A Dress Rehearsal

Broken spokes, upset stomachs, inner-tube melting heat, a dog bite, stolen wallet, malnutrition, and chronic exhaustion in environments that often seemed deeply opposed to supporting human life.

Written and photographed by Alex Gandy

The steady flow of challenges and predicaments I faced as I cycled from Istanbul to Bangkok were far removed from the convenience and safety of my everyday life. People often tell me how the thought of living like this, with the potential for disaster always looming large and out of your control, is the stuff of anxiety. Not to be pursued unnecessarily. On the contrary, those who have made the leap report finding happiness in these very same conditions. What should logically be a stressful way to live is found to be not just comfortable, but enlightening.

The challenges of a grand adventure are, in many ways, an elaborate dress rehearsal of a lesson that normal life serves up with sobering abruptness and little mercy. When drinking the last of your water reserves under a scorching desert sun or clutching your tent as a winter storm tries to rip it from your grasp our frail, temporary and ultimately dispensable nature is plain to see. It is abundantly clear that no matter how highly we think of ourselves, we are limited by the same mundane necessities as every other living thing: food, water, warmth, and shelter. The universe does not care for our status. We are not deserving of special treatment, and it is more than likely that life will go on much the same without us. But instead of this knowledge being demoralising, inspiration can come from bearing witness to all that lies beyond us and seeing everything that lies outside our control.

The knowledge that we are of little importance in the greater scheme of things can be grounding, and deeply relieving. It allows us to refocus our priorities with a better idea of what is meaningful to us, personally. Perhaps striving to earn great wealth doesn’t seem of such relevance anymore. We can take ourselves a little less seriously or even find renewed determination to pursue what we really want from life. We can emerge from the experience better equipped to spend our time in a way that allows us to be who we want to be.

I met many cyclists on similar journeys to mine, each trying to get something different from the experience. Some falling in love with finding the limits of their endurance. Others, like me, abandoning pursuit of miles and enjoying their time with the road as they would an old friend, having no intention other than to be with it and being open to anything or anyone they came across.

I wouldn’t spend long talking to the cyclists I met before they’d share a story of how they had been helped along by the instinctive care of a roadside stranger. Sometimes it felt as if the road was pepper-potted with attentive Samaritans waiting to see us trip so they could help us pick ourselves back up.

Sometimes it felt as if the road was pepper-potted with attentive Samaritans waiting to see us trip so they could help us pick ourselves back up.

No matter which country I was in, the caring stranger never felt far away, ready to offer food, water, company, and a place to sleep. In the process they motivated me more than they realised, helping me rest, lifting my spirits, giving me an insight into their lives, and perfectly contextualising the landscapes and scenery that otherwise filled my days.

Now that I am back in the throes of normal life, experiencing such blind faith seems more difficult somehow, the need to celebrate their unassuming nature more pressing. When I look back on my journey, they are glimmering stars amongst the struggles and challenges. When I think about what person I would like to be and how best to spend my time, they are an inspiration.