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This past week I found myself thinking of Clancy of the Overflow, one of Australia’s most iconic poems. Written in 1889 by A.B. Banjo Paterson, a country-bred Sydney lawyer who romanticised the bush, it tells of his own wistfulness at the thought of the big, bold freewheeling life being led by a drover named...
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I slept well on the deck that night. I pegged out a darkened nook up near the bridge in which to throw down my bedroll roll, and after snuggling in, let the lateness of the hour and the rolling of the ship lull me to sleep. A stiff and surprisingly chilly breeze was blowing...
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I’d been pedalling across Europe for some weeks now, travelled about fifteen hundred miles through nine countries and in that time seen what I considered to be my fair share of hills, from that puffy little rise on the way to Parenty my first day on the road, to those tortuous grinds in the...
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The ferry company’s booking office was in an old dockside terminal that used to belong to the White Star Line back in the day, judging by the block letters still visible through the faded whitewash on the brick facade. It was crowded inside, a swirl of brassy voices and cigarette smoke and piled-up...
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Another hot clear morning dawned on the Istrian Riviera. I broke camp at half past five, grumpy and bleary-eyed after another fitful night in that rowdy campground. A quarter of an hour’s easy pedalling brought me around to Pula’s sleepy railway station. The place was practically deserted at that hour, just an old man...
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Morning dawned bright and hot over the Istrian Riviera. I rose early and pedalled into town in the drowsy quiet, hoping that this would be all the pedalling I’d have to do that day. I found my way down to the waterfront and sure enough, there amongst the water taxis, sightseeing boats and fishing...
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Two nights later I was in Opicina, Italy, sprawled beside my bicycle at a scenic lookout on the Carso, the high limestone escarpment above Trieste. The evening sun was low in the sky, the air sultry and scented with warm earth and pine, and the view lifted straight out of an old-style travel poster:...
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Here’s a photo of a much younger me camping in the bush on my ‘round Australia adventure back in 1996. When I left Sydney I did so well kitted out with just about anything I imagined I might need in the 10,000 miles that lay ahead. I had all of these things stuffed into...
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I gobbled a late lunch in Sárvár, a rather pretty castle town along the River Rába in Vás, and ate it in the shade of an old churchyard. Pleasant though this was, I didn’t linger but pushed on, eager now to make distance and embark on my new change of plan. I was following...
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Welcome to My-Bicycle-and-I
By way of introduction I am a magazine writer and sometime photographer who loves bicycles and cycling—not to race or get fit or even commute, but for the simple pleasure of being abroad in the world on two skinny wheels.
Since I enjoy writing nearly as much as I enjoy riding, I decided to put together this eclectic collection of stories, essays, reviews and columns.
I hope you'll find some things you like. Read a bit more here.
The Twitter of Little Birds
You really have to wonder what goes through the minds (so to speak) of some people, most particularly that of a 21 year-old trainee accountant named Emma Way who this week not only clipped a cyclist with her car while breezing down a road in Norwich, and failed to stop, but then was actually...
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