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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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Introducing The Big Wide Yonder. For the past few weeks I have been beavering away working on a website to showcase my writing and photography beyond the cycling sphere, and to advertise myself a little. With this in mind I have been stocking it with various favourite magazine stories I have written as well...
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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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As good as it felt to be on the road again, a kind of out-of-season loneliness began to take hold of me once I put Vienna astern. Call it a sense of anticlimax, of having lingered on after the party was over. For just about everybody travelling the Donau Radveg that summer, Vienna was...
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It sounds a little odd, I suppose, to tell someone that you woke up at four o’clock in the morning, crawled out of bed and trundled downstairs to the sounds of wind and rain outside, look out the windows into the cold and dark and feel a sense of wistfulness and regret that both...
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It’s a little over two hundred miles from Passau to Vienna and the only hard words you could say about them was that they pass too quickly. The sheer loveliness of the scenery drew you into it, while the seductive simplicity of the Danube bicycle path made it awfully easy to cover ground. One...
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I followed the river as far as Vohlburg the next day and the morning after – a Sunday – I set off again in a soft cold rain making my way back down to the river on Vohlburg’s rain-slickened cobbles, past the little knot of church-goers who had assembled beneath their umbrellas in the...
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A couple of years ago when I was poking around in a flashy London bicycle shop, admiring the selection of rare and beautiful hand-built frames they had on offer and flipping through the pages of the shop-worn back issues of Rouleur that were laid out on a counter for browsers such as myself to...
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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.
