UK based World Wide Magazine is an online publication devoted to adventure, outdoor sport and offbeat travel. They recently contacted me to do a write up about leaving my job in the lab and heading into the Amazon with my bike.

This week, adventurer Doug Gunzelmann tells us how he cycled Brazil’s Transamazonica highway into the heart of the Amazon, while elsewhere the folks behind the great Art of Manliness blog, reveal tips on how you chaps can be more like Tarzan.

Definitely a website that is up my alley, filled with tips, trips, and all around bad ass fodder for your adventure thirsty minds.

Check out the site at WorldWide and the post at How to Embark on an Amazon Expedition.

Ian Hibell has become my new hero. I briefly came upon the legend of this man while doing research for my ride. Unfortunately his book, Into the Remote Places, is out of print and quite expensive to buy if you can find it. I now realize the Transamazonica was one of his many conquests back in the 70′s. One more addition to the TransAm club!

Hibell rode for the better part of four decades all over the globe including the Sahara, Amazon, Asia, from from tip to tip of continents, and multiple round the worlds logging miles that would have taken him to the moon. He crossed the infernal Darien Gap in Panama making little more that 2 km a day while cycling the length of the Americas, he’s been shot at, and caught in landslides.

In a man’s life there comes a time when he must get out of Brixham. He must leave the boats bobbing in the harbour, the Devon cream teas, the holiday camp and the steam railway; he must bid farewell to the nine-to-five job at Standard Telephones and Cables, up the A379 in Paignton, and hit the more open road.

Some might get no farther than Bristol. But Ian Hibell went so far in one direction that his eyebrows crusted with frost and his hands froze; and so far in another that he lay down in the hot sand to die of dehydration (as he expected) under a thorn tree; and so far in another that the safest place to be, out of range of the mosquitoes, was to burrow like an alligator into black, viscous mud.

In the course of his 40-year travelling life he went the equivalent of ten times round the equator, covering 6,000 miles or so a year. He became the first man to cycle the Darien Gap in Panama, and the first to cycle from the top to the bottom of the American continent. He went from Norway to the Cape of Good Hope and from Bangkok to Vladivostok, wheeling or walking every inch of the way. Every so often he would come back, showing up at STC (from which he had taken, in the beginning, only a two-year leave of absence) with vague murmurings of an apology. But pretty soon the panniers would be packed, the brakes checked, the tyres pumped, and he would be off again.

His cycle, loaded with 60-80lb of clothes, tent, stove, biscuits, sardines and water, was sometimes a complication. In the Sahara it sank to its hubs in fine, talc-like sand. In the Amazonian jungle he could not squeeze it between the trees. Crossing the great Atrato swamp, where the track became a causeway over slimy logs and then a mat of floating grass, the bike would sometimes sink into nothingness. He became expert at feeling for it in the morass with his feet. Every tricky traverse in mountain, stream or forest needed doing twice over: once to find a way for himself, then to collect the steed, often carrying it shoulder-high through sharp palmetto, or water, or rocks.

Yet Mr Hibell’s love for his bikes was unconditional. He took them, muddy as they were, into hotels with him, and clung fiercely on to them whenever tribesmen robbed him of the rest of his things. His favourite had a Freddie Grubb frame of Reynolds 531 tubing on a 42-inch wheelbase, reinforced to take the extra weight of goatskins holding water; Campagnolo Nuevo Record gears front and rear; Robregal double-butted 14-16-gauge spokes; and Christophe pedal-straps. It was so lightweight, as touring bikes go, that a group of boys in Newfoundland mocked that it would soon break on their roads. Instead, it did 100,000 miles.

Bikes rarely let him down. Escaping once from spear-throwing Turkana in northern Kenya, he felt the chain come off, but managed to coast downhill to safety. He crossed China from north to south—in 2006, at 72—with just three brake-block changes, one jammed rear-brake cable and a change of tape on the handlebars. In his book, “Into the Remote Places” (1984), he described his bike as a companion, a crutch and a friend. Setting off in the morning light with “the quiet hum of the wheels, the creak of strap against load, the clink of something in the pannier”, was “delicious”. And more than that. Mr Hibell was a short, sinewy man, not particularly swift on his feet. But on a good smooth downhill run, the wind in his face, the landscape pelting past, he felt “oneness with everything”, like “a god almost”.
A teapot in the desert.

Human company was less uplifting. His travelling companions usually proved selfish, violent and unreliable, unappreciative of Mr Hibell’s rather proper and methodical approach to putting up a tent or planning a route, leaving (sometimes with essential kit) to strike off by themselves. But there were exceptions. One was the beautiful Laura with whom, after years of shyness towards women, he found love as they skidded down rocky tracks in Peru. Others were the strangers whose kindness he encountered everywhere. Peasants in China shared their dumplings with him; Indians in Amazonia guided him through the jungle; and in a wilderness of sand a pair of Tuareg boys produced from their robes a bag of dates and a small blue teapot, which restored him.

In a career of hazards, from soldier ants to real soldiers to sleet that cut his face like steel, only motorists did him real damage. The drivers came too close, and passengers sometimes pelted him with bottles (in Nigeria), or with shovelfuls of gravel (in Brazil). In China in 2006 a van drove over his arm and hand. He recovered, but wondered whether his luck would last. It ran out on the road between Salonika and Athens this August, where he was knocked out of the way by a car that appeared to be chasing another.

At bad moments on his trips he had sometimes distracted himself by thinking of Devonian scenes: green fields, thatched cottages and daffodils. He would return to a nice house, a bit of garden, the job. But that thought could never hold him long. Although his body might long for the end of cycling—a flat seat, a straight back, unclenched hands—his mind was terrified of stopping. And in his mind, he never did.

This text is from: The Economist print edition

Ian Hibell, a long-distance cyclist, died on August 23rd, aged 74. He died on the road between Athens and Salonika when he was hit by a car whose driver was apparently in a race with another motorist. Although the driver fled the scene, he was arrested two days later and charged with causing death by dangerous driving.

I’m very pleased to have been inteviewed by Anna Brones of Planet Green for my cycling trip. Check out the article: 
What’s It Like to Bicycle Almost 4,000 Miles Across the Amazon? Ask Doug Gunzelmann (Interview)
The adventurer advocates for sustainability on two wheels at Planet Green.

From STUFF magazine out of Boston:

“The Amazon Pilgrim”

The globe-trotting adventure seeker has scaled towering mountains, trained in martial arts in Thailand, and celebrated a birthday dodging angry bulls (to think, the rest of us just ride them at Liquor Store). But it was his recent 10-week solo bike ride through 6000 kilometers of the Brazilian Amazon, a journey rapturously documented on his website (amazonpilgrim.com), which got our adrenaline pumping in all the right ways.

Does your experience translate into sex appeal? Hell yeah! Much of what got me through my trip was confidence. Now I’m pretty sure I can handle most situations. Facing a jaguar in a thunderstorm at dusk in the middle of the Amazon alone and coming out unscathed is pretty bad-ass. Who wouldn’t dig that?

Danger is sexy: what’s the most dangerous spot you’ve been in? I pounded a few beers and got in a bullfighting ring on a volcanic island in Nicaragua. The ground was all mud. It was violently raining. When the bull charged, the idea was to jump up the retaining wall to avoid being gored. Absolutely thrilling!

With all the “roughing it,” what’s been your least “sexy” experience? Shimmying my cycling shorts off and running for a roadside ditch “bathroom break” as I cycled through the desert with a raging fever.

Ready? “The wildest place I’ve hooked up is…” The middle of a river.

“The sexiest celebrity is…” Kate Winslet is my go-to fantasy girl. She’s all woman with her curves, composure, and class. I’d cycle back across the Amazon for a drink with her!

I’m very proud to have one of my articles published by the Huffington Post. The title, “A land without men for men without land: Travels through the Amazon” describes some of the environmental issues the people of Amazonia face and how closely knit our world community is in terms of man’s impact on the planet.

You can find the whole article at Huffington Post. Here is an excerpt:

The TransAm seemed to be nothing more than a giant mistake, nearly lawless, all but forgotten by the government that started the project, and now filled with morally reprehensible souls willing to kill for quick profit from the wood and resources found in the jungle. How easy it would be to point fingers and draw plans to curb deforestation if this was the simple case.

The Boston Phoenix ran a column on page 6 this week briefly highlighting my trip. So far this is my first print article after many attempts at contacting various publications. There are a few statements that are off (for instance I biked east to west) but all in all its cool to see the story as a tangible entity in my hands. If you’re in the Boston area find a red Phoenix box and check it out.

You can find an online copy at Boston Phoenix as well. Here is a link to the article titled The Bicycle Feat.

This is a rough elevation profile from Puerto Maldonado, in South East Peru in the Amazon basin, to Nasca which is located on the coastal desert. The profile shows the rise into the Andes, the numerous ups and downs as I crossed hundreds of miles through the range, and the descent back to sea level around the city of Nasca.

The last day in the Andes I had a roughly 60 mile downhill ride from 13-14,000 ft. You can see from the profile there is one final climb to the Pampas Galeras before the profile shows a smooth curve downhill to below a couple thousand feet elevation.

This is a cross section from a day on the Transamazonica between Novo Rapartimento and Pacaja in Brazil. My first day on the Transamazonica proved to be intensely hilly. The TransAm was filled with brutally steep, frequent, but short climbs. Looking back I remember them as being much more demoralizing than the gradual climbs in the Andes.

My longest day was between Humaita and Porto Velho. I made over 130 miles due to the smooth pavement and flatter road. Here is the profile for that section of the ride.

Speilberg and the Coen Brothers haven’t come knocking quite yet but while on the trip I shot quite a bit of video and still photography that I wasn’t able to upload onto the website due to the impossibly slow connections. Now that I am back I’d like to use that choppy on-the-bike-video and remaining still photos to hopefully make a short film… with some help.

This is still very much in the embryonic stage so there isn’t too much to report right now. However, I have made contact with an excited film making maniac who will be sorting through the files to see if something can be pieced together.

Mat Tucciarone from New England Institute of Art will be working with my raw photos and video footage, along with some interviews he’ll be shooting, to put together a documentary about my trip. Both Mat (with one T) and myself are pumped about this project.

Check out Mat’s site: http://www.mathewtucciarone.com/

Now its fine dining, gambling in the casinos, and classic martinis for me. I pedaled into Lima, the ending point of my South America adventure, and wheeled the bike into my hotel. It all felt rather abrupt and unceremonious. With my final few days in Lima I am indulging in urban luxuries, reflecting on the ride, and even giving a few interviews!

By the time I had reached Lima I was ready to get off the bike. With my fevers becoming almost nightly I promptly walked into the Good Hope ER in the Miraflores neighborhood of Lima and for 45 USD I saw a doctor, was tested for malaria, and had results in about 2 hours. The results were negative so I will get tested for other parasites once I return home to Boston.

In the meantime I have been exploring the coastal portions of Lima. This city is absolutely immense with a wide variety of neighborhood flavors. Miraflores, where I am staying, is very beautiful and borders the Costa Verde with ivy covered cliffs over the ocean where hundreds of surfers and para-gliders can be seen everyday.

Hummm, well I guess not para-gliders everyday.

I have been asked to be interviewed by a few American writers living in Lima who want to cover the story and maybe pitch it to some magazines. This is pretty exciting for me and it would be cool to see an article in a hard copy form. We shall see…

Some of the questions I’ve been asked have giving me a good opportunity to think back on the ride. For the most part I have been thinking forward about the upcoming legs of my trip or even just on the day’s tasks at hand, but no more! It’s time to think back and sort out everything that’s happened. Some things about the people and places I’ve experienced will never make sense or have a greater meaning. That’s something humans have a hard time with in life… a lack of order or reason.

Being in Miraflores is already preparing me for coming back home. There are Starbucks, MacDonald’s, KFC, Pizza Huts, and Christmas decorations everywhere. I have to admit it has been fun treating myself to some of the things that were nowhere to be found for the past two and a half months.

I took the bike for one last roll around town today before it gets broken up and boxed for the plane. I gave away my camping gear and warm clothes that I bought down here and generally have been site-seeing and relaxing. The shoe shine boy below wanted to ride my bike, wear my watch, and check out my shades. He looks like bonafide Policia.

The Antigua Miraflores Hotel is a nice last resting place here in South America.

I am looking forward to getting home and enjoying Christmas with all the people I missed. This trip has consumed my thoughts for the past few years and now it’s completed. I think a lot of luck, help from complete strangers, and the support of everyone back home, especially my parents and girlfriend Sara, has made this a successful journey. Now it’s time to take a short while and absorb what has happened before looking to the future.

The first day of this trip, when I left Belem, was my 29th birthday. For my gift Sara made a box of cards with dates on them that I was to open along the way. Inside, they were filled with pictures, cartoons, a guess as to where she thought I would be along the way, and quotes. Every time one of the dates arrived I looked forward to seeing what the cards said and they were a source of inspiration.

My favorite quote, by Robert Cushing, is from the first card, September 24th, my birthday.

“The fact is, that to do anything in the world worth doing, we must not stand back shivering and thinking of the cold and danger, but jump in and scramble through as well as we can.”

… and that, my friends, is the end.

I stood at the edge of the continent and took in my first views of the Pacific Ocean. The desert abuts the sea at Paracas National Reserve with dramatic cliffs, sea life, and powerful winds. I felt a true sense of accomplishment.

There have been a small handful of cycling days on this trip that I would consider easy, or comfortable. I can remember about two off the top of my head. Reaching Paracas was not one of those two days. The prevailing winds are from the north to north west along the coast and as I approached the shoreline the famous Paracas winds were directly onshore and in my face.

It was fitting. I was completely alone, walking the bike, with my head down, and going over a hill. When I reached the top I struggled to keep the bike standing in the wind before getting frustrated and dropping it on the ground. To the end I would have to work for every inch across South America. I took a second to breath and walked to the edge of the water. The first thing I thought: about time.

Where are you ocean... here I come!

The ride out from the PanAm Sur ended up being 20 miles one way and took me about three hours with the headwind. This was my longest stray from my route but was well worth the effort. The scenery is starkly beautiful and the sense of place was unmistakable. I had miles of coastline to myself for the night to fully appreciate how long the ride has been. I still had a couple hundred miles more to Lima but I had made it to the ocean.

I spent the afternoon wandering further away from the access road looking for a nice campsite. I also took the opportunity to pose on an assortment of cliff tops and various spits of land.

The salty smell of ocean air reminded me of home.

I had been fighting a fever and the runs all day (I am guessing my gut is housing a wonderful myriad of parasites at this point) and was eager to get settled before sunset. I found a shallow cave on a cliff over the ocean where I could hear the waves breaking, and after dark, sea lions barking. I set the tent up close by in the soft dusty ground.

After dark I was outside the tent messing with my panniers I had placed in front of the carved out rock when I heard a scuff noise in the distance. I pointed my headlamp and 50 meters off I saw a moving figure. There shouldn´t be anything out here. I´m not alone.

I kept the beam fixed on the figure and jogged towards it to make sure I never lost sight. As I got close I realized it was a lone man with a large bag. He had a baseball cap down and kept his eyes shielded from my light. I think we both scared one another. I didn´t consider I came out of nowhere, rushed him, and blinded him with my light. He kept asking, “Who are you? Who are you?”

His name was Gabriel and he was from the nearby town of Pisco. He fished off the cliffs at night and hitched a ride back every night around 9pm with some other fisherman. I told him I was just camping for down below and had ridden my bike out here. I think we both were relieved we weren´t about to murder the other.

Paracas is home to the Hubolt Penguin, the Inca Tern, flamingos, Andean Condors, marine cats (never heard of these), pelicans, turkey buzzards, and the Black Ostrich. This time I only saw condors, pelicans, terns, and some other bird life. There are also these crabs that are about the size of a mans hand and can climb quickly up sheer rock. They were very interesting to watch scatter around out of the water.

I fired up the SAT phone and shared my location with my parents and girlfriend.

Yes Mom, I had something to eat for dinner tonight.

From Paracas I had under 200 miles to Lima along a stretch of the PanAm I had driven before. I knew I was in for heavy truck traffic, headwinds, more fevers, and less than rewarding scenery. However, for this night I was satisfied.

"TASTE IT!!!!!!!!!!!"