It’s three days out before the end of Bristol2Beijing. I should be leaving in 3 minutes, I should have put the panniers on Chris and I should be out the front door by now. Instead, I made a latte (delicious) and I’m writing.

It feels weird to consider the “end” of Bristol2Beijing. But what I’ve come to realise over the last few days, is that I don’t see it as an end at all.

Today I woke up and realised that this might be the final day I cycle east, ever. I hadn’t seen it coming.

Tom and I are in Assam, and today we hope to cross into Arunachal Pradesh. AP is the state that borders China, we are hoping to ride through the mountains to get as close as possible to the Chinese border.

However, currently no foreign travellers are being granted a Protected Areas Permit…

I remember restarting the ride in August 2020 and wondering if I was going to be able to get beyond Germany. The world seemed so uncertain. It seemed like Europe was on the brink of another wave of lockdowns. I remember Austria being advised by the FCO (as it was then) as “All but essential travel”, and wondering if I would have problems crossing the border. I remember Hungary and Ukraine closing their borders, leaving my way ahead blocked.

And perhaps this is life for you – you get so far, you try your very best, but that doesn’t always mean that you reach your goals.

But that would be to miss that point, wouldn’t it?

Because the point of Beijing wasn’t really to get there (so I kept telling everyone). The point of Beijing was to set me on a journey…

It wasn’t the easiest first day for Tom. Admittedly, we were only cycling 35 kilometres. However, in that short distance we would be climbing 1500 metres: more climbing than I had done across the entirety of India and Bangladesh. Added to this, on the morning of our departure there was torrential rain. It’s fair to say that Tom was getting thrown in at the deep end.

Bangladesh is seen as a country on the front line of climate change, one of the first – and worst – to be affected by rising sea levels. So I was surprised that climate change didn’t seem to be a big topic in Bangladesh. On my final day in Bangladesh, exploring the surrounds of Sylhet, a city in the north, we went to the Ratargul swamps with two young Bangladeshis studying at a local university.

Blueberry muffin, almond croissant, and the cinnamon roll. The choice is too difficult.

I wasn’t prepared for the Dhaka Medical College. After meeting a couple of CanLivers and doctors Jewel offered to show me and Neda the rest of the hospital. I almost declined – after all, I had done “my” bit: the talk. What was I going to add?

Lying on the right side was person after person, on blankets, in bandages, clutching heads, cradling shoulders, quietly groaning, barely breathing, eyes listless. Their line was unbroken, their heads at my feet.

“I left my house without telling my parents.”

Tanvir was full of surprises. He had travelled overnight to reach me (including a 4 hour stretch covering only 2 kilometres), his favourite author was Henry Rider Haggard, a Victorian fantasy novellist (who I had to discreetly google), and he hadn’t ever had pizza (he wanted his first pizza to be in Italy).

It had been a special afternoon, and I was sorry to say goodbye to Divyansh, on our first and last day together. Divyansh had brought his own personality to the day; he suggested we sing some songs and I lamely suggested musicals. Instead, Divyansh broke out into One Republic’s Counting Stars, pitch perfect.

My journey across India has been in many ways the fullest expression of the Bristol2Beijing expedition so far. Yet India has also been the most challenging country through which I’ve cycled. Now that I’m Kolkata, with 2500 kilometres of cycling behind me and Bangladesh ahead, I want to reflect on what made India so rewarding, and yet also difficult.

It has been an amazing experience here in India since my arrival on 6 December. I've cycled more than 2,500 kilometres with companionship and help on the back of the tandem almost every pedal stroke of the way.

Beyond the amazing sights, sounds, tastes, textures, aromas, and cultures of India, the experience has been augmented by the rich partnership with CanKids KidsCan.

“Why do people think you’re Russian Luke?” Dev asked, as we walked along the ghats (long steps) on the bank of the Ganges.

“I think it’s something to do with my face Dev,” I muttered.

The highways in India generally make for fast cycling; they’re smooth, wide, and flat. And, notwithstanding the horns, there’s enough space for everyone. They’re everything you could want for easily covering ground on a cycle tour.

The roads in cities are another matter.

Cycling in the UK is a quiet affair. I understand this now. If you are unfortunate, you will be on the receiving end of a horn from a grumpy driver…

However, in India, the horn is a tool of aggression. It is like a sword brandished in front of you. Or better, a lance of a charging knight who will smite all who stand in his path. To understand its transformation, consider volume.

Riding in the subcontinent leads to unexpected discoveries. Dev, a 17 year old CanLiver who turned up in jeans and a jumper, was my companion between Chandigarh and Varanasi in India. As Dev and I left Delhi at 11am we encountered traffic as thick as the cream that tops a freshly-churned lassi. For miles cars and buses and lorries were bumper to bumper.

I wanted to write about this quite simply for an ego boost. To inflate my ego like the tires of the tandem. To make it clear what I’m doing requires great skill. Skills not usually acknowledged or appreciated by the outside world. My skills as a whippet behind the wheel, a snake through the snarl-ups, an armadillo in the avalanche.