I’m a Vagabiker, Get Me Out Of Here!

So there we were, sat in a disused train carriage that had become a house. Tomorrow would be an important day for two reasons: 1) It was Sammy Peeps’ birthday and 2) We had made it to China. We knew reaching China would be a huge milestone for our trip, the tough mountain passes had been a success without much real trouble and we were all looking forward to smashing ourselves through this vast country and get ourselves into the sun of South East Asia! The Chinese border crossing at Irkeshtam is one of the strictest that we have been through although it was still hassle free. We were made to take off all our panniers and dry bags and watched as a guard who looked no older than 15 pondered through our stuff looking surprised at nearly everything he found in our array of kit. We went through the usual friendly formalities of “where are you going” and “where have you been” and of course the obligatory shocked at amused faces that the border guards so often pull at us. But all in all it was a friendly, hassle free experience.

Unfortunately at the Irkeshtam border crossing the guards make everyone who is not in a car or wagon get on a truck to the ‘official’ border crossing some 160km down the road. Apparently the road is too dangerous and looking at it down from the trucker’s cabin it would be a lie to say we were not relieved to be thrown about in the cabin rather than to tackle the pot holed obstacle course on our Thorn Sherpas! Arriving at the ‘official’ border we had to go through the same old routine of taking all our panniers off. Now this is where, what can only be described as the strangest question we have ever been asked came from a young Chinese military officer. He wandered up to Stephen and asked if we have ‘Wampares’ in Britain. Obviously we didn’t have a clue what he meant as he was pointing to his teeth, we were trying to say one pair of teeth? Or one pair of shoes? But no. Low and behold he was actually asking if Vampires are native to Britain. The worst thing was he was genuinely shocked to find we didn’t have them! What documentaries he has been watching we will never know but we can guarantee Sir David Attenborough was not presenting them that’s for sure.
Ullugat gave us our first taste of Chinese food, stir fried noodles. A favourite with more or less everyone and it was to be our staple diet for the next 7 weeks in China. I dare say the chef knew it was our first time in China as we took a lucky dip at the menu which was all in Chinese (obviously) and there was certainly no spice rating like there usually is on an English Chinese menu. Our eyes were streaming at the very smell of the food as we tried to eat our way through the furnace of chilli much to the amusement of the locals.

In the Xing Xiang province there really is nothing, and too be honest when you’re riding your bike through nothing for the best part of 7 hours a day it’s hard to keep your sanity. China is where we have done our most mileage by far, to get out of the “Dry Barren Desert” as the signs said we did 2000 miles in 20 days. This is hands down the worst part of the trip just for sheer boredom. The motorway is lined both sides with 6 foot high barbed wire fences and beyond that there is nothing, as far as you can see absolutely nothing. That combined with regular temperatures of -20 Degrees Celsius and silly headwinds we knew we had to get our heads down and just chase the sun! To make things worse every 100m is marked so you can’t forget how far you have came. We used to play games like counting the bollards in a kilometre to pass the time or play ‘who am I’ but it was obvious everyone was bored of the desert. Xing Xiang is not really like China as you would imagine it, the people don’t see themselves as Chinese but as ‘Uhgurs’ and their culture is more similar to the Kyrgyz and Uzbeks than Chinese.

The end of those 20 days couldn’t of come quick enough, and the giant KFC we got in Lanzhou certainly made up for it. The cashiers face was a picture when 5 family buckets with extra burgers were ordered up and consumed faster than anything Alan Rickman has done on Man Vs Food.
It would be fair to say that after seeing hardly anyone for the best part of nearly three weeks the pretty much westernised city of Lanzhou gave us a chance to enjoy ourselves. The international cinema was a particular hit as we all went to see the new Bond film Skyfall, we were like kids at a birthday party with our big bags of popcorn and litres of fizzy drinks. If you have ever been to China then you will know what the Chinese nightclubs are like… Unbelievable. If you’re a westerner you wont have to buy a drink as everyone wants you to sit on their table and shot lager with them all night as they do. We would just take it in turns to do laps of the various nightclubs drinking with the locals, google translate became an essential download on our smartphones so we weren’t just sat there all night drinking and not saying anything, some of the faces they were pulling however led us to think the translator was not as good as it seemed. The best night we had was in a place called Chengdu just south of Lanzhou, we say just south but it’s a fair way considering how big China is! This particular night was a funny one – Sam, who had no clothes went out in a military issue, olive green base layer, a thermal fleece, Rab tracksuit bottoms and a pair of trainers longer than a Kayak. It’s fair to say he didn’t seem comfortable looking at how everyone was dressed and sat down for most of the night hiding behind a big table. Stephen on the other hand, got overly drunk on free lager, started dancing with a Russian girl, and after a horrendously bad robot impression had a nose bleed all over her white dress whilst playing the Romeo and Juliet kissing scene. It’s the kind of stuff you see on The Inbetweeners but beware it happens to the best of us. She did wait while he attempted to clean himself up but his efforts were in vein.

We were lucky enough to be in China for the famous Chinese New Year celebrations in Tianshui, the sheer amount of fire crackers that get let off is insane. Vans screech to a halt, open the doors and send out reels of fire crackers leaving everyone to dive for cover whilst it speeds off as if it was a getaway car. For the actual night of the New Year we trekked up the side of mountain to a temple where we found a really good view of the city, that combined with a few beers and the obligatory fire crackers getting thrown at each other made for a good night that we will all remember for a while to come. As we say ‘all good things come to an end’ and we knew it was time for the final push towards Kun Ming and the Vietnam border.
The riding towards Kun Ming wasn’t easy going over hills everyday on the minor roads; we were still regularly putting in 100 mile plus days which was tiring us. We had one hope, the G5. The G5 is the main motorway that runs towards Kun Ming, nice smooth dual carriageway with tunnels through every mountain. Every Cyclists dream, however there is a catch. Cyclists are not allowed on this road, as we were not on the G30 but they were a lot more laid back in Xing Xiang central China. All the slip roads are tolled with barriers and even the local police stand around there, it was time to go back to what we were good at, sneaking on over the barbed wire fences. Sneaking in places isn’t new to us; most Saturdays when we were 16/17 there was a mission to sneak into the local night clubs which we usually succeeded in doing so this was nothing new. We patrolled the fence looking for places to sneak on, it became a game with us and the police.We would sneak on ride 10/15 miles and then hear the dreaded sirens behind us. Off the G5 again but not for long, we would find the next place to get on and go again. This cat and mouse game continued for a few days until the game was over. The police had brought with them a tow truck and ordered that we strap our bikes to the back. Expecting the worst the police shook our hands, asked for photos and laughed at our efforts. They even put 4 of us in the back of the patrol car and drove us to the first exit. Have to admire the humour of the Chinese police they really are some of the friendliest we have met.
Arriving in Kun Ming was huge for us, we booked into a local hostel, went up to the terrace and sunbathed, yes sunbathed. We had all forgotten what it was like to be warm but it was a welcome change that we all needed. Obviously their was two victims to the suns rays: Sam and Jamie, both burned to a crisp on the first day so spent the next few days under the canopy with the nicknames ‘Jerry the Berry’ for the colour of their skin. We had arranged to send all of our winter kit home in China so would roll out of Kun Ming on only rear panniers, life was to become sweet!

Finally would just like to say a huge thanks to everyone that follows us on Facebook, Twitter, our website www.mission-oz.co.uk and Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/missionoz1 you’re support means a lot to us. We have so far raised over £10 000 for Macmillan Cancer Support and Health Poverty Action but and would love to keep that total rising. Please go to www.virginmoneygiving.com/mission-oz to donate to us.

Thank You!

Mission Oz.

More Hairpins than a Hairdressers!

First of all we’d like to apologise for the lack of blogging over the last few months but lack of internet availability has made it difficult to communicate with the outside world. Secondly the last two months of the mission have been truly the most epic yet and it is fair to say we have all gone completely bonkers after a gruelling winter in the Stan countries and China.

Leaving Tashkent was like stepping out of a warm cosy house into a horrifying blizzard. The mercury on the thermometer kept on dropping as we made the journey towards Kyrgyzstan and eventually over the Tien Shan mountain range which lead us to the almighty China. We thought the hotel registration demons had escaped until they returned to haunt us one last time with a Mike Tyson right hook to the grid. The day was closing in as we struggled up the main mountain pass of the day at 2400 metres in heavy snow with a clogged up bike full of slush slowing paces down to around 4mph. At around 2000 metres we found a workers accommodation block that provided us with what we thought was a bed for the night. Lying on our beds after being fed from the canteen we were relieved to have somewhere warm to stay until in marched three policeman asking for our passports. After a nail bitingly lengthy discussion between the three men and a translator who had travelled one hour down the road from one of the local villages we were told we weren’t allowed to stay and were instructed to cycle over the pass to a Cay house/hotel 16km away. At 9pm in the pitch black at -15 degrees we made the climb over the top cursing every Uzbek policeman in the land. Finally reaching the top where it was touching -17 all we wanted was a fast decent to allow us to get our heads down. Fat chance that that was going to happen, the slush mixed with the grit and ice was more damaging to our brakes than a Black and Decker belt sander making us walk the three miles down the side of the mountain trying to stop our 40kg bikes dragging us with them. We would have to say that this has to be up there with one of the lowest points of the trip so far but it was a huge relief to arrive in the hotel, albeit at 2:30am!

Riding through the last part of Uzbekistan eating our standard plov one evening we couldn’t resist for the last time the all too common trademark ‘flick of the neck’ signifying the commencement of a few shots of vodka, most likely leading to a few too many. Sure enough we went out with a bang that night which made for a fairly brutal day on the bike the following morning.

A few days later we found ourselves entering another country, Kyrgyzstan late at night on sheet ice as we hadn’t anticipated how far the border would be on the map… and the slipperiness of the ice. A few km’s down the road we entered Osh which was to be our final destination before the mountain crossing into China. Scrambling around cheap clothing markets the following day trying to find as many things as possible to keep us snug in the snow proved to pay off in the long run. Preparation was key for us. We looked at as much information as possible on the mountain passes looking at as many blogs as we could get our hands on to see what we were in for. Good weather seemed paramount after reading a few horror stories of people having to be rescued off the mountain as a snow blizzard approached at over 3000 metres. We even compiled our own makeshift profile of the crossing with relevant altitudes and towns that we could stop off at, even adding a cheeky ‘death zone’ one and two at the high altitude parts for a bit of drama. Setting off on our first day we were like duracell bunnies buzzing with the challenge ahead helped by the completely clear blue sky and the lack of ice on the road. Apparently in this part of the world the globalised repetitive screaming nature of the word ‘hello’ from every human being under the age of 12 has been replaced with ‘goodbye’. Baffled as we were when an excited wave upon approach was followed up with a farewell gesture. Towards the end of the day we had made it up the first pass no problems. In the cold at altitude it’s not the climbs that are the problem as you can keep nice and warm rather it’s the descents which freeze you to death numbing the extremities in your body. Throw sheet ice on top of that and it’s like trying to navigate your way through London in rush hour blind folded with your legs tied to the back of your head. We were also forced to stop various times on the way down as the hands painfully began to feel like they weren’t attached to our arms. To warm them up two of us would unzip our jackets and place each others arms snugly in each others armpits which had to have looked frighteningly Brokeback Mountain esq. On a few occasions we didn’t stop soon enough producing an agonising pain of the blood entering back into your hands when they finally did find some warmth.

Over the next four days we would encounter the most gruelling, beastly climbs of our lives at altitudes of 2600m, 3615m and 3777m. The reward for this hardship was the most breath taking views we’ve ever seen. At such a remote part of the world and completely covered in snow it was a majestic moment getting to the top of a pass and looking down at the road we’d came from and the never ending mountains in the background. We were lucky in that every day was completely clear, despite being -20 degrees we enjoyed a relatively comfortable crossing. Arriving at the final border town, Irkeshtam at textbook night time for the Mission Oz team we celebrated with a few cold ones in this strange town of old disused train carriages.

So onwards it was to China, a cultural shock to the system marking the end of the neck flick, plov, conventional cutlery, Cay houses, crazy old drunken men and more vodka than a Smirnoff distillery!

Stan Madness

I think it’s fair to say the Mission Oz team landed on their feet in Baku. The legend that is Andy Bliss kindly lent us his gaff for the duration while he was on leave back at home. This allowed us to have a base in which our winter clothes from home were to be sent out and necessary visas for the next part of the trip were to be collected. The next few weeks would see some of the much missed home comforts return to us. Hot showers, a TV to watch endless movies on, a spring mattress and a fridge full of food to name a few of life’s truly unappreciated luxuries. But best of all were the people we met there who were surprisingly un-phased to be seen with five hairy lads with Harold Shipman esq beards. We owe endless thanks to Andy and Linda Bliss, Paul and Maria McIntyre, Jimmy who took the boys out on the wild side of Baku, Alan the Haverton Hill hero, DJ Dave the rave Lawson who is an avid West Ham fan but still danced in our Boro shirts (video evidence) and donated £1270 to our charities through his golf club, top man! Terry and the lads from fountains bar for their outrageously generous donations to the charities, and the rest of the lads who treated us when we were there.

So with our time in Baku at an end it was time to make our way across the Caspian Sea to Aktau in Kazakhstan via ferry. A quick blast across the English channel from Dover to Calais in a good old P&O ferry are about the limit of our expertise at sea. The ferry, or should I say cargo ship across the Caspian was somewhat of an experience. Stories of the ferry lasting between 18 and 96 hours, no food served on board and bed comfort that the scruffiest of tramps would turn their nose up at made us expect the worst. And worst we got. Arriving in our cabins the bunks came in the form of a wooden plank with a dirty pillow and a rug to go over the top. A quick inspection under the rug proved to be like opening a fisherman’s bait box. White maggots squirming about everywhere were to be our bed mates for the next three nights. 66 hours later and after anchoring three times due to high winds Aktau was finally in sight.
Cycling out onto the Kazakh steppe with our panniers stuffed with winter kit and an added weight towing two trailers hit the team like a baseball bat to the groin. Jamie and Luke ‘hit the wall’ on the first day (which for you non-sporty people out there is when all energy is depleted and merely the act of turning the pedals round is a giant effort). Sam gladly provided Jamie with an energy gel which gave him some much needed ammunition as previous experiences on the bike have rewarded him with the name ‘Samuel Sphinkt-out’…. we’ll let you decide what that means. The Kazakh Steppe can not quite be described as desert but it’s just about there. The tarmac road ended not long after Aktau which marked the start of our mechanical nightmare. A day into this rocky, bumpy, uneven, orc-like beast of a road Ste’s rear derailleur decided to nose dive into his rear wheel spokes destroying the full thing. A few head scratches later we had Ste rigged up derailleur-less with a single-speed bike. To put this into context, in a head wind it was like churning out Chris Hoy’s track bike gear in treacle… and if we were ever lucky enough to get a tail wind (which we were not)it was like riding a little kids BMX bike down a 30% gradient. We could write a book titled ‘Mein Mechanical’ about this mishap but to cut a long story short the stats were as followed- 39 stoppages to put the chain back on, 27 snapped chains, 1 fixed buckle, 6 ‘rig ups’ to make the chain stay on including 2 toothbrush’s, 17 tie wraps, 10 metres of gaffa tape and last but not least, a suicidal Stephen Overty! Nevertheless the quote “Perseverando”- Thomas Conyers (1590), distilled in us from our secondary school days was highly appropriate for this situation.

The unpaved Kazakh road had hit the team hard, but one evening on our arrival at a local Cay house we thought our luck might have changed. We were greeted by Boris, the owner, who after what can only be said to have had a ‘skin full’ offered us a ‘free’ place to stay for the night. After a good helping of Chicken and with Boris demanding more vodka of his clearly angry wife and son we had a couple of tipples with him. Our problems started when it was time for bed. Apparently this Boris character had no jurisdiction in the cay house due to his constant drunkenness and so his son was demanding cash off us to sleep. Not being able to pay his prices we had to re-pannier the bikes, but not before the Rhino sized guard dog was to break off it’s lead and come hurtling towards Stephen and Luke while the young lad was getting pulled behind it trying to control the beast. Meanwhile Boris, being completely oblivious to what was going on around him, just swayed around in the minus temperatures. It seems that in this part of the world where there isn’t anything for miles around, many of the older men just drink all day and it is not uncommon to be stopped by a legless local. The moral that we took from this story was to not trust a drunken Cay house owner.

We had heard that the Kazakhstan – Uzbekistan border could be a nightmare at times. As we approached we could make out what looked like a huge train waiting at the border. As we got closer we realised that they were all wagons, waiting for what must be days to cross into Uzbekistan. There must have been over 300 wagons spanning well over a mile down the road. Fortunately we didn’t have to wait in this which is a good job as we would still be there now! Whilst filling out the obligatory declaration forms, we were approached by one of the chief guards, who was ironically drunk. He had studied in England and wondered if we were carrying any Ecstasy that he could have! We all looked at each other half laughing half shocked as he seemed disappointed and let us on our way. The currency in Uzbekistan is ‘Cym’ pronounced ‘Sum’ and the highest note value they have is a 1000 which is only 25p! For some reason the official rate is extremely low $1 to 2000 Cym, where as the black market rate is much higher 1$ to 2700 sum. Changing dollars left us with wads and wads of cash. It wasn’t long before the Robert DeNiro in Goodfellas impressions came about, tipping each other 25p into the non-existent ‘top pocket’ followed by the macho phrase “Treat yaself”.

The scenery didn’t really change through the Uzbek Steppe, it’s all the same just split through two countries. Coming off the Steppe for the first time was celebrated with Ste’s birthday. A skin full of vodka and some strange injuries the next morning was the sign that we had a good night. The majority of Uzbekistan is vast dessert so we were glad to arrive in Bukhara, a truly historic city on the Silk Road route. Genghis Kahn came here and as rumour has it, whilst tilting his head upwards to look at the Bukhara tower his helmet fell off. For some reason that was enough for him to leave the tower alone whist destroying other things in the city. Again we were helped massively by the locals, big thanks to the Pulatov Brothers who invited us in for their mothers fantastic Plov (traditional Uzbek meal) and put us up in a hotel for the evening. We couldn’t have got around Bukhara without their help, looking for ATM’s that are as scarce as an England world cup win.
After leaving Bukhara we headed to Samarkand, the next major city of Uzbekistan. That night we rode in the dark to find ourselves another warm Cay house to sleep in. The next morning treated us with a site that ten years ago would send us hurtling down the stairs, inhaling some breakfast down and getting geared up for a day of sledging, snowball fights and maybe in the silly adolescent years, a Blazin’ Squad size gang of toe rags launching a huge offensive on some innocent persons house that happens to provide a perfect getaway to a bombardment of snowballs. So the nightmare that was three inches of snow completely covering the road, with miles to tick off we geared up for a day on the piste, ski goggles and the lot! Riding like troopers over the mountains into Jizzakh the day was closing in quick. Worry began to set in when we realised we had no food left, a blizzard had engulfed us and no town was in sight. A more than sketchy descent and a deck out from Tom later, a tiny flicker in the distance marked a Cay house which wiped any thoughts of camping in two feet of snow with numb feet and no food out of our heads.

Arriving in Tashkent the process of getting the Chinese Visa was the first port of call. Ste, Jamie and Luke went straight off to book our flights to Beijing whilst Sam and Tom booked our Hotel for Beijing. Foreign travel to the Xingjiang province in China is widely forbidden therefore in order to obtain a visa we had to trick the embassy into thinking we were travelling to Beijing by plane! After successfully getting all the info we needed including five proof of employment letters (yes we are all site surveyor’s for ‘Rock Developments’) we set about finding somewhere to stay in Tashkent. Arriving at ‘Gelikon Vest Hotel’ the registration ball ache began so to cut a very long, nightmare of a story short don’t come to Uzbekistan without reading the small print which apparently requires you to register with a Hotel for every 72 hours of your stay. After being offered to stay in a 5* deluxe hotel with 75% discount it seemed too good to be true…it was! Good old registration ruined our day and I think it was safe to say morale was at an all time low having viewed the prospective Bedrooms, Sauna and Swimming pool ourselves arms behind back giving the satisfied nod of approval. After much help from our Uzbek Saints Rustam and Kholida, and many a phone call later we found ourselves in a very nice 4 * Hotel. Miraculously our registration problems had vanished with only a bribe of a slap up dinner in one of Tashkent’s fine diners for our helpful friend.
Sat here in the lobby of Hotel Uzbekistan after ten days of well appreciated luxury we are ready to tackle the hardest part of the trip yet. All we can say is temperatures will go below -25, altitudes will go above 3700 metres and layers of clothing will go above ten! We also have to mention the Hotel Concierge sitting behind us on his desk who oblivious to our knowledge spends a colossal amount of work hours searching through X-rated material, go on son!

New Years Day will mark 6 months on the road for the team and with a little under £10,000 raised, it’s fair to say we are well on our way to achieving the £20,000 target so thank you to all who have donated and supported us.
Thanks again,

The Team

Onwards and eastwards...

Getting to Istanbul felt like a real milestone and our first city with a noticeably different culture. The vastness of Istanbul is not to be down-played with many a bike tourist choosing the easy option of a ferry in avoiding the infinite number of horn bashing cars, buses, taxis and lorries all over the roads.

On arrival we checked into a funky jazz hostel which was the place that the Mission Oz team would turn over 80 litres of Cay in the next few days. The cleaner of the hostel was surprisingly happy to take on a huge pile of stinking clothes that had been gathering all sorts of awful aromas over the past few weeks trapped in our panniers. Our good fortune ran out when discovering that the cleaner had shrank all of our fleeces to under 11 boys size. Cheers mate.

Istanbul was where Sam's folks flew out and met us bringing with them some much needed essentials for the road with a memorable highlight being a packet of Percy Pigs AKA 'morale in a bag'. Eating them we couldn't help but dream of a Marks and Spencer's sponsorship providing Percy Pig air drops all over the world.

The Lonely Planet website regards Istanbul as so vast, 2 weeks in the city would not do it justice. With that in mind we tried to see what we could in the few days that were spent there. Visits to the Grand Bazaar, Egyptian Spice Bazaar, Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace and Taksim Square were some of the highlights. Oh, and not to forget the local McDonalds round the corner who were selling a Mega Mac, a double sized Big Mac that would sky-rocket the obesity epidemic in Britain to gargantuan proportions.

Reading in a tourist guide book that bartering for goods was advised in the Grand Bazaar we took this advice to the not so barterable Spice Bazaar. Wanting a selection of spices to throw in our meals for the road ahead we set about trying to get an absurdly low price for them. Jamie offered 5 Lira for a selection of spices advertised at 18 Lira in which he swiftly got the response 'Are you stupid, can you not read the price tag?!' To which Jamie replied 'Yeh, says 5 Lira!' After having a similar conversation with the next 10 stalls we decided to put in a better offer which was reluctantly settled for at 10 Lira. However this didn't stop Jamie returning to all the previous stalls waving the selection of spices at the stall owners shouting out '5 Lira, 5 Lira' much to the amusement of the owners employees who were laughing behind their bosses back with their thumbs up.

Leaving Istanbul was surprisingly easy which brought us past the 'Welcome to Asia' sign, our second continent! The next few weeks would cling us to the Black Sea coastline which on the map was seemingly flat. Predictions of terrain as you might have noticed has not been one of our forte’s throughout the past four months, the most recent of which was to be the worst yet. The first 300 miles of the Black Sea coastline were mixture of 20%+ gradients and a group illness from foolishly drinking the local tap water. We even told one of the locals that his own tap water was fine to drink after he warned us to stick to the bottles. Oops. A three day course of some strong antibiotics, 86 bog rolls later we were on the mend and the little man that had been constantly doing back flips in our stomach was dispelled.


Now with our group being a 5 man team, the amount of hospitality that we receive is understandably less than if you were a solo bike tourer but every now and then we meet a mission saint that is willing to bring in 5 scabby looking vagabikers. In Turkey this came in the form of Ozer and Aras who found us cooking dinner on a rocky outcrop by the sea. One hour later we were beer in hand sitting in their flat chilling out after a hard day on the bike. Cheers lads!

Once we left the warmth and shelter of Aras’s flat the weather started to take a turn for the worst and we were in for our 1st dose of rain for over 5 weeks. With a storm on the Black Sea horizon we turned our thoughts to finding some decent shelter for the night, instead of being confined to the tents as soon as we stopped. We soon came across 2 abandoned beach huts which looked to be part of a restaurant, so we were quick to jump in too avoid the brewing storm. Three hours later after we had made ourselves at home, a car pulled up. Quickly realizing that the huts are in fact not abandoned and getting quite worried at the fact that 4 men just jumped out of the car we had no choice but too pull out our trump card…The magic letter (a letter explaining our trip in the language of the country we are in). This seemed to do just the trick and the guys welcomed us with open arms and even gave us a huge double airbed and a load of fresh fish cooked on their BBQ.

After around 10 days of brutal hills and illness, to say we were excited to reach the city of Samsun and the ever elusive flat road would be an understatement. In our eagerness to get to Georgia and apply for our Azerbaijan visa, we rode 380 miles in 4 days to get to Batumi beach. Batumi is a city with a lot of brand new swanky hotels but not a lot of people filling them. We capitalized on this situation by treating ourselves to a spa day at the Radisson Blu hotel…free of charge. Shorts on underneath our jeans, a confident greeting to the hotel security and a fake room number later, we were all laid in the spa’s relaxation room sipping our complimentary drinks trying to decide whether we should use the sauna first or the steam room.

Three working days and 210 Georgian Lari later we had secured our Azeri visa and were off to cross the lower Caucasian mountains which we had been warned will take us over 2000m high on an unpaved dirt road. Sure enough 2025 vertical meters, 1 snapped chain and 30 miles of uphill, unpaved road later we were at the top of the pass. The temperature at the top was considerably lower and we were kindly given a full bottle of vodka by a worker to warm us up. We swiftly drank the vodka which after 4 hours of hard climbing on little water, went straight to our heads, only adding to the fun of the long descent ahead of us.

Once the mountains had been conquered we headed into the Georgian capital of Tbilisi for a few days R&R before riding the final 400 miles to Baku. The journey from Tbilisi to Baku was an interesting one to say the least. There is only one main road which takes you through the flat plains; therefore there is a good amount of traffic. This is something we are used to; however we certainly were not used to the absolute outrageousness of the Azeri drivers, who made the 5 lane Istanbul motorway seem extremely safe. The Azerbaijan road builders don’t seem to get the concept of a simple fly over; instead every couple of miles there is a break in the central reservation. This allows cars going one way down the 110km/h dual carriageway to just switch to the other side and proceed to drive along the wrong side of the road, usually on the outer edge of the road right where we were cycling.

Not too mention the fact that 90% of the drivers find it necessary to beep their very loud horns when they are right behind. One guy even thought it a good idea to pull up next to us and whilst maintaining the same speed as us hold his hand down on the horn, deafening us whilst his passenger hangs out the window waving with a big smile on his face. Although this was meant to be a friendly gesture from the jolly chaps, they were met with a rain of abuse and sent off up the road looking rather confused.

These crazy drivers coupled with a strong headwind made for a very tough 4 days riding. The final night before making it to Baku we rode into a small town after 96 miles into a headwind and were taken pity on by some locals who invited us to sleep in the community’s cay (tea) house and allowed us to use their cooking stoves to make our diner. The next day we finally made it to the city of Baku after exactly 4 months on the road. We are extremely happy to have made it here for a well earned rest and to prepare for our winter assault.

We would just like to thank a few people who will be mentioned also in the next blog for all their help and support in Baku. Paul and Maria, thank you for looking after us and cooking us a superb Sunday Dinner we have all been craving for since we set off and your ever ending help during our stay! Thank you to DJ Dave Lawson for the large donation to charity that will be a huge help in reaching our target! Keep on working on your mixing skills Dave. Thanks to all the rest of the lads in Jimmy’s bar for donating money and obviously Jimmy for supplying a top English breakfast and a mad night out. Thanks to AMEC for treating us to 6 days of ‘Business lunch’ and thanks to Akshay for taking us for a top Azerbaijan Kebab. Most of all a huge thank you to Andy and Linda Bliss for letting us crash in their apartment for the duration of our stay in Baku! Absolute legends, we can’t thank them enough!

'The barks worse than the bite'

So after waving our mates off to Budapest airport after what was a busy few days it became apparant we had to get back on our bikes. Our next scheduled "rest" was to be on Sunny Beach in Bulgaria in two weeks time, where Luke and Sams birds were coming out to play dominos. Unfortunatly for the two lads they had to go through Serbia, Romania and a good chunk of Bulgaria before they could catch up on snuggly wugglys.

We have become well trained in the art of leaving big cities, but always seem to meet the local police and Budapest was no different. Apparantly it wasn't safe for five lads to fly down a Hungarian motorway (for reasons unknown to us) but in the end, after several map checks and a McDonalds we managed to escape. We had heard stories about the 'aggressive' Romanian strays which roam around in packs like blood thirsty wolves, and had even met some French lads earlier in the trip that had huge sticks strapped to their bike incase they came face to face with these rabid ridden muts. On hearing this credible intel we took oursleves to a local DIY shop to get 'tooled up'. Stephen, Luke and Sams weapon of choice was a snapped metal broom handle attached to the rear right pannier for rapid extraction. Tom went a bit more conventional with a sharpened stick and Jamie the non-aggressive pacifist of the group used an electronic 'dazzer' which sends out a high pitched noise. We had warned him that he would be struggling for defence if we encountered any deaf dogs, but he was lucky we never encountered the 'pissed off' deaf dog.

Entering Romania we had practiced and rehearsed our drills for the almost certain stray dog attacks, the 5th man on the road was said to be in "death zone one" and the 1st man was the eyes of the outfit. We have never encountered more timid, shy, scared dogs in our entire lives, if you were to walk up to one it would set off at a rapid pace in the opposite direction! The problem (if we can say that) were pet dogs, who werent scared of human contact. Ocassionaly we found oursleves in a wild west kind of stand of with the more macho dogs, but we found that stopping the bike and shouting seemed to do the trick.

We had planned our route to follow the picturesque river Danube for aslong as possible, for the good scenery and ample camping and washing capabilities. We joined the Danube early in Romania and managed to stay with it for a week or so. A word of warning is required here for all you mozzy haters, the Danubian mosquitos are not the be laughed at. Stephen took 13 bites to his arse that were itchy enough to keep him awake all night begging for relief that never came. Apart from the occasional section of unpaved road it is a route we reccommend to all you cycle tourers. Romania seems to be a country where anything goes. From 80 year old women pulling trees along the road, 30 stone men being pulled along by little donkeys and main roads that look like they have been hit with mortar fire. The locals don't seem to understand the dangers of potholes and fast driving after watching one unfortunate man blow his tyre up after hitting one at 40, it would seem they are used to the occasioanl blow out as he was faster at changing his wheel than Lewis Hamiltons chief mechanic. Saying that Romania is one of the friendliest places we have been to so far. The kids run out to the road to give you high fives and the old men applaud as you pass the local pub. Romania really is an up and coming hidden gem that more people should see.

In order to keep ourslelves as close to the Danube as possible we crossed the border into Serbia, a country none of us had been to or had planned to go into. Our memories of Serbia are somewhat slim as we only stayed there one night. By now we were getting itchy feet to arrive at Sunny Beach as our alcohol consumption was at an all time low. Crossing into Bulgaria from Romania took us over the Danube on a rather large bridge. As usual the border sprint was carnage, a 'welcome to Bulgaria' sign mixed with a down hill finish meant Tom nearly tail-whipped his sherpa whilst going head to head with Sam for the border sign. Fortunatley we all crossed in one piece and were ready to put some miles in to get to Sunny Beach. The difference between the Romanian and Bulgarian town was alot more than we thought. In Bulgaria there was a brand new shopping mall complete with games arcade and cinema. This was the first time we had really felt out of place when buying food in our scruffy vests and porno cycling shorts, we must have been scruffy looking as the security guard even moved us on when we tried to have some dinner outside. The route to sunny beach looked relatively flat, so flat infact that Luke had declared if we went over a climb a mile long he would do a 6-foot belly flop.... He would be flopping in Sunny Beach!

Sunny Beach can pretty much be described as an up and coming Benidorm, where free shot vouchers come as standard with night club entry and drinking to excess is encouraged. Not that we would be taking part in such a disgraceful culture.....
Sam and Luke were wining and dining there other halves at the local restaurants after a long spell of being apart whilst eight nights on the bounce by Stephen, Jamie and Tom produced some of the worst hangovers known to man. Including some pretty weird hallucinations from cheap vodka. It could be said that Stephen, Jamie and Tom were more creepy than Edward Hill on chat roulette at 4am after a night out in Newcastle. We would personally like to thank the girls for participating in this event and helping three 21 year old lads keep their testosterone under legal levels. Thankyou. P.S. 'Keep it gangsta dog, keep it gangsta.. I wanna thank you all, I wanna thank ya'.

We now found ourselves back on the road on our way to Istanbul, after leaving Sunny Beach behind we knew it was time to put some good miles down and get back to what were used to doing. Riding 50-80 miles all day, everyday. Riding into Turkey meant tackling a 5 mile climb up to the border crossing point and buying our first visa for our passports. We had heard that cycle touring in Turkey was supposed to be great, with such good hospitality and we havn't been dissapointed. All the locals offer you enough Cay (Tea) to sink a battle ship. Occasionally we found ourselves short of a place to sleep, but the locals never minded us pitching up on their ground. We had been warned that riding into Istanbul would be a nightmare, and it was. This didn't stop us flying down a four laned motorway at 50 mph though, with Stephen taking the speed record at 51.8 mph. We can only imagine the look on the drivers face as 5 lads on 40kg bikes came flying into their rear view mirrors! So again, we've made it alive to our biggest city yet, Istanbul to meet Sams family.

As usual we have people to thank; Dale how could we not put you in the blog? The crazy manc that we met in sunny beach who knew the price of everything. A real 'top' lad who would do anything for anyone, dont forget we shall be visting Manchester on our return home so be prepared. Also a big thanks to the GF's for bringing out some much needed gear that clogged up their suitcases more than they already were on the flight over. Oh yeh, and thanks Amber for plucking Mac's eyebrows to pristine condition, one of the few absoloute essential requirements that a bike tourer needs for a world trip.

Look out for our next blog shortly and dont forget to check out our website: www.mission-oz.co.uk and our Facebook and Twitter pages for photos and videos.

P.S- We hope to revamp the website in Baku to make it more up to date with more pictures and videos for all you none facebookers so keep an eye out!

Eastern Europe- The Mo is on Farrah/ Buda whaaaat!

It's finally sunk in that we are actually taking our bicycles from a small town in the north of England around planet Earth, or has it? Only time will tell.

Since our last blog we have weaved our way around eastern Europe through Germany, Czech Republic, Poland, Slovakia and finally here in Hungary totalling a distance that's just tips over 2000 miles.

Leaving Germany and Klaus' penthouse apartment we set off FTD (fresh to death). With our topographical knowledge of Germany at a minimum we had naively considered The country flat. However the route we decided to take was more up and down than a hookers knickers.

Arriving in Nuremberg we hooked up with Rich Husband (yes that is his name). After what can only be described as a heavy one in Nuremberg, Jamie and Stephen decided to take the advice of one of the locals as to which tube to take home. Being adamant they were on the right train, they were proved wrong when the train ended at the last stop which happened to be Nuremberg airport and at least an hour away from Rich's house. Long after the sun had came up and people were starting their morning commute to work Rich was rudely awakened by two clowns after a failed 6 story key drop by Luke Rock. In response the wrath of Rich Husband was felt which sent Jamie and Stephen skimpering up the stairs like little schoolboys (Sorry Rich!).

Our next destination was the big CZ, home to the nicest beer and girls in the world, ah yeeessss. This brought is to a tour of the Pilsner Urquell brewery where we tried the unpasturised unfiltered version of the beer, ah yeeessss.

Surviving on less than 4 quid a day each we cracked onto Prague where we heard the exquisite 17th century artwork was on exhibition at the citys gallery. Okay that's a lie we spent the next two days either hungover or getting bobaldy (our strange word for drunk) on a bar crawl and then with Louis, Joey and Debs. On this particular occasion the night was made particularly heavier with a £50 cash injection by the legend that is Jonny Blackburn, with strict instructions to spend it only on Jagerbombs. 22 J-Bombs later we had all taken up the trademark Mo Farrah ''Mobot" (see pictures). It was fair to say that none of the locals had a clue what we were doing all night.

Riding hungover on the bike has now become a normality however the sheer mental stress of these ordeals is enough to turn Peter Doherty sober at the thought.

Back on the bike it was about to take a serious turn as we were heading towards Poland to see Aushwitz. For us all it was a real eye opener as too what went on in the second world war and an extremely worthwhile experience and would highly recommend a visit.

We then headed 40 miles east towards another major city being Krakow which was a flying visit however we still managed to see the sites which were extremely nice and get ourselves on a highly unorthodox tram party! When heading out of Krakow over some gruelling climbs we found ourselves indulging in the local cuisine where we were questioned by the waiter for ordering 9 main meals between the 5 of us, the conclusion was the food was in our words 'bouncing'!

With the mercury on the thermometer rising it was time for 'Mission Buda' where we were to meet the boys from back home for a long over due reunion. This brings us to where we are now having landed on our feet once again tapping this blog out in a deluxe apartment slap bang in the centre of Budapest. The ride inbetween traversing through Slovakia can only be described as gruelling, mountainous, sweaty, mosquitoey and smelly. However it's these adversities that make the luxuries most people would consider standard, seem out of this world.

UPDATE (Post Budapest): Whilst we realise that this blog makes the Mission Oz team look like borderline alcoholics we have to admit that Budapest fits into this category. I mean, twelve hyperactive northern monkeys with energy levels that would burn off endless Duracell bunnies can only end one way. However the relaxing Turkish baths were a well appreciated respite with Jamie going that little bit more luxurious with a full body massage enticingly advertised on the leaflet given to us. However the huge smile from cheek to cheek was abruptly wiped off his face when a 6ft 5', 20 stone Turkish giant of a man was the masseuse that was to administer Jamie the full body rub down. The straight face turned to one of pure fright when the giant proceeded to take his top off before he slapped the oil on
Jamie's legs and began to give what felt like a deep tissue sports massage with his spade like hands. Unlucky lad.

With Budapest a well appreciated respite from life on the road and a chance to meet our best mates from home it's now time to leave Hungary and into Romania! AH YEESSSSS

Once again we do our best to thank everyone along the way for there generosity and hospitality so thanks to Rich Husband for allowing us to flood your flat with 5 over excited vagabikers, Rona for the generous contribution in Krakow, John Blackburn for reasons that need no explaining and Brownie's dad (one of the boys) for treating us all to the apartments in Buda, legend.

Five lunatics, two dodgy knees and 'Bradley 'effin Wiggins

Okay so here we are, our third blog with a month of the mission gone and its flown by faster than Bradley Wiggins on speed.

Sat here typing this were finding it hard to believe we've gone from experiencing more rain than the Indian monsoon season to fending off hoards of biting mosquitoes around camp after a sweaty 50 miles hard cycling. This is because we're currently at Nick's penthouse apartment on the French/German border complete with a Sauna, Swimming pool and so much food being consumed that it'd make Rik Waller wince, therefore its hard not to feel like Lord Farquaad of the manor as we gaze over the local hills whilst tucking into a bratwurst sandwich
As most of you will know the Mission Oz team ran into a bit of trouble in the form of 'dodgy knees' which decided to stop Luke and Ste in their tracks. As Jamie, Mac and Sam took the ferry across the channel with Paris in their sights the 'B-Team' i.e Luke and Ste stayed in Ashford in Kent to recieve Physiotherapy treatment from some extremely kind physio's at a huge discount.

*A-Team Perspective*
Meanwhile the A-team were in pursuit to watch the one, the only, Bradley Wiggins compete in the final Time Trial of the Tour de France near Paris. With time on our hands and Bastille day approaching we thought the obvious solution was to 'get on it' with the French for their national celebrations. With our one and only set of going out clothes (the one bomb) waiting for us at the bottom of our panniers we booked into a B+B, sank a few Biere Speciales and headed into the local town with our appearances socially intact after a clean shower and shave. One hour and four laps of the town later it was like a wild west scene with nothing but a lone tumble weed rolling slowly across the town square. Turns out we were one day late for the Bastille day shenanigans. Kebab and bed before midnight it was!

Cracking onto Chartres near Paris we experienced our first rainless day of the mission, yeeeehaarrrrr. So with our gore-tex jackets gladly stuffed back in our panniers we arrived at the local municipal campsite in Chartres meeting up with Jamie's folks. With time to kill we embraced ourselves in some 'missionary down time' whilst we waited for the B-team who were still playing around with knee straps and hot water bottles.

*B-Team perspective*
Right so apparantly we arethe "B Team" and the others are the "A Team" In our opinion the 'A' in team should stand for audacious! Now lets not get personal about it but we dont like jealous people. Its just unfortunate that the "A Team" didnt recieve 1st class physio treatment from Amy and Eve (cheers girls), or the fact that they had to cram themselves into a tent whilst we had ample amounts of space. Enough to swing a cat as the saying goes... Or is it the fact that we won the rock, paper, scissors championships for the speaker?? Or was it the fact that they bought a s**t map of france and hence decided to zig-zag there way from Calais to Chartres haha. Just as a final point, as if the other four points werent damming enough we stumbked upon a barn party! It just so happens that it was the same night they tucked themselves into bed after a failed bastille day party attempt. Congratulations to Charl and Naomi on there engagement, and thank you for the constant supply of champagne and biere from 'Patey Boissons'. We will hold you to your promise of a party on the way home! Anyway enough of the banterous arguments the boys are all back together and morale is as high as ever.

After the amalgamation in Chartres our lives were now focused on one name. You guessed, it Bradley Wiggins. Being avid Mr. Wiggins fans after following him on previous Tour de France visits we couldn't possibly miss this opportunity to see him be the first Brit to don the yellow jersey on the champs elysees in its 109 year history. To see him win the time-trial sent us into a state which can only be likened to the film 'football factory' with various chants and cheering annoying many a french citizen. This was all the day after we had been drinking with a bunch of crazy brummies who, although they didn't take part in the drunken chants about Bradley on our walk back to the campsite, were happy to push Ste (TinTin) naked in a shopping trolley along the road after a dispute with a nightclub bouncer who used the unorthodox bucket water over head tactic to dispell his savage victim. The following day brought cheshire cat-like smiles to our faces after an awesome photo was taken with the team and Bradley before the final run into Paris. If it couldnt get any better tears were brought to our faces as we sang the national anthem at ear piercing volume along with the massive following of Brits all watching Bradley on the podium. Absoloute icing on the cake. Luke who was sporting Bradley like sideboards carefully groomed for weeks in the run up to Paris quotes 'Bradley Wiggins is without question the greatest sportsman ever to grace the universe'. He even admitted after his displeased response to being woke up he had dreamed that he and Bradley had dined together (in dinner suits wearing matching bow ties) with Luke whispering 'sweet nothings' into his ear! It was also nice to meet Steve Brady and Russ Barrow along the tour route who treated us to a restaurant meal and plenty of beers. Two diamond geezers!

After the hype of Bradley and Paris it was time to head east towards Prague. With a five day heat wave blasting over the country it was our first taste of proper sun. This forced us to look for fresh streams to wash off the hundrends (literally) of tiny harvest flies clinging to our sweat soaked bodies. This culminated in a thunderstorm that zeus himself would have shit himself at (videos to come). Cracking on we ticked off our 1000th mile which shortly delievered us to our present location. On the final day to the border tensions were high in the last 5km with the greatly sought after Germany sign which provides bags of braggin rights. But the sign never came and after a destroying the last bit of energy that our legs had to give we soon learnt that a Germany sign didn't exist. Gutted.


We'd also like to take this opportunity to thanks the following people for their outstanding hospitality and generosity. Amy and Eve, top class physio's. Charl, Naomi and the other mad hatters at the barn dance. Jamie's Ma and Pa, thanks for the food! Steve and Russ- Legends. 'The Brummies', unbelievable banter. Nick (another one of Don Richardson's mafia friends) you're a hero. Klaus, thanks for the hospitality, you're house is amazing aswell as your bar!

Finally, a big thanks for all the donations so far and for following our progress. To donate go to www.virginmoneygiving.com

Thanks

The team