with a familiar urgency to just BE at my destination, not travelling to it, yet without the slightest shred of motivation to get me there.

My mind wandered through dark streets and the first rock fell.

I’d replaced the tyre on my bike last night in a sports super store where the assistant, whom I knew from a years back, leant me the tools and pump to do so. I took the inner tube off the shelf, switched it over and thought about walking out without paying. No one would have noticed and the money would mean so much more to me than this international chain.

Two pounds and ninety five pence.

I paid up and pretended I hadn’t thought about anything else.

With each revolution this morning my front wheel jerked against the pavement where a bulge in the tyre stuck out. I’m not sure if I had damaged the tyre by cycling it flat to the shop last night or just hadn’t put the new tube in properly. Or maybe it was just the ugly welt of Karma.

And the rocks gathered speed, picking up accomplices as they tumbled.

I lacked impetus for work that morning because I had no idea what to work on. There are plenty of projects that need attention but why? Any fool can fill their days working on a hobby but what’s the point if it doesn’t help me or anyone else? How can I justify my time, my existence if I’m flitting away my days on meaningless ambitions? How can I eat other people’s food, sleep under their rooves, use their precious time if I have no plan of my own?

My bike shook the familiar shake of a tyre without air. It rattled my heart to the bottom of my stomach and giant boulders down the mountainside.

On a dual carriageway, eight miles from home, no pump, no repair kit and no train station or money for a ticket, I rang a friend but was too proud to ask for help. No, not pride. Just sick of relying on other people without justification. I put my helmet in my rucksack and began running.

It’s me that’s in freefall now, amidst rocks the size of houses. They tumble around me, knocking me this way and that. I feel helpless. And I feel pathetic for thinking I feel helpless. I lack the energy to run but can’t see another way, my mind now lost in a maze of unlit passageways.

My phone rings.

“I’m coming to pick you up. Where are you?”

The boulders crash into the floor and for a moment the air is a haze of dust. But quickly it settles and silence follows. The all too familiar feeling of the calm after the storm.

What was all the fuss about?

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Having worked for a couple of years in the Royal Geographical Society, steeped as it is with the rich heritage of great British exploration and frequented still by the modern world’s most exciting expeditioners; and spending so much of time reading and writing about adventurous people and their achievements, it’s easy to become blase about the fantastic things I am exposed to through this lucky position.

Here are three articles that world-beating cyclists that have recently written for my website. For me!

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1. Adventure from the Front Door – James Bowthorpe

Current holder of the World Record for a circumnavigation by bicycle. I met James at a gathering of adventurous sorts and it quickly became apparent that we had a shared belief in simple, easy, pure and attainable expeditions.

2. Angry Young Man – Julian Sayarer

Julian is waiting to hear from Guinness as to whether he’s beaten James’ record. He wrote beautifully on his journey but finished with some harsh words against Mark Beaumont (who set the record a couple of years back) amongst other things. I wanted to draw some attention back to the positives in his writing.

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3. Life in the Fast Lane – Alastair Humphreys

With a conspicuous lack of Guinness entries to his name, few would dispute Al’s claim to have “cycled around the world” in the truest of senses. I read Al’s blog regularly but also enjoyed the more creative writing style from his books so asked if he’d do something similar in a guest post for me.

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There is nothing I enjoy more than “ordinary people” do extraordinary things and thus you can imagine my joy when I came across She Who Dares.

They’re a group of women of all ages and abilities who meet up midweek and do cool, adventurous stuff. I contacted Julie, their Chair, and she kindly wrote this Guest Blog for me…

There’s a signpost along the coastal path at Penally that depicts a falling man among cascading rocks. The cliff edge is perilously close, but snaking our way along it are a group of women who’s trust and stoic support of each other gives us no fear of falling, even as we approach the dark smudge on the green landscape freckled with spring flowers, a gaping hole leading to the depths of Hades. Peering over we spied a glimpse of silver sand below, a secret beach revealed by the withdrawing tide. Abseiling down to it was our next challenge. No problem. There was a moment, a wobble, when I went over the edge looking up at my rope looped through a rusty post in the ground and down to the sheer drop below, when I thought I should have stayed home, doing the shopping, or the ironing, or a hundred other domestic tasks… but it was only a moment.

My feet pushed away from the cliff edge, rock sliced away like giant slabs of chocolate cake as I fed the rope through my fingers and descended. Then there was nothing, just me and a long rope and a long free abseil. Watching me, lying belly down on the warm grass above, were three smiling faces. I knew they were looking out for me, and I knew there was someone below on the sand, waiting. 

She Who Dares are always waiting with a willing hand outstretched, to shove, pull or haul through many challenges, which is a good thing because I’m usually the one sliding backwards down a cliff face or dry ski slope, knocking others over like skittles. When sailing my helming skills lead to rapid re-enactments of the capsize drill, as we tumble into the silky water. They are very patient with me.

The group started over 20 years ago, the idea of a local sports development officer and outdoor pursuits centre, to encourage women to try something different. None of us are particularly sporty, or maybe we weren’t in the past, but weekly challenges have inspired us to try a bigger variety of things. Some have gone on to sky dive, run marathons, complete outdoor swims or train up to become kayak or lifeguard instructors themselves, and are now teaching others. We’re a group of ordinary women with some extraordinary pastimes; sumo wrestling to sand yachting, coasteering to climbing, cycling to kayaking, canoeing to caving, pole dancing to power walking, axe throwing to abseiling, trampoline to trail riding and just about everything in between, from ‘safe’ pursuits, to the downright dangerous. Trying these activities has brought back that sense of adventure and play we had as children.

Some SWD’s are well travelled, and are inspired to find challenges wherever they go – windsurfing the Gibraltar straights, climbing waterfalls in Venezuela, or sea kayaking in Maui. But we can just as easily find a thrill bridge jumping in the local river, or cycling through town. We look for adventure wherever we are, and see a different side to our environment. On Wednesday mornings we become invincible superwomen, capable of any challenge, defined by what we do, not just a work colleague, mum, partner, wife, cook and cleaner. 

Drawing up our termly programme is like composing a fantasy league of adventures, we think about what we’d like to do, no matter how unusual or wild, and do our best to make it a possibility. The only limits are our imaginations, we can always train our bodies to rise to the challenge, or have somebody haul us up. After all, the life we’ve been given is for living, and many of us have faced worse personal challenges than hanging from the edge of a cliff or learning to control a speeding land yacht.

Over the years we’ve become more and more inventive, and built up a bank of different activity contacts, which I’m now including in a book about the group – She Who Dares, in the hope we can share our experiences and inspire others to do the same. As well as a personal account of our adventures it’s about trying other sports from a female perspective, and will be a useful handbook for anyone willing to give something different a go. 

The beach we abseiled to that sunny day at Lydstep in South Wales was a challenge to reach, a secret place, and the group always been about finding the unexpected in the everyday, finding the next challenge. Get out there and do it for yourself, but not on your own, sisters!

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