Ski Season Training Week...

Sitting, sitting and more sitting.

Training to be a chalet host is loooong. And involves a lot of sitting, sitting through lectures, sitting at lunch, sitting in coffee breaks. Always sitting.

Every morning was an early rise, to prepare us for chalet host life I think, and something I'm used to thankfully. After breakfast we went straight in to lectures on a number of different subjects from Mountain Health including avalanche safety as well as protecting your package should you decide to do some serious Apre Ski activities of the bedroom variety, to Housekeeping and everything to do with making a bed and cleaning a bathroom.

Being a fairly large company there was the usual box ticking exercises of explaining the grievance policy should you do something wrong or decide to leave prematurely etc. Ski season operators have a notorious turnover of staff, with some people taking the job just to get a free ride out to the Alps!

The Fire Safety talk was fairly in depth and shocking including a video that was a little too graphic for my liking. It did re-enforce the importance of fire safety in the Alps with the chalets being built from lovely Pine wood and the realisation that, at altitude, it may take the fire department a number of hours instead of the usual minutes we are used to at home in the UK.

This point was bolstered when Kerry and I arrived at our chalet to find that the adjacent chalet had burnt down just a few weeks prior. There was no snow on the ground and the fire brigade were able to get to the scene very quickly. Even so the wood was so dry the fire spread and only a shell remains. Quite scarily we have to walk feet in front of the crumbling building to get to our Chalet and we have heard parts falling down during the night.

After all of our training we were called in to the main lecture hall of the hotel to have one final speech from the European Operations Director before we were let loose to hunt out A4 printed sheets that had been pinned up throughout the hotel. On them was the information everyone was craving, our resort and chalet placements!

We have met some amazing people, both from our cooking course in the summer and from the companies training course in the hotel, so I was a little upset that we were placed in a resort on our own. As it turns out our closest friends were all split up over the French resorts. What was a little worrying to start was that Kerry and I were literally the only 2 hosts to be placed in our particular resort, Sainte Foy.

We met with our Area Manager, a very French guy who immediately put our fears to rest. He explained how being chosen to run a chalet in Sainte Foy was a great compliment from the company. That the managers saw our potential over the rest to provide a premium, quality holiday and to run the whole resort without guidance (or interference) from management. This basically means that we run the resort ourselves, giving guests information and advice as well as maintaining the chalet to our standards.

So off we go! To Sainte Foy!

36 hour day, 700 miles, beer pong tournament and breakfast at 7!...

We are in the alps... and already loving it! We left for our ski season today.

The day had finally come. It seemed like an eternity and then it rushed up on us before we knew it. Kerry's Mum and both of my parents were there at the train station to see us off, and a good friend Sarah came up to Victoria with us and our stupidly heavy bags. Lugging them the short distance down the road to the coach station was a real mission! But we found a nice italian and sat down for dinner.

Charlie, jemima, Stef and Lucy met us just as Sarah left for University. We had all met on the Chalet cookery course and by some fluke were all now employed by the same tour operator. We had a good chat and met some of their parents before heading across the road to the coach station where alot of young, ski/board people stood around with bags as big as ours! We all piled on to two coaches. It was a nice touch that there were 50 people to get on 2 x 47 seater coaches meaning we had plenty of space to loll around and generally spread out.

The coach journey was murder, for me atleast. It wasn't too bad on the way to the ferry but after we'd hit france it seemed to go on for ever. And it seemed I was the only one having trouble sleeping. I remember sitting there staring blankly in to space, everyone around me asleep, even the reserve driver, as thick thick snow fell. And we were only 2 hours in to France!

 We pulled up at an Aire, a small area similar to a service station, to fill up with fuel at about 8am. I used an android app I purposefully wanted to try out before our driving tour of Europe called NavFree. It allows you to download an entire countries road network on to the phone locally so the maps can be used offline (Without using data) The interface is a little clunky but it pinpointed where we were quickly and informed me we'd only travelled 400km and still had another 400 to go! That and I had to poo in a hole ;(

Everyone was a little bleary eyed and we all piled on for the last stretch. I did actually manage a little sleep between the aire and the start of the mountains, waking up to snow topped peaks on either side of the bus as we trundled down the autoroute. A quick check on Navfree showed we were only 40km from La Tania, the moutain village we were to be staying at. Of course these 40km were mainly the mountain road with steep hairpin bends that the bus struggled to negotiate. As good as our 2 drivers were at manoeuvring the large coaches, they just can't compete with the excellent (and sometimes scary!) driving of the French coach drivers.

We were greated in to the companies flagship new hotel by some of the managers, reps and hosts/hotel assistants from the previous week. We hauled our bags up some steep stairs and I was reminded just how much thinner the air was up here! We were only at 1400m altitude but my chest heaved for air, struggling with the half tonne weight of clothes and electronics I'd brought.

The afternoon was used for settling in to our rooms, collecting and signing for uniform and finally some welcome drinks and a small speech from the companies French Operations Manager. We were encouraged to mingle and get to know everyone and sat down for dinner, looking weary. After dinner we moved in to the lounge area where a large fire place sat with a chimney extending up and around a set of stairs that look like they could have been taken straight out of Harry Potter (Thanks Jemima)

All of a sudden 4 tables appeared, cups were laid out, an easel with a tournament hierarchy on was erected and a a loud voiced rep declared the start of the first 2012/13 Beer Pong contest to begin. I grouped up with a nice girl from Cheltenham who ski'd and we decided on “Sticks and Trays” for our team name, promptly getting annihilated in the first round!

The noise was incredible, everyone seemed to get a new lease of life and games were played for 5 minutes or until someone lost, with any drawn games being decided upon by a 'Dance off' resulting in some very funny and acrobatic moves!

The beer flowed and come 11:30 I was knackered, Kerry and I retired to our bedroom (which I've subsequently found out is an 'Executive' room!) so we could get some sleep before a 6:30 rise and breakfast at 7.

We are in the alps... and already loving it!

Notice of Resignation...

Done and dusted ... one month of work and that's it.

I'd left it quite close to the wire too. I want my last working day to be on the 8th of November 2012 and my contract states I must give one months notice. Today is the 5th and I am not back in on shift until the 10th so today was my last chance. My boss had agreed to meet with me in Costa coffee.

I sat down to a large mocha and got off to a good start by asking he excuse me should my phone ring. I was expecting a call from the Police of all people, with regard to a complaint made by a neighbour about the Smurf van. Great! Luckily they rang later.

Handing over an envelope I hit right off the bat with "I've asked to meet with you so I can hand you my notice of resignation". Not something you say every day!

My boss seemed quite surprised. I haven't discussed my plans with this particular manager who is effectively my acting line manager. In the letter I stressed that my decision was not through wanting to resign but with the lack of a suitable sabbatical programme was a necessity. I explained I'd had lengthy talks with the Head of Engineering and we could not come to any sort of agreement.

I revealed our plans about working in the Alps for a ski season and then using the van to tour Europe. He was very supportive, echoing everything my parents and other 40-something adults say when I mention travelling. "Your at the right age... got any kids?" Which is usually followed up by "Then there you go" when I admit I haven't (atleast that I know of)

I believe he has children of a similar age so may have breached the subject of traveling within his family. He definitely seemed very comfortable and supportive of the idea. I urged that I really would like to work at the company again and he thought I'd have no problem if I was to re-apply for engineering jobs, even going so far as to imply that, having gained the personal skills associated with travel, may be suitable for a managerial job. Which was unexpected yet very welcomed.

He assured me that he would help in any way he could in my future career, giving a good reference whether I chose to re-apply within the company or for an outside company.

I thanked him, and the company, for the opportunities for personal and professional development. Afterall they had paid over £70,000 on my education!

I offered my assistance within this transitional process. I'm not quite sure what is involved in leaving a job after 6 years. So I've set the ball rolling. I've now got one month left at work (15 working days to be exact!) and I have a feeling I'm going to. strangely, enjoy them.

The Blue Smurf/Smartie Motorhome...

We've bought a Motorhome.

Whilst our plans may seem sporadic and ... well ... UN-planned they are far from it. We will definitely be working ski seasons during the winters whilst we are in Europe however our intentions during the summers are somewhat changeable. And that, I feel, is the beauty of vagabonding. There is always a choice.

We've toyed with cycling through Europe, but my cycle camp with Kerry's Dad soon dispelled the myth that we could carry it out. I found it very hard cycling with enough stuff for one night let alone an indefinite amount of time.

Many travelers backpack through Europe, using public transport and hopping between towns and cities. We contemplated whether backpacking would fit with our intentions for the summer. We are interested in the WWOOFING programme and invariably these farms are located in rural parts, as expected. We were unsure whether backpacking would make getting to these Wwoofing farms more difficult.

I've always been interested in motorhomes. I think they are a viable way of life and have been fascinated by stories of people who live in them 'Fulltime'. So we looked in to the costs associated with motorhomeing around Europe but soon hit a brick wall. It seems the majority of insurance companies want you to be aged 25 or over to insure a motorhome and there is a certain grey area over whether a motorhome can be classed as a van and insured on a van policy.

We've been looking at motorhomes on Autotrader and eBay since April and nothing seemed to fall in to our budget until the beginning of September when 4 or 5 potential vans popped up.

Alex, a very good friend and Auto Mechanic, agreed to come up to Swindon to view a 1995 Ford Transit that had been converted to a camper.

She's a basic van that's been Self Converted in her previous life but to a fairly high standard. The rear and driving compartments are totally seperated with a carpet covered bulkhead. Entrance to the living area is through the rear doors.

Upon opening the doors there is a gangway between two kitchen type units. The left houses a propane/butane gas bottle that powers a gas oven, grill and 3 burner hob. Alongside this is a sink and draining board that have an electrically operated water pump from a container that you place outside the van.

On the right are a row of low level cupboards under the work surface, one of which is big enough to house a simple porta-potty type camping toilet that we may invest in. Above this unit is a row of smaller high level cupboards.

Moving forwards towards the front of the van there is a U shaped bench seating area with table that folds away to the floor at night. Above the driving compartment is quite a large storage space that houses the centerpiece of the bench seating area to convert it to a comfy sized bed.

Structurally the van is quite a tidy example of a 17 year old Transit. The door sills have had work done to them but other than a few spots of surface rust the main steels seems to be in good condition. The chassis has covered 160,000 miles but apparently the original engine was damaged during a cam belt change and a re-conditioned engine sourced from the Royal Mail with 74,000 miles on. There is, however, no documentation backing this up so must be taken at face value.

Electrically the van has a 12 volt Leisure battery connected to the water pump for the sink and 2 fairly power hungry, yet lumen low 12v lights. I intend on completely changing the wiring and installing a new Surface Mounted Diode LED lighting system along with a number of cigarette lighter sockets and a rather stylish mirror with LEDs down the side.

Unfortunately the 12 volt leisure battery is wired directly to the starter battery with no automatic (Split Charge Relay system) or manual isolation. I found this out when Kerry and I were sitting in the van one night with the lights on and the next day she wouldn't start :(

There is also a 240 volt hook up system installed with Distribution board and a set of 240v lights and sockets. This is quite a good install and I intend on further expanding it with the addition of a trickle charger so that when hooked up to mains the leisure battery is charged and we can use all 240v and 12v appliances and lighting.

So There are a few things to sort out. She drives like an old Transit, which is to be expected, but after a good service, bleed the brakes and a few water tight problems she should easily take us around Europe.

I've already started on the Electrics and managed to pull out a massive amount of redundant wiring from the engine bay. I can only assume that an after market stereo head unit was installed and just the unit taken leaving the wiring behind. Some of the wiring I have no idea what was used for and I'm quite surprised there were no direct shorts resulting in a fire!

Andy and Debs, the people selling her, were very helpful, answering any questions they could. He had had it over the summer for festivals, camping trips and fishing. My kind of guy! However he wanted to move on to a trike so the van had to go.

Andy said he liked the idea that she would be used for her purpose and would see Europe. After a touch of haggling we were able to secure her for £2100 and collected her the following Monday with the help of a work colleague and friend Ross. We ate a KFC in the back at a service station on the way home!

Now I have a little project to be getting on with! Then, once she's tip top, we have to put her in to storage over the winter while we slip and slide on our ski season, ready for our return in April.

We are currently arguing over names for her. I'm all up for the Smurfmobile, or the Blue Smartie van while Kerry is adamant with Betty Blue Eyes.

Hitchventure 2012: Day 5...

I woke up and couldn't breath!

I was gasping, squinting in the dark. I seriously couldn't breath! I could slightly breath out but not in! Oh My God! Asthma attack!

I was so confused and scared. I was also boiling hot. Pepe's apartment was darn hot, nice but pretty hot. I think this coupled with the amount I've had to smoke recently made me freak out. I started breathing long but volumeless breaths. Trying to work all of this out in the dark.

I got my breathing under control and grabbed a glass of water. What was that!?

The next instant my alarm was going off at 9am. Lie IN! I checked to make sure my lungs would function properly and slunk off to the shower. Ah what a shower, just the right temperature, nice pressure, fresh cold water to brush the toothy pegs. Actual heaven on earth is Pepe's bathroom. Pepe's sofa was the first time I'd slept inside in 4 days.

We both got ready and I declared "Pepe! That was a lovely shower, now lets go and I'll get breakfast!" He took me to a cheap pub he knew of which turned out to be a Weatherspoons. Bloody old weatherspoons though. The building was older than Buckingham palace and the design for the Clifton Suspension bridge was decided in the same room as me tucking in to my bacon, sausage and egg.

We chatted a bit more over breakfast and walked around Nelson Street where the majority of the festival was conducted. Huge pieces were strung up at every turn. This  piece of a black woman holding a baby was formed using parallel lines. Pepe said that this gave it a sort of 'Japanese Garden' feel to it. I think he was right and I'd never seen anything like this before.

It was time for Pepe to leave and we bid farewell to each other. I really needed to get out to the road and start flying my sign. I didn't know whether I was going to hitch home, south towards Bournemouth or anywhere. I thought I'd let the road decide.

I walked about a mile out of town to a petrol station and instantly spent 2 hours standing at the side of the road. There were plenty of cars passing, and they were only going about 20 miles per hour. I'd chosen a spot with loads of space to pull over, but no one was playing ball.

A guy approached and said "Listen mate, used to do alot of this back in the day, you'll be better off just up 'ere" I walked with him for 15 minutes whilst he told me about his days hitchhiking and that the spot he was taking me to was a gold mine. Plenty of traffic, slow pace and lots of room to pull over... Sounded just like where I was.

We got to a subway under a flyover and he pointed to where I needed to be. He'd already told me directions for how to get to his house if I had no luck, wanted to sit down, or even stay the night. A pretty nice bloke. But one who was drinking 'Special Brew' at 11:30 in the morning. Damnit Adam. Why do you get sucked in to this stuff!?

I stood at the sparsely populated, fast flowing section of the M32 with no suitable place for cars to stop. Mr Special had no idea what he was talking about. This was the worst place a hitchhiker could try and solicit a ride from...Ever! I trudged the 20 minute walk back to the Shell garage I'd come from. Lesson Learnt.. look for open cans of +7% alcohol before taking someones opinion as gold.

I stood for another hour and a half. Absolutely no one was even taking a whiff. I was holding a rather ambiguous 'East' sign as well. Nothing too specific. I gave up. I was tired, lonely and I wasn't sure of where I was going to sleep that night. A Megabus drove past and I wondered how much their £1 bus advert was true.

I pulled up the website and plugged in Bristol to London. I wasn't surprised to find that the journey was not a pound but was surprised at its cheap price. £5. I booked the 15:30 from Bristol town center, kind of ashamedly. It is a Hitchventure afterall and this was the first time I was going to PAY for any sort of transport.

The hitchventure is more about the free travel though. It's about meeting people, hearing their stories and experiences. One of the Spanish guys had said to me the night before at the Board Game night, "You can get a bus for £10". It was as if even to these CouchSurfers, who, I'd have thought would share the same mentality, the IDEA of hitchhiking was alien. This surprised me.

I used the remaining 2 hours of my stay in Bristol to check out the shops in Cabot Circus and soak up the glorious sun on a bench. The bus was on time and boarding was simple. I cosied in to my seat with Bob Marley in my ears, frantically googling on my phone for places to stay in London.

It was no use... For couchsurfing to work you need to be prepared and know what your doing weeks in advance. Hitchhiking doesn't lend itself nicely to Couchsurfing. You can never tell where you will be at any one time. Never knowing when you'll arrive somewhere.

I got to London and walked around Pimlico, admiring all of the very regal buildings. Wondering what scandalous behavior was going on inside those of the rich and famous.

I checked in with a couple of nearby hostels. Every where was sold out of the Large mixed dorms at £12 a room and wanted £50 for a twin private. I gave up. I walked back to Victoria and bought a ticket to Littlehaven.

I'd been away for 5 days, covered hundreds of miles and enjoyed every minute. It was an apt time to go home. The road had told me to go home.

I let on to Kerry, my girlfriend, that I was staying in London. "Don't sleep on the streets!" she pleaded. I played along, not telling her I was on my way home. I asked for a hug just as I got to the front door and she asked how she'd do that! "Come and open the door and you can"

Hitchventure 2012: Day 4...

Rain rain go away. It woke me up... at 5:15!

I'd seen on the TV the night before that the rain was on its way but I atleast thought Id make it through the night ok. I dragged the tarpauline over me and rolled over. My hips always seem to hurt with these little foam camp mats and I couldn't get back to sleep. Baby wipe shower it was for me.

I trekked down the hill in the rain, bought a can of monster and a sausage roll from the Londis in Llanberis and sat waiting for the public toilets to get unlocked. That felt more laborious than waiting for hitches so I grabbed a bit of card from the Londis bin and set out. I was on the road and flying my 'East' sign by 6:45. Way too early. About 4 cars passed in an hour. Luckily Dug was in the 5th.

He was just on his way back from work. His friend had secured the civils contract of a stretch of road between Caernarfon and Porthmadog 6 years previous and the council paid them to conduct daily bat surveys on the local Hook Eared bat (?). It pretty much meant Dug had to walk a 3 miles stretch of road at sunrise and look for dead ones.

He was very informative. Apparently you can buy a bat detector! It works by picking up the sonar like sounds that bats use to navigate and, through their differing frequencies, the device then pops out a breed of bat. All of this was 'good for £140 a day!' or so I was assured. His Shiatsu Fall-apart told a different story.

Each town meant another tributary on to the A5 and more traffic and I was soon in Betws-y-coed. Hitching was slow. Drivers in Wales seemed to excuse them not giving you a ride by pointing in different directions and then holding their hands out through the windscreen . Then a G reg Golf rumbled past, slowed, braked and turned around in a car park. 

James and Gina turned around and shouted out 'Where you going?' I said 'whereva, England?'

They were going to Gloucester, just a few miles North of Bristol, my next destination. Awesome! I had considered hitching East to the motorways and then Service hopping back to the South East and home, but with a direct ride pretty much to my second option how could I decline?!

James played the most awesome compilation CD I think I've ever heard, I snapped a photo of the track listings for later. The reason they were driving from Wales down to Gloucester was that their friend, Tom, was on a walking adventure. He was walking around Wales, then hoping to go on to Ireland and Scotland, continually walking untill he raised £10,000. It was his 54th day and he'd raised about £200. Ouch!

To top it all off he had just had his pack stolen. The rats had been kind and un-tied his boots from it for him, but taken the pack and its contents. James and Gina were delivering a whole new pack with contents to him and were now on their way back.

I was knackered, sitting in the back of the car I started off my normal happy chappy self but I could sense I was starting to flake. We had a bit of a mad dash back as Gina had to be at work at 12:00. I suggested we jump on the M5 and James hooned it down the motorway dropping Gina off at 11:59! Just in time!

This is where Hitchhiking really does show people at their best. James was willing to drive 30 miles South to drop me in Bristol city centre and then drive back again. If you ask me that is humanity at its greatest.

I wandered round Bristol aimlessly for a few hours, surrounded by an enormous array of decent, well produced graffiti. Some were sprawled over 7 floors of office blocks and other high rise buildings. There was no way this was all done illegally. I later found out that this week was a festival devoted to Graffiti and that the best artists had been shipped in and had scaffolding erected to show off their skills.

The standard really was incredible. I've only really seen graffiti that is 'thrown' up in rushed minutes for fear of being caught.

This stuff was different. The artists had been drafted in, some paid, and time allocated without prying public or authoritarian interference. And it showed.

I still hadn't anywhere to sleep for that night. I'd seen on the map that there was a large green park just to the South-East but I didn't fancy another night under the stars, bat/sheep friends or not.

I sat in Maccy D's trawling the Couchsurfing listings for Bristol. I'd done the same the day before in Llanberis but I'd had no replies. I even posted in the 'Emergency Bristol Group' for people who arrived in Bristol and had no immediate accommodation.

I sent out about 30 'surfing' requests if you combine yesterdays and todays efforts. I didn't think I'd get a bite. I've never surfed before but I know from talking with the surfers I've had stay that it can be very hit and miss.

One profile stood out, a guy called Pat, and I sent him as humorous a request as I could, while still telling my plight. To my surprise he messaged back 30 minutes later saying that it wasn't ideal for me to stay and he was out of the house until 11pm at a dinner party. However he said that if push came to shove I wouldn't have to sleep on the streets.

This was encouraging and I continued to send request after request. I also clicked on the 'Activities' button. I've been invited to the Brighton and Hove CS Monthly Meetup and wondered whether Bristol organised similar events just on a whim. Voila! They DID. And it was tonite!

The Bristol Board Game Night was to be held at the Full Moon Backpackers Hostel. Perfect, Board games, company and a cheap(ish) bed if I could bare my wallet to stretch to it.

I sat in the garden of the bar staring down everyone who entered, eagerly expecting them all to be attending. Then Pepe strolled through and I instantly recognised his face as the organiser of the group from the site.

He walked over and extended his arm, obviously catching sight of my pack. Two others joined us shortly afterwards. Turned out all three were Spanish!

Now, when I read Board games I usually read Bored games. This night was not the case. We played such bizarre and interesting, thought provoking and skillful games that I wished I hadn't had the 2 beers before they arrived.

One involved a sort of snap competition coupled with a wooden Totem, another used little runes with numbers on and another a kind of pawn moving game but you could put up walls. It was awesome. I'm sure to buy the Totem pole one. 'Speed Jungle'

We played and laughed for a few hours until Pepe looked at his watch and said he had to leave for the gym at 22:30. I had succumbed to getting a room at the Hostel. £15, not too bad and it was the cheapest in town. I messaged Pat and thanked him for his offer but I was sorted.

Just as everyone was leaving the bar they all congregated at the end of the table and nattered in Spanish. I thought they were just chatting and supped on the half of cider that Hector had given me. Then Pepe came back. "I can't leave you here in the hostel. Will you come and stay at mine?" Sure. I'll stay, but I could sense some sort of hesitation in his voice. He explained that he was going to the gym and would call me in an hour.

He rang exactly an hour later and we walked to his apartment which was very nice. He explained his caution as he knew I was a hitchhiker. In Spain hitching used to be fairly common untill the 80's and now pretty much no one hitches. (Sounds a bit like England) This made him uneasy with my motives for being in Bristol and wanting to get a Couchsurfing host.

We chatted about politics, London riots, Spanish corruption and the importance of CSing untill about 12:00. I was knackered. Up at 5:15 with the rain and all. He offered the comfiest sofa in the world and I'm pretty sure as he said good night and shut his bedroom door I was out like a light. Good ... Night

Hitchventure 2012: Day 3...

I woke up groggy. I'd had a tough night.

When I was rigging my tarp up I didn't notice the little white clouds with black legs walking around. Now it was dark and I was trying to sleep I really did notice them. Sheep, everywhere. They were noisey, I could hear them pulling the grass out, a couple baaaa'ed all night and I swear one of them let out a prolonged, human sounding, fart. One tripped up on my guy rope and there was a large commotion as I shoo'd them away wearing my boxers and a head torch.

Shower was awesomsauce as per usual. Had to pay £1 for 7 minutes though. Then I was free. It was ascent time! I ate a huge breaky in 'Pete's Eats'. A caffi (Welsh spelling) but more like a hostel. Obviously taken up the slack of the official YHA property. Big, cheap food, communal areas to be used 'as and when' by scouts, groups etc. and showers at £3 a go.

Asking in a few shops, mountaineering outlets etc if they could look after my bag for a couple of quid revealed that the "No win, no fee, lose my stuff and I'll sue you" mentality had hit Wales. All I wanted was somewhere to leave my pack while I went up the mountain. A small hotel was obliging 'but if anything happens we accept no responsibility'. Yes, yes I gathered that was coming.

I'd read that there was an 80% chance of a clear summit today, and it looked like it was going to be true. Lovely fluffy clouds soared over, casting shadows on the  surrounding mountains.

I'd done it again though. with the big 'I am'. Snowdon. Pfft piece of cake. Far from it. I'd even taken the least steep route! Llanberis path runs from the town of Llanberis over a 4.5 mile route to the summit. But I was panting and sweating and spluttering. A sign of my bad fitness and the need to give up smoking!

My back was the worst. my shirt was drenched. I'd, sensibly, worn a non-wik-away super-duper mountaineering shirt. Some people call them I'm-going-out-on-the-town-not-a-mountain shirt. And this collected ALL of the sweat my body could produce. It was disgusting. As I was passing people they would wait a minute and then murmur, presumably to their comrades, about the big dark patch on my back.

Oh well, screw it, I'll never see them again. That's what travel makes you appreciate. Your not in the business of impressing, you don't really give two hoots what anyone thinks. It's pretty selfish business.

Then at about 800 meters in came the clouds. Big fluffy clouds that soaked anything and anyone in them. Luckily I'd bought the 'cheapest mac in the shop' and pulled it out of its stuff sack, tearing the sack in the process.

So now I was sweating on the inside and getting pretty much rained on on the outside. wonder if there was any point in the jacket... Wasted £24.99.

I was gasping for a drink when I got to the top. Gave the Cairn a hug and hurried in to the cafe to shelter from the wind. No cold tap to be found. None in the toilets and none of the staff would fill it up. I bought a snickers, ate it, then bought another one and munched that down.

If I'm really honest with you I was ready to get the train down there and then. I was shagged, 2 nights of sleeping rough, a party with a heard of sheep during one, and walking 1085 meters up a mountain in a cloud had sucked it out of me.

I queued for the ticket, plastic debit card in hand. 2.5 hours to wait and £10 to get down! Screw this. I huffed out of the cafe back in to the fluff and started down Llanberis path. I'm glad I did. It was no where near as hard as the climb up. I was using bizarre new muscles very rarely used. Walking-down-hill muscles. And I was facing the scenery. not a path of rock and gravel.

Grabbing my bag I spoke with the guy behind the counter of the hotel who was intrigued with what I was doing. I explained and urged him to grab a piece of card and try it. He told me about a hotel that served £2 pints with free internet. I ran till my little heart could pump no longer. Lager

I ended up pretty drunk off of my £10 in the bar. The sign of how little I was eating. I wandered around Llanberis and found a quaint old church with its gates locked. I scampered over the dry stone wall and noseyed round. Seemed like no one was there and what looked like the perfect hobo alcove in a side door to the right. Out of sight and out of mind. I fashioned a little bed as best I could, tarp at the ready incase it rained.

Then I just sat there, listening, watching the clouds and generally trying to take my mind off the fact that I was hunkering down in the grounds of a church with a graveyard!

I'm in no way superstitious or have any belief in the afterlife blah blah blah but something just didn't feel right. It was probably the thought of getting caught. But hey, what's the worst they can do? Ask me to move on?

I turned my netbook on to chill out a bit with a film. My choice: [Rec], The Devil Inside or Machete! Nice one Adam. Only horror films.

Then all of a sudden the organ chimed up inside the church! Not just random notes but whole scores of music. I was nervous as hell. I was now snuggled down outside a door with god knows how many people inside practicing the organ!

It was played well though. I have plenty of videos of it! They'll be coming later. They practiced for about an hour and then I heard shuffling, banging and finally a big ole lock turning. Phew.

I had trouble sleeping the whole night. The concrete wasn't particular comfortable, the temperature was alot cooler than the previous night and whenever I opened my eyes I could see 4 or 5 bats flying around the alley next to me.... Oh god

Hitchventure 2012: Day 2...

I woke up really late. The sun was already up and it was about 8 o'clock. A lie-in if you ask me.

But I felt good, turns out stinging nettles make good bedding when laid on. I brushed my teeth and packed up, putting my long johns on over my shorts to get out of the wood alive and without big nettle bumps all over me.

At the services I found a shower... BLISS. Showers are awesome. If you haven't ever been without one, try. You will fall in love with the next one you see. So I stood there for ages, soaking up the hot water, I felt so good after and stood outside the services with a sign for West, sheepishly asking a few punters who were exiting.

Peter was a Doctor before retiring and offered to take me 20 miles down the road to Shrewsbury. He knew of a service station there and said it'd be ideal. I'm always cautious of taking other peoples opinions of hitching spots as, usually, they have never hitched themselves and so cannot judge whether a particular place will be good or not. Peter on the other hand was spot on. It was on a busy junction and had a lay-by on the road West which is what I wanted to take.

I waited about 30 minutes with no bites before the heavens opened. It chucked it down too, not rain, more sheets of water, like a waterfall. So I sat outside the Esso garage feeling like Jay or Silent Bob outside their convenience store. I still flew my sign. 'West'

Surprisingly I heard a shout from a little Suzuki something. "Where you off to?" came a weird, Devonshire/Welsh accent. Vicky was coming back from V Fest and she looked it! I explained I wanted to get to Snowdon eventually but anywhere in between would be good. She laughed and said she could take me to the bottom but she wasn't driving up!

So we sat for an hour an a half, driving down the A5, a beautiful road, and chatted about marriage, child birth and other bizarre subjects. It was cool. She rang her husband who had the thickest Welsh accent I've ever heard, so much so I couldn't understand him. She thought that her picking up a hitchhiker would be an issue but, I think, he wasn't too fussed and more concerned with which baby pudding to buy their 6 month old for dinner.

I was in Llanberis by 2pm. Sat at the bottom of Snowdon and in the rain. My cheap £4 Tesco umbrella had broken and I was getting wet. The road to the Youth Hostel was about half a mile of 30 - 40 degree uphill that killed my legs with my pack on my back. I was treated to a disheartening note on the door of the Hostel. "Sorry no vacancies tonite". Damnit. I walked around the building looking for an alcove or even a pair of trees where I could string up my tarp.

I found quite a large room on the basement level which had chairs stacked neatly in the corner. It must have been a meeting room or something similar, but it was empty, and that's what mattered to me. That was my haggling weapon.

I waited around outside as the weather improved, topping up the tan on my neck! I began to become curious as to how 'youthful' this youth hostel was as reams of 40 somethings with glasses arrived or departed from the keypad controlled door. I personally thought the YHA had a rule that it's accommodation was suitable for youngsters (under 30) who needed cheap, no thrills accommodation to help them in their travels.

Well it turns out it isn't. Not his particular Youth Hostel atleast. It's more of a hotel i'm afraid to say. To be booked well in advance by 40 - 60 years olds or families with young children. I was quite disappointed when the Warden said I could not have a space, even when I notion-ed towards the, seemingly, disused meeting room. They could not spare a space big enough for a young traveller to lie down. I guess times have changed.

I continued up the mini mountain road to a campsite about 200 meters away. I explained that I had little money and needed somewhere to string my tarp for the night. "Your a student right?" Said the farmer with another thick Welsh accent. "Erm ... I can be?!" and he charged me £5 instead of the usual 10er.

I fashioned a pretty terrible tarp setup and hurled my bivvi under. I ate a whole load of Bombay mix whilst I watched 'Kurt and Courtney' (Documentary) on my netbook and swatted at the hundreds of midges that flew around my head.

I'd had a mixed day. I'd made huge progress hitching wise with a direct, 1 ride, stint to Llanberis, but my high was ruined by the apparent loss in morals of the YHA. Still nothing could be worse than shooting yourself because of a crazy wannabe rockstar misses.


Plus all I had to do was lean out of my tarp to look at this! Tomorrow, I walk up it!

Hitchventure 2012: Day 1...

So that was a bit embarrassing! A full blown mental meltdown quite publicly on VagabondingAdam Facebook account! Sorry about that!

I really don't know what came over me. I was sat at Pease Pottage for a good hour and a half. There were no takers for my 'M25 East' sign. Just a few good people asking if I wanted to go West, towards Heathrow.

All of a sudden I just freaked. There were a few trucks in the truck park from the continent. An Albanian, Lithuanian and others I couldn't work out. None of the drivers looked particular nice, clean or in anyway friendly. I started to worry about the channel crossing. What would it be like? Would I ever get a lift? I'd read loads on the internet before leaving and was bold as brass sitting at the PC at home, but now I was out there, really doing it. I was having a Britney moment.

It all got a little too much. I rang Kerry and urged her to bring me the Collins Handy Britain map as I only had the European one. Europe was out. I couldn't do it. My gut feeling told me not to and with Hitching, that is what you listen to. Not your heart or even your brain sometimes, but your gut.

I freaked a tiny bit more while she drove to me and ended up sitting in Crawley park while the car had some work done in the garage, grimacing through my teeth and audibly moaning at my disappointment. I had a chat with Kerry and she thought it was because of my control freak nature. She's probably right. There was just too many things that were out of my control. Language, ferry, places I'd never heard of, let alone knew where they were geographically. I would be totally removed from everything.

I rang my Mum (Yes I know, pissy girl again) and texted a few good mates. It was back on. Screw Europe with your funny voices and unknown places. Great Britain here we come.

Kerry dropped me back out to Pease Pottage and I proudly span my 'M25' sign with glee. This is what Hitching is about! Joy. There were 2 female hitchikers just round the corner. They wanted to get IN to London and not around so we agreed I could hitch in my spot and pass on any rides headed in. It took no longer than 20 minutes and I was in a car and on my way.

I got to Oxford services in one ride with a nice lady who was quite high up in a pyramid sounding business. She tried her hardest to get me to sign up but I've dabbled with Ponzi schemes before and it only produces losers. I entertained her babble though and she got me a hell of the way up the road.

Mark and Carly were next to pick me up. And in a magical film makers moment it was all caught on camera. They had just been to a lavish wedding in London with boating trips on the Thames and a full 3 course meal for 150 people!

They were bound for Manchester, where they lived, and were able to drop me off on the M6 just after Birmingham. Sam gave me a short trip down the road to Telford services where the sun started to go down. I'd travelled 180 miles in under 4 and a half hours. Quite an achievement!

I found a small wood next to the services and got stung to death getting in! I lay down my bivvi and didn't even set up a tarp. I was confident it wouldn't rain.

Biggest Adventure Yet...!

Hitchventure: Going South

I know it sounds crazy, I know it probably isn't advised... but its different. From tomorrow morning I will be hitchhiking to Barcelona, Spain ... or trying at least!

 I'm rocking a new quiff hairstyle courtesy of Mumma Vaga and have my best-est cheery chappy face on to try and get as many quick rides as I can, but deep down I ... am ... pooping it.

At the end of the day I've chosen to do this.

I'd like to go back to Barcelona. I have visited once before and it was a long weekend of drunken haziness so I'd like to re-visit with a clearer head.

Having said that the main goal (If there is one) of the trip is to get to a night club called Razzmattazz. It's basically clubbing heaven on earth. 5 warehouses all joined together, each playing a different genre of music. Cheap drinks, tables made out of concrete, rammed with up to 5000 people.

The 'goal' is very loose. If I don't make it to Barcelona and end up sleeping in Newhaven Ferry port for 8 days and coming back I will still be happy. The whole idea is to get back out there hitchhiking, exploring and interacting with everything/one in the world.

I've managed to amass a pile of probably unnecessary items of clothing and essentials for a ten day trip. I have to be back on English Terra firma, and preferably home, by 28th August as Kerry has an amazing couple of days planned camping and safari-ing at Longleat House from the 29th.

Whilst my pack and its contents looks big, it only weighs a mere 10kg which is more than comfortable.

So if you're anywhere between Horsham and Barcelona and you fancy giving us a lift, let me know... otherwise pray for fast, frequent, quality rides and keep checking back to see my progress!

Natives Chalet cookery course...

Kerry and I just got back from the Natives Chalet cookery course held at St Teresa's girls boarding school near Effingham, Dorking.

Boarding school accommodation

To say I want to go back is an understatement. Our course instructors were brilliant. Tony was a 50, possibly 60-something who jacked in a near 6 figure salary in London to pursue a better lifestyle and was now on his 9th season working in the Alps! He floats about in the summers, helping out at his friends' place, fishing and camping in the Highlands of Scotland and running a few cookery courses. Sounds like a life of bliss!

Dave had worked as a resort manager and was on hand to answer questions about what it was like to work a season. Unfortunately for him a mortgage and sprogs means he's had to bow out of seasonal work.

Going to a boarding school was a weird thing to start. We were allocated small boarding rooms to live in. When I tried piling in to Kerry's single room with her Tony pointed out that it was a single bed and I may be more comfortable in a room of my own!

Bread crumbed Fish, Beef Bourguignon and Carrot and coriander soup

I'd perused through the Natives Chalet cook book before. I even bought a copy! (Only for them to make it free online :() So I kind of already knew what to expect and had practiced some of the recipes at home.

The days involved splitting up in to teams of 3 or 4. These teams would then work together cooking parts of meals, cakes for afternoon tea and desserts which we all ate around a communal table and discussed.

After afternoon tea (16:30) we then had a bit of down time where we watched a few films and generally milled about. The team who were responsible for cooking dinner that night then had to be in the kitchen by 18:45 to serve dinner at 20:00.

Human Buckaroo, Tom is under all of that!

As can be expected from potential seasonnaires there was quite a bit of drinking involved. Vino seemed to be the tipple of choice amongst the other guys and I'd dread the pint of red, white, vodka monster and beer that would come round to me during a certain drinking game :0

One night a top notch bloke called Tom managed to neck his bottle of cheap plonk quicker than I can down a strawpedo. Much antics followed including quite a large amount of smelly sick, until he finally passed out on the sofa. Then a huge game of human Buckaroo unfolded including lit table lamps.

Mine and Kerry's graded meal

The week culminated in Kerry and I teaming up to cook a proper 3 course meal of our choosing. We learnt that when planning an evening dinner there is more to consider than just what to cook. We had to take in to account colours of each course and their similarity to the other courses, colours used within each course and whether they fit with other ingredients. The starters shouldn't be too close to the main ie Salmon triangles to start followed by poached salmon for main course.

We decided upon: Seasoned Tomato and Mozzarella on a garlic crouton with Basil for starter. Main was Lamb chops with a homemade rosemary and red current sauce, Gratin Dauphinoise potato with Sauteed French beans and glazed carrot batons. All of this was followed by Gooey chocolate brownie with ice cream and a sticky chocolate fudge sauce.

It was a pleasure to cook with Kerry. I'd been paired up with some really nice other wannabe chalet hosts but it was good to know that Kerry and I can work efficiently together without getting all Gordon Ramsey at each other! The final graded meal went without a hitch. We were both really pleased with the final result. Timings all went well, nothing was burnt/under cooked and the presentation was spot on.

The whole meal was then tasted and graded by the instructors whilst we cleared the kitchen. We achieved an A grade for all three courses! A massive boost and proof that we can cook to a high standard. When we finally got to try it it was stone cold so wasn't too appealing but if judged by smell and looks alone I'd have given it an A too!

The people really did make the course though. Everyone was 18 and fresh out of 6th form. I felt like a Grandad at a christening. But everyone was so nice. There were no spats or agro, everyone got along and if we weren't cooking or eating we were chugging the beers or lolling in front of a film. I really hope to meet some of the guys and girls again out on a ski resort and it really would be a pleasure if I was fortunate enough to get to work with any of them.

Thanks for such an awesome week everyone!

Skiworld and Alpine Elements are two ski tour operators who run chalets and hotels in Europe. Kerry and I were both able to have 1:1 interviews with the recruiting managers from both companies and felt they went well. Fingers crossed we are offered a job with either. Hopefully our cooking this week impressed them.

Sabbatical woes...

Yesterday was the day I asked for a sabbatical.

A sabbatical is a rest from work for a certain period of time. Commonly between 2 months and a year.

Ideally I would like the flexibility of having a years sabbatical so I can pursue my vagabonding adventure safe in the knowledge that if I become injured, run out of money or simply don't enjoy the world of travel, I can come back to a familiar, well paid job that I enjoy.

I've had quite a disjointed management structure over the past year at work. And for the past 6 months haven't had a permanent, or even acting, line manager to approach with concerns, ideas or questions.

Sometimes this has been a blessing! Imagine the freedom I have. To do the jobs I want to do, and more importantly how I want to do them, without the restriction or direction that can come from management. It's also worked against me though. Not having that support and direction at times, has really made some tasks more difficult. Administrative things (such as a balls up in my pay!) that should have been nipped in the bud quickly have dragged on for months (costing me money).

If I am to hand in my resignation I must then work a one month notice period. So with my intended departure date being 31st October I must hand in my resignation no later than the end of September. And I figured that I would ask for a sabbatical a couple of months before that. This gives the company time to contemplate my proposals and then action them if need be. Sourcing temporary labour and obtaining passes etcetera.

That time is around now. And with no one directly above me I feel I can ask I was to head straight to the top.

I had previously approached the Human Resources department to see if there was a company sabbatical policy. I met a blank wall and answers back were sometimes contradictory. The jist of their response was that it would be an informal agreement between the employee and their line manager .......... Phat chance.

So yesterday I met with the Head of Engineering. A very nice chap who was able to take the time out of his busy schedule to meet me. I knew that going to this level would get a definite and succinct answer with no fluff attached.

He expressed his concern with the length of time. A year seemed too long and he was worried that I may change as a person, for the worse of the company... Well I do intend on changing if vagabonding brings about that, but not through force. And I'm not sure I would change for the worse.

Whilst recognising the value of travel to a persons development personally and professionally he was not sure how I used my time off would benefit the company. I elaborated on some volunteering work that I intend on doing at a friends charity the Raising Hope Foundation who support and help orphans in Ghana, and he seemed keen. But, not one to lie, I explained primarily I would be travelling for personal pleasure and intended on working a ski season.

This he wasn't too keen on. He has had experiences of employees taking long periods of time off from snowboarding injuries and could not see the benefit it may bring to the company. (Which fair enough except for some entertaining fall videos and a few 'Apres Ski' hangovers neither could I). The conclusion of the chat was that should I approach him with a constructive, possibly charity led, 3 month long plan he may well be inclined to make it happen. However a year long pleasure trip would probably not wash.

So I guess I have two options. Take 3 months out ... or resign.

Ski Season tailored CV writing...

Who enjoys writing a CV?

Not me, and I'm sure I'm not the only one. I've read way too many 'CV writing tips and tricks' websites and trawled through umpteen 'CV samples/templates' documents for my liking.

And yet I still find it hard! I had made a concerted effort to sit down and start (hopefully finish!) the CV which I intend on sending off to Ski Season employers. And as of last week, 4 hours work had left me with personal details strewn over a .doc file.

The trouble with writing a CV for such a narrow market as the ski season market, is that it can't be your generic 'Here-I-am-and-this-is-what-I've-done' type CV. When we went to Natives recruitment fair last October the one thing I took from the day was a) that I really wanted to work a ski season and b) that our CVs needed to be properly tailored to have ANY chance of being called back for an interview.

If I remember correctly 50,000 people apply for a couple of thousand European ski jobs. That's slim pickings for getting in! Which is why I feel there's so much pressure to write this CV to its best but also to tailor it to, not only the ski industry, but to specific employers themselves.

We finished our CVs today and have applied for 3 jobs each. It's difficult to appeal to many jobs. There is a whole industry right from chalet area managers and hotel managers (which we aren't really interested in) down to kitchen porters and chamber maids.

I personally have more of a luxury than Kerry in that I can apply to more job categories. Being an electrical engineer and having experience in building maintenance means I am well suited to a maintenance job within a chalet. That coupled with a clean (Or soon to be!) driving license and a C1 (Large Goods Vehicles) test looming within the next couple of months gives me good grounding for Driver/maintenance jobs.

I've mentioned before that we have a 5 day Chalet Cookery Course booked with Natives in August. This, we hope, will stand us in good stead for applying for chalet hosts and even chalet cooks. We've recently been cooking some meals from the brilliant 'Chalet Cookery Book' again by Natives. (I've just noticed they're giving away free downloadable copies! 06/06/2012)

I find it pretty hard writing appealing yet brief covering letter, tailored for each companies specific values and tastes. I'm conscious that recruiters may glance at a covering letter and CV over a cup of coffee and want to make them as concise as possible without dragging on and on.

I really hope we have have got it right. I'm sure our evenings will be absorbed with more applications and hopefully follow up phone calls with the potential for an interview.

So we are back on the hard work trail, but it will feel so awesome if/when we achieve gainful employment!

My First Venture in to Bicycle Touring/Camping

Bicycles have always been a great interest. They can give anyone freedom of travel at a more respectable pace than walking, and with some simple knowledge, can be kept on the road for very little money.

Aesthetically I think the bicycle, in all its many varieties, is a work of art.

My only regret is that I don't ride my bike enough! So in a conscious effort to reverse the tide of lets-jump-in-the-car mentality I've got so used to, I decided to head off out for a couple of days cycling and would have to carry everything I needed.

Blue line outward journey, Red line back

 I wanted a route that was somewhat familiar but with a sense of entering the unknown. So I decided to head out of Horsham towards Crawley but to keep going East towards Turners Hill and East Grinstead. I've never explored this part of the world except for fleeting visits when I was much younger.

I announced my plans, quite triumphantly, on a Wednesday. I wasn't to leave for a few days but felt I needed to tell someone! (And also to gain their opinions!) I always find it funny when I propose a 'ridiculous' idea to people and enjoy their 'can't do' attitudes. It makes it all the more important to do it!

With surprise Kerry's dad showed great interest. "When are you going? Who you going with? How long for?" all flew from his mouth, half-Geordie-half-Mackem accents clashing to make, sometimes, no sense to a Southern Fairy like me. The questions made sense though, not only aurally but semantically too. He was weighing up whether he was able to come! Mike isn't one to turn down a good adventure!

I knew then that I had a companion! And one I was grateful for. I should think the hardest part of a lone cycle camp would be just that, being alone. So I welcomed Mike's company and we frantically readied the bikes for departure the following Saturday.

Disaster struck in the early hours of Saturday morning. I woke to a massive pain in my face. Its difficult to describe but that's the best I can do. A pain IN my FACE. I couldn't get rid of it, I couldn't allieveiate it at all. Just a dull, numbing pain behind my cheek bone but enough to keep me awake for hours on end. I text Mike to tell him I couldn't cycle. I had slept all of 4 hours during the night. I was gutted. I drifted off to sleep at about 7am, disappointed.

But I was determined to get out cycling. I knew Mike would be feeling as gutted as I was and didn't want to let him down. I was up again at 10am and rang Mike to ask if he could still make it. He could! and we arranged to meet at half past 10. Thirty minutes to get ready. Easy, the bike was already packed, all I needed was to get dressed!

Mike out on the road

All set I hurriedly cycled to meet Mike, we arrived at the rendezvous at the same time, handy! We already knew our biggest issue. Rusper hill. Whilst not in any way big, the hill is quite steep at one section. The bikes felt good. It was the first time I had ridden with it fully laden and I couldn't tell there was any weight on the back. Until I hit the hill that is! I had to get off straight away. I struggle without any panniers but with this weight any incline felt like a tug of war match with a stern bull.

Once we had made it up everything seemed plain sailing. The first 5 miles were all very familiar territory. I ride this route to work sometimes so know exactly where I will need to push harder or where I can afford to relax a bit. It was a pleasant ride, the sun shone gloriously through the trees and we were soon in Ifield where we had decided to stop and grab some lunch from a shop.

Two 'meal-in-a-can's' and a few bread rolls strapped to the back and we were off again. We would traverse Crawley and stop just outside town in some woods to cook up the cans and generally chill. We found a nice green just off the road and I could try out my new stove.

The 'White Box Stove' is a nice little aluminium meths burning stove that ... comes in a white box! It is awesome. It's amazing how such a little amount of meths in such a tiny stove can produce good, sustained heat for 10 minutes, easily heating our food which we ate dipping bread rolls.

Stomachs full and the pace slowed. I was certainly feeling pretty tired at this point so the sight of a pub a few miles down the road was welcomed! Pint in hand and sun on face I thought about how I could easily get used to this! Then when I stood up my legs reminded me its not all rosy! The last miles were difficult. We hit Turners Hill which is not to be estimated. The 16 cans of lager we bought then hampered our ascents even more. We needed to find somewhere to camp.

I'd set my heart on camping next to Weirwood Reservoir, a view across the water and a decent camp fire. A few dead ends later and we found that it was impossible to get to the water edge. Tired and weary we settled for a nice bluebell wood. A small copse of mainly birch trees just next to the road. Just what we needed after cycling 24 miles.

The tent was set up with ease and we settles down to building the camp fire. It turns out Mike has some sort of compulsion to find any piece of wood and put it in the fire. So I was left to sit back and enjoy the countryside.

The cycle had really tired me out. It was very hard, alot harder than I had thought it would be, but sitting back against a tree watching the fire made it all better. And it was keeping the midges away! I cooked up a nice 'Curry-in-a-can' meal with one piece of chicken in no bigger than my little finger nail. I'd regard that meal as more a curry flavoured soup!

The beers went down very easily, and soon the light was fading (as was I) to the point where we had to retire to our sleeping bags. It was fairly cold through the night and we both had to get up for the toilet, cursing at how cold it was outside!
I woke up at about 06:00 and successfully managed to get the fire re-lit from the embers. The orange flames were perfect for warming my socks. Mike slept slightly longer, however I think this was to make up for what sleep he hadn't got through the night.

We were both knackered, even putting the tent away was a struggle and packing everything back on to the bikes took real time and energy. We were in no rush to get back on the saddle. I had a suspicion that the first few miles would all be up hill which made it even worse. I kept these dark thoughts to myself!

Lo and behold! we hit hills as soon as we left the reservoir. Big ones that seemed to go on and on. Cycling up them with a very tired and aching bottom wasn't fun. Each corner just gave way to another long incline. We'd only eaten a bread roll each. toasted on the fire that morning, and it was very hard to muster any energy. This is why I've never been so pleased to see a Costcutter shop in my life. I grabbed meat pasties and bottles of water which we wolfed down quickly and we soon felt a bit better and ready for the journey home.

After walking the bikes up Turners Hill for the second time in two days we decided to take a more direct route home. And we were so pleased we did! We seemed to roll on and on through the countryside, not a hill in sight except for the gradual descent we were on. Mike shouted in delight "Now THIS is more like it!"
The journey seemed to take less time and we stopped just short of Horsham to have a quick pint in The Dragon at Colgate. It wasn't even midday yet and we were only a few miles from home!

I could tell the mix of cycling and a restless night had taken its toll on Mike. I too was tired but had atleast done some cycling the weeks before hand. That and I'm half Mikes age!

Whilst supping our beers and admiring a large group of old MG cars growl past I spotted this little hitchhiker! He must be from Weirwood reservoir and had made it all the way to Colgate with me! A quick 10 minute blast and we were in Horsham. I bid Mike farewell and headed to the local shop to load my panniers up with wine. I needed it after all that cycling! 20 miles back, a shorter distance home which was appreciated.

A Tale from a Novice Hitchhiker

The story of my first hitchhiking experience;

Early one Saturday morning during the tale end of an Indian summer I decided to set off. I had 4 days off work and with it came a great sense of freedom. The only thing I had to commit to was the need to be back home and ready for work in 96 hours time. And it felt gooood!

I never have trouble getting up early. In fact to any of my mates who've had the pleasure of waking up with me after a night out, its somewhat of an inconvenience! But I'd managed to sleep until 9am this morning. An achievement in lieing in! I made a plan from my pillow. Pack up, walk out of my apartment and aim for Canterbury. I had a good friend who lived there who I hadn't seen in a while.

My pack consisted of very little. One change of clothes, a travel towel, sleeping bag and a brand new bivvi bag in case I had to sleep rough anywhere. A few chocolate bars and a litre of water were thrown in for good measure and I was off.

My first 'pick-up' wasn't your typical hitchhiking procedure. I didn't even have the chance to hold out my sign! I'd walked the 2 miles to the edge of town and had drank nearly half of my water! I blame the late summers heat but I think if I'm honest it was a reflection on how unfit I was. I sat down and lent against a garden fence, triumphantly withdrawing my sharpie marker like a brave warrior preparing for battle. I'd only managed to outline 'Peas' in my best bubble graffiti (intending on completing 'Pease Pottage' but realising it wouldn't all fit on the page!) when the lady who owned the garden fence popped her head round the corner;

"Need a lift?" She asked, obviously catching sight of the letters I'd scribbled on the page.

"Please!" I replied eagerly. Surprised and kind of disappointed I didn't have to finish my masterpiece.

It was all very pleasant. I helped load her kids' bag in to the boot of the car and broke one of the rules of hitchhiking, 'Always travel alongside your bag', by chucking mine in with it. I clambered in to the passenger seat and waited patiently while the lady strapped her kid in to the car seat.

We agreed that she'd drop me off at the services a mere 4 miles away, but I was happy! The services was the 'hitchhiking hub' in my eyes and a sure thing for the next pickup. We exchanged chit-chat until we pulled in to the car park, I grabbed my bag out of the boot, and she wished me good luck. How easy was that? My first experience of hitchhiking had gone without a hitch (excuse the pun).

The rest of the journey seemed to flow with the same amount of ease as my first pickup. I'd write the road I wanted to travel on and the direction (M23 N or M25 E) on a piece of paper, hold it out for all to see whilst worrying someone I knew would come along. It was quite scary holding it out at first. It was new.

I made it as far as Dettling Hill, 40 miles in an hour. I'd struggle to do that journey in that time if I was driving! I've probably got Neil to thank for that who picked me up and drove at 110 mph up the motorway while telling me about his very interesting Yurt rental company. He lived in a converted horse box but had the VW Golf we were in for business meetings etc.

Then it struck ... I think every hitchhiker must go through this process at some point in their hitching career, and I'll bet on more than one occasion. I called it The Wait. 3 hours of standing on the same road, holding your sign out, with no success. It is soul destroying. I lost all faith in humanity. Convinced myself that the world we live in was occupied by selfish, arrogant people. I don't know why I felt this way. I was asking people to sacrifice their time and petrol to give me a lift. For nothing in return! At the time it felt like there was no good in the world.

This thought was bolstered when a van pulled over about 50 metres up the road. I grabbed my bag and ran hurriedly along the road towards my new lift. The sense of relief, belief, I don't know what it was? Elation? I felt like I could cry and was preparing my thank you speech as I ran up to the back of the van. Just as I got alongside the passenger door and reached for the handle the van sped away. Cackles of laughter trailing in the wind behind it. A prank. One that hurt.

"Let's walk!" I proclaimed. Somehow it was as if I was getting one over on all of the cars that passed. I didn't need them. I still held my sign out though. Sheepishly, but it was there. I hadn't gone far when I stopped to pick some blackberries at the side of the road. I worried for a second how much exhaust fumes had coated the berries but they tasted too good not to eat. I felt like Ray Mears! Still disheartened though.

A big artic truck pulled in to the lay by roughly 200 meters up the road and I thought nothing of it. I didn't have my hand or sign out and was quite enjoying choosing the biggest, juiciest berries to eat. A shout came from up the road, towards the truck. The driver had got out and was waving and hollering. I walked normally up to the cab, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of watching me run, only to speed off like the van driver.

"Tibor! You need lift?" said the driver holding his hand out. He had a thick eastern european accent. Lithuanian if I was to go by the 'LT' on the numberplate.

Tibor's truck cab smelt horrible! I don't know where the guy went to the toilet but I bet he didn't stop to pull over! There were dirty clothes hung all over the place as if they were drying after a wash. The smell ruled that out! But I was thankful. Tibor was making his way to Dover to head home. He'd been in the truck for 9 days and it would take another 5 before he was back. We tried making conversation but the language barrier was too tough. I knew no lithuanian and Tibors English was patchy to say the least. I simply told him what number junction to drop me at and we drove.

I caught 2 more lifts and was dropped off at my friends doorstep! The 70 mile trip took only 5 hours. My belief in human kind had been restored and I'd arrived to brilliant sunshine and the cobbled streets of Canterbury. I knew it worked. Hitchhiking had been an adventure, different. But I now knew it was possible for someone to thumb a lift in this day and age. I arrived in Canterbury with several sheets of road names places and directions as well as wanting more.

The next day my friend gave me a lift out to a suitable service station. I cradled a hangover as I wrote out my first sign, immediately hitting The Wait and sat for 2 hours. I'd set my sights on going to Brands Hatch race track to meet 4 of my friends for the second day of superbike racing. With no lift and a banging headache I'd settle for a lift home! The 30 miles to Brands took all day. Long waits and spots of rain made the hangover worse. I walked for 10 miles texting my friends updates on how long I thought I'd be until an old man with his car filled with furniture picked me up. We drove with my seat too far forward and I had to hold a chair steady but the discomfort was all made up for driving 15 miles up a hill.

My friends had miraculously managed to hold back a ticket stub from the Marshall's on their way in so I didn't have to pay. I used the entrance money I'd saved to buy a round of drinks that night and I slept under the stars in my bivvi bag much to the neighbours surprise. (It looks as if your sleeping on the grass with just a sleeping bag. In fact its like a mini tent and very warm!)


The racing at brands the next day was top class. I chilled, drank beer, took pictures and was generally pleased with life. I'd travelled over 100 miles on others peoples good will. I was amazed at how it could be so easy one minute and so hard the next. Next time I know I'll have to get in to the hitchhiking mindset before setting out. Because there will be a next time. It was awesome!