"Years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So, throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." – Mark Twain

If you want to XXXX the Aussies, use a Jonny

Sitting at anchor in Zihuatanejo (Mexico) in the gentle cool of early morning sunlight I am watching pelicans and frigate birds cruise the skies. The bay - almost a full circle - is lined with palm trees, beaches and not-too-tasteless hotels. About 30 other yachts are spaced over the bay and rocking gently. Scrubby hills stretch up past the bay looking inviting. It's a good thing that they look inviting for that is where I am headed tomorrow: back on the road, back on the bike, back to the hills.

Between Colombia and Panama there lies 80km of jungle, sprawling from coast to coast with not one road running through it: the notorious Darien Gap. I had to hitch a ride on a yacht to skirt round "The Gap". A few years ago I cycled the length of Central America with a very good friend [Dave has now sadly passed on: to the 'sweet lazy life' of fat cash, Toni'n'Guy hair salons, shiny suits and "a dash more lemonade in my half pint of shandy please" wimpishness rather than accept my invitation to cycle round the world]. So when I was offered the chance to continue sailing on the yacht up to Mexico (and then continue cycling from where I left off last time) with very little sacrifice on my behalf except for doing the cooking, translating Spanish, sitting around a lot while broken stuff got fixed, shuffling bureaucratic paperwork, being lumbered with the graveyard watch (midnight to 4am) every night and reading atrocious novels ("...his eyes were cold flint as the hot lead flew. But only he could save the world now. And maybe, just maybe, the beautiful woman he loved").

Leaving Colombia (with a tear in the eye) we hoisted the sails, I heaved overboard, and we set course for Panama's San Blas Islands. The San Blas are a true tropical cliché - tiny islands no higher than a palm tree ringed by sand and circled in coral reefs. By night, phosphorescence danced from your fingers as you swam and saucers of moonlight spilled over the calm waters. We anchored for a few days to repair some stuff: the true definition of yacht cruising is "working on your boat in exotic locations". Something is always broken and yacht owners must feel like pelicans: whichever way they look there is always an enormous bill in front of them.

The local Cuna Indian ladies wear beautiful outfits - beneath pudding bowl fringes and rouged cheeks they wear a tight gold ring in their nose (like a bull), bead bangles tight up their forearms and calves and beautiful sarongs. The kids wore eclectic shorts and shirts. To my delight, one little boy (Eric) was sporting a Leeds United shirt (fake, obviously, circa 1997). He posed for a photo with me, smiling at my obvious excitement. The ladies would regularly paddle out to the yacht in their dugout canoes to try and sell their famous tapestries (molas). The highlight of traveling by bicycle is that you do not create an immediate impression of your vast relative wealth. But when you arrive by yacht it is impossible to conceal or deny! Unfortunately, the obvious gulf then becomes too great for the bridging of normal relationships. And so, after a day or two the friendly smiling Indians realised that rather than selling us molas or coconuts or fish it was far easier to just come and ask us for free stuff. I found becoming little more than a mobile cash point (rather than a fellow human) sad yet understandable. Come back, Rita, all is forgiven!

One's man paradise is another's purgatory. Wearing my homemade England Rugby shirt my mind was as far from the snorkeling and fresh lobster as I was from a TV or radio. What a torture to be in paradise during the Rugby World Cup final! Not for another week did I hear the glorious result. So at least four people now owe some cash to Hope and Homes and I am spared having to carry a brick on the bike.

Panama is famous for her canal. (In fact, were it not for the canal then the nation itself would not exist and it would still be part of Colombia. But that's another story and just another small chapter in the interesting history of the USA). A palindrome sums up the country - "a man, a plan, a canal: Panama!" I spent my birthday sat in the immigration offices and then several days waiting our turn to transit the canal. I was looking forward to the prospect of seeing one of mankind's most impressive accomplishments first hand. The world of shipping converges at this oceanic cross-roads and ships of every size and shape were patiently waiting out in the bay. The wait and the expense are small in comparison to the alternative of sailing all the way around South America and the perilous (and alluring) Cape Horn.

The day my father transited the Panama Canal was the day JFK was shot. I rather hoped history might repeat itself as we entered the canal. Our little 37 foot boat crept up behind the impressive towering butt of a massive freight ship as the enormous, riveted metal gates of the first lock eased closed behind us and I waved farewell to the Atlantic Ocean. Three impressive locks later and we motored out into man-made Lake Gatun, 85 feet above sea-level. Scores of tiny islands (formerly known as hill-tops) dot the lake and it was odd to see large ships emerging slowly from behind a forested hillside. The transit took all day, ending with three downward locks and the lock doors edging open to release us into the Pacific Ocean. Impressive.

After a tedious week of bureaucracy and repairs in Panama City we eventually set sail for Mexico. I learned to use a sextant (how amazing to be able to pinpoint your position on earth by looking at the sun!) and relished being on the move 24 hours a day. As Thom Gunn wrote in the poem 'On the Move' - "At worse, one is in motion; and at best, reaching no absolute, in which to rest, One is always nearer by not keeping still". I am edging ever closer to home.

With only three people on board I was on watch alone each night from midnight to 4am. I enjoyed the responsibility, the glowing green radar screen, the cycle of the moon and re-acquainting myself with the stars of the Northern hemisphere. My favourite Southern cross is still just visible above the horizon but not for much longer. One night the GPS ticked past 90 degrees West: I am a quarter of the way round the world now.

The ocean is full of life - rays leaping and splashing, glowing phosphorescence at night, swirling bait balls of tiny fish herded together by larger ones, birds trying (with admirable perseverance and little common sense) to land atop the wildly swaying mast. Gormless turtles asleep on the surface until, woken confused by our approach, they paw at the surface and try their best to dive quickly. A neat gliding formation of the Mexican air force (pelicans) welcomed us into Mexican waters in front of an enormous pink sunset. Whales broached occasionally and, best of all, dolphins would race in our bow wave, leaping high out of the water, spinning and flipping spectacularly. And then one morning we pulled into a small bay to refill our water tanks and were told that Saddam Hussein had been captured. What a crazy world there is out there!

The Gulf of Tehuantepec is notorious for gales and storms. We hugged the coast tightly, moving like guilty kids who are sure that trouble is about to catch up with them. It hit us in the night. The whetted wind shrieked and ropes cracked and we dropped all the sails. The foredeck lights were casting wild shadows from the thrashing American and Mexican flags flying from the mast as I clawed my way up to the bow to help pack a sail with the boat heeling and the salt spray stinging, holding on very tight and feeling very alive. The storm peaked at 56 knots of wind. The grey waves spat cold spray across the marble-streaked waters. When I was helming, soaked by the waves we were crashing into, I was singing at the top of my voice the Foo Fighters song "it's times like these you learn to live again". Unfortunately I only knew that one line but it was a spectacular Christmas Eve.

And now it is time to ride again, first of all to Mexico City to complete the chain from my past ride and then up towards the USA. 2002 began anxiously for me, with Africa lying frightening and unknown in front of me. 2003 started nervously with an ocean crossing and the enormity of South America ahead of me. But 2004 looks pretty relaxed: a few weeks up Mexico, then a mere 8000km of North America which I am really looking forward to.

I hope that you had a wonderful Christmas and best wishes for 2004. I apologise to all my fans who have emailed me eagerly wondering why there has been so long between updates: you are both very kind.

Interested in Mexico? See it by bike: www.bikemexico.com. Or depress yourself by reading the fascinating "Endangered Mexico".

AMERICAN PR: Do you know of anyone who would be able/willing to help with the fund-raising publicity of my ride when I enter the USA? Please contact me

Questions?
If you want more information about this area you can email the author or check out our South America Insiders page.