Moods of Future Joys: Around the World by Bike - Part 1 [Paperback]

The first great adventure of the new millennium. --Sir Ranulph Fiennes

This book is a literary match to his physical achievement. --Geographical

Mood of Future Joys follows Alastair on the first leg of his epic journey around the world, starting in Yorkshire, then going down through Europe and travelling the whole length of Africa, including Sudan, Ethiopia and Kenya. The book conveys his journey in a style that is 'reminiscent of the great tradition of the British explorers' (The Guardian). At times uplifting, at times brutal, he faces loneliness, despair and harsh conditions, but his experience is ultimately one of joy and triumph.

I thought riding round the world was tough.
But the riding was easy compared to the writing! It took me four years to
pedal, and a whole year of peddling, with rejections galore from
publishers.
To actually have this book up and running is an achievement I am proud of
and I hope this will be the first book of many adventures. --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.

Alastair Humphreys, in addition to cycling round the world, has also competed in the Marathon des Sables, the 'toughest race on earth,' running 150 miles through the Sahara. Despite breaking his foot during the race he still finished as one of the top ten British runners. He rowed across the channel with Major Phil Packer to raise money for Help For Heroes, travels to Sierra Leone to support his main charity cause: Hope and Homes for Children. His next adventure will see him walking to the South Pole and back. When not on an adventure Alastair lives with his wife and child in Kent.

"Who am I? Why am I here?"
- Admiral James Stockdale

I am holding a tangle of bike spokes in one hand, a box of rough red wine
in the other, and my back is braced against the tent wall as it bucks and
thrashes against the punishment of the storm. The beam from my head torch
is the only light. Wet canvas flaps and cracks around my face. Puddles are
growing on the floor and everything is soaked. The sour wine is
half-finished but my attempts to completely re-build my back wheel -beaten
and broken on the rock-strewn tracks- are not nearly so advanced despite a
whole day working hunched in the gloom of the tent as the gale screams and
pummels down the craggy mountains. Frustration boils: at my inadequate
lightweight tools, at the cramped workspace, at my own incompetence, at the
weather, at the brutally wearing roads. I still have so far to ride. "What
am I doing here?" I try to remember.
My head thumps and darkness encroaches at the edges of my blurring vision.
I am dehydrated and the sun is ferocious. I know that I must find water and
shade but I know also that I must ride faster and have no time to stop.
Paranoid police checkpoints have not yet noticed that I have forged the
visa dates in my passport to allow me to reach the border before my visa
expires, but the implications of getting caught frighten me. I feel weak
and nauseous. But I have no alternative except to keep riding as hard as I
can along this mind-numbing desert road past god only knows how many more
checkpoints to the border. "What am I doing here?" I curse.
After squatting with diarrhoea above a ditch of raw sewage I climb weakly
back onto the road, busy with traffic and pedestrians. The humid air stinks
of fumes and rubbish and sewage and people living cramped together in
makeshift shelters of corrugated metal and cardboard. I ride shakily along
the frighteningly busy road, swerving round potholes and cars and donkey
carts. I am anxious to be out of the slum before nightfall, to find a safe
hiding spot -away from staring eyes- where I will lie soaked in sweat
listening to the whine of mosquitoes until morning. Then I will get back on
the bike and do it all again. I have been doing this for so long. What the
hell am I doing here?
And yet, whenever I asked the question, I always knew, deep inside, that
the answer was perfectly clear. --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.