In his book "You've Gone Too Far This Time Sir", fearless Danny Bent puts his life as a conforming citizen of the U.K. on hold and heads out across continents to India on his faithful bicycle he has named"Shirley". He dedicates his book to dreamers everywhere. |
Crossing Europe:
 Leaving on July 17th accompanied by friends, family, teachers and pupils I cycled to Dover where I was put on a boat which sailed to France. In the crossing of Europe I was: welcomed into strangers homes, held at gunpoint until I drank a vodka, chased by wild dogs, propositioned by prostitutes in Kiev, hung out with hippies, wept at Auschwitz, danced and sung with hardcore football fans, seen the consequences of war, spent a sleepless night thinking I was being attacked under an apple tree, grown a beard and that was only Europe!!!
|
Crossing Countries with Names Ending in 'Stan':
Cycling for 14 days through the Karakum Desert of Kazakhstan was the toughest mental battle of the trip. The wind meant I could only creep along at a few miles an hour, while the sand blasted me, snakes reared and lunged for me and I slept in my tent covered in my own sweat without showers. Into Uzbekistan I got in trouble for having an invalid visa and was saved from deportation by the Russia mafia who kept me in a safe house until the situation calmed and they could escort me to the outskirts of Tashkent. My distracting apparent likeness to Wayne Rooney (the English star footballer, famed for his skills not his looks) in the eyes of the Uzbeks kept me safe from the police and border guards.
In Kyrgyzstan I was attacked by gangs in the street until my face was bloodied . It was a toughening prelude to beginning my ascent into the Pameer mountain range. To make matters tougher I was attacked by a masked robber on horseback from whom I managed to escaped--pedaling furiously on faithful Shirley--before slipping and sliding my way into China through the snow and ice.
|
Crossing China:
The Muslim Uyghur , people suffer the same fate as the Tibetans at the hands of the Chinese government. Huge areas of history are being destroyed by bulldozers to allow for high rise Chinese buildings. Cycling up into the Karakoram Mountains I had to camp in icy conditions. My tent and sleeping bag froze solid, but I was warm and snug in my equipment supplied by Cotswold. With media lock down in Xinjiang Province I couldn't access the media. No internet or external calls meant that I couldn't communicate with my friends and family at home. Luckily, a couple I'd met time and again on my trip were flying to Thailand and promised to call my mum from there. On my last day, on my way to Pakistan, a fellow traveler managed to get World Service on his wireless. "War has broken out in Pakistan." I just imagined my mum's reaction to worried phone calls from my friends.
|
Crossing Pakistan:
Pakistan is so often featuring in the news for the wrong reasons. What greeted me was absolute beauty epitomized in the majestic scenery The people-- too frequently toting guns--welcomed me into their homes, danced with me, sang with me and gave me numerous cups of tea. Crossing the three highest mountain ranges in the world, I danced on the national polo field, drank tea under the watchful eye of the Himalayas while crouched at the bottom of a creeping glacier and was welcomed into an elderly couple's home while three disgruntled suitors for their daughter's hand in marriage waited outside. Then there were the gypsy festivals. Spinning with Sufi spiritualists, was all about song and dance. But there was a darker side: gun shots at night, an evening of incarceration in a prison cell for my own safety and the bus my friends had ridden into Pakistan blown up by the Taliban, fortunately after they had disembarked.
|
Crossing into the Heart of India:
India is a country full of color--not least at the Holi festival when old and young, rich and poor have a massive paint fight to celebrate a holy festival. Saris rush past you, turbans sit and smoke, monkeys jeer as you cycle past. I awoke with bed bug bites and with maggots in my beard and hair after a night below a rotten beam, all part of the adventure. Shirley kept me pushing on to Mumbai where I lived in the largest slum in Asia with a wonderful family who owned next to nothing but gave everything they could, including smiles and laughter. The country never stops moving except in the caparitive calm of Goa, the sybaritic resort that puts the 'art' in Party. I could have stayed forever but I had to get to a school where I was expected.
With a kilometer to go I rounded a sharp bend, pulled out of the turn and could see a huge crowd gathered in the distance. Children, men and women all dressed in colorful traditional dress, singing and playing drums. Another festival. It made me smile as I wondered what it was in aid of this time. As I got closer the noise increased and I could see the drummers become more frantic in their efforts.
I could see their faces now. They were made up of mostly of tribal people, but there were others in western dress. When I came close enough to read the signs I could see it was some sort of birthday they were celebrating. It seemed strange to see them using the Roman alphabet. "Happy Birthday", "Congratulations". A little closer and I couldn make out my "Velo Love" logo in the hands of every child. Some held it upside down, others on its side but there was no mistaking!! These people were here for me!!
In all the excitement of the journey I'd forgotten it was my 31st birthday, twenty years since I had first dreamed up the idea of cycling round the world to help people. I was greeted by a carnival of thronging bodies. School children danced and gyrated, tribal leaders waved flags, local journalists shot pictures as mothers, fathers, visitors and workers drummed, sang, cheered, and held banners. I picked up a boy no older than six and placed him on the seat of my bike, and we danced all the way up the red clay road through the tea plantations to the local school where cake was to be handed out to one and all.
|
I wanted to be articulate, to thank them for this tremendous welcome, tell them my adventures, pass on messages from the children in England. All I could do was crouch down and cry. Tears of joy were rolling down my cheeks. I'd lived my dream.
|
For Additional Information:
 |
Danny has written a book about his adventures biking from the U.K. to India. It is available through Amazon.com
He is now planning to become the first person to cycle to the North Pole.
If you'd like to buy Danny's book with all the details about this bicycling odyssey, or hear of his previous or next adventures please visit:
www.dannybent.com |
PHOTO CREDITS: Danny Bent |
|
|
