Blog

Welcome to my blog, where I share all the stories from my L2L expedition as I row, cycle and kayak a continuous loop of the planet. I hope you'll enjoy experiencing the highs (and lows!) of my journey so far and the adventures ahead on my way back to Tower Bridge. You can also have a listen to my Phonecasts recorded en route.

Fear sandwich

Beautiful beautiful beautiful mountains looking over the Matanuska River

Beautiful beautiful beautiful mountains looking over the Matanuska River

I never imagined this ride would scare me in quite the way it is doing. I am scared of heights – more and more so as I get older, it seems – and get queasy looking up at big cliffs etc. So riding these mountain roads and passes is making for a rather scared rider as I pedal my way through the Chugach and Wrangell mountains. It feels like I am in a fear sandwich – I get scared looking up at the rockfall slopes and am terrified by the edge to my right, often with a tiny barrier or none at all. My forearms are generally numb with pumping the brakes on such exposed downhills, afraid of spinning out of control into traffic or over the edge.

Yesterday was worst of all. The road wound round the mountain and over Caribou Creek before doing the same up the other side. I stood, frozen, for a full ten minutes at the start of it talking myself back on the bike. I even considered thumbing a lift and accepting a few miles of engine power. I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I haven’t. But I considered it. (Only the 6km between the China and Russia border have engine to their name.)

The bluey white of the Matanuska Glacier was mesmerising

The bluey white of the Matanuska Glacier was mesmerising

I was terrified, especially as it was such a long hill so I knew would take an age. I considered walking it but knew that would take forever and had just passed the signs staying ‘No stopping’ because of rockfall.

Instead I bargained with Chimpy and said I would ride really slowly and see what it was like. If I really couldn’t move then I would walk or consider flagging, in that order.

 Well, I was really scared – almost crying with fear – but I did go fast enough to call it moving. When no cars were coming I rode in the centre of the road, away from the edge on my side. When the ‘Oversized Load’ convoy came past  I froze on the tiny shoulder and look away from the edge, pretending it wasn’t there.

I was too wrapped up in being scared to ask her name but I appreciated the hug

I was too wrapped up in being scared to ask her name but I appreciated the hug

 

I was shaking by the bottom of the hill and pulled over to talk to the camera – often calming but sometimes it scares me more by talking out aloud. A yellow bus was coming down the hill and, just as I was saying how brave the driver must be up here, the bus stopped and the lady driver grinned and asked if I was OK. She came over to take a photo and gave me the best hug ever. I was still shaking.

Her husband also drives the bus and had told her to look out for me, apparently telling her to ‘look behind as you go past and see her brilliant smile.’ Good job she saw me there and not going down the hill as I wasn’t smiling at all then.

That smile - it's a nervous smile...

That smile – it’s a nervous smile…

So here I sit in the cafe at Sheep Mountain Lodge – having loaded up on all the carbs I can (three pieces of pie and ice cream for dessert last night, much to the amusement of the waitress), wondering what the day will bring. The last few days have taken me weaving around mountains and up and down them, enjoying the bright yellow and rusty patchwork blanket of trees shouting their final hurrah as autumn starts stripping them bare. Snowy crag lines scratch out an aerial horizon high above me and the space between is filled in with the greys of gravelly rockfalls, the bright red of metal ores and the dark browns of heathers and berries turning wintry. Stunning doesn’t cut it. There is no way I can describe it justly – it is sublime and more. Inspiring and awesome in all senses of the word. I feel tiny among them and reminded that blips in the road of life are just that. The timelessness of the mountains and the swing of the seasons is a call to remember not to get hung up on the small stuff, just focus on having and feeling the best ride of my life, moment by moment, hill by hill. For all too soon, they will be beneath my wheels and memories of the ride I once had.

To see exactly where I am or have been, check out www.sarahoutencom/the-mission/journey-tracker/

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider supporting my L2L Charities : CoppaFeel!, Jubilee Sailing Trust, MND Association, WaterAid. Donate here: http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/fundraiser-web/fundraiser/showFundraiserProfilePage.action?userUrl=SarahOuten Thanks to all who have done so far. Until next time,   Sarah and Hercules x P.S Final Anchorage thanks to Team Cameron, Lisa Taylor, Jill Fredston and the Ruth and John on the tandem. P.P.S Thanks to Rob who stopped to give me beers on the road the other day.

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Lone wolf? Not here…

 

Iseyah made the night more friendly with a fire

Iseyah made the night more friendly with a fire

As we zipped across the dusky bay from Seldovia to Homer in his little skiff ‘Perl’, a grinning Chunk declared that I was like a lone wolf, heading out on my journey alone. A few nights later, tucked into the trees as half-convincingly as I could manage at hiding my tent and bike, I didn’t feel very brave. At all. Of course I followed all the routines of food bags up trees and a fire which I gallantly stoked until one a.m and of course the chance of any miscreant bear causing me issues is relatively slim. But all the same, my heart raced well beyond the time I reluctantly got into my sleeping bag after ‘Just one more load’ of wood on the fire, repeated many times.

Morning in the forest - beautiful

Morning in the forest – beautiful

Settling in

Transitioning between different stages of anything, but especially this journey, always take me a little while, both physically and emotionally. The first five days of riding from Homer to Anchorage have been no exception. I beat myself up at taking so many breaks to start with, remembering Justine’s (relative) whip-cracking pace on the kayak and reminding myself of the miles left to the Atlantic coast, snow peering down at me from mountain tops reminding me that winter is on her way. Stop stop stop Sarah Outen. Be gentle with yourself, ease back into it, said the voice in my head. Really, this was just a battle with Chimpy (Remember him?) Once I had allowed myself that and really believed it, I was fine and had every break I wanted without guilt. After all, it is about sustainability. Aiming for a steady 50 miles a day I figured it doesn’t matter when I do those miles or how long they take me in a day – so long as I am off the road before nightfall.

So far so good in Alaska

So far so good in Alaska

Slooooooowly does it

That’s a good thing too because Hercules is heavy and, while I have pretty solid aerobic fitness after our 1500 mile paddle, my legs haven’t done too much work for some time.  My pace slowed to an almost static 3 miles per hour up over the passes and hills – I could have walked quicker, were it not for the bike and his load. On the steep section of Rabbit Creek road on my run into Anchorage I was so close to going sub 2 miles per hour and wobbling across the shoulder that I almost walked in a bid to stay upright and alive. But I didn’t. I stood up on the pedals and squeaked out the last metres of the hill with squealing quads and heaving lungs, red faced and grinning.  The rule is I only walk if I physically can’t make the bike move or if it is too steep an off-roady section of downhill. That and total breakdown, of which we haven’t had either yet for bike or rider, thankfully.

So really this is perhaps just a post to say there is nothing heroic or wolfish in my riding or being out here/there doing my thing. The only difference between me and the person at home is that I am out, doing it. You just have to get out and make it happen, whatever your ‘it’ needs to be, not being held back the ‘What ifs’ and fears. The cyclist who pulled up behind me on the Seward Highway said he could never do it…. I disagree. I am only riding a bike. Remember Gao? He rode across China with me on a whim. I am not saying that everyone has the time and space in their lives and families to do exactly what he did, nor indeed should they feel compelled to – just to do something adventurous, in whatever time and space you want. Because it really is quite magic.

Food bags up in a tree out of reach of brown bears. Black bears could still climb for it.

Food bags up in a tree out of reach of brown bears. Black bears could still climb for it.

Like a girl

That said, I am glad to be flying the flag for the girls as there is still far too much surprise at women being out and about adventuring and not enough real life (and not airbrushed/celebrity) sporty female role models in the media. I saw an ad for a t-shirt with ‘Paddling like a girl’ on the back recently. I would wear it with pride and shout down anyone who says anything derogatory about ‘throwing like a girl’ or thissing or thatting like a girl. I think it is akin to being racist to judge someone and their ability on gender. I am not the only one feeling it. As I trundled up Turnagain Pass, waving at a cyclist shape who became a woman in the opposite direction, she shouted ‘You’re a lady too! That’s awesome’.  Absolutely  - there are plenty of gals of all ages doing cool adventures all over. And doing cool living, too. Adventures don’t have to be big mad things happening away from home for months and years at a time. I think it is about the way you look at life, opportunity and each new day. It is about moments more than months. (See the brilliant Al Humphrey’s campaign for MicroAdventures for ideas on this alastairhumphreys.com)

The road from Turnagain Pass

The road from Turnagain Pass

Now, let me get down off my soap bike and tell you briefly about the ride up here to Anchorage. It was beautiful. Mountains bronzed by Autumn and sky blue glacial rivers carving their way downstream, weaving between peaks along the road. Inky black lakes reflecting the still shapes of spruce trees. Trees, trees, trees. So many beautiful trees. Hills that made my legs hurt and miles that made my bum hurt. Downhills run so fast and so close to the edge of the road with huge trucks hurtling by that made my heart skip and my forearms ache with gripping the brakes. Soft gentle mornings and velvety nights splashed with a bejillion stars. New faces and fleeting friends sharing time, food, shelter and stories. I coaxed myself up hills and gritted my teeth into tired miles, mind wandering and body thinking of other things to do, like stop and sleep. I high fived myself on making the top and talked myself calm again while rounding bends with fresh-air drops on the other side of hte barrier or no barrier drops. Some bits challenged me, others terrified me (rightly or wrongly) and plenty made me smile and laugh and feel happy as a pedaller on her bike. Only one bit made me cry  - when I listened to a play list of music Lucy, my fiancee, had set up for me. Since Hercules and I (me?!) biked across Europe and Asia on the first leg of L2L in 2011 Hercules has remained the same but I have changed. I am not a lone wolf any more, which  I reckon I probably fancied myself as some years ago. (This makes me think of the excellent book and film ‘Into the Wild’ and Chris McCandless’ experience of Alaska alone) I am one half of a whole now, looking forward to being home and together again as much as I am enjoying being on the road. Now harvest is over, Lucy should be coming out to pedal with me in a couple of months. Who knows where Hercules and I will be by then.

Lots of happy thanks to all the folks who have hosted me or helped me on this leg from Homer to Anchorage including Liz Taylor and Peter Brondz and Team Cameron. Thanks also to everyone who has donated to my charities. You can do so here: http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/fundraiser-web/fundraiser/showFundraiserProfilePage.action?userUrl=SarahOuten

I shall set off from Anchorage at the weekend, heading North to Tok where I meet the AlCan Highway for the ride South to Canada.

Until next time,

Sarah and Hercules x

P.S For Alaskan viewers tune into KTVU Channel 11 on Friday (tomorrow) at 0615 to see me with the Day Break crew

P.P.S A We bid a fond farewell to Mel Johnson after two years excellent support and welcome back Sara Davies as Project Manager to Team L2L. Girl Power :-)

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On the road

Today I felt a bit like Forest Gump, though happily without the beard. It was the crowd of cyclists of all ages, on bikes of all shapes and sizes gathered to escort me out of Homer as I fiddled with Hercules and answered questions from a journalist.

More joined us on the way. Just magic.

More joined us on the way. Just magic.

Bright blue skies whisped with white, the ocean lapping quietly onto the beach and mountains and glaciers looking gently noble across the bay. It was a morning to make you beam with happiness at being alive, albeit a calm squeal.

It felt poignant to hold the hand again of the bronze chap of the Seafarers’ Memorial, me in my lycra and him in oilskins, feeling a kindred spirit and connection with this mute, cold giant. It is where we have come from and where he had gone that tied us. My journey is of oceans and islands and watery passages – inherently salted and blued. The city of Homer is just the same, proudly proclaiming itself as ‘Halibut Capital of the World’ on the way into town. Sailors, airmen, Coast Guards, kayakers, fisherfolk – they are all remembered in this memorial.

Homer's Seafarers' Memorial

Homer’s Seafarers’ Memorial

It was a super escort out of Homer and I am grateful to everyone who joined me and those who tooted, waved or held signs for me. Martin and his two young children, Frieda and Lucas (7 and 6 yrs)  carried on  when everyone else had diverted for lunch at the Farmers’ Market, making it the first run up Baycrest Hill for the children. Frieda, pedalling her own bike, left Hercules and I far behind – it was so uplifting to see her beavering away, legs hauling. If only all youngsters had those opportunities to be outside, active and trying new things.

Woop woop!

Woop woop!

As the family turned back for home, local lady Catriona continued on with me, only turning back for Homer around 6pm. I enjoyed the company, the stories, having someone to help with shooting video and generally sharing the magic of the day and volcanic backdrop on the other side of the Cook Inlet.

Serene night overlooking the Cook Inlet

Serene night overlooking the Cook Inlet

My first night has also set a pretty keen standard for the journey, hosted by the lovely Doug and Sherry Sandberg near Ninilchik. We had lots of big laughs around the table and a feast of roast and pie while the sun painted a gentle sky through the window and the ducks chattered busily to themselves as they mustered for bedtime.

Catriona and I on the Anchor River

Catriona and I on the Anchor River

And on we go. I had a few hills today and I think I get some real mountains tomorrow. Or maybe the next day. Who knows. The map of Alaska is so huge that the resolution will leave such detail as that to surprises.

Until next time,

 

Sarah and Hercules x

P.S Thanks and thanks to everyone who joined me on the road today. It was magic and I am humbled. Thanks Derek for the nifty helmet mirror too  - my riding has been revolutionised.

P.P.S Please donate  here to the wonderful charities I am supporting (CoppaFeel!, MND Association, Jubilee Sailing Trust and WaterAid)

 

 

 

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Memories not miles

Hercules and I are ready to go
Hercules and I are ready to go

 Tomorrow we ride

Now that the clock has just chimed twelve it isn’t even tomorrow that we leave. It is today. We is Hercules, my bike and I. At 10 am Alaska time (1900 BST) on Saturday I shall touch the hand of the tall stony chap of the Seafarers’ Memorial on Homer Spit and then start pedalling. We have a long way to go, bound for the Atlantic coast. The clock is already ticking as winter waits in the wings and I am keen to get munching miles. I set up Hercules’ bike computer today with the miles from London so far and we have a cheeky 16000 clocked already by land and sea. In pure longitude (i.e. miles East to the Greenwich Meridian) there are 9000 or so.

Memories over miles

More important than any mileage to me is the folks and stories I have met along the way and the things I have learned from and shared with them. As ever I have met with huge kindness and warmth and folks have taken me under their wing to help me get ready for the road or share their lives with me. My time in Homer and Anchorage this last few days has added more special folks to my human scrapbook.

Imagination creates worlds

Imagination creates worlds

Hig and Erin (of Groundtruthtrekking.org) and their family and friends in Seldovia across the bay, reinforced that convention shouldn’t dictate our lives and that there are many ways to live. We scrambled through forest to the beach where we picked tartly sweet red currants and shared stories of adventures and ways of living. Their young children reminded me to keep my imagination vital as we hiked back through the alders pretending we were on the most distant planet in the most distant galaxy.

From Russia with love

Nikolaevsk School

Nikolaevsk School

Yesterday a young girl from Nikolaevsk School told me how my story had moved her and inspired her to ‘Do Something’. That made my day, as did the earnest excitement of some seven year olds at the anticipation of seeing my shark picture. I chuckled when an 8 year old told me to ‘Say Hi to Elizabeth!’ as she left the classroom, meaning, of course, the Queen herself.

'Say Hi to Elizabeth for me!' said the smiling 8 year old

‘Say Hi to Elizabeth for me!’ said the smiling 8 year old

25 miles out of Homer, the village of Nikolaevsk is a relatively new community built on Russian traditions, set up in 1968 by a group of ‘Old Believers’ of Russian Orthodoxy. In some ways it felt like I was back in Russia, Cyrillic script sitting alongside English words on the school wall and the dress and accents a mix of American and Russian, a blend of old and new fusing into something special. My only regret is that I couldn’t stay longer and learn more. Such is the double edged sword of a journey – progress and immersion are sometimes mutually exclusive as the clock ticks on towards distant goals.

The Post Office shop sign in Nikolaevsk

The Post Office shop sign in Nikolaevsk

North America is going to be full of surprises and stories and contrasts, I am sure. For those stories and people I am yet to meet I am excited and I am already hooked on the sights of mountains and forests which will lead me out of Alaska.

IMG_20140829_235258

I would rather have memories than miles

Next shout from the road.

 

For now, I would like to remind you that my L2L journey is supporting four fantastic charities : CoppaFeel! Jubilee Sailing Trust, MND Association, WaterAid. Please help me smash my targets and support the causes. DONATE HERE http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/fundraiser-web/fundraiser/showFundraiserProfilePage.action?userUrl=SarahOuten

 

Finally, my thanks to Scott and Debbie Cameron, Jill Fredston, Liz and Billy Pepper, Tammy Taylor, Nikolaevsk School, The Ocean and Islands Centre, Pat and Kath of FreeSpirit Wear, Hig and Erin, Chun, Bjorn Olsen and Smokey Bay Air.

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Getting Home(r)

Courtesy of Michael Armstrong, Homer  (Alaska) News

Courtesy of Michael Armstrong, Homer (Alaska) News

I do love a good surprise. When I know I am to be surprised I love most of all to find out ahead of time what the surprise is. When I am the surpriser I love seeing how close to the fire I can run without getting burned – teasing and wafting clues in front of my surprisee.

Home is wherever I’m with you

For the last two weeks of the paddle up to Homer I was fuelled by the idea of coming home to Lucy, my fiancee, in time for her birthday. Jewelled in surprise and cloaked in deception, I spent many a phone call and email weaving tales to hide my trail.

Happy happy happiest of days

Happy happy happiest of days

Lucy thought she would be picking Justine up from the airport, whereas in fact I was the tanned, scruffy-haired paddler in Arrivals. I had to walk right up in front of her to get her attention, before tears and the longest-hug-in-the-world gave way to more tears and an even longer hug. It was magic and still feels magic to be home. My head and heart are definitely torn nowadays – between the adventure and home and I look forward to a time when they can be one and the same. I am this side of the pond for just shy of a week and will return to Alaska to begin cycling in a few days.

Eighty mile slog

The final miles of the entire journey were to be some of the toughest, pinned as we were on Shuyak Island by a stubborn low pressure system in poor conditions. The Monday had seen us turn around in the grey dawn and head back to land to wait out another opportunity. With a tiny window opening on Wednesday we pushed out to sea in a whiteout, bound for the Barren Islands. I am not a fan of fog and the queasy feeling that wells up inside of me with the pulsating blanket of ocean, no landmarks and a softened, fuzzed white horizon. It was more comfortable than the first attempt and I was even happier when the sea lay down and I could really settle into it. It poured with rain for much of the day and I pumped my legs below the deck to stay warm, continually flexing my toes. The shadowy peaks of the Barrens loomed out of the mist with perhaps ten miles to go and we plodded on, the ebbing tide pulling us further eastwards than we would like, though these mountains felt magnetic now that I could see them. A goal seen is much easier to hold onto than some abstract, notional mirage lying hidden from view.

Cold and wet, bouncing through the tide races

Cold and wet, bouncing through the tide races

As the tide turned our course became more favourable and around 2pm, eight hours after leaving land, we were munching on cheese and sausage, allowing the flooding tide to suck us up between the two biggest islands. With the flights home just a few days away and not-too-mad weather, we pushed on up towards the Kenai Peninsula – the mainland, once more. A few miles out we were doing well, bouncing through tide races and heading in a useful direction and then things went less well when the flooding tide started to take us west and out to the Shelikof Strait faster than we could paddle in the direction that we wanted to. Turning  around just as a headwind picked up, we aimed for the Barrens once more, some five miles away. Ten minutes later it was clear that going backwards wasn’t a viable option and so we turned back again to our original goal of the  Kenai Peninsula. It was nearly seven hours of headwinds, many lumpy, seething tide races and scores of clouds dumping their rain on us before we reached the coast. Happily, the sun joined us for a time and set off  the moody mountainous scene with a warming glow – gentle eye candy for weary souls. We were paddling on Spring Tides (i.e. the biggest tidal ranges) and felt the powerful suck of the flood pulling us into the Cook Inlet, topping out at 5 knots close  to shore. Pulling into a steep, cobbled beach at 11pm was one of the best moments of the day – fifty miles and nearly 17 hours after we had set out, we were almost done. Even the rain didn’t dampen our excitement for the finish, though we both found we could hardly eat, we were so tired. It was 2am before we slept.

The final day’s paddling was along a beautiful stretch of imposing coast, mostly silent, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts, my chin nestled into the neck of my hoods in a bid to fend off the mix of cold wetness, sore muscles and my sadness for the end of this journey. Bubbled into it was the excitement of the same observation – another phase ending and a new one beginning. My eyes feasted on the tree-lined shores and misty wraps hanging over them. My ears winced at the motors of passing boats spoiling the quiet. Later on, I delighted in waving at them. I grinned and cried quietly at the idea of finishing on the beach in Homer and seeing Lucy so soon. I raced back through images and feelings of the thousand odd miles up to this point and tried to soak up every last view and feeling of the present.

At lunch we floated outside Seldovia Bay, the second settlement of the day, gorging on all the dried fruit which we had saved in anticipation of more days on the water. A small plane buzzed us multiple times and we waved madly while we munched before pushing on. A helicopter did the same and again we grinned and again pushed on. Chattering now we recounted this and that and imagined other things as Homer Spit came into view. I had spotted the white blobs of Homer’s houses along the hills from 13 miles out and boat traffic had increased ten fold. We were definitely getting there. A small boat and photographer (the same who had peered at us from both the plane and chopper) rode in with us, snapping us from all angles.

The ebbing tide slowed our final couple of miles to the beach on Homer Spit where we had spied a sign which we hoped might be for us. It was. And there were bubbles too. Some kind folks from the Hallo Bay Bear Camp and the Homer Chamber of Commerce had come out to meet us, as well as a local reporter, some passersby and Liz Pepper, wife of our friend Billy Pepper from the Fish and Wildlife Service ship, the RV Tiglax. Grinning, Justine and I wobbled out of our boats onto the sand and hugged and squealed, grinned and did our trademark ‘Air Five’. (I vetoed high fives early on as Justine’s strong slap hurt my soggy paddling hands) I don’t think either of us cried, though it was emotional. We had made it over 1300 miles from Adak – a journey which had challenged us both in many, often different, ways. We were still pals and still laughing. It was a good feeling.

Courtesy of Michael Armstrong, Homer (Alaska) News

Back & forth

I still can’t quite believe we actually made it.  For so long the journey had seemed so out of reach to me and the challenges too huge. Before we started I wondered if my health would let me down after the travails of the previous six months, my energy still dampened by the lingering effects of pneumonia and ongoing allergies. I worried that my skills wouldn’t be up to it or that I wouldn’t be able to keep pace with Justine the Machine. Then there were all the usual uncontrollable contingencies like weather letting us pass, supplies lasting and kit holding out. Happily, somehow, with planning, discipline, a shared sense of humour, stubbornness, support from within and without and a sprinkling of luck, it all came together. And without a single capsize, too, which I am mightily relieved about.

For me, it feels surreal and as though it happened in another life - all the more so, I am sure, for being home in the UK so soon after landing. In fact I keep wanting to tell the paddling Sarah that the surprise worked perfectly and Lucy couldn’t believe it was me. I miss paddling, even though I thought I wouldn’t as I was so sore. My body clock is all back-to-front, though I feel fit and strong and ready for the bike. Sore and squeaky muscles and joints have had a quick session from the lovely John Perrot to try and realign this and that and relieve some of the pressure.

1300 miles went into that hug. Courtesy of Michael Armstrong, Homer (Alaska) News

1300 miles went into that hug. Courtesy of Michael Armstrong, Homer (Alaska) News

 

Keepsakes

This phase of the journey meant and means all sorts of things to me and I am sure that some of those will change with time, too. For now the main things I will take from it are hoardes of memories of sights and sounds sublime, memories of – and connection to – new friends, lessons in teamwork, ideas about remote living, questions on identity after meeting endangered communities, and an ever stronger commitment to helping others get outdoors in my future life, post L2L. I’m happy I’ve picked up a few skills on the way too…. In fact I feel like a different paddler to the one who left Adak back in May. It was such a special place to journey through and for that I feel so lucky. I know I take the spirit of the place with me.

Washing and sorting all of our gear

Washing and sorting all of our gear

While I shall miss the sea and my lovely boat Krissy, I am keen to get pedalling. While I enjoyed a team expedition and shall miss Justine to some extent (with no offence meant by this – she is a great pal), I know I shall enjoy the beauty of solitude on the bike and finding my own rhythm, too. And while I enjoy laughing at fishermen who claim my biceps would be useful on their boat, I shall be glad to give my arms a rest. One thing I am not looking forward to on this next leg with Hercules is the traffic. It is by far the most dangerous leg of the expedition. I shall be dressing like a luminous Christmas tree and hope for the best.

And with that I return to my home bubble. You’ll hear from me next from across the pond. I shall have a couple of days in Anchorage putting Hercules together and packing the kayaks home before heading south to Homer and the end of the road, where we finished in the boats. This is where I shall begin cycling from sometime next week c. Thursday – Saturday.

Homecomings are sweet

Homecomings are sweet

All that remains is to thank everyone who helped make the Aleutian/Alaskan journey a reality. Justine, Krissy and my team, all my sponsors, everyone who helped on the way and the Homer folks who gathered us in from the water and helped us on our way home.

Finally, if you enjoyed reading the updates I hope you will consider donating a dollar or two for my  L2L Charities: CoppaFeel!, Jubilee Sailing Trust, MND Association and WaterAid. DONATE HERE Thanks to the recent donors.

Until next time,

Sarah x

P.S For Justine’s take on things check out www.cackletv.com and look out for her film of the journey which will be made in due course.

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