The continuing appeal of Mike Carter's One Man and His Bike

I doubt I'll ever be famous or accomplished enough to be a guest on Desert Island Discs, but if I found myself on the programme I wouldn't be happy about being given the complete works of William Shakespeare to accompany me on the mythical isle. But I do know what my luxury would be: One Man and His Bike by Mike Carter.

You might be thinking: Why is he still going on about that book? Good question. And the answer is simple: I love it!

I'm afraid I'd have stern words with Kirsty Young about the complete works of William Shakespeare. Who wants to spend their time on a desert island being reminded about exams? Not me. "Nay, but this dotage of our general..." my arse!

Over the past few days – now that summer has clearly arrived and we're all basking in 25 degree heat – it's that time of year when, on reaching home, I take a small walk (of no more than three minutes) to the local off licence where I purchase (for £1.49, it used to be 99p) a large can of Stella Artois. The thing that really annoys me about Stella – or 'wife beater' as it is more popularly known – is that, of late, the brewer has reduced the abv (alcohol by volume) from, I recall, 5.2% to 4.8%. As a result, Stella doesn't have that kick any more and after drinking a can I start to feel as if another one would be worth making a return journey to the shop. But no, leave it alone, one's enough, a little man sitting on my right shoulder advises me; and he's right.

So, part one of my summer fantasy – a large, chilled can of lager sitting in the garden – has been achieved. Now for part two.

Part two is simply reaching for a copy of Mike Carter's One Man and His Bike, picking a section of it at random and then sitting down and reliving Carter's amazing adventure around the coastline of the United Kingdom on a bicycle. It is quite simply my one and only fantasy, riding off around the coastline of the country without a care in the world and enjoying everything that comes my way.

Alright, it's not my only fantasy, but picking up One Man and His Bike and reading random sections of it now and then has become a little bit of a habit. Why? Because I find reading it, transports me back to being on the ride the first time round, when I first read the book. It's not only relaxing but therapeutic too. Put simply, it lifts my spirits (what more can anybody ask from a book?) and one day I might simply decide to re-read it. Right now I don't have a book to read, having just finished Hotels of North America by Rick Moody, and I'm debating whether to read one of four cycling adventure books that have hit the shelves of Waterstones.

The key contenders (the only contenders) are The Man Who Cycled the Americas by Mark Beaumont – a book which has been on my list since I read his The Man Who Cycled the World – but also two other books, one being The Cyclist Who Went Out in the Cold by Tim Moore and the other Spain to Norway on a Bike Called Reggie by Andrew P Sykes. There's also a fourth, Kapp to Cape by Reza Pakravan and Charlie Carroll.

I've dipped into all of them over the past seven days with a view to buying one, but I'm doubting whether any of them can put Carter's masterpiece into the shade, although I'm sure they will be 'good reads', which is all I'm after.

I have two other books in mind, which are more nature-related, one being Roger Deakin's Waterlog, which charts Deakin's adventures on a wild swimming odyssey around the UK and another book, the title of which I have forgotten, written about somebody who walks around the UK following little known footpaths. I wish I could remember the title and the author, but I can't, but it has a similar vibe to the Deakin book.

For now, then, I'll continue to enjoy dipping into Carter's One Man and His Bike. This evening I read most of Chapter Four where he rides to Mersea Island, has trouble trying to reach the Brightlingsea ferry and eventually meets up with a man called Tony Haggis having cycled through the dilapidated Jaywick, through Clacton and on towards Frinton on Sea. Earlier in the week I'd read a large chunk of a later chapter when he was in Scotland and being attacked by a swarm of midges. It's all good and in many ways has become a kind of 'bible', something to pick up when spirits need lifting or if I simply want to escape reality for a short while and find myself on a bike in the middle of nowhere looking for a campsite or a bed & breakfast late on a hot summer's afternoon.

Tonight I had a small glass of red wine instead of the can of Stella and I finished off with fresh strawberries and a choc ice (you don't get much better ). I'm still sitting outside in the garden, but a breeze has come up, the surrounding trees are developing slowly into silhouettes and the birds are having their final sing song before bed.

The skies are clear of cloud, but the blue is starting to fade and I'm starting to feel a little cold, especially when the cool breeze hits home. I need to send an abort text to Andy as I can't ride Saturday, but I'm free for Sunday and Bank Holiday Monday (it looks as if this week-long spell of hot, sunny weather has a few more days to run and I definitely need to be on the bike).

Uneasy Rider by Mike Carter – click here.

One Man and His Bike by Mike Carter – click here.

In Irvine, California – click here.

A clear day – so we head to Westerham and the Tudor Rose café...

When I first woke up this morning I clearly remember catching bits of the news in between drifting back to sleep. At one point I couldn't quite make out what was going on. The news had ended and I could hear music. There's rarely music on Radio Four, that's left to Radio One, Two and Three, so what had happened? I figured somebody had messed with the dial. For a split second I wondered what day it was and there was a temporary, mild disappointment at the thought of it being Monday until I realised it was Sunday, a whole day stretched ahead of me and I should be up and out of bed and preparing for today's ride.

Outside the Tudor Rose, Sunday 11th April

The music on the radio was from Something Understood, but because I'd drifted in and out of sleep I didn't catch the beginning of the programme, so I had no idea of what it was about.

Jumping out of bed I headed towards the rear window where I pulled aside the curtain to find a bright, clear day with little sign of rain. There was a light frost on the lawn, but it didn't phase me. Time to make myself a cup of tea. And now, here I am sitting at the dining room table, lap top in front of me, writing a few words for the old blog.

Yesterday the rain continued on and off for most of the day. A fine drizzle sprayed the earth and later on the day brightened up, but while I considered 'a late ride' I knew that it would have disrupted the day. That's why Andy and I get up at the crack of dawn at weekends, it's not only about less traffic, it's about having the rest of the day free to do family stuff.

We'd planned a visit to the Tudor Rose this morning, which was great news for me as it meant I wouldn't have to carry a heavy flask full of hot water plus a mug, tea bags and milk. And I tell you what, it was something else having a virtually weightless rucksack.

I messed around on the computer and answered the call of nature, which made me a little late. I didn't leave the house until around 0706hrs. By the time I was on the road it was easily 0710hrs so I decided to push it and raced off up Ellenbridge, into SouthCote, then Elmfield and Morley and up Church Way. I was putting in a decent pace and didn't stop as Church Way turned steep. As I rode past Sanderstead Pond, I ruffled a few pigeons' feathers and then, once on the Limpsfield Road, I powered towards the green, passing all the usual places, such as Hamsey Green. When I reached the green I couldn't see Andy, but I did take a quick glance at the clock and I'd certainly made up some time. Andy was already on the road and beckoning to me to keep going. This I did and as we made our way towards Knight's Garden Centre and the quieter, more rural parts of the 269 we both agreed it was 'heads down' until Westerham.

The faster pace continued as we both kept our heads down, watching the moving tarmac as we progressed towards Botley Hill. The weather was dry and fairly warm, there were blossoms on the trees – always a good sign – and not a rain cloud in sight. We rounded the roundabout and rode into Clarks Lane, past the Tatsfield Bus Stop and down the hill in Westerham. The speed was maintained down the hill and along the road into Westerham, there was no let-up and soon we arrived. The Tudor Rose café was under new management – and had been for some time – and it had a cosy appearance about it. There were cakes on display – bread pudding, carrot cake, iced buns, you name it – but I decided that bread pudding for breakfast simply wasn't cricket, so I opted for two slices of white bread toast and a pot of tea for two. Andy ordered a sausage sandwich.

Matt and Andy at the Tudor Rose café

The sun was out so we sat outside and chewed the fat about David Cameron and the European Union and then tucked in to our breakfasts. It was absolutely fantastic. If the truth be known, this was one of the best rides we'd undertaken in a long time and I must admit that I was truly energised. Clearly, not having the haul the heavy flask and the milk and the cup in my rucksack gave me a new found energy that was clearly having a good effect.

There were plenty of Lycra monkeys around. I checked the immediate surroundings in case there were any auctioneers in the vicinity, but I couldn't see any and that probably explained why nobody had shouted 'Gavel!!!!'.

We saw Phil's mate Steve, but he didn't see us. Andy, of course, didn't know him from Adam, and he clearly hadn't noticed me. Alright, I could have attracted his attention, but that might have meant explaining who I was and I hate having to do that. "You remember, don't you? About a month ago? You, me and Phil rode the long way to the Tatsfield bus stop? You had a puncture along Beddlestead Lane?" Perhaps the explanation wouldn't have been necessary, who knows, but he didn't see me so it's all academic at the end of the day.

We headed for home. The worst part of the ride from Westerham to Warlingham (where Andy and I part company) is the bit from the town centre to the bottom of the hill. It seems to take an age, but today we took it in our stride and then knuckled down for the hill itself, which continues all the way to Botley Hill. From there onwards it's a doddle and we flew along. The entire ride was energising in the extreme. Andy and I parted company at the green, vowing to ride out next weekend and then we continued on our individual journeys (Andy to Caterham and me to Sanderstead). I powered along the Limpsfield Road and made good time, arriving home around 1010hrs.

It was to be a chilled out day. I sat and watched Andrew Marr on the iplayer, listening to Nigel Lawson's interview about the European Union – he's a key Brexit campaigner – and then Jeremy Corbyn discussing the issue of David Cameron's hypocrisy and the wider problem of tax havens, like Panama.

There was little to do. I put a couple of lightbulbs into the ceiling lights of our bedroom and chilled until lunchtime when I made cheese salad and cheese and pickle sandwiches. Lunch over I drove to Banstead Woods, having decided that four quid for the Headley Heath car park was a fucking rip-off – thieving bastards! The woods were wonderful and, on reaching home, I've been chilling out, re-reading bits of Mike Carter's One Man & His Bike, the most wonderful book. I might even re-read it just as soon as I finish Willy Vlautin's The Free. I've read all of Vlautin's output and so far it's all good. Other books on my agenda? Platform by Houllebecq and Harvest Home by Thomas Tryon. I'd also like to read David Ceserani's The Final Solution, but it's thirty quid so I'll need to do a bit of saving.

Right now, I'm enjoying a glass of Malbec, sitting on the sofa in my conservatory writing this blogpost. Work tomorrow, more's the pity, but as my dear old dad would have said, "That's life I guess, that's life." Never a truer word and all that.

Uneasy Rider by Mike Carter – another travel masterpiece

The mark of a good writer is that when you read their work they take you on a journey. It may be a fictional journey, it may be factual, but either way, it's a journey and one you don't want to end.

Uneasy Rider by Mike Carter – an excellent read

In fact, it's more than just being taken on a journey, it's a kind of virtual friendship, if that makes sense, between author and reader.

When I read One Man & His Bike last year, I loved every page of it because I felt I was on the ride with Mike as he pedalled anti-clockwise around the coast of England. In a way, Carter became a companion of mine, somebody with whom I had shared something special and when I approached the end of the book, I remember feeling a little apprehensive about the future; it was a bit like those awful moments when you're on holiday as a kid and the end of the vacation draws close. You don't want to face the inevitability, the pending doom, that goes hand-in-hand with packing up and going home.

So, after a wander down to my local Waterstone's and with a little bit of time to kill, I bumped into my old friend Mike Carter again – not literally, but by picking up his first travel book – Uneasy Rider – I rekindled the relationship and found myself embarking upon another journey with him, this time on a BMW RS1200.

It was an excellent book, as I expected and, in essence, it is all about a lone road trip by Mike throughout Northern, Eastern and Western Europe. It starts with a divorce – Mike and his wife called it a day – and then Mike, pondering the meaning of life, the universe and everything, treks off to Wales to pass his bike test – in true male mid-life crisis fashion – before heading off across the English Channel and beyond on what turns out to be a tremendous adventure of self discovery and everything else.

What always bugs me about travel books is the questions left unanswered that begin to niggle. The big one, of course, is always: how the hell can he afford to do it? Hasn't he got a job to do? Responsibilities? Well, in Uneasy Rider, Mike explains how and I was glad about this because, in One Man & His Bike, while I enjoyed the book immensely, there was part of me that felt conned, albeit minutely. Nobody, I remember thinking, simply cycles to work and thinks, en route, 'oh, sod it, I'll just go round the coast of England instead'. This is implied in the accompanying blurb to the book, making it seem as if Mike didn't inform his employer, didn't even bother doing anything when, in reality, he must have put in some kind of planning. I feel the same way when I watch Top Gear's travel-based challenges when 'the boys' try to make you think that cars rolling off cliff tops happened by accident when, I'd imagine, there were all sorts of bureaucratic hoops through which the programme's producers had to jump.

As a journalist, of course, Mike wrote a regular column on his Uneasy Rider trip, which must have kept him solvent, but he also released some equity on his flat in South West London and took on a tenant for while he was away travelling. Good, I thought, at least I now know that he's just like everybody else and can't simply afford to ride off into the sunset without due consideration to his responsibilities.

"I released a wedge of equity from my apartment so money shouldn't be an issue. Soon after I rented it out for six months so if I bottled it and came home early, I'd have nowhere to live, an incentive of sorts to keep going when the going got tough."

Being a pushbike rider, I felt I had something in common with Mike when I read One Man & His Bike, but not being a motorcyclist I didn't have that same affinity, although it didn't matter. This wasn't a book about motorcycling, it was a travel book that involved a motorcycle.

Mike got himself embroiled in the whole adventure after too many lagers at the Observer Christmas party and felt that he couldn't really back out after he'd sobered up and remembered exactly what had been said. "The last thing a man having a mid-life crisis wants to do is admit that he's been writing cheques with his drunken mouth that he has no means of cashing," writes Mike in an early chapter of the story.

And then, after organising everything, he sets off in true Mike Carter fashion: with a kind of idea where he might be heading, but no real set plans. It pays not to be too organised. I think if I was going to embark upon something like a mammoth bike ride around the world or a motorcycling trip to the back of beyond, I'd probably just get on the bike and go – alright, I'd sort out my finances first – and deal with 'stuff' en route rather than pore over maps and travel guides prior to departure.

Mike meets a lot of interesting people on his travels, some funny, some not so funny. He enjoys time with an Australian couple who, like Mike, are travelling huge distances on a motorcycle, but ultimately – and for the sake of the book – he opts to travel alone. I read somewhere that Paul Theroux believes that real travel is done alone without the influence of other people and I think he's right. When you're alone you go where the mood takes you and don't have to kowtow to anybody else. This, by and large, is what Mike does, but occasionally he hooks up with fellow motorcyclists.

Throughout the book, Mike tries his hand at self-analysis and discusses his failed marriage and other stuff – his relationship with his father – that are clearly bugging him. He hopes the adventure will offer up some answers and in the end it does and he returns home a changed man – for the better, I hasten to add.

Uneasy Rider is every ounce as good as One Man & His Bike and once again, I didn't want it to finish. I remember when reading One Man & His Bike how, sitting in a hotel in Irvine, California, I came to the conclusion that the absolute height of good living for me was that very moment, having lunch in a virtually empty hotel restaurant, a glass or two of Cabernet, good food and One Man & His Bike. I felt the same way about Uneasy Rider even if I did finish it on a train from Redhill to Purley.

I sincerely hope that Mike is going to embark upon another adventure as I look forward to joining him on the ride or the walk or the drive – bring it on.

For a review of One Man & His Bike by Mike Carter, click here.

The cold weather continues

...and snow still lies on the ground, although it's thawing very slowly. Now, when I say that snow is still lying on the ground, that gives the impression that it's been snowing a lot. It has been snowing a lot further north. In fact, in places like the Isle of Arran in Scotland, they're still without power after nearly a week of heavy snowfall. People have lost their lives and some of the pictures on television show huge snow drifts. In the south I think the phrase 'snow flurries' would sum up the situation adequately. I was still about to reverse the car off the drive and take my daughter to school, put it that way, on the day the snow fell. Last Saturday it snowed all day but the roads were still black – the colour of the tarmac they're made of – and only the front lawns and fields have retained the snow and that's because it's still very cold out there. I find it quite odd that a fortnight ago I was swimming in an outdoor pool in a hotel in Irvine, California, where the temperature was in the mid-80s.

Lingering snow – hardly cause for concern

In an earlier post I'd written about my favourite book of the moment, One Man & His Bike by Mike Carter. Now I've finished it I feel at a loose end and need another book, but what to buy? Carter's Uneasy Rider seems like a plan, but do I really want to read another book by Carter straightaway? I'm sure it's good, I mean Charley Boorman says so on the front cover, but it's about Carter's journey through various countries on a motorcycle so I'm not likely to have any affinity with it as I did with his cycling adventure around the coast of the UK.

I tried looking out for Pedalling to Hawaii, by Steve Smith, the guy that Mike met aboard the Salcombe to East Portlemouth ferry. Smith was, in fact, the ferryman and Carter was told by a fellow passenger to  ask the ferryman about his trip, so Mike did and discovered that Smith had pedalled all the way to Hawaii, telling Mike that 'loads of people had cycled across continents and others had rowed across oceans. But no-one had combined the two into a human-powered journey around the globe'.

So off went Stevie and a pal in what Carter described as 'a glorified pedalo called Moksha', encountering heavy seas and God knows what else. When they reached Miami, Stevie jumped on a bike and headed for San Francisco. His travel buddy Jason had set off on rollerblades but had an accident with a car, both his legs being smashed up in the process. Oddly, while Stevie stopped in Hawaii, Jason continued on the pedallo and reached Australia where, using his feet, a bike and a kayak travelled to India then by Mokhsa again to Africa and, ultimately, reaching the UK (Greenwich) in 2007. What an adventure!

Stevie Smith is another reason to read One Man & His Bike. I won't ruin it, but Smith gets philosophical about life and why being a ferryman is the perfect job for him despite the affluent nature of Salcombe and its initial effect on his self-esteem. Equally, of course, his book, Pedalling to Hawaii is out there somewhere, but I couldn't find in Waterstone's.

Blizzard conditions...and final thoughts about Mike Carter's book

You might not be able to see the snow, but it's there, believe me.

I went to bed early and woke up early as a result. It was gone 5am and for a while I sat and listened to the shipping forecast, something I haven't done for a while. It went on for much longer than I remember when dad used to listen to it back at home, but there's something cosy about it.

When I gazed out of the window there was snow, fine snow, but now, at 0655hrs, it's coming down quite heavily. I aborted the ride early as I just knew it was settling in for the day. Let's hope tomorrow's a better day for a ride as I need to get out there. In fact, because I was up early I was going to head out early, ie around 7am, but the weather had other plans.

Yesterday I finished Mike Carter's One Man & His Bike and I can honestly say it was the only book that I've truly not wanted to finish – and by that I mean I wanted it to go on forever. But, as they say, all good things come to an end and I can only cheer myself up with the fact that he's written another travel book, Uneasy Rider, which I intend to buy immediately.

As readers of this blog will already know, I've posted about One Man & His Bike before and I really must recommend it to anybody who likes the idea, believes in the idea, of the strong relationship between the bicycle and freedom of mind and, of course, freedom of spirit. I know that I can really think about stuff when I'm out on the bike, riding towards the green or through some country lane, it's a time to sort things out in my head.

So, I've finished it. One of the best later chapters (it's all good) is Chapter 20 when he meets a ferryman who, it transpires, is more than just a ferryman – although that 'just' is not right. Mike meets a man who pedalled to Hawaii and, indeed, almost everywhere else in the world. His name was Stevie and, I guess the best way to describe people like Stevie – whose book I will definitely read if I can find it – is 'out there'. I think Mike Carter's 'out there', you have to be to embark upon a mammoth cycling adventure around the coast of the UK. I'd like to think that I was 'out there' – and in some respects I probably am – but not as 'out there' as Stevie. In fact, he's truly 'out there' in the sense that he doesn't seem to care about the things we're all supposed to care about: jobs, prospects, 'getting on', pensions and fitting in. It takes something that I don't have to simply up sticks and cycle to Hawaii, forgetting any peer pressure to stay at home or parental pressure, perhaps, to 'knuckle down'. Or perhaps its not having these things, or not caring about these things or even not having the friendly, stable surroundings in the first place that makes people do these things. Then again, of course, it might just be the spirit of adventure, which is even better and I'd like to think that with all these guys: Mike Carter, Stevie, all the others that write great travel books, that it's more the spirit of adventure that motivates them, not, say, a desolate family life, nobody to cling on to and so on.

Last week Andy and I spoke about how we wouldn't be able to do what Mike Carter and now, of course, Stevie, have done; we have commitments, responsibilities, we're no longer carefree – were we ever carefree? I think that's why I liked One Man & His Bike, because it put me in the saddle. I did that trip with Mike but in the comfort of a hotel restaurant in California, a sofa in my living room, an airplane high above the clouds travelling from Detroit to Los Angeles. I was there in the Highlands of Scotland, in various campsites dotted around the country, in lonely bed & breakfasts in coastal towns, but at the same time I wasn't there – that is what good writing is all about, putting the reader in the adventure, transporting them from wherever they are to the landscape of the book, even if, for the reader, the reality is more a fairground ride as they trace the steps of the pioneering writer who did it for real, laying down the tracks in front of himself like Gromit did in The Wrong Trousers.

I've just spent about five minutes searching around for my copy of One Man & His Bike, which I've probably left in the office. I was going to quote from the book itself and I will, probably later in the week. For now, though, I'd advise you to go out and buy this great book, or order it on Amazon, it's amazing.

Rain almost stops the ride...

0600hrs: it seems like a nice day, but the birdbath tells a different story. Rain. I was tired, so the idea of sending an 'abort' text had some appeal, but I sent it with a question mark to leave the door open, so to speak. "It's raining. Abort?" A while later a text came back along the lines of 'is it still raining where you are?" I texted back, "no, let's see what it's like at 7am" and the rain stopped. "I'm going to make the tea and then I'll be on my way". And sure enough, I was on my way. My first ride in two weeks and I was feeling a little sluggish.

I swung the bike from side to side going up Church Way to give myself some traction and once I reached the plateau I crossed the road and cycled through the churchyard and across the so-called Gruffy, past the pond where the ducks were here, there and everywhere. I powered along the Limpsfield Road en route to Warlingham Green and then the heavens opened, yards from my destination.

Taking cover from the rain under the Village Cafe's awning

As I approached the green I saw Andy taking cover underneath the awning of the Village Café and I joined him there. We weren't going any further. It was early so I took out the tea and hot water and we settled in for a chat about this and that – mainly One Man & His Bike by Mike Carter, which I promised Andy I would lend him once I'd finished.

It goes without saying that Andy and I both felt slightly envious of Carter and his ability to simply up sticks and ride around the coast of Great Britain. How, we both wondered, was he able to do this? The book's cover makes out that he was cycling to work, one spring day, and decided not to stop. This, of course, simply can't be true. Carter works as a freelance journalist on The Guardian Newspaper in London. He must have told them he was going away for a while. Then there's the issue of money. How would he make ends meet while away from work. Either he had savings that he could rely upon or he had some other arrangement. Having already written a travel book about riding a motorcycle through various countries, he must, I assumed, have approached his publisher, told him (or her) of his intentions (to write a book about cycling around the coast of Great Britain) and they then offered him an advance and with that he survived. Remember, he was away for a few months, not just a few weeks. He spent money on food, B&Bs, hotels and campsites, not to mention bike repairs, so the very notion that he simply decided, on a whim, to cycle past the office and off on a big adventure around coastal Britain, is far from the reality of the situation.

This, of course, got us on to Top Gear, which often throws in contrived scenes that simply couldn't have happened by pure accident – there are many, believe me – but Andy said the latest adventure of Messrs Clarkson, Hammond and May, in which they search for the source of the Nile, was, fortunately, without such contrivances (or there weren't as many as usual). That's good, but of course, I'd missed the two programmes of Top Gear because I was in the USA (see previous posts).

I must stress that Carter's excellent book is not in anyway conning anybody. The bit about cycling past the office rather than stopping is on the book's back cover, something along the lines of 'imagine cycling to work and then deciding to just keep going'...but, as I say, this can't be what happened. As Carter himself writes, he was thinking about going to Buenos Aires, but then, one day, while cycling to work, he decides instead to embark upon a ride around the coast of Great Britain. He doesn't just cycle off into the sunset leaving his work colleagues wondering for days what has happened to him.

In fact, sticking with this theme, the only other thing that slightly annoys me about the book – and believe me, this is minor as it is easily one of the best, most enthralling and entertaining books I've ever read – is that Carter, when asked (frequently) why he is cycling around the coast of Great Britain, answers along the lines of 'just for the sheer hell of it'. This is not strictly true: he's doing it because he's managed to secure a book deal and that deal has enabled him to be able to take the time off work to do the ride and probably get paid for doing it through the mechanism of an advance. And even if he didn't get that advance then his publisher must have known about the adventure and must have been approached by Carter. Likewise, The Guardian must been approached by Carter too. Surely Carter wasn't so irresponsible that he simply upped sticks and did the ride – although, let's face it, that would have been the rock 'n' roll thing to do and it would have given some edge to the book – not that it needed it. We'd all be thinking as he describes his journey south from the tip of Scotland towards Wales and then home: now he's got to face the stoney-faced reception committee – his irate employer, friends and family – and hey, what if he doesn't get that book deal? Then what?. But no, life is rarely so exciting.

Andy and I debated Carter's ongoing problem: that of carrying too much stuff on the bike (he has wheel problems on a couple of occasions as a result). Throughout the early parts of the book he sends some of his stuff back via post to his house in South West London (I'm guessing Richmond) to lighten the load. I told Andy that if I was going to embark upon such a journey, I'd travel light from the beginning. A rucksack full of, say, clothes for seven days – perhaps one extra pair of trousers and another pair of shoes being part of the load. Andy said that when he cycled to Paris, he didn't rely upon a rucksack, but a rack on the back of his bike. We talked about how we would have to pay weekly visits to launderettes.

We also said we wouldn't camp, but rely entirely upon bed & breakfasts, based on the fact that after a hard day in the saddle – and especially if we were soaked through by rain – the very thought of erecting a tent in a field on a stormy day would not appeal.

The rain stopped and started while we stood under the Village Café's awning and we savoured our second and last cup of tea before heading back down the Limpsfield Road towards home. The rain had stopped. Andy turned left into Tithepit Shaw Lane en route to Caterham and I carried on towards Sanderstead.

Rain had stopped play yesterday and it almost cancelled today's ride, but it was good to get out, even to Warlingham Green (an eight-mile round trip) so all was not lost. The rain continued throughout the day, just like the TV weathermen had predicted and now, as I gaze out of the conservatory window, the garden looks very damp. Tears of rain hang from shrubs and bushes, the sky is grey and all is generally still. It's time to make dinner, which today is spaghetti bolognaise, made by yours truly. I'm off, so until next week, goodbye.

Irvine, California...

Hounslow with palm trees?

I had two choices: hire the hotel limo to take me to Irvine – at a cost of $80 – or take the free shuttle back to the airport and then look for another shuttle to take me to Irvine. I was sorely tempted by the hotel limo, but felt it was simply too extravagant.

Jumping into the hotel shuttle, I headed back to the airport and quickly found the shuttle buses that would take me on from there – at half the price; and after a few minutes, there was the bus. Inside I found a Japanese girl from Tokyo, another Japanese person sitting in the front, a man from Boston and an older man who I didn't engage in conversation.

We headed out of Los Angeles on the highway and soon the awful sprawl of LA was behind us and there were pleasant houses in palm tree-lined roads, all reminiscent, for me, of those summer days of the 1960s that you see in the movies. Movies like The Graduate. If Simon & Garfunkel were on the radio the picture would have been complete. I was transported back to my childhood and a time I'd love to recapture as, I imagined, those living in these quaint houses managed to do most days.

The journey lasted about 40 minutes with nobody saying a word, although I had chatted with the Japanese girl prior to the coach setting off. She was from Tokyo and had flown in from New York where, she said, it was very cold. She'd been to London too and found it cold. I agreed with her and then silence resumed.

Getting out of LA was quite a relief. Admittedly I was staying close to the airport – imagine Hounslow but with palm trees – but many people have said to me that LA was a bit of dump. They were right. The night before, on the hotel television, I'd watched a bit of 'celebrity' television, all of which took place downtown and I immediately knew that a trip there would be pointless. I hate all that celebrity shit at the best of times.

Wally Park – now that's where I should be heading.

My hotel in LA was alright, but basic. The door stuck whenever I tried to open it, which was annoying, and the bar downstairs left a lot to be desired. I'd gone down there for a glass of red wine before bed, but it wasn't very appealing. Breakfast the next morning wasn't brilliant either, but it was generally okay. I had time to kill. Remember, this was my weekend. Normally I'd be out with the family somewhere, but I was stuck in LA, a city not conducive to walking so I felt a bit of a prisoner.

View from room 508, Hyatt Regency, Irvine, CA.

When the clock reached 11am, therefore, I headed out, took the shuttle, got the other shuttle from the airport and ended up in Irvine and the Hyatt Regency Hotel. For the first time in the last week, a decent hotel. It was truly wonderful from the moment I set eyes upon it: cool, calm and luxurious. I checked in with ease, went to my room and marvelled at everything. Hyatt was a cool hotel brand and I was glad to be here.

There was a pool which, unlike the hotel pools in other hotels I'd stayed in, was heated and located in a pleasant environment. The San Antonio El Tropicano pool was unappetising, if that phrase fits. It was cold, for a start, but it's location within the hotel grounds wasn't in anyway conducive to having a pleasant swim. I don't know what it was, but it wasn't upbeat, it wasn't 'happy', just a pool. Although, having said that, I would have gone for a swim had the pool been heated. Then, at LA's Holiday Inn by the airport it was the same deal: a pool, like an afterthought, in a location to the side of the building and not that brilliant, certainly not appealing enough to make me want a swim. I think there was a pool in Knoxville's Hilton, but it was much cooler there anyway so a swim was definitely out of the question.

Room 508, Hyatt Regency, Irvine CA

The Hyatt Regency, however, had it all. I ventured down to the pool where two girls in bikinis were sunbathing and two young kids were messing around in the water. I knelt down to feel the temperature of the water and it was just right. I vowed to have a swim, but first, something to eat.

Up to now, everything – virtually everything – had been 'unhealthy' large portions or something healthy smothered in something unhealthy. Not at the Hyatt. I chose a chicken and avocado sandwich with a pleasant vegetable soup to start with and then set about reading my all-time favourite book, One Man & His Bike by Mike Carter. This, I thought, was bliss. Outside, there were palm trees and, for the first time, I realised that I had found a true oasis.

Chicken and avocado sandwich with sweet potato fries.

Irvine was a nice place. The need to travel by car was still there, but now I was in Orange County, not a million miles from John Wayne Airport and close to the location of my meeting tomorrow. All was good. And so was the waitress, who originated in Thailand but had been brought up in Hawaii and had moved to Irvine. She has two children and takes them every week to Disneyland in Anaheim. She has a weekly pass that allows her access during the week and she takes her kids there to wear them out – and it works: they're ready for bed when they come home.

She was a very good waitress who engaged her guests in conversation and was happy to discuss the menu and the fact that Hyatt was focusing on lighter meals. I told her it was a welcomed relief from what I'd been used to over the last few days.

What was also very pleasant was the laid back music being played over the restaurant's sound system. The music, the wine and the food provided extreme comfort after yesterday's nightmare journey from Knoxville to LA, which had taken over 12 hours from start to finish. I was lapping it up. The whole thing was made even more enjoyable by Mike Carter's book. For lunch, incidentally, I opted for a chicken and avocado sandwich with a side order of sweet potato fries and honey mustard – oh, and a couple glasses of red wine.

Poached pear crumble – it was good.

Today has been my only real day of relaxation so I'm making the most of it. I can't go for a swim yet as my food needs to be digested a bit first, but I'm thinking about it.

Earlier on I was giving up on LA as a bit of a bad job, but, thanks to the Hyatt Regency, the food it offers, the service and the general vibe, not forgetting the pool, I've changed my mind. I think the key is to get out of LA, head for somewhere like Orange County and suddenly, the days of endless summer, epitomised by childhood mainly, return and you feel at ease with yourself. That's how I'm feeling now. At home it's 2250hrs on a Sunday night. Here in Irvine it's seven hours earlier and the sun is shining.

Simply one of the best books I've ever read.

One Man and his Bike, by Mike Carter

It's rare to 'review' a book before finishing it – although I've heard many journalists discuss how a book review is little more than reading the publisher's press release and the flap jacket – but I thought I'd be honest and say that this isn't so much a review (that will come when I've finished the book), it's more a kind of 'thumbs up' for what, so far (I'm on page 108) has proved to be an excellent book.

Mike Carter with his trusty Ridgeback bicycle

Anybody who reads this, my NoVisibleLycra blog, will have some kind of interest in cycling. As most of you who do read it regularly (alright, I know I've only got half a dozen followers) will know, the whole point of this blog is to document my cycling adventures at the weekends with my pal Andy. We cycle out to places like Westerham in Kent, Godstone in Surrey, The Botley Hill Farmhouse on the Surrey/Kent border, the Tatsfield Bus Stop and so on. Sometimes we head off to Longford Lake near Dunton Green or the Church at Chevening. Other times we visit the churchyard at Tatsfield or even the village itself. A lot depends on the time at our disposal and the weather.

In short, we get up early and ride off to various destinations, never further than around 36 miles all in, and we're back at our respective homes, at the very latest, around 11am. Why? To keep fit mainly, but since we've started it's become more than just a hobby. It represents freedom and there's definitely a spiritual element too. We love it. If you want to find out about our rides over the last three and a half years, just scroll back through the pages and you'll get the general idea.

So, when I went to Waterstone's recently and discovered what I'd been looking for – an easy chair where there was no compunction to buy a cup of tea or coffee – I inwardly rejoiced, found a book on the shelves adjacent to the sofa (the travel writing section) and then sat down to read it.

The book in question was Mike Carter's One Man and his Bike and I was transfixed from the moment I started reading it. I'll admit to feeling a little envious of Mike and the fact that he was able to simply up sticks and cycle around the coast of Britain. I couldn't do it for all sorts of reasons: my job (which, fortunately for me, involves a lot of long-haul foreign travel); my family and I guess that's it. I need a regular job to support my family and, while I do travel the world in my role as a magazine editor, I couldn't really swing with being away for months on end riding leisurely around the coast of the UK. That doesn't mean that I don't want to do it and that's another reason why I bought the book, so that I could kind of 'live the dream'.

That, of course, is one of the great qualities of this book: it enables the reader to be there with Mike as he visits different parts of coastal Britain. Whenever I pick up the book (normally I'm on a train) I admit to getting excited about rejoining Mike where I left him and being part of his adventure.

Another reason I love this book is because I can associate, being a fellow cyclist, with a lot of the stuff Mike talks about: the headwinds, the tailwinds, the being soaked through and eventually just getting used to it and no longer feeling wet and cold, the hills, everything. While you probably don't have to be a cyclist to appreciate this book, it certainly helps.

There's so much more to say about this book and, rest assured, I will be writing much more about it. As I write this, Mike has just left Skegness and is making his way towards North Yorkshire, he's just met a man who is walking around the coast of Britain and that's as far as I've got. I'm actually looking forward to my train ride to work tomorrow – and it's all thanks to Mike Carter and his excellent book, One Man and His Bike (published by Ebury Press, incidentally).

For more about Mike Carter and, I think, links to photographs he took on the trip, click here.

For an article written by Mike about his ride around the coast of Britain, click here. I think you'll find pix here too.

For a review of Uneasy Rider by Mike Carter, click here.

Also this later post on the book: click here.

As I said, expect more writing on this amazing cycling book in future posts.

Postscript, April 2017: I completed One Man and His Bike well over four years ago, but I felt it was worth informing my readers that Carter's book is a continual source of inspiration and something I reach for on many occasions, particularly if I'm feeling down in the dumps or in need of some instant happiness. There's nothing better, in fact, than reading a few pages at random and enjoying again Carter's fantastic cycling adventure around the coastline of the United Kingdom. Just thought I'd mention the book's longevity and the fact that, once read, it can be enjoyed again and again. I cannot praise this book enough.

Cold weather and snow

Botley Hill Farmhouse in the snow, Saturday 23rd February 2013.

Saturday was cold, but it wasn't until we had reached Botley Hill and embarked upon the return journey that the cold really hit us. On the outward journey we had snow, which worsened when we reached our totally exposed stopping point outside the pub. Then, after tea and cereal bars and chats about various things – including Jon Ronson's The Psychopath Test, which I promised to lend to Andy – we headed back.

As always, the problem was the headwind. On the outward journey it had been a tailwind and all seemed well, even in the snow, but now the tailwind had become a headwind – or a sort of headwind as the snow was being blown across the road from our right as we headed north, meaning it was coming from the east. Either way, it was very cold. Not quite ice cream headache cold, but almost.

We said our farewells halfway along the 269 and, as I descended into Warlingham the weather warmed up as I passed Sainsbury's en route to the Green. I was looking forward to Sunday's ride. But I'd forgotten one little detail about the weekend: I was going to spend Saturday night at mum's, which was excellent, but it meant that I'd have to cancel the ride just out of pure logistics, ie it would have meant driving back to Croydon, picking up the bike, doing the ride and then driving back to Sutton. But something else was at play – pure warmth and cosiness, something sorely missing of late due to the mice. So I aborted and then realised that I wouldn't be cycling again until Saturday 16th March.

Here we are again, this time no fog, just snow!

Being round at mum's was excellent, it always is, but this time took the biscuit: a wonderful dinner of roasted salmon followed by home-made apple crumble and then, feeling rested and fed at 9pm I went to bed, in my old room, the one I used to share with brother Bon throughout my entire childhood. Needless to say I slept like a log, no mice in the bed, and awoke around 8am to sound of breakfast being made downstairs. Sleepily I headed to the breakfast room. En route I found my daughter in the living room gazing out at the garden. My wife followed and we all enjoyed a lovely breakfast before heading home around 10am or thereabouts.

The weather on Sunday was cold and I don't know whether or not Andy ventured out. I know that on Saturday he almost aborted until he received my email saying I'd be at the Green at the usual time. He might well have taken the opportunity to lie in, but then again, he might have ventured out.

I'll blog about this separately at some stage in the future, but a book worth reading is Mike Carter's One Man and his Bike, in which Carter documents a 5,000 mile trip around the coast of the UK on a bike. It's absolutely brilliant and something I would love to do, if I had the time and the money; (I'm assuming that as a freelance journalist, Carter must have accumulated some savings or was pretty sure he'd be employable on his return. But no matter, the book is fantastic and well worth a read. I'll post a separate review when I finish it, but go out and get it now, it's in Waterstone's.

All these photos by Andy Smith.