There's a book I once enjoyed about a guy traveling in Afghanistan at the end of the Soviet era called An Unexpected Light. He's a journalist who goes to meet the Mujahedeen before the Taliban took over, whilst they were still fighting the Russians.
The unexpected nature of the light he encounters is in the oppressed people; the openness of them, their welcoming attitude towards some Englishman in their midst, and of course the actual light itself. It really opened my mind to travel in far off destinations, and particularly in the middle East.
Now my 'Unexpected Light' is partly the light itself in Provence and the Cote d'Azur.
I know that it's a place of painters and artists, with the classic views of azure sea, fields of lavender, mountains and valleys, but the light is just fantastic. Soft and golden, stark and glaring, with subtle nuances and garish colours, it really is an artist’s palette in the sky.
Add to this the other sensory abstractions; the sounds of the wind and the crickets, the babbling brooks, and tinkle of goat bells. The smells of wild herbs crushed under foot, hot pine sap in the middday sun, a nose full of a flower's perfume as you turn a corner, and the sharp tang of dust in an unmade road.
And the light. The brutal glare of the midday sun. The wash of moon and starlight. Dusk and dawn with the most stunning shades of pink, orange, ochre and purple.
Then there's the views that catch the eye: the hilltop village, the church on a ridge, the mile upon mile of vineyards. The wooded hills and arid pains. The coloured earth of the brightest of reds, turning to yellows and ochre as you descend through the ages of the rock strata.
Towering above it all is the giant of Provence, Mont Ventoux, that's actually in the Vaucluse... I rode on a few roads today, but they're so busy I can't say they were much fun. The constant worry of the bad, careless or just distracted drivers puts me off spending much time on them.
I think that my love of cycling is a lot about movement, but also about the meditation of it. The movement is easy to come by, you just choose a nice place to ride and enjoy the changing view. The rise and fall of the trail, the twists and turns in the landscape.
The meditation is a little harder to achieve as it comes from the mindless act of pedalling, the effort you have to put in, and the place you do it in. It focusses the mind and has a way of shutting up the jabbering monkey brain stuck inside. Riding in traffic switches that focus to negative outside influences.
Traveling off road you do have to think about the changing surface, choosing a good line, listening out for other vehicles around blind corners, but all that soon becomes second nature with repeated exposure to it, and it's then easy to find the sweet spot in your mind: focus without focus. Thinking without thinking. The meditation of the ride.
The crunch of gravel takes over. The whirring of gears is almost drowned out. That click or creak from your bike is forgotten, and you can lose yourself in the moments of calm, find solace in the effort of cresting a rise. Embrace your inner five year old when railing a corner, whooping for joy that you made it around unscathed again, kicking up plumes of dust, drifting the bike over the camber of the track to kiss the apex of the next corner and slingshot out the other side.
Touring off road has many benefits for the traveller who's not in a rush. You don't need to pick your place to stop so diligently as you do on the road. Shade, view, comfortable seating, Nothing more is needed. Drinking water is good, but if you're touring off road then you should always have more than you think you might need.
Picking your accommodation for the night is also more care-free. If you've got a tent and a sense of adventure then there's so many great places along the 'trail less travelled' to pitch up for the night.
The edge of a field is good. Away from any houses is vital. Views are nice but not essential. A river or lake to wash in is great but you might well be fighting off insects if you insist on those places for the night. The middle of a forest is the most tranquil if you remember that you're the scariest thing in those woods. Mountain tops are great as long as the weather is benign, the views can spectacular but if you get the weather and aspect of your chosen spot wrong then I can guarantee you a bad night’s sleep.
The key thing is keeping an open mind and being away from civilisation, and then you can sleep soundly. The sleep of a wild camp well chosen
Being different isn't easy as you have to forge your own path. You also have to deal with the strange looks that you get and the series of questions that inevitably get asked: What? When? How? And the biggest, and unasked one, 'Why?'
But following what others do isn't for me. I like to try and be original. It doesn't always work but it makes life a lot more interesting. By deliberately going out of my way to find the tracks only used by locals, or the campsites that you'll never find from the comfort of a car or in a guide book, has brought me the greatest experiences of this trip, and long may that continue. That is of course, what adventures are made of.
