Loran’s mother is young. Perhaps in her mid-twenties. Loran is also young. He is five. Loran has no hair, a head that looks too big for his body, and wide, slightly sunken eyes that look too big for his head.

Mileva stopped typing and caught the eye of Dushanka, her colleague and close friend. The young man and his friend had finally arrived.

Miroslava swept back her curly auburn hair with a pale olive bandana as she finished preparing dinner for her family of six. It was a meat-laden meal typical of Sopje, a small village in northern Croatia which abuts Hungary, only separated by the Drava river.

Despite the picturesque nature of Brebrovnik, I had a destination in mind: Varazdin, across the border in Croatia, and I focused on the road ahead. I kept passing signs to Vinogradnistvo this or that, but I told myself these were for another visit. After all, why would they want to see a sweaty tourist pedalling an outsize bike?

Not, admittedly, what I expected this morning when I hurried away from a patch of forest near Murska Sobota, attacked from all sides by mosquitoes. Even my pungent iron-laced washing water from last night was not enough to dissuade them from my (apparently) sweet skin.

Last night, on the banks of the Danube, a little beyond Passau, Germany, but firmly in Austria, I looked up.

A few bright stars lit the sky. Unexpected. Unwavering. Undimmed. Their glow picked out the shadows of a few streaked and wispy clouds – marked by their absence of light.

It has been a week since Chris rolled out of summer hibernation and his wheels turned once more in the direction of Beijing. This was a significant moment, but one most notable for its banality: there is little remarkable about a single pedal stroke.

Yesterday afternoon I crested one hill after the other as I climbed my way through the Yorkshire countryside, wheels turning beneath me as I pedalled towards Oxenholme station. Drystone walls flanked my route initially, as I wove along the valley bottom before passing through Sedbergh and the hills beyond.

In February, I went for a jog with a running group with a difference. Each person had a cancer diagnosis, and was dealing with it in a hugely positive fashion, through the power of exercise. As we ran, I heard stories of incredible fortitude, bravery and positivity.

On 19th June 2018 I was diagnosed with a very rare and aggressive cancer. It had already spread to my lungs. I was 24. To my surprise, two years later I am immensely thankful to be alive and able to write these words. I hadn’t expected to see Christmas 2018.

I wasn’t expecting to be alive at 26, and I simply don’t know if I’ll be here at 28. The prognosis I received was pretty pessimistic. This was crushing. Devastating for 24 year old to hear that all his plans: of a career, a wife, a family, reunions with friends for decades to come – were to be shredded by life’s randomness.

This is an idea that crystallised in my mind last week. From time to time, I’ve ‘relaxed’ by looking at the BBC website, Facebook, Youtube, Cyclingweekly, for hours at a time – idling my brain and body. Eventually I rouse myself, but afterwards I don’t feel any better. In fact, I feel a bit deadened and dissatisfied by how I spent that time. However, I justified it to myself that I needed some downtime, to chill out a bit.

At the outset of this trip, coronavirus was some far-off problem, in a far-off land, albeit the country where I hoped to end up. The situation has changed with lightning speed in Europe, and globally, over the last couple of weeks, forcing many changes upon Bristol2Beijing: joiners unable or unwilling to fly out; altering the route to avoid hotspots; camping with increasing regularity as hosting websites became spooked and hotels closed.

For weeks, the most common question I’ve been asked is, “What about coronavirus?”

After so many inquiries about what seemed like a far-off problem on the other side of the world, I settled into the habit of giving a rather flippant answer. By the time I get to China, I would say, COVID-19 will either be a global pandemic (meaning China would be no different than anywhere else), or the global public health community will have got it under control. To be sure, I am many months away from reaching China!

I was running back from Clatterbridge Cancer Centre, on the other side of the Mersey from Liverpool when I passed a barbershop. I carried on running, even though I needed a haircut. Almost immediately, I passed another. I slowed, then stopped,