Luke: I was fortunate enough to be joined by Kaye for my final 300 kilometre stretch across Bangladesh. In this wonderful piece, she captures both the joys and challenges of this expedition – and gives an insight into Bangladesh – much better than I could. I hope you enjoy this entertaining and satisfying account.

A Haiku

A man sick of talking about himself?

An unlikely tale I thought.

And it was.

The will to say yes to opportunities

One hour in and I’m drenched in sweat and covered in fumes, The Greatest Showman is blasting out of the speakers, the back trailer has been runover by a car, we’ve had two punctures, navigated through a flood and accidentally hit a pedestrian. I’m gripping onto the back handlebars of the tandem with zero control over which direction we go in or when to pedal. Oh, and there’s a cameraman from a Bangladesh national newspaper following us and filming the whole lot. I’m still not entirely sure how this set of circumstances have come to be. We’re only 10km into a 300km cycle journey from Dhaka to Sylhet and I’m starting to have some doubts about how much of a good idea this all was.

I’ve been complaining of late about how much I miss riding my bicycle back home in the UK, and as if by some strange twist of fate I’ve been offered the chance to join a portion of this epic, if somewhat mad, cycle journey from Bristol to Beijing. At this point, I’m not quite sure exactly why this guy wants to make it all the way to Beijing and with the covid lockdown situation in China it doesn’t seem all that likely he’ll get a visa anytime soon. However, I could strongly sense his will and determination to reach this specific goal in a way that was a touch unsettling. I wasn’t aware of any Luke’ story at this point, or the journey he’d had so far trying to reach this place in the world. However, I did note the hourglass tattoo on his wrist and wondered what it represented.

Sometimes you’re looking for opportunities, sometimes you stumble across them and sometimes opportunities are looking for you and you have to be open minded and flexible enough to say yes to them. I would say that this particular adventure came to me rather than the other way around. Lucky – yes. Out of my comfort zone – absolutely. Be careful what you wish for they say.

Luke hosted a leaving dinner on his last night in Dhaka to bring together all the various people he’s met and hung out with whilst staying here in the city. We ate “Luke Stew” a hearty pot of lentils, quinoa, beans, vegetables and warming spices served with home-made garlic bread. Part way though the evening Neda took me aside and double checked if I was worried about anything related to the cycle trip. “No, should I be?” I replied. “Just make sure you tell him when you need to stop or take a rest, or you’ll be cycling non-stop for hours on end”. I laughed, thinking this was generally what I understood cycle touring to be. She then clarified: “When I went cycling with Luke, we rode for 14 hours straight in one day. Then after 3 hours sleep, he ran the Dhaka Half Marathon and came second. This is what you’re dealing with” Well that’s insane I thought - what on earth am I getting myself into here?

I haven’t been on a bike since I was back in the UK for Christmas. Although, I’ve previously done some cycle touring before, the furthest I’ve ever cycled in a day was 120km from Cambridge to London. The ride left me shattered and with painful knees. The prospect of 100km/day over three days in a row was going to be challenging and I was worried about how I would cope in the 38° heat and blazing sunshine. Then add to the mix that I’ve only had 2 days’ notice about this trip and I’ve not done any training at all. I managed to last-minute borrow a cycle helmet and padded shorts from our friend Neda and before I knew it we were outside the British High Commission in Dhaka drinking coffee and loading panniers and bags onto the bike and trailer.

Turn out I didn’t need to worry about the fitness and lack of training element of the ride. Whilst the tandem is seriously heavy Luke put down 95% of the power and could seemingly just cycle on and on and on. I kept waiting for the occasional freewheel as we leaned into bends or on the downhills, but they never came. The gears just kept on going up and up and the bike got faster and faster. On the tandem both sets of pedals have to move together at the same rate and so as the passenger on the back the main challenge was keeping up with the cadence and maintaining balance when slowing down or accelerating through the ever-hectic Dhaka traffic. There was something quite unnerving at the beginning about weaving in between the beat-up busses and lorries, rickshaws and tuktuks of Dhaka without any control over the direction you’re going in and having to have complete trust in the person in front of you that they know what they’re doing. Turns out Luke of course did, but you never quite know until you set off.

The pace of life on the bike is fun and allows you to see so much more of the country that you ever could in a car, bus or train ride. I live in a very privileged and wealthy neighbourhood (*aka bubble) of Dhaka called Gulshan. The opportunity to see more of the “real” Bangladesh felt exciting and the ride certainly didn’t disappoint.

The first day was spent almost entirely on the main Dhaka-Sylhet highway, with the masses of busses and lorries honking their way past constantly and never feeling like we really left the sprawling peri-urbanisation of Dhaka. As the day ended, we passed over the mighty Meghna River and pulled up in a small town called Ashgonji. I was personally shattered from the 6 hours of cycling and ready for a nap and dinner in rapid succession. So therefore, I was a somewhat surprised when Luke promptly changed into his running kit and headed out for a post-cycle run. This was then followed by a strength & core workout accompanied with a Russian podcast. “Do you do this everyday?” I tentatively asked. “Yes” he replied.

The joys of the road are varied, from the hundreds of motorbikes and tuktukss that pull up alongside you as you’re travelling wanting a chat and a selfie. Everyone we met was seemingly in awe of the pink and blue tandem and pair of foreigners on it, and huge crowds would gather even just when we stopped for a two minute water break by the side of a “quiet” patch of road. When you’re sweaty, hot, physically tired and exhausted the small joys feel so much more intense:

·       A cold bottle of panni (water) fresh out of the fridge feels like a sweet relief from the heat.

·       Cups of freshly brewed cha (tea) are on every corner, appearing like a mirage whenever you next needed one.

·       Singing along loudly to various musicals blasting from the speakers on the bike as you pedal down the highway

·       Sizzling shingara’s stuffed with spicy potato and always served with a smile

·       Sipping freshly cut coconuts by the roadside and scraping out the flesh at the end

·       Ladies waving at you in their colourful sarees from the tea estates

·       Finally reaching the rolling hills and winding roads of the green tea estates in Shrimongal after hours on the straight and dusty main road

·       Slow espresso in the mornings before the day unfurls itself

·       Watching frogs dancing and ribetting in the pouring rain

·       Seven-layer tea in Shrimongal that must surely be an optical illusion until you see it for yourself

Getting caught in the fierce monsoon rains felt like a gift from the heavens cooling you down from the heat of the day, and cycling through the warm downpour makes you feel alive and connected to the power of nature around you. It’s nothing like cycling in drizzle back in the UK. The water doesn’t slowly seep into your clothes, but soaks you to the bone within seconds, washing the sweat and grime off your body with a thundering volume that drowns out the sound of traffic all around you.

I came to really enjoy sitting on the back of the tandem, you don’t need to concentrate on the road and can just enjoy watching the fields and mosques roll on by as you just keep on pedalling. You don’t have to think or worry about anything else apart from keeping your legs moving. Up and down. Up and down. It’s strange to slow right down to 20km/hour whilst also living life at a much more intense and rapid pace.

The fact that we were going to be joined by a news reporter came as a surprise to me and I was only aware that they would be joining us the day before. The reporter sheepishly bumbled about with his camera taking the odd film of us cycling around, trying new foods, and getting punctures (although no filming in the monsoon rain – much to Luke’s irritation). Through the filming Luke told his story, his reasons and motivations for the trip and why he feels passionate about his message of living every day to the full. Before embarking on the trip I was aware that Luke was raising money for cancer charities through this ride, and had noted that his bike and jersey had “Remembering John” written on them. These had led me to initially assume that John was a relative, partner or friend who had passed on from cancer, and Luke was raising money in his memory. However, the news that Luke himself is currently living with cancer [Ed. Though in remission] and the uncertainty it brings, and yet still undertaking this epic journey in memory of his brother was both a shock and surprise to me and shone a completely different light on his single-minded fixation on the trip.

To say the ride was without challenges would be a lie. I have sores in frankly unmentionable places and am missing my ladies bike saddle from home more than I can say. However, the thing I found the most difficult was the sheer volume of attention we received. When I say attention, I don’t mean friendly waves from afar. I mean silently staring crowds gathering from nowhere. Lines and lines of men (always men) standing there and watching your every move as you swiftly change a tyre or top up the water bottles. All clutching their phones and repeating the same request over and over– “Selfie?”. Some ask where you are from and then barely listen to the answer before reaching for their phones and taking an unconsented photograph. Even whilst accompanied some men would throw out lewd comments and every trip to the bathroom felt like a small personal safety risk – there were no public toilets en route, so toilet breaks would involve a trip inside some strangers home and much donobad-ing (thankyou-ing) as you went. I’m very much an extrovert, and even I found the constant interactions and feeling that everyone around you wants to extract a photograph or the same repetitive conversation from you exhausting in just 3 days.

Luke was also clearly not enjoying all the attention either, and I don’t blame him after months of likely the same experience over and over again. However, it is funny to think that somebody whose journey and message is getting so much attention finds it so draining. To be honest I can understand why. The questions are repetitive, and nobody is really listening to your reply. The kindness and hospitality of people is unbelievable, but it’s also exhausting to be hosted by complete strangers for hours on end with whom you have very few similar reference points or things in common to make small talk with.

In travel writing people often talk about “getting off the beaten track”. I can very much say here in Bangladesh, the track may be beaten, untarmacked, dug up or flooded but you’re never alone. Bangladesh is one of the world’s most densely populated countries, a fact you can’t quite appreciate until you cycle through village after village and stall after stall for over 300km with barely a moment when you can’t see another human (or large group of humans) in the distance. As you roll northwards, the mongrel dogs in the city streets are replaced by roaming goats, and then goats give way to cows as you continue northwards towards the Indian border. 

Bangladesh is a rich tapestry of rice paddies, meandering rivers and tea estates. With three days on the road, and still feeling as though we were never more than 500m away from the next building or bus I’m not sure it could be said that we visited the “real” Bangladesh. However, I would reflect on that fact that there is no “real” anywhere. How would you capture the “real” England in one moment in space and time? Besides from the universal experience of dancing to Mr. Brightside at the end of the night in ‘Spoons, what experiences are truly representative of a place? The road from Dhaka to Sylhet is no more real than the streets of Gulshan, and yet each place and interaction is a new square in the patchwork of Bangladesh I’ve had the joy of experiencing.

I for one am exhausted by all this adventuring and am very ready for my own bed. I’ve only been away from home for 5 days let alone 2 years, sharing only 1% of Luke’s total journey from Bristol to Beijing. The flight back from Dhaka to Sylhet was almost surreal. Travelling at 400km/hour in in a tiny turbulent tin-can, I crossed the entire distance we’d sweated and powered through on the bike in just 40mins, a fraction of the 16 hours of cycling it had taken on the outwards journey. Tomorrow I’ll be back at my stationary desk again that’s solid and sure - picking up emails, inspecting concrete and passionately arguing about the quality of clean water reservoirs. I’ll finish with a quote from our friend Jewel, who works for World Child Cancer in Bangladesh.

“I feel part of this incredible historic journey”.