Finishing my breakfast, waving goodbye, pedalling up the hill round the corner and out of sight for three years was very odd indeed. My first cry helped. My round the planet bike ride had begun.

After day one I was exhausted and the face-punch of reality had kicked in. There was no glamour at all and this was going to be very hard work, in every way imaginable.

By London I was very, very depressed and felt an almost unbearable reluctance to leave England. But I had the horrible feeling that I had no option - that I was trapped. By Dover the sheer scale of what I had got myself into was absolutely terrifying me. The delayed, rain-sodden ferry and 7am lager swillers made the memorable "au revoir" somewhat less than satisfactory.

In France I was wet, lonely and cried a lot. But finally the sun came out, I settled into a relaxed pace, took up sketching and coffee drinking with reckless abandon and things began to look up. A rainy morning merited a lie-in: a huge duvet sleeping bag, pistachio nuts for breakfast and the sports pages from the newspaper (albeit last Saturday's) - and I claim this to be tough!

In sunshine I rode through quiet cornfields and aimless country roads: the killing fields of World War One. Soldiers are admirably remembered in immaculate cemeteries. One highlighted the madness perfectly: row upon row upon row of Allied soldiers graves, lying in the same cemetery alongside similar numbers of German graves.

Mum had given me a handful of Belgian coins. I embarked on a 16 mile detour to Belgium, mouth watering at the prospect of burgers and gluttony. The first shop across the border sorted out the obsolete coins, handed me a can of Coke and three small chocolate bars and packed me off back towards France! Luxembourg was nice. And small. I met Chris, a fellow cyclist. The company is great, his demon speed uphill is not!

A garage owner became my new hero when he gave me free rein on his cappucino machine and sent me on my way with a new map, a bottle of beer and a very large sausage!

Someone vaguely mentioned to me something about the World Trade Centre - what incredible happenings I am unaware of in my weird little world, yet they may have huge repercussions later on my journey.

The beautiful Romantische Strasse stood out in the rain; the village of Rottinghen boasted no fewer than 27 different sundials. If only they had some sunshine!

And now, replete from the astonishing hospitality of Biggy and Guy Thornton (OS) I turn towards a gentle meander down the Danube towards Turkey, Iran and Pakistan. The calm before the storm.

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