Peter Stenhouse’s Cycling Journal
Summer in Europe 2009

Day 22, the 9th of May My Day begins at six thrity in the morning. Sound of motors, arriving, stopping, slam of doors. Fishermen. I poke my head out of the tent, expecting reprimands for my camping in such a prime spot. Instead I am greeted with an invitation to “cafe”. They are friendly, maybe…

That one moment I can be singing out loud cycling through a french village in the sun, and not soon after be grinding through thunderstorm on what would turn out to be a snapped rear axel, is almost too staggering contrast for me to handle. Such euphoria pursued to closely by calamity. I guess its…

Day 24 of cycling, its the 14th of May. I am glad to be on the road again, having left Nantes,  but don’t completely enjoy myself today. I hope that this detour pays off, travelling at least 150km from Nantes to Vannes to get my camera fixed directly from the regional Canon Licensed repair facility.…

A wet and cold night. I regret abandoning my second jersey in a fit of pack anorexia. But its been a good day. I skipped breakfast to get to Vannes early, and spend what seems like forever circling round abouts searching for the camera service centre. They have been expecting me, and I can’t describe…

I write up the day in front of a small fire. Just a little fire to warm me, to fill my clothes  and tent with smoke smell. I spill red wine in the dark. I sketch a giant cyclist in the style of the Machines of Nantes. Though I can’t see the ocean, I hear…

sunday the 17th. It is a violent wind,  pushing  down hard upon my tent. All I can do is try to go back to sleep, and hope that the pegs are driven in harder than the wind can blow. Hours later, the wind has abated a little as I wake from restless, fabric flapping next…

Today responded to yesterdays misery. Great cycling, fair weather. Rose held together for all her aches, to carry me 117km from where I woke amongst rain wetted grass. I had my fair share of showers this morning. The wind must have had some other cyclists to torment, for while it was ever present, and never…

The day is long and good. The simple repair I have made to rose holds up all day long. I swim at Tranchia sur Mer, and doze in the mid afternoon sunshine, on the beach. I buy sunglasses and my eyes relax. I draw the campsite of the night before, as seen by a surfer,…

Day 30 of riding, the 20th of May. As I charge my ipod in the morning with my laptop, I play music out loud over breakfast. and the human noise makes me feel a little less alone on this cliff edge. I don’t mean it to be a long day. I have lost my only…

After all the beauty that I saw today, I didn’t expect that I would end up camped in a shitty clearing, listening to the rush of a major roadway. I had traveled inland to find a supermarket, panic unnecessarily about not having enough food for dinner, I was pitched in the corner of a vineyard,…

A simple and short day. One of the few days that have dawned clear skied. It gets hot quickly, I do not miss my sweater, and there are hills to climb through the countryside, so that I am sweating with hard work. No sooner had my day begun, had I bought my daily baguette and…

It was incredible to be hosted by Pam and Denis. They provided the excellent company I so desperately needed after cycling alone through France. They shared with me their home, food, wine and lives.  I cannot thank them enough for helping to fix Rose, thanks to Pepe too, Pams step father!  And for making crepes…

Today was as all days should be. And early start and a farewells to Pamela after 5 glorious days of rest. Rose and I feel strong, replenished, and even some kilos heavier, with fresh supplies of olive oil, fresh picked cherries, cake and cheese, and I carry some huge meals, rest and good wine. Sharp…

It is difficult to resist walking, beyond the moonlit surf, ans swimming out towards Caroline in england. Her words, in the letter that I pick up today, from an obscure post office, reassure me that while, right now I exist outside of society, in the forrests that fringe its towns, and along road that no…

Day 35. The 29th of may. It is inconceivable hot. It was a lazy day. Though I made an early start from my pine forest campsite, there were many interruptions along the way, to watch waves, and gauge if today I should try to surf. By one o’clock it is too hot, and thought I…

Spain has been amazing so far, with the brief exception of my sweaty fight to San Sebastian on unavoidable motorways. Basque festival in a seaside village. Triumph of my first real hill climb. The thrill of a downhill and uncontrollable shouts of joy mixed with terror, plunging down the Caminho de Santiago in hysterics at…

what I think is rain, is due falling from the trees onto my tent. The day dawns perfect. I rattle down steep hills, to an empty sunday morning town, save for the srunks, still yelling and staggering from the night thats been. First ascent into sea mist surging over the summit. Crashes over the hills…

My hands ache from clutching the breaks. Surf down gravel slopes. One of my bottles, the one named after the fresh cool waters of the Pelorus river, is shaken loose and lost near Gorozika. Bilbao is incredible, but not for the city, it is hot, traffic filled and museum closed. Four boy ravers with at…

the second of June Highest speed yet, of 81.3 kmph down a hill before breakfast. Stuff my shirt pockets with fresh picked cherries, so that it looks like my chest bleeds. Eat porrige for tow and loos my way. I cycle on through a gorgeous canyon. A naked lunch, swim in the Rio Ebro, then…

Strange blur of a day. An amazing morning, good breakfast, words with my father in New Zealand, and a tremendous speed south and down. I roll over kilometre 4000 and don’t notice for the joy of riding this morning. Valdiego and Mengar, with its huge church and swarm of starlings screeching, Osorno, Carrion des Condes,…

Tent flattened grass, errant clove of garlic, splatter of toothpast spit, mound of spent coffee, qaurters of an applecore, orange peels, wheel lines through long grass, Rose’s scratch post, small hole excavated for stove stability. but you have to get up pretty early.

Its raining . The most I have seen in weeks. I collect my things from the hostal that Carolone shared for two short and long nights, and a little dejected ride for an hour south of Leon before crawling into my tent.  The weather has thwarted me again, just as an unprecendented cold snap sabotaged…

This is how my time with Caroline should have been. The sun out (though the wind blowing) and there is an unexpeted fiesta in Bianvente. Everything seems more “spanish” and less like the cold raiins of londons winter that followed Caroline. The festival in Beanvente is a violent one. Running with one bull and a…

11/06/09 A short day. I wake to find that the site that I had stumbled upon after the fiesta in is actaully quite beautiful. Rows of trees, and Beanventes clifftop church not too far off. I have lunch in the ruins of a 12th centure monastery, a tree grows where the pulpit once was. The…