'Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference'

Robert Frost

But once I had set off things quickly settled down - cycling, sleeping, eating, studying my maps. I was pedalling towards Australia. I was ready for the savage –30°C Iranian winter, I was confident about cycling during the Muslim period of Ramadan. I was looking forward to the madding crowds of India. All the unique charms and wonders and frustrations of Asia lay before me and I was as ready as I could ever be.

And then on September 11^th the world went crazy. The shockwaves of the horror have spread, and continue to spread, over the entire globe. Suddenly my nationality became a serious issue thanks to some Prime Minister I didn't even vote for. Doors were slammed shut all around me. My dream to cycle around the World was fading away fast.

And so as I rode across Europe I spent hours every day wrestling with the options available to me. My biggest fear was 'breaking the chain' - if I flew or took a bus for even the tiniest fragment of my route then in my mind everything after would be futile. I would not have cycled around the World, I would be shadowed by that regret all my life and so I might as well just go home right now. Over-flying the trouble zone to India was therefore not an option: it would have been the easy way out and 'the easy way out' is not compatible with riding around the planet.

Cycling north through Kazakhstan would ensure that the chain continued unbroken, but the mind-boggling bureaucracy of the region was too much to deal with off the cuff and on the road. Continuing as before through Iran and Pakistan was still my preferred route. Eventually though it sank in that I owe a debt of sensible-ness to certain people in my life and reluctantly began to look for another plan.

In Istanbul I spent long, lonely nights drinking black coffee and see-sawing between the fear of failure and the excitement of real adventure.

The maxims I try to live my life by are adventure, challenge and high comedy. It began to look like I had no alternative. It was time for a complete reversal of my route. All of my carefully laid plans went out the window. All my organisation and planning, thinking, dreaming and mental preparation was of no use now. I had never even glanced at the possibility of doing what I was now about to do. This was exactly the sort of mess I love getting myself into, but the sheer scale of it unnerved me.

Eventually I found myself walking out of the Syrian Consulate in Istanbul, passport and (extremely expensive) visa in hand. And then in a wave of terror it really hit me - I was going to cycle to Cape Town. I was turning right for Africa.

Never before have I had to take such a drastic choice of path. Africa is a vast continent, a land of unforgettable music and beauty and soul. It is also a land of mistrust, baffling bureaucracy and hatred. Thousands of miles of burning sunsets, border crossings, hardships and magic now lie between me and the Cape of Good Hope.

Horrible imaginings of what awaits me, the fear of the unknown combined with an aching excitement keep me awake at night now. It is slowly sinking in - I am no longer cycling to Asia, I am heading, alone and completely unprepared, for Africa. In terms of outrageously ludicrous changes of plan, this one really will take some beating on my journey! Who knows what may have been if I had not taken this path. But, on the other hand, who knows what adventures and challenges lie in wait for me now as I turn right for Africa.

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