The Pan-Eurasian Bike Trip

Eight months ago, my friend Ellery and I embarked on a trip from the Sea of Japan with the intention of riding bicycles across Asia and Europe. I had done almost no training and was a very inexperienced cyclist. The first day we only went 20 miles. It was the longest distance I had ridden on a bike in my life.

Like anything one does with dedication, riding a bicycle quickly becomes easier. In just several weeks my muscles became used to the intense physical activity each day. To date we have ridden 9,000 miles.

I once believed that a bike trip this long could only be done in one's youth. Now I know that the exact opposite is true.

Shipwrecked Sailors

One early morning last June, in eastern Siberia, we spotted another cyclist riding towards from the opposite direction on a bike loaded with gear. Nobody can quite understand what you have been through better than another cyclist on a long tour. Bumping into one in the vast land of Central Asia is like the chance meeting of two shipwrecked sailors bobbing on the ocean.

Ellery and I both stopped excitedly. To our surprise, the rider was a Russian woman in her early 60's.

"I'm riding from Moscow to Kamchatka," she said.

Kamchatka is a large and isolated volcanic peninsula in northeastern Russia that extends into the Pacific Ocean. Having become an expert in Russian geography, I could instantly calculate the logistics of her trip: a 5,000 mile journey, often on unpaved roads, across remote areas of northern Asia, just barely possible to complete before the early arrival of another Siberian winter. The thought of doing that trip alone almost made me shiver.

"I ride 50 miles every day," she explained, "then I wheel my bike into the woods and sleep in my tent." She spoke with a carefree voice. An exuberant sense of youthful energy seemed to twinkle in her eyes and shine in her long silvery hair.

Two months later, we met another cyclist traveling on a recumbent bike. We stopped as an old shirtless French man, with a bronzed chest and thick head of white hair, rolled off his bike and greeted us smiling.

"I've come 4,000 miles from Paris to here in just over two months," he explained.

We were awed by his speed.

"I'm riding to Australia," he said.

Throughout this trip, Ellery and I have casually thrown out invitations to friends and family interested in renting a bicycle and joining us for a leg of the journey. Last summer, Ellery's former boss, Adrian Cyr, a resident of Cape Cod, expressed interest in riding across Spain.

"But I am in my 50's and have never ridden a bike before," Adrian wrote Ellery fearfully.

"You'll be a perfect fit then," Ellery replied.

Away In The Mountains

In the small town of St. Jean Pied de Port, France a small dirt road leads westwards out of town. It looks like a small path used to herd goats and sheep between pastures. But it is actually the beginning of the Camino de Santiago, or, in English, The Way of Saint James, arguably one of the most important roads in Europe.

The Camino de Santiago is a series of hiking trails, walking paths and dirt roads starting in southern France and snaking across northern Spain. The Camino ends in the holy city of Santiago de Compostela where the remains of the apostle Saint James are buried.

The Camino and the Saint share a common history. According to historical evidence, after Christ's crucifixion, St. James sailed to northwestern Spain, then believed to be the end of the known world, and attempted to convert the pagan population to Christianity. When St. James returned to Jerusalem, he was executed in 42 A.D. Following his death, St. James' disciples brought his body back to Spain for burial in the city of Santiago de Compostela.

During the religious fervor of the Middle Ages, miracles associated with the relics of the Saint preserved in Santiago, inspired thousands of Christians to make a pilgrimage to the city on foot. Thousands made the trip to Santiago. The pilgrimage across Spain even rivaled those to Rome and Jerusalem.

The foot prints of the first pilgrims carved a road into the earth which exists to this day. Each year, thousands of avid hikers and devout Christians alike, walk all or part of the Camino. Centuries ago, pilgrim hospitals sprung up in towns and cities along the way to help pilgrims. Today these hospitals have been converted into hostels, run by volunteers, where, for just several dollars, pilgrims can get a bed for the night.

Over three years ago, Ellery, myself, and another friend walked the 500 mile Camino from St. Jean to Santiago. The journey took 32 days. We finished it inspired. After walking 500 miles, we began to think a 10,000 mile bicycle trip might be feasible.

Now we have returned to bike the route with a third rider, my friend Ellery's former boss Adrian, who got the nerve to actually join us and realize a lifelong dream of following the Camino. After spending a night in the local pilgrim hostel in St. Jean, we met Adrian in the town center the next morning. This is the first time Ellery and I have seen a familiar face in nine months.

Twenty-Two Caminos

On a bright December morning, we pick up Adrian's rented bicycle, help him pack, and prepare to set off. For months Adrian has anticipated this moment. His excitement is nearly palpable. We begin by following a small cobblestone road out of town. In just an hour of riding, we cross the border into Spain.

The first day of the Camino goes up a steep mountain pass through the last section of the Pyrenees mountains. We spend all day slowly ascending a giant mountain leading up towards the sky. For months, Adrian has trained on a bike for this. Watching him climb the mountain, I recall my first sluggish days of the trip. He is over twice my age and I am impressed by his strength.

We reach the mountain top at dusk. Small drifts of snow line the roadside. A short descent brings us to the small Spanish town of Roncesvalles. There we seek refuge in a pilgrim hostel. A local volunteer leads us into an ancient stone building adjacent to a church housing sets of modest bunk beds.

The Camino has long stimulated local economies. In each town along the way, local cafes offer cheap set meals to feed the influx of pilgrims. In Roncesvalles, we dine in a small tavern where an amiable waitress sits us at a table with several pilgrims. Soon a communal meal of hot soup, trout, pie and wine is served.

The pilgrims we eat with are inspiring. Tonight we meet a young French man who has walked from Paris on foot and another who started out for Santiago from Switzerland. To my right, a Spaniard named Alfonso suddenly takes a seat.

"I have walked the Camino three times," he explains. "I have ten days off now, so I'm hoping to walk a third of it and start from the point I leave off from next year."

The following morning, we awake in a cramped pilgrim hostel and proceed down the trail. Bicycle travel on the Camino has its advantages and limitations. The trail is meant for walkers and is often so steep we must stop and push our bikes up hills. Nevertheless, we can still cover more ground in a day than walking which gives us more time to visit cultural sites.

One afternoon, we stop to explore a monastery constructed in the 10th century by monks who aided pilgrims. Near the monastery, is a local wine bodega with its own pilgrim wine fountain (a small spigot outside the bodega where pilgrims can pour wine to fortify them for the long journey ahead). We arrive at the wine fountain after a long day of pushing the bikes. Sitting in a circle, tired and dirty, we pass a water bottle of wine around in a circle. Adrian leans back with a satisfied air.

"This is how I always imagined it," he says.

That night at the local pilgrim hostel, we meet a French woman named Yvette in her 70's.

"I have walked the Camino twenty-two times," she tells us matter-of-factly. "Several years ago, I walked nearly 4,000 miles from France to Jerusalem.

The next morning is cold and foggy. I pass Yvette then stop on a hill to observe her. Her religious devotion amazes me. She walks slow and determinedly.

"Twenty-two times," I say to myself watching this elderly woman nimbly walk up a rocky hillside with a huge backpack slung across her back. "Now, I really believe anything is possible."