About
A note from the authors: This site documents a journey taken in the late 1990s. The writing reflects who we were in our twenties — brash, unfiltered, and occasionally oblivious. Some of the language and observations may feel dated or offensive by today’s standards. We’ve chosen to leave the journal entries unedited as a time capsule of the trip and the era, but we ask for your grace in reading them. We were young. We were on bikes. We meant well.
Some years ago I told Andy of my dream to bicycle around the world for two years. The idea probably came to me after an especially long and rewarding ride, when I was still high on endorphins. Even so, it immediately struck a chord with Andrew, who became its most vigorous advocate.
Despite his enthusiasm, he never really believed I would give up career and comfort to do it. I never doubted my resolve — except when cashing big Silicon Valley paychecks. So finally I disfigured myself to make sure I didn’t forget the promise: four geckos tattooed on my upper left arm, two representing my years in the States getting ready, and two for the two years on the road.
We went a little over budget on the preparation time — nearly three years instead of two. In the back of my mind I hoped we’d go overboard on the trip as well. We should have started in May of 1996, but the delay gave Andrew time to make a baby with a friend in New York. My accomplishments during the wait were far less significant, though I did find a good juncture at which to end my long and sometimes rewarding career.
Now, on the other side of it, we both appreciate the freedom of having biked these twenty-four months. Just a few weeks before departure, the nagging doubts were piling up — despite our numerous other trips together. Could we really ride this far? Would it be a drag to carry all that gear? How would my hair look after a day of riding? More importantly: would we kill each other if we spent that much time together?
The test we planned was several weeks riding in Mexico and Cuba. It turned out to be a great adventure and a perfect prelude to more serious travel.
Finally, the odyssey of our lifetime lay before us, with the first year well mapped out by Andrew. He handled the logistics of our journey while I, true to my geeky past and leaning into my geographical impairment, looked after the technical details. We took a well-established route across the southern United States, riding from San Diego, California to Neptune Beach, Florida. We’d hoped to find some southern hospitality and avoid hostility where possible. This leg may have been the most savage and trying of the entire two years. Open space and a lack of civilization were our biggest obstacles.
From Florida we picked up again in Europe. (No, we did not bike across the Atlantic. This was not a purist’s trip — we biked, boated, flew, and even resorted to motorized ground transport when necessary. The sole exception was the US, where we rode coast to coast under our own power.) Andrew’s original concept was “Casablanca to Cairo via Helsinki” — Africa to the Arctic and back. When we found ourselves two weeks behind schedule and facing other hardships, the route became less ambitious and surely less poetic. Poetry is beautiful, but practicality is the god we both pray to when planning routes. Practicality colored by whim — an odyssey of this magnitude must be sprinkled with frivolity.
The next destinations were in the southern hemisphere, with much of 1998 spent in Asia. We passed through New Zealand, Australia, Indonesia, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, China, and India.
From past voyages we’d learned that flexibility is the difference between a hellish trip and a fantastic adventure. Whether we would remain traveling together for the entire journey was itself in flux — we rode together as long as it made sense to both of us.
One of our hopes was to have friends, family, and others join us for segments along the way. This website let people track our progress and check our schedule as we went. What you’re reading now is a rebuilt version of that original site — a time capsule from three years on the road, preserved (warts and all) nearly thirty years later.
Thanks for stopping by. We’ll see you on the road.
— Fred
Brat Stats → — The important numbers from two years on the road.