A sneaky photo of the city I call home.
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A magnificent two story train.
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Luxury in first class ;-).
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Beautifully fogless.
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Again, no fog!
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Traffic and windmills. Fantastic.
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A terrifying climb up to the summit.
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Good morning Yosemite!
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We're very lucky not to have run out of fuel!
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Unfortunately these guys have all deserted!
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(During the trip, I decided to take a quick survey of all the riders, just after we had left Arusha in Tanzania. This has been sitting on my hard drive since then! It's time to finally use it - this will be a first in a series of posts about the results. 52 riders participated in this survey, out of 69 total riders, a subscription rate of about 75%. I've not discounted sectional riders but there were relatively few of these.)

When starting the Tour D'Afrique, it quickly became clear that I was one of the youngest riders on the trip. The two main logistical barriers to the trip seem to be getting time off from work and financing it. Most young people have plenty of time, either before or after studying and don't have other constraints which tie them to home - such as a family or mortgage. Having enough money to do the trip is pretty difficult though and I worked hard for four summers and had to borrow some money from my parents in order to fund the trip! (Incidentally, the third barrier to joining the TDA is your fitness! Arguably though, this is something that can be fixed with a little dedication and perseverance.)

A few weeks ago, I was catching up with a friend over a drink and he had a dozen questions about the trip and more specifically EFI. This Wikipedia entry details EFI fairly well but I was curious to find out what the breakdown of EFIers was, by age. Brian at Tour D'Afrique very helpfully extracted this data for me and I've combined it with the data from our trip below.

The very first question we asked people was what their age was. I've plotted a histogram of the 52 riders ages on the graph below, bucketed in 5 yearly intervals. The average age of riders on our trip was 35.2 years, of which 28% had a birthday on the trip. (Theoretically this should be 32.9% but it's close enough.)



You'll notice the following-

• The bulk of riders are aged between 25 and 45.


• There are a reasonable number of younger riders but far fewer older riders - this is probably indicative of the fitness level required to do the trip.

Using the data that Brian gave, I've plotted a histogram of the 100 EFIers ages on the graph below, again bucketed in 5 yearly intervals.



This is a little different to the 2010 age distribution-

• There is a similar peak between 25 and 45, although here it appears to extend to 50. 40-44 is a little bit of an anomaly. I think this is due to fitness.


• There are no EFIers younger than 22.

Out of interest, I've plotted the age distribution of EFIers against riders on our tour on the graph below. You should not that this is not statistically sound because the EFI data is taken from ten tours versus just one for the age distribution!



What is interesting is that-

• There are proportionally more older EFIers than riders on the 2010 tour.


• Whereas the peak bucket for riders is to be aged between 25-29, the highest proportion of EFIers are aged 35-39.
  

In addition to the aggregate data above, I also have a gender breakdown of both riders from the 2010 trip and of EFIers.





Women appear to be generally underrepresented in both our tour and as a proportion of EFIers as a whole. However, the proportion of EFIers who are women is much less than the proportion of riders on our tour. There's a roughly similar age distribution for EFIers - whether man or woman.

All the way to Switzerland.
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We had some fun with the Gorillapod while road tripping in Norway at the end of last summer.

Commuterville.
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But with a good camera!
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Do we go? Do we stop?
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Leonardo DiCaprio is probably running around these streets somewhere.
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They look really good.
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Shah for government? Why not!
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...is that I'm able to ride my bike again! I've been for a short ride up and down the street. The bad news is that my knee still hurts like crazy. I'm hoping at least that it's going to heal itself with time because it has got a lot better since that fateful Wednesday morning.

In any case, I think my dreams of running my first marathon next year have probably been dashed, which is a shame. It's definitely still on the list for sometime soon though, should my knee permit.

I returned to work a week and a half ago which was, as many people warned, probably a bit too soon. It was immensely tiring for a week and come 7pm, I'd be pretty much wiped and unable to hold an intelligent conversation. Still, I survived and it let me get out of house! The dizziness has mostly gone away unless I lie on the left side of my head, which is a little worrying.

Anyway, enough medical offloading. I've started planning the replacement to the late Woodrup that was lost in the crash. Since that was pretty much my around town bike, I've decided to replacement it with the quintessential town bike: a fixed gear bike! None of the off the shelf bikes are sufficiently unique for me, so I'm going to be attempting to assemble a new bike from scratch.

This is what I've decided so far-
Frame: On-One Pompino
Fork: Surly Crosscheck (this was the fork I took to Africa)
Hub: Shimano XT Disc Hub
Cog: VeloSolo Disc Cog
As for wheels, that's to be decided but I'm probably going to get something ridiculously bright.

That's it for today, more as I decide it!

I've just arrived at the end of a relatively eventful week! No doubt if you've been following me on Facebook or Twitter, you'll already know what events I'm talking about.

Wednesday morning, running ten minutes late for work (late by my own standards more than actually being late), I was sprinting down St. Albans road between my house and Watford Junction where I park my bike on the way to work. Normally the traffic moves so slowly that it's safe enough without a helmet and it's barely 1.5 miles from door to door. This Wednesday morning however, as I later found out, a bus driver decided to headlight flash a Ford Ka coming the other way who was waiting to turn right. The Ford Ka didn't see me coming up the inside of the bus and took the corner - and the split second following, I have a very distinct memory of embracing the bonnet of the car with a lot of force at about 20 MPH. (If you want to see the actual junction on Streetview, check it out here.)

I don't remember much of what happened shortly afterwards so I'm just going to list what I've pieced together in some sort of approximate order-
1) Very many pedestrians helped me pick myself and my bike up off the road.
2) Several people called ambulances (in fact I think there were three ambulances and two police cars).
3) Supposedly my first reaction (undoubtedly one of shock) was to immediately start sending a message on my phone...
4) I started losing it as soon as I got into the ambulance. I couldn't remember my name, my address or my phone number. I had no idea who the current prime minister was and I thought I was late for school.
5) The ambulance took me to hospital at 9am.
6) Somehow the paramedics managed to call my sister and when I came to at the hospital, my sister and mother were by my side.
7) A CT scan, diagnosed concussion and four stitches later, I was slowly recovering. They kept me for a couple of hours to observe me and sent me on my way home at about 3pm.
(Fans of Geek on a Bicycle will be astounded that my shoulder didn't dislocate. I can reveal that it is a little sore but is very much where it should be!)

There is a picture of a broken me and my broken bicycle here.

As part of standard recovery, I'm housebound for a while - and won't be returning to work until Monday. I'm not supposed to drive for a couple of weeks and no sport for at least that long too. Whilst I can't say that I would have escaped without an injury if I had been wearing a helmet, it would certainly have lessened the impact of the concussion... I'm pretty certain the stitches on my face and general road rash all over my shoulders, arms and legs would still have been there. Lesson learnt though - I will be wearing my helmet forevermore, even if it is a slight inconvenience.

After four weeks of delays (mainly caused by the range of weather from abysmal to mediocre) and many months of me forgetting to book, I finally managed to capitalise upon an eagerly anticipated birthday present from my other half - a microlight flight experience!

For the last four years at school I was involved in our school's Combined Cadet Force (CCF) in the RAF section and as part of that, won a gliding scholarship where we learnt how to fly motorized gliders over a four day course. At the end of it, I successfully soloed the glider. In addition to this, for my sixteenth birthday, I started going for flying lessons and solo-ed a Piper Aviation PA-28. Unfortunately budget constraints prevented me from getting my private's pilot's license but it's definitely on my life 'to-do' list.

These were both completely unlike the experience of flying in a flex-wing microlight. The closest analogy I can think of is that of riding a motorcycle versus riding in a car. One is so completely raw and exposed and the other is relatively comfortable. You sit within three feet of the engine and you can see just about every component of the plane that matters. When you're on the ground, you're barely a couple of feet above the ground and it's very obvious that there's not much separating you from being shredded by the tarmac - no safety net.

I exercised my voucher with microlight school Clearprop at the Blackbushe Airport in Surrey. It took a few attempts to actually get flying - this sort of vehicle is very weather-dependent (and especially wind-dependent).

As for the actual experience, after a short briefing, we took off in what seemed like mere metres. All it took was a gentle push forwards on the bar and we were up in the air. In some sense, the control system, although different from most fixed wing aircraft (no joystick or yoke), is more natural - it's directly connected to the wing. This is called weight-shift because the action of manipulating the centre of gravity shifts the wing itself and this causes you to turn. There is no rudder so yawing is non existent. This makes flying in windy situations difficult.

Turning is much more physical (or feels that way) than most fixed wing aircraft too - requiring you to pull down on one side of the bar. This felt quite unnerving for me too, having dislocated my shoulder several times before - in the brief period between having my hands on my lap and holding the bar, there was a substantial amount of pressure on my arm from the wind. Luckily it stayed in its socket and I managed to approximately steer the aircraft in the right direction.

As for landing, this was a terrifying experience. There's no safety (as psychological as it might be) of having a big shock absorbing undercarriage underneath. As we came down to land, my eyes grew to the size of lightbulbs as we rapidly approached the ground.

An epic experience and one of the best birthday presents I've ever received. I'm definitely considering picking up the lessons again this next year.

Photos on GeekOnABicycle.

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So after a (very) long hiatus, I decided to cycle into work again on Monday, cycling from Watford to Old Street. This is not an inconsiderable distance but compared to my summer internship commute to Canary Wharf from Watford (26 miles each way), it's easier at just 21 miles. Sunday evening was, as always, a series of minor and major procrastinations where, although I was meant to be getting my bike ready for the journey in, I decided to go visit friends, listen to music, watch television and tidy my room.

Waking up bleary eyed on Monday morning, I somehow convinced myself that today was going to be the day I cycle in (the first time is always the hardest - both from a logistical and a psychological point of view). In my pyjamas, I started rummaging around my 'box of bits' in our garden shed looking for my sturdy pannier rack which went with me from Cairo to Capetown (on my bike for the first four weeks and in my suitcase for the last four months when it became obviously useless). I came out, defeated, with another, much less sturdy pannier rack that attaches to a seat post. This loyal pannier rack was what had taken the load of my school books and uniform when I first started commuting in the fat days.

Grudgingly attaching the pannier rack to my carbon seat post (and ever conscious of the increasing probability of my seat post shearing in two horizontally), I managed to fill my panniers with all sorts of 'necessities' - almost everything I needed except for a hoody which I decided would take up too much space. Walking out onto the road in my cycling Android jersey, a delightful gift from my friend at Google, I realised that short sleeve was perhaps a bit short sighted.

Rolling twenty metres down the road, strange noises already started coming from my bike and when I braked to a halt, there was an unnerving juddering. Investigating further, the pannier rack had already come askew and the edge of one of my pannier bags was rattling against the spokes. This is something I was very used to when commuting to school but it took a small leap of faith that my panniers would make it to work in one piece. As for the juddering, it merely seemed to be alignment of my brakes and in true Kenyan style, I figured it would be fine to get me to work.

Sure enough it was, and really the only difficult I had was that the pannier partially unclipped itself at a couple of points during the journey. The handling of the bike with a seat post mounted rack was quite sketchy - my road bike is much lighter than my mountain bike was and the pannier rack must have moved the centre of gravity much higher. Every time I stood up to cycle, the bike was start oscillating quite wildly.

As I got to work, it became harder and harder to unclip. I realised somewhere near Euston that my left SPD clip was missing a single screw. This meant that when I twisted my foot to unclip, the cleat would stay where it was and just rotate around the single retaining screw. When I finally got to Old Street it took a good five minutes of hopping around on my bike to unclip.

The commute overall was pretty damn slow. I left home at 08:30 (admittedly late) and reached work at 10:10. Normally I leave home at 08:25 and reach work at 09:15 when travelling by train. While the distance was slower, the traffic was pretty horrendous and there was no real clear stretch of road. Part of the reason for the traffic is that I was on Euston road - which skirts the congestion charging zone (and presumably carries a higher volume of traffic after 07:00). The frequent traffic lights also kill average speed - at least the route to Canary Wharf has relatively few interruptions!

In a nutshell, I'm not convinced that commuting to Old Street is worth it for me - I might do it a few times a week because of the fitness element but it certainly doesn't compare to public transport when it comes to convenience. At least not in the same way that commuting to Canary Wharf did.

People who knew me well at university know that for a short while (about a term), I graphed my sleep in order to figure out the relationship that my productivity (and enjoyment of life) has with my sleep levels. Anyone who's studied at Cambridge knows that terms are notoriously irregular - you'll start off with no work and then a week later find yourself trying to finish three sets of supervision work in one night. This makes it almost impossible to have a 'normal' week and to sleep the same amount every night.

When graphed and analysed, I noticed a few interesting facts-
- At that time, I used to sleep in multiples of 1.5 hours - and if I woke up a multiple of 90 minutes after I went to bed, I'd wake up feeling good.
- One day of good sleep often wasn't enough to reset my fatigue levels - I needed three nights of solid sleep to feel at the top of my form. This rarely happened during term.
- Even if I slept for 12/13 hours after an all nighter- it still wasn't enough. All nighters were disastrous for my productivity for the rest of the week.
- Generally 7.5 hours of sleep was good enough if I hadn't been training (i.e. cycling). If I had trained, I would require 9 hours.

This worked well for a few years and I've been tweaking my 'rules' as I go - I know the effects of caffeine and alcohol on my energy levels and try to adjust where I go. The irony is that, lately - mainly since starting work, I don't often get very good sleep. I've always been a light sleeper but generally I've always managed to sleep through the night.

It's been hard to pinpoint the reason and during a routine medical, the blood test revealed my thyroid levels were a bit off. To cut a long story (spread over six months) short - I've been diagnosed as hypothyroid. Standard treatment of hypothyroidism is the synthetic hormone levothyroxine. This is working, but with some annoying side effects. I've been finding it harder still to sleep - waking up in the middle of night regularly. I've also had some sort of headache constantly. Now with enough time, my doctor will probably be able to tweak the dosage so that these can be avoided. But the point being, I can't adequately control my energy levels as I used to, which is most likely now going to be the case for the rest of my life.

The constant process of diagnosis, especially for a condition like this has got me thinking - it must be very difficult to be a doctor indeed. Not purely from the sheer amount of knowledge you need but the feedback loop you have from your patients. Administer some medication, wait six weeks, take a blood test, look at a number and re-evaluate. On one hand it is a straightforward process but on the other - it is slow, prone to error (I was almost misdiagnosed when the wrong blood test results were used) and there's no instant gratification. Software development on the other hand gives you an answer in minutes, occasionally hours and very rarely days. There's no waiting required. And finally - there's always a logical or rational reason for something to happen the way it does. This is not always true in the human body and there's still a large amount of the 'unknown'. The human body is non deterministic.

That, dear readers, is why I'll never be a doctor.

Anyone who knows me well knows that-
1) I love biscuits.
2) I have to drink milk while eating biscuits or cake.

Mid last week I had a (mini) epiphany. I was at my cousin's house for her birthday party and for the first time in an immeasurable amount of time, I had cake without milk. Surprisingly, it was good. I spent much less effort trying to coordinate milk-drinking with cake-eating (it's the same really as the cereal and milk problem - you don't want to have extra milk or extra cereal left at the end...). Only concentrating on the cake meant I was able to really enjoy and appreciate it.

I guess this points to a wider trend in my life - that of multitasking. I'm notorious for doing multiple things at the same time and not just while at work. At home I've got a ridiculous three screened set up (and four if my laptop is up) and normally I'm doing a dozen things at the same time. It's probably because I spent so little actual time at home but I can't help thinking it's detrimental to the quality of how well I accomplish various tasks.

Admittedly a lot of what I do at home doesn't require much intellectual concentration - the last couple of hours I've been editing photos while watching television and catching up on reading - but I worry sometimes that this way of working carries itself over into other parts of my day.

As promised, a slightly more elaborate (or rather, descriptive) update.

As you may or may not have known, I had been working at a large investment bank for the last year since returning from my travels. It's a place where I interned twice and enjoyed enough to want to return to as a graduate - the work was interesting and the people were great.

Without going into full detail, our graduate scheme requires us to complete several six month rotations before choosing a team to permanently settle in. The incentive structure for the process of picking placements at each stage is maligned and essentially I had a poor first rotation placement (great people, dull work, learnt very little) and as a result didn't get my top preference for the second rotation team. I enjoyed my second rotation team but it wasn't somewhere I wanted to stay permanently - the work was semi-interesting but there was very little support from the team, purely as a result of it's small size.

Our graduate scheme was shortened to just two rotations and beginning in August, we began the process to choose a team to settle in. I found that most of the interesting teams either already had a graduate in mind (someone who had previously been on that team) or that I didn't have the requisite skill set (when competing against other graduates). Suspecting that this might be the case, as soon as we heard news of this change, I fired off my C.V. in an email to popular music recommendation website - http://last.fm.

Roll around to mid September and for the most part, it was exactly as I had guessed. I'd gone through the interview process at last.fm and with an offer in hand, I spoke to our graduate HR who, unfortunately, weren't willing to offer any other choices. With some trepidation I sent in my notice of resignation.

Quite a few people tried to convince me before I left the bank that I'd hate it outside of finance - they were shocked that I was even considering leaving investment banking and they thought I'd get bored. Naturally these fears played heavily on my mind in the four weeks preceding my new job. Luckily it was more FUD than actual insight.

I've been working at last.fm for a week now and it's great. The people here are wonderful - very helpful, friendly and they know their stuff. There are fewer politics than at the bank and I find it a much more productive place to work. There's no bureaucracy blocking me from doing my job, I have a fast computer and access to whatever developer tools I want to use. In addition, there are fewer distractions throughout the day, no pointless meetings and no constant interruptions. We get to use cutting edge technologies too, versus the cutting edge of three years ago at the bank. As a technologist, I feel more at home here than I ever did as a graduate at a bank.

To sum it up, the first question most people working at the bank asked me when I said I was leaving was 'how much are you getting paid at the new place?'.
The first question that most people working at last.fm asked me when I mentioned I used to work at the bank was 'what were you working on?'.
I'm happy to be a part of the second group :-).

Dear readers,

I apologise for the lack of updates over the many past months. I've been rather busy with a variety of things and that seems likely to continue. However, my life is about to undergo a relatively significant change and with that change, I've decided to get my house in order (quite literally as well as metaphorically).

I'll go into more detail in a following post but the short story is that I've decided to leave my first real job for a variety of reasons. As you can imagine, this is quite a terrifying step to take but ultimately, I hope, one for the better.

More detail soon, but it's good to be back and I hope to be writing more frequently :-). I'll also be updating this site so that it's a bit less 2010 and a bit more NOW().

A stunning drive.
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We came across this beautiful view from the bridge.
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Leaving nothing but the wake and our tourist money behind us.
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Under angry clouds.
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Rickety wooden bridges and camera toting tourists.
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Look out for the orcas.
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And an oil tanker.
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Twilight incoming.
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One day we'll swim across the dock.
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Like a giant Warhammer table.
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We're in Mombasa at the moment, my last taste of Africa for 2010 (and my first, briefly, of 2011). Nothing has really changed here - it's the same hotel we've been to twice before and the same beach we've visited four times in the last five years. I'm pretty certain that of all the holiday destinations in the world, returning here, to the same place, ranks fairly low on my list.

This lacklustre holiday which, family time aside, feels like a little bit of a waste of time seems typical of my life in general at the moment. I've started as a graduate at a large investment bank (where I interned twice) and absolutely detest the work I am doing at the moment. It's a short first rotation (just two months left) but I wonder if the next will be any better.

The problem I have with this work is not that there's too much of (that's absolutely fine, I have no problem working an 80 hour week if the work merits it) but that it is so incredibly dull and not necessarily that useful in the business sense either. Without going into too much detail, essentially I'm adding missing pieces of functionality to an application to abate pressure caused by internal politics. The functionality (and generally the application itself) isn't complicated, rather just tedious. The tedium of actual development is compounded by the extensive QA process that surrounds any change to the application and while the majority of my changes are new, affect a minority amongst the 3,000 users we have and might only even be used by support - I still spend 60% of my time doing QA tasks.

It feels like I'm wasting my time - this is the time when I can really give it everything but lack motivation to do so. I've barely learnt anything new though in the last three months besides how to use various systems and how to produce QA documentation to satisfy the regulators. This causes a sinking feeling in my stomach every time I talk to (some of) the other graduates and they tell me how much they're learning. I recall my internship where I learnt a huge amount - both of software development and the business need that necessitated our work.

So instead of stagnation, it's almost like recessing. My hire-ability is sinking each week that I learn nothing and forget a little bit more all that I learnt during my Computer Science degree. As my hire-ability sinks, it becomes harder to jump ship, to break out of the circle and to get back onto the true road of career fulfillment. I will not go down without a fight though - my eyes are open and actively scanning for opportunities.

And finally, I'm not the only one - this is a common theme amongst quite a few of my graduate colleagues. My faith in the HR department has been shaken by their failure to place the brightest graduates (who they apparently go to great lengths to hire) in positions which they will enjoy and where they will have their capabilities pushed. Sure, it's not a problem on their side - they often mention how many applicants they get - it is easy to fill our positions as graduates (we should be lucky to be where we are, of course!) but they need to treat us better. It seems that we're regarded and treated as merely numbers - without recognition of the fact that we have different desires, skill levels and ambitions.

This is going to cause two problems: 1) the brightest students will no longer flock to work here in the way they have done (the economic crisis of 2007/8 has already gone a long way to reducing the number of students who are chasing a career in finance) - graduates talk (and I have been talking too) to their peers in the years below and 2) the brightest graduates will leave - several of my colleagues are pursuing potential opportunities elsewhere.

Mmm.
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Could sit and stare into this for hours.
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Technically we weren't supposed to be here. But who cares.
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Familiarity, they say, breeds boredom. One of the previous TDA riders who I spoke to mentioned that it was a good idea to take some time off after the Tour in order to reflect over the fact that you've just traversed an entire continent. My plans worked out so that I had one final summer, a final period of 'nothingness', reminescent of the summers of my teens years (from the age of 16 I've been working every summer). I wondered how this would go down, whether it would be the productive playground I've always dreamt about, while studying or interning - experimenting with my computer or riding my bike lots. However, after the initial momentum of returning home had subsided, nothing really happened. Home is familiar and hence boring.

Somehow the days seemed to be filled with apparently meaningless tasks and my attempts to kill the lazy man within (sometimes it's hard to get motivated just to leave the house) are failing. My 'ToDo' list hasn't shrunk much and I'm rapidly running out of time. Life at home is lonely - many of my friends are either now wrapped up with work or are travelling, others are just impossible to get hold of. Our attempts at finding a flat in Central London is frustrating - both budget constraints and indecisiveness regarding location make it impossible to settle. In addition, being unable to coordinate with all members makes it tougher still, especially when you run the risk of making an unpopular decision.

I suppose my idea of utopia would involve some kind of shared consciousness where communication with other entities (or people) would be instantaneous and irrevocable. Knowledge would be uniformly shared or available when needed. One of my role models at school, a fellow (but far cleverer) Computer Scientist, always used to say something like 'you'll never get anything done depending on other people'. A true enough statement but with the contraints of finite time and resources, a team is a worthy asset if you aspire to anything great.

I despair too for the beginning of my 'career' in just a few weeks time. Does this seem like the beginning of the end? Oh yes. Meeting with my friends who've already started work is always fun (of course) but sometimes you can see through all the superficial conversation. I've met just one former classmate who seemed truly excited by the work he does. These are not your average graduates working 9 to 5 either, they have prestigious positions at well paying institutions. That leads to me to wonder where I'll end up next - I've always been aware that this was probably only a temporary position. I enjoyed the work and the people are great but there's just a handful of possible teams where I'd like to be placed. Regardless, it's the next step and I will try hard to keep the exciteable inner geek alive.

The summer is looking up now, so it's not all bad. The BBC Proms are on my calendar and my first mountain bike race for over a year (which could be disastrous). More of my flatmates will reachable to help the search for accommodation. Previously uncontactable friends have suddenly reappeared on the North London social radar. Some of the TDAers will be in London this weekend too. Until the singularity arrives and we become one superior consciousness, Facebook, email, text messages and the occasional terribly-awkward phone call with have to suffice.

(Written on my way back home from Kenya. My fifth and penultimate visit to the motherland this year.)

Undoubtedly the best thing about the Tour D'Afrique is that you're travelling for four months with sixty like minded people from all parts of the world who do and have done all sorts of crazy things in their lives. As Steph commented early on, every rider is a type 'A' personality - extravert, outgoing and slightly off the wall.

One thing I've taken away from the Tour is that age doesn't really matter in the scheme of things. Riders' spanned all ages and generally got on well with each other.

There are a few main groups of riders, and obviously, like any attempt to categorise the natural world, it's an imperfect reflection of reality. Some riders fall into more than one group but for the sake of simplicty, I've omitted the rider-group matrix for now. I've borrowed some of the groups from Leah's article on the Tour D'Afrique. I haven't included everyone in here - not because some people are more interesting than others but a lack of motivation.

The Racers

Bearded Australian
Riding one of the strangest bikes on the tour (but probably the perfect choice) in a questionable off-yellow colour, he also sported one of the most epic beards of the trip (which seemingly did nothing to slow him down).

Windbreaker
WIth an enviable chest span, riding in a paceline with rider made life much easier.

Powerhouse
One of the shortest riders, riding one of the heaviest bikes and also damn quick!

Mr. & Mrs. Organised
Possibly the best prepared two riders and the most harmonious couple on the trip. Always helpful and quick too.

Mountain Biker
Another Brit and a superb technical cyclist, riding a Stumpjumper.

Mr. Motivation
Using the Tour to train for an even more ridiculous cycling event, he would often ride double the daily distance by reaching camp, turning around and continuing.

Business Class

Business class were a group of middle aged riders who have a taste for the finer things in life. They were suspected many a time of having more lockers than the mandatory standard allocation.

Younglings

(All riders younger than me.)

The Promise
At this stage in his journey, he was a hardened traveller and was always happy to share his expertise. A fast rider on a heavy bike, he struggled to race consistently but eventually got his stage victory. Superb photographer too.

Jack Of Many Trades
An entrepeneurial rider(?) who took to hitchhiking each day in lieu of riding, he found several innovative ways to make a bit of extra money.

Smiley
Possibly the most optimistic rider ever, never once seen without a smile on her face.

North Americans

Loud Cannuck
Stereotypical loud American and for a lot of the early part of the trip, the voice that would resonate through my thin tent walls and wake me up early in the morning.

The Former Army Engineer
Also a loud Canadian.

Vegan Dan
The only vegan rider and possibly one of the most dedicated riders, regularly rolling into camp late into the day. Always breaking spokes.

The Bike Messenger
A New York City bike messenger with a taste for punk rock. Owner of the infamous beard hat.

Artist
The designer of my tattoo and an unbelievable sketch artist, this guy tracked a package for half the trip only not to receive it.

Twentysomethings

Ms. Marathon
Holding a world record for running marathons, she was one of two riders crazy enough to run on rest days (as if the cycling wasn't exercise enough).

Livestrong
Passing out yellow Livestrong wristbands across Africa, a first time cyclist with the coolest green rims on the tour.

Token Irish Guy
Sporting cycling lycra of questionable modesty, a first time cyclist.

German
Ruthlessly efficient and one of the few riders with both matching and colour coded duffle bags.

I'm a bit worried that I'm in the wrong place - this is supposed to be the gate for the British Airways flight from Bologna to London Gatewick but there is no one else here. The Aerobus broke down on the way to airport and there were some amusing acts of Italian rage as fellow passengers saw the next Aerobus drive straight past us. Arriving at the airport, I rushed to the very busy checkin counter and managed to bypass the queue because I had checked in online. When going through security, lady looked at my boarding pass and said 'London this way, directing me to an empty queue - the only empty queue out of many full queues.

The only difference appeared to be the addition of an explosives scanner which, predictably, found nothing. Wandering around duty free, I struggled to find any genuine Italian coffee to gift my mother - a lifelong coffee addict (and hence coffee snob). Whether this Segafredo brand raw coffee from Costa Rica will be up to her taste, I am not sure. Quite whether it will even work in her fancy coffee machine is another matter.

My brief visit to Bologna was spurred by both growing boredom and restlessness at home (four years of summer jobs have rendered my ability to enjoy largely vacant periods of time null) and a desire to meet up with a TDA rider who I became good friends with before he unfortunately crashed out of the Tour on our second day in Ethiopia.

This was my second visit to Italy - my first being a school trip to the Lake Guardia region. Bologna is considerably older than much of what I recall of the last trip and I enjoyed the architecture. A student filled city, there was graffiti covering a lot of the area. While the vast majority of this was crass and unimaginative, there were some witty legitimate attempts at making a pictorial statement.

The city itself varies from being clean to dirty (although any traveller who has visited India will rejoice at the cleanliness). Walking the covered arcades that line the streets is fraught with danger from weaving cyclists. I was amused to see a girl on a bicycle trying to navigate a narrow gap between a row of tables and a shop front while eating a gelato with one hand and steering cum balancing with the other. Another danger is produced by the city's large dog populations and their careless owners - you can be as diligent as possible but will still dirty your shoes.

Moving onto more gastronomical and delicious matters, most people of the world are familiar with Italian food. Whatever you thought was good Italian food outside of Italy is easily matched by the cheapest street level pizzeria and for a meager €3, a margharita worth of happiness can be yours. Pasta is similarly wonderful although Vegetarians should be sure to question their assumptions when ordering about what most filled pasta actually contains.

The gelato is also a favourite of mine and, in the baking summer temperatures nearing 40° C, was the perfect treat (to be offset by about 12 hours of heavy cardio-although I wondered how all the patrons of
the parlour were so skinny). A final mention of the food, my host was insistent that I try the coffee. Apparently it is in another league to what is normally served as an espresso. Indeed it is that jolt of caffeine which is fuelling this literary burst and I can confirm that while most coffee irks me tremendously, this was at least drinkable (with a reasonable addition of sugar). The accompanying 'pasta', known to English speakers as a pastry, was much more palatable - imagine a croissant filled with Nutella in one half and custard on the other.

As a tourist, there is a fair amount to see. We followed one of the excellently presented walking tours courtesy of Tourist Information. The museum of modern art (mambo) was quite interesting, as were several churches. Most museums are usually free to visit but you may need to pay for special
exhibitions.

On Saturday evening, we saw an Italian-subtitled American movie in a giant open air cinema in the main piazza of the city. While the movie itself (a 35 year old film called Nashville) seemed to lack a story line, the atmosphere was quite amazing - the piazza was packed full of thousands of people. Confused by the movie's lack of plot and aching from the brittle and unsympathetic chairs, we left early. Hopefully Google will be able to help us figure out the true intent of the movie.

On Sunday we took a state bus on a whim and travelled some distance out of the city to experience the rolling countryside hills. My host, a big road cyclist, related his stories of climbing the hills at just over 6kmph. He is a superb climber too so I imagine that I would most likely be walking.

That evening we watched the first half of the World Cup final in a packed Irish pub just off the main piazza. An overwhelming bias towards the Spanish side was obvious, for reasons I am unaware of. This was the first football match my host was watching and as he tried to work out the offside rule, he was quite amused at the ridiculous showboating of the world class soccer players. After play paused for half time, we went home to rehydrate ourselves via the local gelateria.

Despite trying our hardest to stream the football via the neighbour's wireless connection, we failed and thus I can maintain my achievement of not having watched the entire of a single world cup 2010 match.
Once I land back home, I will thankfully be reconnected to the world (my new mobile phone contract was annoyingly not enabled for roaming, leading to an interesting experience trying to contact my friend on arrival by first trying and failing to use a public payphone and then asking strangers nearby to use their mobile phones).

(The above post was written entirely on a touch screen keyboard. Intense.)

(View in high res)

Apologies for the delay in posting this. I have no real excuse, being currently unemployed and not having much else to do!

I will add to and amend this post if I think of anything further.

Equipment Recommendations
Although the packing space you have is limited, it is worth bringing spares of just about everything. Even if you don't need it over the course of the trip, there is a good chance another rider will.
Besides the spares listed on the Equipment page, the following bike items failed and I had not brought spares of:
- GPS unit (failed when I landed on it by accident - preventable and also not entirely necessary.)

- Cycle computer (failed in the rain. Vital item, bring two! Cheap ones are fine.)

- Jockey wheels (several riders had worn out their previously new jockey wheels by the end of the trip. Bring spares for sure.)

- Pedals (either bring new ones from the start or bring spares.)

- Bottle cages + bottles (I went through 5 bottle cages! Bring a couple of spares. A spare set of bottles is useful too - they tend to fall out.)

- Worth bringing two spare chains and a spare cassette. Also bring a few Powerlinks (or equivalent) - useful for repairing your chain on the road.

- I wouldn't bother bringing more than two sets of spare brake pads (for v-brakes; riders with disc brakes wore through their pads quicker) - I used the same set of Kool Stops for the whole trip.

- Bring a tonne of tubes and enough for all sizes of tyre that you have. Don't bring Schwalbe tubes - all of mine failed at the valve and were unrepairable. (Be wary of using the 'bad' TDA pump - probably replaced by now but the bad pump killed all of my early tubes.)

- Bring a decent pump for use on the road. Don't bother bringing a tiny pump for the sake of saving weight - if you're trying to race then spending an hour pumping up your tyre will outweight any time gain from saving a hundred grams!

Tent-
Bring a tent that has two doors. My tent had one door and it was a pain when that one door's zip failed. If buying a tent in England, I would recommend against a Terra Nova tent - their customer service charged me to repair my under warranty tent on return. It's also worth bringing a roomier tent if you can manage it - you'll appreciate the extra room a three man tent offers after a few months on the road!

Sleeping Mat-
Several riders had UltraLite Cots. I borrowed one for a night and it was quite comfortable but unless you have back problems or absolutely can't sleep on a normal sleeping mat, I don't think it's worth the space lost in both your tent and your locker. A normal Thermarest mat is adequate. Some people punctured their Thermarests but if you use a decent quality tarp or groundsheet, you should survive. (You could also bring a foam sleeping roll but again it takes extra space.)

Sleeping Bag-
This was the largest single item in my bag. Worth bringing a smaller bag - you don't need the warmest bag ever - a two season bag should be fine. (On colder nights you might need to layer up.)

Recovery Drink-
As I posted before in my blog about being vegetarian on the Tour, it's worth bringing recovery drink. This probably applies to non-vegetarians too.

Bicycle
A lot of thought went into the bike that I rode but there are still a few things worth changing.

Bike Fit
Get fitted to your bike before you buy it. It's worth the expense. Most bike fitters will be able to suggest suitable frames / bikes when being fitted. I had no knee or back problems on the trip.

Suspension
BRING SUSPENSION! It'll help you a lot on the unpaved sections and you almost certainly won't regret it. I was unaware that you could buy suspension forks for cyclocross type bikes (with 700c wheels). Find one and fit it. Enough said.

I took a Thudbuster Long Travel seatpost with me but took it off after Sudan. I found it heavy (it made bike handling less agile) and sometimes caused knee pain. The Short Travel version may be preferable. If you have front suspension then it's probably not worth bothering with it at all.

Tyres
I was unaware that the size of my rims dictated the size of tyre I could fit. Bear this in mind - you'll need specific touring rims to fit larger tyres. 29er rims may be preferable. Bring as fat tyres as you can. If you're ordering your own frame, ensure that the rear stay has enough clearance. Generally a larger range is preferable. I think the perfect combination would be:
27c tyres for smooth pavement
35-40c tyres for smooth unpaved
2.0" tyres for rough unpaved or sandy sections

The Schwalbe Marathon Extremes were superb tyres for the unpaved sections and the Marathon Racers excellent for the paved sections (some riders also used and liked the Durano tyres). I didn't have anything bigger than a 35c and just about survived.

Saddle
As readers of this blog will be aware, I had severe saddle issues right from the early part of the tour which continued until the end of the trip. Most other riders had issues too but generally these were only in passing.

I've heard good things about the Brooks saddle I took but ONLY if broken in first. (You need to ride on it for 1,000 kilometres or so to get it fitting nicely. You can also soak it in oil to expedite this process.) The Specialized body geometry saddles work nicely too. Bring a DECENT spare saddle too, which fits well (my spare was the wrong size because I didn't think I'd need to use it.) It's worth having a fair amount of padding too - especially on the rougher roads. Whatever you think about how race worthy a saddle is, it's worth the extra bulk to have a bit of comfort.

Handlebars
If you're bringing drop bars, it's worth having top bar brake levers such as these. You'll enjoy it much more on rough downhills!
STi shifters seemed to be slightly problematic - it's worth steering clear and getting bar end shifters.

Pannier rack/Handlebar bags
Don't bother. You should be able to fit everything you need for the day in your Camelbak. Most riders ditched their pannier racks throughout the trip.

Lastly, regarding your bike- it's worth spending time and money (unfortunately) to make sure you get a steed that fits well, is reliable and has been well thought through.

Preparation Before The Trip
I didn't personally train much before the trip. Training on the bike was impossible so I did some light cardio indoors for a few months. This is not a problem if you are young - and in general the younger riders seemed to recover much quicker. If you're a bit older, it's worth making sure you're fit enough before you start - it'll make the trip much easier on your body.

It's worth getting to grips with your bike. Most maintenance tasks you'll have to perform yourself. Practice patching a few tubes - once you get to Africa, they'll be in limited supply!

On The Trip
Some camping tips which you might find useful:
- Use your laptop/netbook at night. You'll save battery life that way! (Lower screen brightness).

- Put your groundsheet / tarp inside your tent. This will stop water pooling on top of it (as it would if it was underneath your tent). Added bonus of preventing Thermarest puncture.

- Fill up bottles / Camelbak the night before. The morning is always a bit of a rush.

- Put items that you don't need in the morning away in your locker before bed.

- Don't change shoes while loading your locker in the morning. Massive faux-pas.

- Take your dish kit to Rider Meeting. You'll get to the dinner queue quicker :-).

Achieving E.F.I.
Every F**king Inch is an arbitrary status based largely upon luck. The riders who achieved it were fairly fit and incredibly determined. However, a bad crash, extenuating circumstances or any number of things can halt your conquest of Africa in a heartbeat. If you're intent on achieving it, be aware that you need to be a decent cyclist, consistent and cautious. The oldest rider who achieved EFI this year was 45 years old.

On (Those All Important) Electronics
Lastly, a word on electronics. I was quite apprehensive about the charging capabilities available before leaving. While there are periods where there is no electricity for days on end, you'll largely survive as long as you accept you won't be able to use all your gadgets every minute of being awake.

My charging situation was such:
- Netbook, charged whenever there was power. It lasted about 10 hours more or less which was good enough to spend 30 minutes to an hour writing up the day's events and sorting photos each day.
- Mobile phone, you really don't have many people to call - I brought an old Sony Ericsson K750i and any old GSM mobile will suit you fine. A smartphone lacks utility without a data connection which you'll be hardpressed to find. I charged this from my PowerMonkey (a useful rechargeable charger - definitely worth getting. Alternatively, they also do a PowerGorilla, a larger rechargeable charger capable of charging laptops).
- Sansa Fuze, topped up daily from my netbook. This worked superbly and I only ran out of power when I forgot to recharge it the night previous.
- Cameras, battery life was good enough to charge these once weekly on rest days.
- GPS, used borrowed rechargeable AA batteries. Worth bringing several good quality batteries.

I found the solar charger I brought to be useless and many riders struggled to achieve decent charge from their solar charges. I don't think it's worth the expense - I managed on rest day power alone. As you get further south, you start visiting more campsites where it becomes easier to find power sockets to charge from.

It's worth bringing a fair complement of power adaptors - up north they use the round two-pin adaptors, from Kenya onwards they use square three-pin and then from Botswana a strange gigantic round three-pin. (Bringing a four-way is also useful - these can be cheaply picked up in Egypt too. Get one which has multiple types of sockets so you can share / daisy chain with other riders' appliances.)

My netbook worked superbly for the trip - get one with decent battery life. It's worth bringing a flash disk with a Live version of Linux (e.g. Ubuntu Netbook Remix) just in case your hard drive dies. Also worth bringing a decent external hard drive to back up photos (and to share photos at the end of the trip).

If you insist on bringing an iPod, either bring a cheap one (a Shuffle or similar) or bring two. A lot of people had problems with iPods dying or battery life.

Bring a couple of pairs of cheap headphones for use while riding. I went through four pairs of headphones. Possibly bring another decent pair for use in camp (if you're anything of an audiophile).

Bring plenty of Ziploc bags - useful for sealing electronics you carry on your bike!

Bring two cameras - a cheap one to take on the bike and a nicer one for rest days. Alternatively, bring a shockproof camera - these worked very well (they didn't break) but the picture quality isn't so great.

A Word On Safety
Africa is unreasonably regarded as a dangerous place. I felt in no harm at all on the trip. The biggest threat to cyclists is, as always, from passing motor vehicles. In areas with heavy traffic, the Tour organisers made excellent provisions for our safety and organised convoys. Theft is always a concern but being a prudent traveller and generally vigilent will keep your possessions safe. Campsites were fine in general - in areas where locals took elevated interest in us, boundary ropes and local watchmen kept us safe.


If any other Tour riders have any advice please contact me to have this post updated or drop a comment down below. Likewise for anyone with a question!

I sporadically took a variety of short clips while cycling. Coverage isn't complete (I miss a lot of Northern Kenya because of a broken camera and South Africa because of apathy).

Apologies for the sketchy soundtrack.

Just a quick note to say that I'll be on Nairobi's East FM tomorrow morning (Thursday 3rd June) between 8am and 10am local time, talking to presenter Aleem Manji about the trip. If you're in Nairobi, tune into 106.0 FM. If not, you can stream the channel over the internet here.

Update:
A good quality MP3 version of the second part (and majority) of the interview is now up here (4.79MB). An OGG Vorbis version is available here (3.27MB).

When I first planned my year of travel (commonly colloquialised as a gap year), I tried as much as possible to stay clear of any clichéd travel experiences. You know the sort - backpacking in South East Asia, volunteering to build a toilet block whilst teaching English at a local school, travelling in an overland truck, etc. However, the subject of climbing Mount Kilimanjaro came up several times over the last year - we tried to compare it to the trek we had previously done to Everest Base Camp (a similar altitude but longer). When one of my good friends said it was the hardest thing his Dad had ever done, I knew I had to give it a go. Announcing my travel intentions to my father, he decided to come along to - Kilimanjaro being a long time goal of his.

Foolishly, despite travelling the previous four months heavily loaded with electronics, I thought this would be a good, brief, break from my gadget addiction before plunging headlong into a summer of connectivity back home. (In addition, several sources had mentioned that the cold temperature at altitude would rapidly deplete batteries.) I soon realised my error when on the first day of the trek we were sitting around with hours to kill while our guides and tour organiser (at Marangu Hotel in Tanzania) sorted their equipment out. After a painful wait in which we did nothing (my only book was packed deep inside my duffel bag), Desmond, owner and operator of Marangue Hotel, called us for our briefing.

To compound this excursion's cliché factor was our choice of route: the Marangu route. The most luxurious (pre-built huts with 'beds' instead of tents) and shortest way to climb Kilimanjaro, it's often derided as the most touristy of the routes. Both of these factors appealed to us when choosing a route - we lacked sufficient time to do the longer Machame route and were hiking at the end of the rainy season - staying in wet tents was not an appealing thought. Desmond assured us though that the popular attitude to the Marangu route is flawed - perpetrated by a group of tour operators who lack the capability to book the Marangu route (which entails a complicated system of deposits for each hut). The elevation graphs show that while the first few days aren't as steep as other routes, we climb more at higher altitude each day - the hike to the summit is over a kilometre vertically, versus less than half this on the Machame route.

We eventually were driven to the park gate and after a quick lunch, started our first hike up to the first hut: Mandara. It was drizzling lightly as we passed through the muggy rainforest. Ants of all sizes (the largest were over a centimetre in length) crawled the surface of the trail and on several occasions we stopped to slap at our gaiters - having been bitten by freeriding ants. The route was steeper already than most of what we had hiked on the Everest Base Camp trek. We quickly reached the first hut (just a three hour hike, we did this in two and a half hours) - Mandara Hut, at 2700m.

The huts are fairly based but having lived in a waist high tent for four months, I appreciated the option to stand up fully without ripping your domicile to pieces. The huts are 'A-frames', shaped like the letter A so the only place to stand up is in the middle. Throughout the night there was a steady stream of sound as we and the other hikers adjacent to us knocked into the slanted wooden walls of the hut. The lavatories were basic but positively luxurious to what we found at most places on the TDA - they flushed and were relatively clean.

The next day we hiked up to Horombo. This was supposedly a six hour hike but thanks to my father's blistering pace (a misnomer, this pace caused him almost no blisters), we reached in less than five hours. I struggled, walking behind him most of the way. Four months of cycling have not developed my hiking muscles well at all. In addition, compounded fatigue left me wanting more energy. I realised here that I was glad that the route is only five days. Almost certainly this contributes to the notion that the Marangu route is purely for tourists but lacking electronics and with a quickly diminishing amount of material to read - boredom was an everlooming spectre.

After eating dinner in the fine company of some stripey rodents (they made for an entertaining dinner, if adding little else to the atmosphere), we took the opportunity to rest well that night since the summit climb the next day wouldn't provide us with a good night's sleep. The next morning the cloud that we had been climbing in had lowered a few hundred metres and the view was of a gorgeous plateau that almost seemed walkable.

From Horombo to Kibo, another 1000 metre climb, there are two routes available - a lower route and an upper route. The upper route is a few kilometres longer than the lower route and takes you closer to Mawenzi before swinging back along the saddle to join the lower route. A bit steeper, we again machined up the route and overtook the cloud (which had overtaken us just as we left Horombo) to be the first trekking group to reach Kibo. My Dad, ignoring the advice to walk 'pole pole' (slowly), had walked at his usual London pace.

Kibo was COLD. The (single) hut there was as close to a concrete bunker as, I supposed, huts built for tourists could get. Inside the huts was cooler than outside - the sun didn't seem able to penetrate through the miniscule square single-glazed glass windows that lined the top of the wall on each side. Worse still was the schedule for the summit hike. Kibo is the last hut which you can sleep at (on the Marangu route) but is still a fair distance from the summit. This means that it is necessary to leave at midnight in order to reach the (official) summit at sunrise. Conditions as the day heats up usually worsen and the weather is best in the early morning. Once you reach the summit, you can either choose to hike on to Uhuru, the actual summit, or descend all the way back to Horombo via Kibo.

That afternoon we tried hard to rest before the summit climb and failed as expected. The complete disalignment of our attempt to sleep with our usual sleeping patterns and the cold (we were wearing all of our clothes for the summit hike inside our sleeping bags) made it difficult. Personally, I napped for about 45 minutes before dinner and slept for maybe 1.5 housr continuously before we were woken at 11pm.

Waking up, I felt bad from the outset. Sleep deprivation aside, my stomach felt like the scene from Star Wars where the Rebel Alliance is fighting the Death Star. This was most probably caused by the altitude and not sleeping properly. Regardless, we had to push on and we began trudging up the mildly loose scree that composed the majority of the climb up to Gilman's Point. We took our guide's pace - slow but steady and made it up to half way with only one toilet stop (Star Wars induced). As the midnight tea wore off, I found it harder and harder to stay awake and began to doze off each time we stopped.

As we entered the rocky section before the climb, my Camelbak froze solid and crunched everytime I shifted the weight of my backpack. The rocks blocked the light of the full moon from illuminating our path and soon we all switched on our headtorches. The rocks were larged and required, at some points, both hands and feet to climb over. I had to stop a few more times to use the toilet - at temperatures below freezing this became a miserable but necessary act.

After what seemed like eternity of being within a few minutes of the ridge at the top of the climb, we finally reached it at 5:15. Out of seemingly nowhere was a crooked wood sign 'Gilman's Point'. A relief but we stopped only for a few minutes to get a caffeine topup (the tea seemed to breath new life into the war in my stomach) and continued onto Uhuru.

It seemed that the trek to Uhuru took as long as it did to get to Gilman's - a false feeling induced by the sudden availability of daylight. We stopped several times, mainly to catch our breath and to take some photos. The view from the top of the crater was stunning and has made it into my list of favourite places in the world (now a total of 3). As we plodded onto Uhuru through snow and ice, we saw several trekkers leaping down towards us. This seemingly continued forever but an hour and a half from reaching Gilman's Point we reached Uhuru - a circle of clear earth amidst thick snow.

Mission accomplished and after the mandatory photos, we quickly began our descent - my Dad had begun to feel a little queasy from the altitude too (and unlike me, decided to say something about it)). The descent to Kibo was great fun - on the loose scree this was more akin to skiing than walking. The last time I did this down Mount Snowdon in Wales, I had no gaiters and my shoes quickly filled with rocks - this time though, it was smooth sailing.

From Kibo down, the descent was much harder work - my legs hurt more than the way up (different muscles again) and I could quickly feel the burn. The difference descending is that you are no longer limited by your cardiovascular performance - merely by your muscles. A few hours descending, another night at Horombo and then finally a 4.5 hour descent all the way to the gate - it was over.

What did I gain from this? It was hard climbing Kilimanjaro, no doubt, but our pace was set quite high. We could have taken it much slower and probably summited just the same. Is it the hardest thing I've ever done? No, but then I was subjected to the Dinder ordeal on the Tour D'Afrique (12 hours of pain versus the 9 hours from Kibo to the summit and back).

Finally, trekking isn't as fun as cycling (in my honest opinion), nor as exhausting. I can't wait to get back on my bike!

Besides the usual Cape Town touring (Table Mountain, Robben Island, Cape of Good Hope), I decided to commemorate the end of the Tour D'Afrique by getting a tattoo. It was something I was contemplating from Arusha and was definitely influenced by the numerous people around me on the Tour who had one (or more). Various ideas came to mind (a hippo riding a bicycle - my nickname at school was 'hippo') but the one I finally settled on was something both geeky and unique and unashamedly inspired by the CUCC logo.

The CUCC logo (see any photo of my jersey or look at the website) is a motif consisting of a curvy stick figure riding the letters CUCC like a bicycle. Instead of the letters CUCC, I envisioned a stick figure riding the infinity sign like a bicycle. Jason Becker, a phenomenal artist and fellow EFIer on the Tour, sketched the design and improved it significantly to the point where we could send it to off to Metal Machine, a well established tattoo parlour in Cape Town.

The process itself was brief and reasonably priced (I'm told, compared to Western parlours). A quick double check of the design, a choice of font (I had the distance and the letters EFI added to the bottom of the design) and I was ready to go sit in the chair. The artist who tattooed the design was a man called Milo, outwardly scary (in the way that being covered by tattoos could be) but totally friendly (and once a keen cyclist too).

The actual act took about twenty minutes and hurt in the same way that getting injections at the dentist hurts. Not overly painful but you can definitely feel it. My tattoo was placed on the outside of my right arm which I'm told is less painful than getting it anywhere on the inside. Places where skin touches skin are quite painful because they are very soft and resultingly tender.

After it was done, some basic aftercare instructions were given (no submerging in water, put lotion on it a few times a day, wash with warm water and soap only, don't scratch) and a week later, it's looking good. The only annoying instruction is not being able to expose it to the sun (it'll fade quickly otherwise) for a month.

I'm quite happy with it and most people I've shown it to like the design. Photos in the usual place.