Still going

A tale of gold smuggling from Hong Kong to Kathmandu, Nepal in the early 1980's

Steps, more steps, and porters gliding past in flip-flops. A 2am start, headlamps in the pitch dark, and the summit — a bleak, end-of-the-world stretch of dark rock — arriving just as the sun did.

Viewing the Pacific Ocean and the Carribean Sea from Costa Rica's highest peak.

Passport lost in the departure lounge, a pee bottle emptied in entirely the wrong place, and nineteen hours to the roof of Africa and back down again.

As I walked into the outside dining area of the café we'd ridden to, I heard a thud. Warren had dropped his bike again — in full view of the café customers across the road.

The loud trumpet blast was followed immediately by a large grey mass emerging from the rainforest onto the riverbank just 5 metres away.

Touring Sicily and Malta just got easier. Still hot and hilly but easier to organise because the two islands have combined to launch a network of over 1000km of routes.

"Take me to your leader." I'd always wanted to say that. Now was the perfect time. I'd woken up on a boat, an outrigger, moored on a beach on the island of Komodo.