North America

The need for mindfulness in business is obvious. Working environments have changed dramatically over the past few decades. Where once ‘incoming’ meant the arrival of the days’ postal mail, incoming now represents a multi-platform multi-faceted onslaught on the senses – every single second.

Outlook email, with its never-ending pop-ups and reminders, instant messaging, landlines, cell phones, smart watches, social media, live video streaming – the list is endless. Things need to be done, and they need to be done now. Greater numbers of communications channels have only served to increase distraction and procrastination, which leads to stress.

Then of course, we are human, so we think about the human stuff too. Whats for dinner tonight? Did the car-loan payment post? Did mom pick the toddler up from childcare? All of this of course is continually made all the more intensive by feelings of career self-doubt, or worse still, career self-importance.

Computers and networks were meant to make all of this easier. Remember the promise of a paperless office? Well, there is still paper. Lots of it. But that’s not all. In a more connected, real time business environment, financially sound, ethical, fair and confident decisions are demanded in the blink of an eye. Multi-tasking is a must, but it is sending stress levels through the roof. How can each individual task be completed amid so much interruption and noise? And under so much pressure? Step forward mindfulness.

Mindfulness in its purest form, is the way in which we ensure that we are in the moment – right in this moment. Whatever task is at hand is being given the full attention it demands and deserves. Think of mindfulness as the teacher who claps their hands to bring the students to full attention. Mindfulness is the ability to be that noisy clapping, disciplinarian teacher, within your own mind.

Business-tailored mindfulness is essentially an extrapolation of core elements from eastern philosophies, with the theological references stripped out. What is left is an awareness of the here and now, achievable through focus on breath. It is so simple that many people miss it. Some even say they are too busy to try. Oh the irony.

Mindfulness is not just driving a happier more productive workplace. It is hammering home an impact on the bottom line, and bottom line people are loving it. Mindfulness reduces healthcare costs, lowers absenteeism, reduces micro-management hours, increases performance and efficiency, and sends employees home minus the age old Friday evening burn out. When employees get home without the mental fatigue and tiredness of a stress-filled office still lingering on their mind into the weekend, they have energy and focus to go off and fully relax with families and friends. And this in turn means they come back refreshed on a Monday morning. It’s a win win situation. And all through something as simple as breath. It’s the simple things that make the biggest impact.

In8 Motivation offers in-house Mindfulness training and workshops to corporates and individuals in New York City and Ireland.

The modus operandi for a cargo voyage is to get freight to it’s destination as quickly and cheaply as possible. But as a passenger on a container ship, the journey is of much greater interest. That was certainly the case for me, as I sailed from New York to Liverpool, via Baltimore, Portsmouth and Nova Scotia.

This is the second of a two-part post, recalling my voyage across the Atlantic Ocean on a container ship.

Trans-Atlantic Cargo Voyage

Watching the last slither of Nova Scotia sink beneath the horizon conjured up a little nervous excitement. The enormity of the voyage was now revealed in its entirety. Under darkening skies, the North Atlantic Ocean loomed large. It would be, weather permitting, an eight day crossing to Liverpool.

That feeling of anxiety, and learning to overcome it, was exactly why I was riding a cargo ship across the Atlantic Ocean. The challenge was to experience how it felt to completely relinquish control for a prolonged period of time, and learn how to cope with that. Heading out into a vast ocean was as good a way as any of creating those conditions. You cannot turn back when riding a cargo ship.

Mother nature sent her first oceanic phenomenon on that first night. Just off the coast of Newfoundland, Canada, is an infamous body of water named The Grand Banks; so called because of what lies beneath. Great underwater plateaus rise to around 300 feet beneath the ocean’s surface, resulting in a compression of water. This occurs just at the point where the cold Labrador Current from the north meets the much warmer Gulf Stream from the south. The result is often messy sea conditions and a reputation as the foggiest place on the planet. The Grand Banks are also infamous because they are adjacent to where the Titanic went down. Eighty years later, the Andrea Gale, the fishing trawler which inspired the movie The Perfect Storm, also floundered in these waters. So, for the first three days out of of Nova Scotia, we sailed on a heavy swell, through fog so dense that it was impossible to see the front of the ship. It was so surreal (and a little worrying) to see the front starboard corner of the ship drop into a foggy abyss; not knowing how far it would sink before correcting itself.  Even at midday, it was darkish, silent and a little eerie. Only the periodic lament from the huge fog horn on the bow broke the silence. And still we sailed onwards.

Looking forward, but the ship’s bow is lost in the fog

In the absence of sea views, internet or phone connection, cabin fever and boredom are unrelenting foes which must be kept at bay. But boredom, I learned, is a perception. The down time aboard the ship offered ample opportunities to write, and more importantly, to meditate. When I felt boredom nipping at my consciousness, I immediately called to mind the frenetic lifestyle in New York City. This gave a better perspective, and led to an appreciation of the silent nothingness aboard the Atlantic Star.

Cargo ship travel consists of skeletal routine, and little else. Three hearty meals a day provide some structure, but the remaining time is free time. For those so inclined, the opportunity to completely switch off, including digital detox, is the main attraction of traveling on a container ship. For those who need to be entertained and kept busy, a voyage might seem like slow torture. Thankfully, I am the former.

Voyage Through the Dead Zone

On the third night at sea, Jim (a fellow passenger from Montana) and I made our now nightly visit out onto deck to take in the fresh sea air. As we climbed the external stairway to the upper deck, for the first time on our voyage the fog rolled back, revealing the most spectacular night sky. Away from the artificial light of towns and cities, our vantage point revealed thousands of extremely bright stars. They speckled the entire sky from one horizon to the other. It felt like we might be at the bottom of a recently shaken snow globe. The star filled sky was dissected by the The Milky Way, which formed an arc right over the ship. I watched shooting stars and even got to see the International Space Station pass overhead. It was tranquil beauty on a grand scale; a demonstration of how vast the earth is, but yet, how minuscule that vastness is in comparison to the infinity of the universe.

In most graphical representations of the night the Titanic went down in the North Atlantic, the scene is presented under an unusually bright starry sky. It is particularly apparent in James Cameron’s 1999 movie Titanic. I was always of the opinion that this night sky was greatly over exaggerated. Maybe it is to a certain extent. But there is no doubt that in this part of the Atlantic, if the fog clears, the stars shine brighter, and are visible right the way down to the horizon in all directions.

A depiction of a bright night sky, under which the Titanic floundered in the early hours of April 15th 1912. Image Source: Ultimate Titanic.

Stimulated by the magnitude of the night sky, I paid a visit to the bridge to talk with the chief officer about our location. At that point, we were in what is known as ‘The Dead Zone’. We were between 700-800 miles from the nearest land, ship or communications. Even the satellite communications system was down at that point. We were beyond the point where the coastguard could swoop down and save us. In an emergency situation, even the closest ship would take the most of two days to reach us.

Beneath the hull was 20,000 feet of ocean water; vast mountain ranges and valleys which man has yet to see, other than on computer screens. Those who bemoan the fact that the entire planet has been explored, would do well to take a slow voyage across the ocean. Again, the magnitude of the voyage, the expansiveness of the ocean and the infinite mysteries of the universe brought on a strangely calm feeling when combined with meditation. There is a relationship between meditation and the ocean which is incredibly strong, beautifully natural, and quite unexplainable.

With the fog now behind us, every walk out onto the deck revealed a beautiful seascape. Broken low cloud provided a polka dotted filter for the sun, which cut through at different intensities in different places. As it did so, the sunbeams cast a wonderful pattern across the surface of the water. Mirroring the sky above, some patches were grey and dull, while others sparkled brightly against the light from our closest star. The three days spent sailing through the eastern reaches of the north Atlantic Ocean were peaceful in a way that words simply cannot convey.

Brighter skies were more frequent on the eastern section of our north Atlantic voyage.

To see nothing but water against a 360 degree horizon is as difficult to process as it is serene. The magnitude of the ocean is impossible to grasp, even when crossing it on a large ship. One day as I stood in thoughtless contemplation, I noticed a lone bird sitting on the surface of the ocean. How it got there, where it nests, and how it survives in the dead zone is a quandary I have yet to solve.

The ocean swell remained moderate right the way across the Atlantic. By night it rocked me to sleep. By day, being so high above the center of the ship on the upper deck, it was a little disorienting to be out of earshot of the engine to the stern and the crashing of the large Atlantic waves against the bow. Disorienting, but nice. Thankfully my sea legs held up well. I later learned from the captain, that we had weaved a narrow passageway between two large storms right the way across the ocean. We got lucky. In silence I would stand, hand on rail, as the huge ship pitched and rolled, heading steadily eastwards towards the coast of Ireland.

One Last Onward Voyage!

After six thoroughly enjoyable days and nights at sea, I awoke two hours before dawn to again go out on deck. This time, the mission was not to admire the enormity of the Atlantic Ocean. On the port side, I stood staring toward the horizon. Finally I saw what I was hoping to see. Just barely visible between the blackness of the ocean depths and the cloudy night sky were the unmistakable beams from several lighthouse; each with their own distinctive pattern. The lights of Ireland were calling me home! It had been 10 long months since I had seen the beautiful Wild Atlantic Way on the western coast of Ireland.

By far the most impressive of the light beams, and indeed the first to pierce the dark horizon, was that of Fastnet. Often referred to as Ireland’s tear drop, because it was the last point on the homeland that many immigrants saw en route to America, Fastnet stands mightily strong against the many Atlantic storms bound for Ireland. Content that I had finally laid eyes on Ireland, I returned to bed. When I woke for breakfast at 6:45, daybreak revealed the southern Irish coast in all of it’s splendor. But I was to pass by my homeland. Getting there would require another shorter voyage.

After breakfast, I was treated to a tour of the ship, first to the stern, where we watched up to twenty dolphins playfully surf in the ship’s wake, and then to the bow, where I leaned out through a mooring porthole to peer down to where the ship was cutting through the water. Both perspectives were thoroughly enjoyable. I was even given a tour through the engine room, and some of the cargo holds below deck, where trucks and diggers and enormous machines were tied to the deck. Through the afternoon, we edged further along on the Celtic Sea, before rounding Carnsore Point and entering the surprisingly calm Irish Sea. By sundown, the Atlantic Star was anchored off the mouth of the River Dee, waiting for the Mersey pilot to guide us into Liverpool.

The following morning I woke early, and upon looking out through my cabin window, saw thousands of shipping containers. We had arrived in Liverpool. That night I completed my journey to Ireland by taking a taxi out of Liverpool docks, a train to Chester, a connecting train to Hollyhead, and finally a ferry to Dublin. I had a date to keep; my wife Yesi was arriving by plane from New York, into Dublin Airport. How strange that she had made a journey in six hours that had taken me 8 days.

Thousands of shipping containers greeted our arrival in Liverpool docks.

But while I was disembarking in Liverpool, the crew, many of whom are Filipino, were busy trying to connect to the internet to make Skype calls to their wives and children on the other side of the world. Hearing the children excitement at seeing their fathers on the computer screens would bring a tear to even the coldest eye. I had taken a two week cargo cruise for fun, but these brave men were preparing to turn around and do it all over again. They are at sea for around 9 months at a time. Every time I now see products shipped from one part of the world to the other, I think on those hard-working men and the sacrifice they make to put goods in our stores. They really are the heroes of the seas.

A Filipino crewman passes a sleepless night on the ocean by watching a DVD in the mess-room.

Traveling on a cargo ship is by no means efficient, but it certainly is enjoyable. In a world which is now constantly connected, constantly buzzing with activity, generating stress and little time to reflect, hitching a ride on a cargo ship offers a throwback to the days when travel took time, and involved disconnecting from both origin and destination, with little choice but to sit back and enjoy the journey.

Would I travel on a cargo ship again? Absolutely! But I will probably do it in summer, and pick a different route next time. There is a line from south eastern Australia up through Asia and into the Indian Ocean. It then passes through the Suez Canal to the Mediterranean, and after rounding the Iberian peninsula, terminates at Southampton on the south coast of England.

But the voyage which is really calling my attention is the trans-Pacific from California to Japan. Were I to take that voyage, and then connect to China by ferry, I could then ride the trans-Siberian, or trans-Manchurian railroad all the way to Moscow, and then connect via St Petersburg to Paris. From there, the channel tunnel train would take me to London, from where I could ride one last train to Liverpool. Having cycled across America in 2016, and crossed the Atlantic Ocean in 2018, the Pacific voyage and trans-Siberian railroad would complete a circumnavigation of the northern hemisphere without having taken a plane. I’ll keep you posted!

Part One of this post is available here.

The modus operandi on a cargo voyage is to get freight to it’s destination as quickly and cheaply as possible. But as a passenger on a container ship, the journey is of much greater interest. That was certainly the case for me, as I sailed from New York to Liverpool, via Baltimore, Portsmouth and Nova Scotia. This is the first of a two-part post, recalling my voyage across the Atlantic Ocean on a container ship.

Planning the Voyage

When I announced that I would be making a 4,200 nautical mile Atlantic voyage on a cargo ship, it was greeted with a tepid response. Freighter travel certainly isn’t conventional. But traveling on a container ship differs only from cruising in that it demands that you must your own entertainment. There are many hours to be wiled away while rolling on the ocean waves. That is exactly what attracted me to freighter travel. There are no lines, no steadfast rules, restricted areas, crowded decks or noisy night-clubs. What is lost in terms of organized entertainment during cargo travel, is regained ten-fold by tranquility.

Growing up in Donegal, I was always fascinated by the ocean. Watching sunsets over the Atlantic, I often wondered what lay beyond the horizon. In my thirties, I surfed (badly!) on Donegal’s Atlantic coast, and was again drawn by the mystery of just how far those waves had traveled across the ocean to wash up on Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way. In 2014, I found meditation while sitting on a clifftop high above the ghost fishing village of Port, in south west Donegal. Once again I felt lured by the great watery beyond.

Sunset over the Atlantic, in Donegal Ireland.

But the moment when I really decided to take a voyage across the ocean came thousands of miles from Donegal – and far from the ocean. I was in Utah; the third state on my solo bike ride across America on Trans-Atlantic Cycle. It was over 100 degrees in the Great Basin Desert and the Canyon-Lands, and I was in serious trouble. Dehydration and sickness had slowed my progress, yet somehow I had to keep going. To distract myself, I visualized the Atlantic Ocean. My body was suffering, but I hydrated the mind by meditating and visualizing the ocean. Later, while recovering in Moab, where the temperature hit 110 degrees, I had a dream about crossing the ocean to Ireland. And that is how the notion of taking a freighter ship first took hold.

After a little bit of searching, I found a company in New Zealand called Freighter Travel (NZ). The owner, a Scot named Hamish, hooked me up with passage aboard the Atlantic Star. What had started out as a visualization was now becoming a reality.

Setting out on the Voyage

On the day of departure, New York City gave me one final reminder as to why I was heading out into the ocean. Traffic, public transport delays and weather conditions all threatened to sabotage my embarkation. Somehow though, I made it to the dock on time, and hauled my suitcase up the five-story gangway.The Atlantic Star sits dockside like one of the many co-op apartment buildings where I live in Jackson Heights, Queens. Indeed, at three times the length of a football pitch, the large container ship is comparable in size to an entire New York City block.

At 100,000 tonnes and capable of carrying 3,800 containers and 1,300 automobiles, the Atlantic Star is about the length of a New York City block!

Exhausted, I made it to my spacious en-suite cabin, and was then shown to the ‘Mess Room’ where ‘Messman’ Lucio, and the ships cook, ‘Jose Castillo Jr’, had lunch ready and awaiting my arrival. I was then free to wander out onto the deck at my leisure, from where I watched the sunset. Finally, I could relax.

My spacious en suite cabin on the Atlantic Star

The only other passenger to board was Jim from the state of Montana. He had recently returned from a two year Peace Corp post in Mongolia. Before settling back into a political administration job in Washington DC, Jim was setting off to travel the world. Or at least as much of it as he could see before his money would run out. That would not be for some time if continuing to travel on a container ship.

The captain of the Atlantic Star and two of his officers were from Bulgaria. There was a single Russian officer on board. His only communications offering was to wish everyone a “good appetite” upon entering the Mess Room. The remaining two officers and crew were Filipino. Coupled with the English registered ship operated by an American company on behalf of an Italian family, it was quite the international affair. Especially since the Atlantic Star would be calling in Canada, Belgium, Germany and Sweden.

Leaving New York City to begin the Atlantic voyage

After the sun had set over New Jersey, the ship was slowly cajoled from her berth by a pair of hard-working little tug boats. She was nudged around in situ, and then under her own steam, began to weave her way past Staten Island, and out into New York harbor. As  darkness fell, the Manhattan skyline came out to wish us a bon voyage. Several minutes later, the Atlantic Star passed under Verrazano Narrows Bridge. In silence, and against the reflected colorful lights of Coney Island, we left New York behind and sailed into the night.

Voyage to Chesapeake Bay

Freighter travel is far removed from other forms of transportation. Container ships have dynamic schedules, based on where they can do business. Cargo takes precedence over people, so you just have to kick back and roll with the random stops. With port calls, weather and sea conditions in a state of flux, one or two things remain constant. There is always rolling and pitching on the ocean swells, and there are always three meals a day; breakfast at 7am, lunch at noon and dinner at 6pm. Everything else is subject to change at short notice. In the case of my voyage on the Atlantic Star, we first had to sail southwards along the Jersey shore. Two stops awaited in Chesapeake Bay, before once again calling in New York, and then onwards to Nova Scotia. Only then could I finally cross the Atlantic Ocean. I had been disappointed to hear about this improvised itinerary, but the ocean has no tolerance for impatience. As it transpired, the voyage along the eastern seaboard was one which was very well worth taking.

Taking it easy on the deck of the Atlantic Star container ship

View from the top deck of the Atlantic Star ship

On our first day at sea we sailed under a beautiful late summer sun. I pulled out a deck chair and basked in the golden warmth until I fell asleep. In the moments before I drifted off to sleep, a feeling of complete relaxation and serenity submerged any lingering New York stressors. Meditating while rolling on the ocean waves certainly had a magically transformative effect. While my sleep may have been short, it eclipsed the majority of sleeps I have had on land. That is exactly the essence and beauty of freighter travel – the world is a world away.

I awoke when the sun careered along on it’s arc at an usual rate, casting a sudden shadow on my bliss. While I had dozed peacefully on deck, the ship’s big propellor had come to a standstill. We were now drifting, which explained why the sun had switched sides! Was it now on the port or starboard? Alas I was not yet fluent in ship-speak. The Atlantic Star now lay in wait at the mouth of Chesapeake Bay, slowly rising and falling over the swell. Later in the evening, a pilot climbed aboard, and guided the ship up through Chesapeake Bay. Watching the pilot boats arrive alongside the huge ship, and seeing the brave pilot step onto a vertical rope ladder to climb up the outside of several decks was one of the most amazing sights of the entire voyage. Quite remarkably, these brave men have been steering ships into the Chesapeake in one form or another since 1640.

Surprisingly, while at the busy Dundalk Marine Terminal in the port of Baltimore, the Atlantic Star was officially christened, despite having already been at sea for over two years. I took this as a good omen ahead of my epic voyage! During the ceremony I rubbed shoulders with senior figures from the local shipping industry. I also exchanged pleasantries with the owner of the ship, a Mr Grimaldi from Naples, Italy. This little party on the bridge afforded me the opportunity to learn a great deal more about the Atlantic Star, and her role within the shipping industry. Over canapés, my Irish accent was the cause of some hilarities. When asked by a freight forwarder what my role was on the ship for the christening, I replied that I was a passenger. Somehow, my Donegal twang caused a kink in communications, and for some time a group of people thought I was the pastor!

Moving containers around like playing Lego or Tetris!

As a crewman swept up the broken glass from the champagne bottle on the deck of the ship, several huge gantry cranes, aided by an assortment of trucks and machines on Baltimore’s spacious docks, loaded and unloaded hundreds of containers. It was quite a show. The ships ramp was also lowered onto the dock, to accommodate loose freight on trailers, and an small yet eclectic mix of vehicles. It was at this point that I learned we would be sailing across the Atlantic at about half capacity. America’s import/export imbalance with Europe was laid bare on that dock in Maryland.

Cat diggers sitting on the dock at Baltimore, dwarfed by the size of the Atlantic Star.

Containers, Containers, Containers!

The following morning, we set sail back down the bay and passed through (over?) Chesapeake Bay Bridge/Tunnel. An engineering masterpiece, the bridge spans eighteen miles of water, twice dipping into mile-long tunnels in the middle of the bay. For many, the unique challenge of making such a bay crossing develops into a phobia. Amazingly, many people pay a premium toll charge to have an driver take their car across. Presumably these paying customers then close their eyes while crossing the bridge. How strange it was to look on both sides to see the bridge and highway suddenly plunge into the Chesapeake depths, and to know that cars and trucks were busy crossing beneath the waters that the ship passed over.

The Chesapeake Bay Bridge plunging into one of two mile long tunnels under the bay

Changing weather on Chesepeake Bay. As it turned out, this was also summer giving way to fall.

Later, under a blanket of heavy grey cloud, we slipped through the major US Naval base at Norfolk, Virginia, to an overnight berth at Portsmouth docks. Here, just as in Baltimore, cargo was loaded/unloaded by giant gantry cranes. Watching the 40 foot containers being lifted up and moved around was like witnessing a giant game of Tetris.

Before dawn we left the Chesapeake behind, returning to the Atlantic and sailing back up along the US coast, this time through inclement weather. A first taste of ocean conditions was revealed, due to the large swell coming in against the starboard side. I was no up to speed with ship-speak, having had the first of many interesting conversations with the ships officers. I was welcome on the bridge at any time and made full use of the invite to ask a plethora of questions about the ship, the seascapes and the shipping industry. It was interesting to hear the officers reveal that they did not know what was being transported in each of the thousands of containers stacked up on the decks. Presumably someone in the shipping company would know, but it was irrelevant to the crew. Whether it was three pick-up trucks stacked one with its front wheels resting on the others bed, a priceless art collection on route to a new museum, or a bunch of heavy parts for machinery mattered little at sea. On the ocean wave they are all but containers.

ACL has the admirable record of not having lost a container at sea for over 30 years. This is not the case for other companies. My friend Johnathan, who has worked for a yacht delivery company, and in the process sailed around the world, told me before my departure from New York that floating containers in the ocean represent a serious danger to yachts. I even heard of cases where valuable BMW motorcycles had once washed ashore in shipping containers on the south eastern coast of England. Apparently there wasn’t a farmer on that twenty mile stretch of coastline but who was now the proud owner of a touring motorbike. I was later told by a fellow passenger that almost none of the many and frequent shipping accidents make it into the news. With few eyewitnesses and insurance provided by a sole insurance company (Lloyds of London), containers slip silently into he depths, or worse still, lurk semi-submerged in the pathway of other ships.

A lost shipping container floating on the ocean surface

The ten degree rolls off the Jersey shore served as a marine lullaby, rocking me to sleep like a baby in a crib. An experiment with a drug called dramamine, which prevents motion sickness had caused drowsiness, so I abandoned the dose at that point. My sea legs were holding up just fine anyway, despite the increasing swell and the stories of unreported shipping accidents.

When docked once again in New York, Jim and I joined several crew members on a trip ashore. It felt so strange to be in the New York metropolitan area as a passing visitor. The weather had really taken a turn for the worse now, with non-stop torrential rain and high winds. No one as much, but I think we all wondered what lay in store on our Atlantic voyage. Onwards the Atlantic Star ventured though. After clearing Montauk on the eastern end of Long Island, and sailing north east off the coast of Cape Cod and Martha’s Vinyard, the ship docked in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Again, the weather was foul. I did manage to venture ashore though, motivated by what would be a brief first visit to Canada.

Nova Scotia and the Titanic Graves

The main attraction in Halifax, apart of course from the beautiful city and harbor panoramas, is Fairview Lawn Cemetery. This leafy graveyard serves as final resting place for the majority of those lost during the sinking of the Titanic. Among the many graves is a headstone with the inscription “J. Dawson”. There is a distinctly worn patch of lawn right in front of the stone. Apparently, many visitors stop by the grave, assuming it to be that of Jack Dawson – the character played by Leonardo diCaprio in the 1997 blockbuster movie Titanic. Alas, the J. Dawson in Fairview Lawn Cemetery was but a 23-year old crewman, who had shoveled coal to the furnace men deep in the bowels of the Titanic, as she sailed towards her fatal collision with an ice-berg. The Jack Dawson from the silver screen is entirely fictitious, despite what thousands of romantic movie-loving visitors to Nova Scotia would like to believe. The irony of visiting graves from a famous shipwreck just hours before setting off to cross the Atlantic Ocean was not lost on me, particularly given the stormy weather conditions.

Titanic Grave Site at Fairview Lawn Cemetery in Halifax, Nova Scotia

Five More Passengers!

The terrible weather had caused a pair of Canadians, who had been due to board the Atlantic Star in Halifax, to abort their voyage before it had even begun. Five more passengers did board though. A likable 82 year old German man (who Jim from Montana and I secretly called “Helmut”) was joined by French and Italian couples. Michele and Robert Gailleton, from near Lyon, were returning to Europe having just finished touring the Americas and Canada. They had arrived in Uruguay via Senegal with their 1995 Land Rover camper van two years previously. Unsurprisingly they had many tales to share about their epic journey. Their adventure can be tracked here.

The 1995 Land Rover Discover, used by Michele and Robert Gailleton on their tour of the Americas.

Giuesspe Altinier and Sandra Verzola from Venice, were also returning home after having clocked up 40,000 Km’s in six months of touring across the United States and Canada, again by camper van. They had focused primarily on visiting America’s great national parks. “Helmut” was by far the veteran old man of the sea though. He had spent his entire life exploring the worlds oceans. Born and raised on Germany’s North Sea coastline, he started out as a young trawler fisherman, venturing as far north as the east coast of Greenland. He then spent time in the Merchant Navy before moving on to work on oil tankers and managing refineries. He spends his retirement taking voyages around the world on container ships, to relax and reminisce about his life at sea.

Atlantic Star passengers (L-R): Giuseppe Altinier (Italy), Jim Frisk (USA), Sergia Verzola (Italy) and Michele and Robert Gailleton (France). Missing from the picture is “Helmut” from Germany.

As darkness fell we left our sheltered berth in Nova Scotia. Slowly the tree covered islands which dot the entrance to the harbor slipped by, as we set out to cross the Atlantic Ocean on the world’s largest ro-ro container ship. Watching the ever weaker lighthouse beam from Nova Scotia slip beneath the blackened horizon, served to throw up a few moments of anxiety regarding the enormity of the voyage that lay ahead. These brief thoughts were soon quelled by mindful meditation. A cargo voyage is about enjoying whatever unexpected sights and experiences might rise up from the horizon up ahead, so I fully committed to sit back and enjoy the ride. I had little choice in the matter, given that I was now finally in the Atlantic Ocean.

Part two of this post is coming soon!

Two hours before I wrote this, I had a great conversation with two amazing people as we were leaving class at The School of Practical Philosophy in Manhattan. During the course of that conversation, the mirror of truth was held up, and I realized that I have been procrastinating because of fear.

Fear can be overwhelming…if we allow it to be.

I had stopped updating my blog largely due to fear of what people would think about the changes I have been through and the plans that I have made as a result. Thankfully, I now realize how stupid it is to allow fear to prevent me from being a better me.

In June 2016, as I stood on Fishermans Wharf in San Francisco, ready to cycle alone across America, I was completely without fear –  and I had one of the best experiences of my life. Some fear is a positive thing, for example the instinct that keeps us safe when crossing a busy road or the care we take to protect our valuables. But if we allow fear to get in the way of being our true selves, then it is absolutely a bad thing. This is especially so when it comes to living life to our full potential.

I had no fear when I set out from San Francisco

I procrastinated because of fear. When I came to New York, the noise, lack of physical space, the cut-throat job scene, cost of living, the subway and intensity of life here all conspired to subdue me.

Somehow, I allowed the frenetic pace of the city, the opinions of people back home in Ireland, and mostly my own insecurities to manifest themselves as fear. Instead of forging ahead on my planned quest without fear as I had done right across America, I delayed and downsized my plans and dreams.

Thankfully, the conversation outside of the philosophy school helped me to see the truth. Fear is a liar! Some of the greatest things I have done in my life involved ignoring and overcoming fear. It isn’t easy, but if we trust in our intuition, and the true essence of the universal good that exists all around us, we can summon the power to see fear for what it really is – a hindrance to our ability and desire to evolve into something better.

Before I cycled across America, before I got married, before I made the decision to stop drinking and on a few other occasions I felt fear but chose to see it for the liar it really is. Fear makes us miss out on opportunity, sell ourselves short and procrastinate to the point where our dreams get thrown on to the scrapheap in our mind. This is the scrapheap that fear uses as evidence when it next shows up to tell us lies. Fear presents fast failures as a way to deter us from grasping happiness and success. But, when we think about it, this is fear in perpetual motion. And that is a really sad thing.

Taken at Machu Picchu, about 30 minutes before I proposed to Yesi! No fear!

After a settling in period in New York City, where at times I felt completely overawed, overaged and under-funded, I am going back to where I was on Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco. Im going back to where I was at Machu Picchu when I got on bended knee and asked Yesi to marry me. Im going back to where I was when I put down that last drink. Im looking fear in the eye and calling it out for the liar that it is. Fear is not real. Life is real, and it is to be enjoyed, so bring it on!

One of the most productive things that we can do, is to do nothing. ‘The pause’ is sometimes the best option amid the many response choices we need to make in our busy lives.

The pause refers to a moment of mindfulness, which if used wisely and regularly, can be key to becoming happier, more content, and ultimately more productive.

Few people like to admit this, and it is something of an elephant in the room, but it can be reasonably assumed that our lives can all be a little too busy and stressful at times. Even if fear of being labeled prevents us from attributing such things to stress or anxiety, we can all identify with worrying about money, job security, health, our children’s welfare, relationships, family affairs etc. Regardless of what it is that gets us flustered, the pause can help.

Of all the things that we spend time stressing about, very few of them are actually happening right at this very moment. Right at this very moment, we are immune from the past and safe from the future. The present moment could be thought of as the eye of the storm. In the eye of the storm, conditions can be completely calm, despite all of the craziness going on all around it.

The pause is literally a moment where we stop, and enjoy what is going on at that very moment, regardless of what that may be. It is a moment of clarity, and generally where there is clarity there is greatly reduced stress and anxiety. The pause may be accompanied by a few deliberate and mindful breaths which can further calm our thoughts.

On a recent road trip to New England, in the north east of the United States, I practiced the pause many times throughout the three day vacation. The feeling of ease which the pause brings is a thing of real beauty. There were many times while journeying through Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont and upstate New York, that the pause allowed me to fully appreciate the beauty all around me, while I may have otherwise been fussing about the GPS, phone battery level, the next gas station or diner.

Sometimes on the trip, the pause allowed me to fully appreciate the fall foliage in the trees, the cool calm waters of the lakes, the beauty of the silence, and it added an overall level of enjoyment to the entire experience. How many times on what is meant to be a relaxing trip, do we end up feeling stressed by the journey? The pause can fix that, and keep you focused on enjoying every moment of a much needed break.

Meditation to those who do not meditate, can seem complicated or out of reach. The difficulty with learning to meditate can seem counter intuitive. But anyone can pause. Anyone.

The pause can range from a few seconds to around a minute, and has an instant affect. Try it! Just stop for a moment, take a deep breath, and feel the weight lifting from your shoulders. If you are able to do that, you are able to meditate, and meditation can bring so much contentment that it will make you wonder why you didn’t try it long before now.

The most profound pause came at Lake George, New York. We are just about to leave to drive back to New York City, where the sirens, airplanes, traffic, subway crowds and busy streets would be waiting. I took a last look across the lake and just paused. I paused all movement and thoughts, and focused on the beauty of the view. It was a final last look at the beauty of nature before going back to the city. These are the moments we so often miss. The pause allows us to capture that moment.

Train Across America Part 2: Chicago – Reno, on the California Zephyr

This is the second part of a series of blog posts which chronicle the adventure of riding the train across America. Click here for part 1, which recounts the journey from New York City to Chicago on the Cardinal Line.

I boarded the iconic California Zephyr and found to my dismay that I had a seating partner. When riding coach class on the Amtrak lines out of season, you will probably have a double seat all to yourself. I had enjoyed that luxury on the Cardinal line from New York City to Chicago. But now I had a bulky Mexican in the seat next to me. His first action was to take the window seat, close the curtain, and curl up in search of sleep. A 52 hour westward journey lay ahead of us. I lasted around ten minutes before getting up and seeking a better view or better company. I found both in the lounge car.

The beautiful sightseeing car on Amtrak’s California Zephyr

The lounge on the Zephyr is actually a sight-seeing car. The diverse seating arrangements include booth-style seats, fixed seats facing the passing scenery and swivel seats. The car has larger windows, which are supplemented by further overhead panes which curve around onto the roof of the carriage for increased light and visibility. I went downstairs to the little cafe and ordered my now Amtrak staple lunch of cheeseburger and pepsi. Upon returning upstairs, I found that there were no vacant individual seats, so I found a table with just one occupant, and asked if I could join him. The middle-aged man’s name was John, and he was deep in concentration over a crossword puzzle.

John opened our conversation by asking if I was Irish, and when I confirmed that I was, he told me: “I hate Irish men.” Charming. Thankfully, he then laughed and explained himself. John owned a bed and breakfast right on the Husdon River, around an hour north of New York City in a nice little town called Nayak. He had been dating a girl for a few years and had plans to marry her, only for her to suddenly ditch him and take up with an Irishman! We instantly hit it off despite the humorous inappropriateness of my nationality. I only broke off our conversation to walk through several cars to the back of the Zephyr to make a video as we crossed the Mississippi River, and watched as we rolled in to another new state for me – Iowa.

A postcard advertising John’s Bed and Breakfast at Nayak, New York

Evening turned to night, and Iowa turned to Nebraska, but John and I remained deep in conversation at our table in the sightseeing car long after the passing scenery had been swallowed by the darkness. He was such an interesting man. Holding his hands up in admission, John confessed that the relationship breakdown had led him to question the direction his life was going in. So he hired his nephew to manage the bed and breakfast, and had taken to the road. Hawaii aside, he had since seen every state. His experiences were incredible.

John’s primary residence was now his old van, which he had modified to include what he assured me were very comfortable living quarters. It was waiting for him in Denver; their onward destination as yet unknown. “Id say, wherever the wind takes me” John had stated philosophically, “but the wind would then be a factor. I like to be free from any choice factors. I just decide at the spur of the moment and take off.” We both pondered this for a second before I asked, “So you’re freer than the wind?”, to which John replied “Yeah. I like nothing to guide me but momentary intuition.”

John’s wanderlust had seen him stay on farms, in cities, on riverboats, with naturists in the Arizona deserts, with bikers in California, on his own on a Colorado mountain and partake in more spontaneous outdoor parties than a hundred men would encounter in a lifetime. “I want to know America; my home. Only then can I know myself.” John’s final philosophical offering was profound. “I had to travel tens of thousands of miles, through every state in America, to find what was already with me when I set out. Im happy and Im free.”

While contemplating this, I noticed a group of Amish teenagers playing cards at a nearby table. “They are on their Rumspringa John told me, explaining that many Amish and Mennonite communities send their young adults out into the world for a year. When the year is up, they can either return and be baptized into their church, or decide to remain out in the outside world. The vast majority return for baptism. John then laughed before saying, “I guess my Rumspringa is lasting a little longer than a year!”

During this time, another group of conversationalists had taken up residence at a nearby table in the lounge. Their common denominator was alcohol. When the cafe/bar had stopped serving at 11pm, they had remained for a short time before returning to the now silent coach cars to settle in for the night. Around that time, one of the conductors who John and I had greeted when he had been doing his rounds, now came and sat with us as his shift had finished. Soon the three of us were alone in the lounge. It was incredibly relaxing. We had just been considering going back to our respective seats, when a highly animated man came into the lounge, looked around and then told the conductor “You have to do something! My children have just been verbally abused!”

John, the conductor and I looked at each other in disbelief. The train had seemed so peaceful! I felt very sorry for the conductor. Of course, he simply had to take some sort of action given the brevity of the allegations, so he straightened his cap, stood up, and followed the man back to the coach cars. It transpired that one of the drinkers who had been in the lounge – a scruffy looking guitarist (he had bizzarely kept his acoustic guitar draped over his shoulder all the way from Chicago) – had gone back to his seat and obviously taken some more liquor or drugs. He had then allegedly proceeded to walk through the train, stopping at each seat, and randomly asking for sexual favors. As impossible as this was to imagine, it appeared following some hastily arranged investigations that the man was indeed guilty as charged.

Ten minutes later the train had rolled to a stop in a tiny  Nebraska town, and the man was ejected. There wasn’t even a platform. The train had stopped right on a railroad crossing, so he was literally dropped off, complete with his acoustic guitar, on the street. I watched from the window as he staggered around by the side of train, still remonstrating with the conductors, before the street behind him lit up with the flashing lights of a police car. He was immediately taken away by the police, and the train was free to continue. John and I were left to wonder how his fate would pan out, and how the evidence would be relayed to the judge.

It was now time for sleep. Before saying goodbye, John told me “Set your alarm. We get into Denver at around 7am. You will get moving again around 8. Trust me, you will want to be in the sight-seeing car for the first three or four hours out of Denver.”

I returned to my seat, where my Mexican comrade was now completely passed out, and made myself comfortable. Surprisingly, despite being in a car with around two dozen other passengers, all of whom seemed to be emiting one odor or another and in the midst of sounds ranging from talking/snoring while in mid sleep, to coughs and gas, I managed to get a solid five hours sleep.

The traditionally styled, but newly refurbished Union Station in Denver, Colorado

I awoke at six thirty, and had freshened up and sipped some coffee in time to witness the Zephyr arriving into Denver. We were told that Denver’s Union station was a ‘one way in – one way out’ station, so it would be over 30 minutes before the train would finally settle by the platform. I used this time to find a quiet corner of the train, and started my morning meditation. At that point I had been practicing Transcendental Meditation for around a month, having been given the training in midtown Manhattan. It has been one of the best decisions of my life to date. I have felt clarity of decision making, increased ambition, a greater sense of creativity, more patience and an all-round better enjoyment of life since I started using TM twice a day.

Arriving into Denver at dawn

I had finished meditating just as the announcer informed all passengers that we were now permitted to leave the train for up to forty five minutes. I spent the time stretching my legs on the platform, enjoying the fresh morning air coming off the still snow-capped Rocky Mountains, and taking some pictures of the beautifully refurbished Union Station in the mile-high city.

The newly refurbished Union Station in Denver, Colorado

For some, the forty five minute layover was just enough time to walk the few blocks to the nearest herbal  supply store, AKA weed dispensary. Colorado has of course legalized marijuana, and several passengers on the Zephyr were keen to avail of this opportunity. Weed tourism is quite the contributor to Colorado’s coffers, but it is a case of ‘caveat emptor’, as there is definitely some information asymmetry.

Under Colorado law, the herbal store is perfectly entitled to sell a certain quantity of marijuana products to anyone who meets the qualifying criteria. However, it is illegal to take the product out of state. Road-trippers and Zephyr riders often sidestep this little misdemeanor by purchasing and consuming edible marijuana products while still within the state.

A beautiful little house sits all alone, near the top of the Rocky Mountains at Winter Park Ski Resort

After stepping back onto the Zephyr, I heeded John’s advice regarding the sightseeing car, and while many other passengers were still stepping around on the platform, I snagged a great swivel chair by a large window. For several miles out of Denver the morning views were pleasant, but then we gradually started climbing into the ‘Front Range’ of the Rocky Mountains, and I found myself with a front row seat for one of the greatest displays I have ever seen.

The California Zephyr slowly climbing into the frontal range of the Rocky Mountains, Colorado

Slowly the Zephyr climbed into the forested mountains, weaving one way then the other, sometimes revealing a magnificent view of one or more of the ‘Fourteeners’, sometimes clinging tightly to the rails, right on the edge of a vertical drop into a river valley. Sometimes sheer rock walls passed by, and sometimes complete darkness descended as we passed right through a mountain. The longest tunnel on the Zephyr route is Moffat Tunnel, which is 24 feet tall, 18 feet wide and 6.2 miles in length. It cuts right through the upper peaks of the Frontal Range, so when we re-emerged, we were well and truly in the middle of the Rocky’s.

Approaching the highest point of the California Zephyr line through the Rocky Mountains

There were gasps and wows from all and sundry in the sightseeing car as we climbed through one final valley to Frazer – one of the highest towns in Colorado, and home to Winter Park Ski Resort. The snow was a little worn out looking, but the panorama’s were amazing.

A couple relax while admiring the beautiful Rocky Mountain scenery

After departing the mountain town, we continued along a large upland valley where surprisingly, the locals existed by ranching. The tracks followed the Fraser River northwestwards, and after a few miles there were calls to look out the left side of the train. On the far bank of the river was a solitary and very hungry looking moose. I had never before seen one of these great animals.

Rocky Mountain National Park, as seen from the California Zephyr

From the center of the valley, just past the town of Granby, we were surrounded by the large snowy peaks of Rocky Mountain National Park. The size and scale of the United States comes into particular focus in places such as this. I had seen it before, while cycling through the great valleys of northern Nevada. Sometimes the valley is of such proportions that despite moving, it looks as if the surrounding mountains are still no closer or further away. The view up there was beautiful, and having the mostly glass-sided sightseeing car of the California Zephyr to enjoy it from was just such a privelage.

A mountain top delta on the Colorado River

In Granby we picked up the trail of the legendary Colorado River; water source to so much of the American south west, and followed it out of the valley and into the most spectacular gorge canyon which we followed for around an hour. The steep walls of the canyon are so close together in places that there is just enough room for the river, the railroad and the i70 freeway (which sometimes has to go double-decker through here). This section of i70 is said to be the most expensive road construction project ever undertaken.

The sightseeing car of the California Zephyr offers plenty of photo opportunities while passing through Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado

As the steep canyon gave way to a more traditional river valley at Glenwood Springs, I suddenly became aware that I was seated right in the center of 6 or 7 people who had struck up a conversation. All had been traveling alone, and all had been sitting in silence for the previous hours admiring the scenery. But now, as we headed for the Colorado/Utah state line, a spark had lit the conversation. This conversation, between a uniquely eclectic mix of people, would last for several hours, and was as surreal as it was stimulating.

To my immediate left was Sarah, a PhD student from Devon, England, who was on vacation from her English Literature studentship position at Northwestern University, Chicago. To my right was Mike; a high-school history teacher who was on his way to Las Vegas. Then there was Peter; an IT worker in the financial district of Lower Manhattan, who was on a cross-country trip to visit his son in San Francisco, and his sister in San Jose.

Stephanie, who was sitting behind me was a self-proclaimed (or self-confessed) clairvoyant, who was a keen proponent of the notion that we are all somehow connected via some sort of energy. Beside Stephanie was without doubt the most intriguing member of the party. Benjamin was a twenty-something year old nuclear physicist, who did not speak too often, but when he did, it was intellectually profound. And lastly, there was Laura, a friendly and attractive young lady whose interest in the conversation quickly subsided, and who retired to her coach seat after around thirty minutes. It was at around this time that the conversation had started to simmer.

Someone had mentioned Trump. There were two immediate responses. Benjamin, the nuclear physicist had declared the president to be “without doubt the biggest fucking asshole in American political history.” James, the high-school history teacher was not amused. While leaving us in no doubt that he had voted for Trump, I think he parked his ideas of pledging further allegiance, having realized that he was in the company of two democrats, and two tourists who had absolutely no intention of becoming embroiled in a heated debate. It was only then that I became aware that yet another passenger was listening in on the conversation, but who at this point had not introduced herself or contributed.

A new kind of trading post in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado

When the train stopped at Grand Junction for an extended break, almost everyone took the chance to wander through the local stores at the small station (some in search of more marijuana). I made sure I was walking next to our observer. There was something about her. She was interested in the conversation, but had no interest in talking. After breaking the ice and introducing myself, I discovered why.

Sarah was the British television network Channel 4’s news correspondent for the US presidential election, and was finally getting some vacation time now that the election and inauguration were old news. She had spent the previous two years following the Donald Trump presidential campaign, the election, and his inauguration. I was fascinated, and asked her as many questions as I could, without being overly pushy. She freely recounted how she had been to all of Trump’s campaign rallies, and relayed some of the funnier and more harrowing stories of journalists jostling to get their questions on the list.

Back on the train, Sarah slipped back into anonymity, and the conversation continued among the others. With seemingly no apparent intro (we had been talking about the election), Benjamin suddenly launched into a verbal account of detailed designs for a perpetual motion magnetic tool for generating electricity. He hoped to patent the design. Im not sure about anyone else, but he was in no danger of me stealing his idea, because he had lost me after about two sentences.

I really enjoyed meeting the unusual mix of people. One of the marvelous things about traveling across America by train is that you get to meet some really diverse and interesting fellow passengers. People you simply would not get to converse with if you were to fly or drive across America.

Beautiful Ruby Canyon reflecting the evening sunlight as we left Colorado and entered Utah

As afternoon turned to late evening, we resumed our silent appreciation of the passing scenery. We crossed the state line into Utah and had a brief stop at Green River. I needed no reminding about how barren Utah can be, having cycled through there. But if anything, it seemed even more desolate from the train. As the day ended, the rock formations caught the low sunbeams and we got first hand evidence of how Ruby Canyon got its name. It was absolutely beautiful.

One by one the eclectic conversationalists returned to their coach seats, and I sat on my own in the sightseeing car. I practiced my transcendental meditation for twenty minutes, before having supper and settling in to write for a while. Taking the train across America offers so much opportunity for relaxation and reflection, and I found it to be a really great environment. Somewhere on the tracks over the Great Salt Lake, I brushed my teeth and settled in to my seat for the night, feeling as content as I have ever felt. The gentle rolling of the carriage soon rocked me into a peaceful sleep.

Early morning sunshine while passing through the deserts of northern Utah

I awoke to bright sunshine coming through the gap in the curtains beside my seat. We had crossed the remainder of Utah and most of the desert in northern Nevada. We were now in Fernley, which acts as a major distribution center, and were soon following Trukee River. I washed, had breakfast and got my things together. My epic 3000+ mile train ride across America was coming to an end. I would get off at Reno Nevada, just before the Zephyr started its climb into the Sierra Nevada, passing by the town of Truckee and Donner Lake, before descending into California.

The reason for my trans-american train ride, was to visit two ladies who I call the Desert Angels. These ladies had given me so much help and encouragement as I had cycled through Nevada on my charity cycle across America.

I would spend a few very enjoyable weeks in their home, before once again riding the train all the way across America to New York City.

Train Across America Part 1: New York – Philadelphia – Washington DC – Cincinnati – Indianapolis – Chicago

Taking the train across America is a great way to test the theory that a journey can be enjoyed as much as the destination. You get an experience on a train that just cannot be replicated on a stressful flight or road trip on the same route. From the train, you are offered a unique glimpse into America’s soul. It is so much more than just a journey from A to B. Taking the train across America unearths a way of life which is somewhat lost in this convenience driven, fast paced world, but which is still hugely enjoyable.

The snow was piled so high in Queens New York, that I struggled to haul my baggage from the apartment building to the waiting Uber car. New York at five on a winters morning is ridiculously cold, but at least the combination of the snowstorm and the early hour on a Sunday morning meant that the streets were a little quieter. Javier the driver, was amazed that I was taking the train across America. He was even more bewildered when I told him I had cycled all the way across America the previous summer. “I suppose you’ll be walking back?” he asked me through the rear view mirror with a grin. Well, who knows!

A blurry image of a departures sign, seen through blurry eyes, at 6.30AM in Penn Station, New York City.

I arrived at Pennsylvania Station in Manhattan long before the scheduled 6.45am departure. Boarding the Amtrak Cardinal train in darkness, it was really nice not to feel pressurized by the process or the staff. There were no lines. No security checks. No need for shoe removal, except of course by choice, should you want even greater comfort. A few minutes after choosing a seat by the window, the train began to roll, and soon we were snaking our way through the underground tunnels of New York City.

The Amtrak Cardinal would take me through 10 states, on the first leg of my journey by train across America.

We reemerged above ground in New Jersey, just as dawn was breaking. I took a final look back at Freedom Tower, and settled in to enjoy the start of an adventure. Once out of New York, the train eased to it’s upper speed limit of 79mph, and I watched as the passing New Jersey snowscapes reflected the almost horizontal rays from the rising winter sun. As I do every morning, I then closed my eyes and practiced Transcendental Meditation for around twenty minutes. The gentle rocking of the train on its tracks seemed to make it even easier to get to that beautiful quiet place. I took a deep breath and a stretch to finish, and then pondered the theory that no journey is too long if you are in the right company. Well, I was alone, but comfortable with my own company, so I was feeling good! Taking a train across America really does provide an ideal environment in which to meditate and relax.

The slogan on the Amtrak coffee cup suggested we ‘Change How We See the World’. I couldn’t agree more!

The Cardinal service offers great comfort for the long-distance rail passenger. There is ample legroom (much more than on the average aircraft) on chairs which recline to about forty degrees. There is a footrest that can be extended, charging points, wifi, personal lights, air vents, curtains, and so all told, the coach seats are perfectly fine to relax and sleep on. The next carriage back had a cafeteria, serving hot and cold snacks. If you are feeling flush, you could book a sleeper or roomette, but I was interested in more than comfort. I not only wanted to see how I enjoyed the trip, but I wanted to see how others enjoyed it too. For that reason, I had chosen the more sociable coach class.

Amtrak’s Cardinal line operates on a southern arc between New York City and Chicago

The impressive Philadelphia skyline soon came into view. The city is steeped in history, and was actually the first capital of the United States of America. George Washington and John Adams lived as presidents at the mansion on 6th and Market Streets, while the federal capital was being constructed in Washington DC from 1790 until 1800.

The train slipped through the Philadelphia suburbs, while most of her inhabitants were still asleep. I sent my Irish cousins a message to say that I was in Philadelphia. In the few minutes it took for them to reply, I had already crossed over another state line. I was now in Delaware for the first time.

Crossing the Susquehanna River on Chesapeake Bay, between Philadelphia and Washington DC

We followed the northern bank of the Delaware River for a few miles near highly industrialized Wilmington, before cutting across the head of Delmarva Peninsula. This unusual landmass, which is technically an island following the excavation of the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal, comprises almost all of Delaware state, and the eastern shores of Maryland and Virginia. We quickly traversed the head of the peninsula, going over the Susquehanna River, and onwards along the northern shores of Chesapeake Bay, which we followed through Baltimore and towards Washington DC.

Passengers were encouraged to step out onto the Washington DC platform to stretch their legs and get some fresh air. In just a few hours, I had traveled two hundred and twenty five miles down the eastern seaboard, and in doing so had traveled through four states and entered the District of Columbia at Washington. The land for the administrative and symbolic modern day capital of the United States, had been ceded by the states of Virginia and Maryland in 1790. By the start of the nineteenth century the capital and its houses had been constructed, and so, Philadelphia was honorably succeeded as the nations capital.

Having boarded the train in one of the original colonies, crossed the Delaware River, passed through Philadelphia and then onwards to Washington Dc, the journey to that point almost felt like a train ride through a United States history lesson. I couldn’t help but glance at a map of North America, and find my eyes wandering westwards, where I would cut through fur-trapping country, follow covered wagon trails and eventually find the golden treasure of the Pacific coast.

The elongated stop in Washington was welcome, and so I marched back and forth on the DC platform in military fashion, both as a means of stretching my legs and keeping warm. During this time, the train was cleaned and supplies were restocked. Our departure was powered by a diesel engine, as opposed to the electric unit which had taken us from New York City. I wondered if the electric unit was required by law while traveling along the highly populated eastern seaboard.

The passing scenery as we left Washington was just fantastic. The tracks followed yet another river, this time the Potomac, which flows through the heart of DC. By now the sun was well up in the sky, and it was a beautiful clear sky day. Passing by the town of Alexandria, I suddenly noticed that the snow had gone. It had either melted, or had not been so deep here in the first place. It seemed as though spring had suddenly arrived.

The Amtrak Cardinal cuts through beautiful countryside in Virginia and West Virginia.

Once again, the train veered inland; this time permanently away from the Atlantic coast. We had now come as far down the east coast as this route would take us, and were heading for another new state – Virginia. Slowly but surely, the urban sprawl of DC gave way to the forests and agricultural lands of Virginia. At around this time, the man who had been sitting behind me since we had left New York City, began to snore. At first it was not so bad, but the deeper he got into his sleep, the louder his snoring became. After twenty or thirty minutes, he was to be heard by everyone in the carraige.

We approached the foothills of the Appalachian mountains; passing through little villages and farmland. The train made several short stops while crossing the state, picking up passengers and supplies. At Staunton, around a dozen people came aboard, four of whom were notable by their demeanor and attire. Having previously cycled across America, including a leisurely day spent passing through Lancaster County Pennsylvania, which is known as ‘Amish Country‘, I knew that these folks were Mennonites.

A group of Mennonite folks, in their traditional and plain attire.

One of the Mennonite men asked the conductor if he and his traveling party could be seated together, so in an extremely fortunate turn of events, my snoring friend was asked to relocate. The two Mennonite men took his place, and their wives sat just across the aisle. As the agreeable snorer gathered his belongings and shuffled out of his seat, one of the Mennonite men conveyed his gratitude by saying, “Mighty Bliged Sir.”

As we weaved our way through Buffalo Gap in the Appalachians, I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation between the Mennonite men behind me.

“Now’s it any wonder we’re having trouble when it costs one point six cents to mint a penny? So, every time we make a new penny we’re going another point six cents further down the hole. Even Mr Trump can’t be expected to make those kinds of figures work.”

A short time later, after a lengthy silence during which I presumed both men had been contemplating matters of economics, one man’s attention suddenly turned towards his stomach.

“Im hungry” he announced.

“Well, you got your sand witches don’t you?” replied his friend.

“Yes I do, but I don’t care much for the cucumber ones they packed. Specially since I’m on the train – if you catch my drift.”

“Well”, said his friend defiantly, but with more than a hint of humor, “not meaning to cause you any offense nor nothing, but I’ve caught a few of your drifts in my time and I sure don’t want to catch any now that we’re on the train!” Cue deep laughter from both men, and concealed giggles from myself and the Mennonite ladies.

A little further down the line, we slowed in one of the many narrow river valleys of West Virginia, to safely pass an oncomming freighter train. Approximately ten open-topped cars containing very finely crushed coal, passed by before I decided to start counting. By the time the last car had passed, my count had reached fifty two. This, I considered, was becoming a more and more unusual sight, as the major coal mines were now in a state of decline. The many rivers we followed through the West Virginian Appalachians all had the same appearance; sporadic signs of greater mining activity from yester-year, wild white water rapids, lost villages with moonshine-making credentials, and trees. Lots of trees.

As the light faded, I couldn’t help but think that we had just gone through what many American city-slickers would refer to as ‘Hill-Billy Country’. My eyelids began to fall with the setting sun, and for an hour or so, I fell into a deep sleep. I dreamed of dueling banjos, white-water rafting, hard-drinking coal miners and of Mennonite economics.

The conductors announcement of an extended stop at Huntington West Virginia called me back in to the real world. Before I was even fully awake, I found myself yawning and stretching on the busy platform. Fresh air breaks were not to be missed.

Having left New York City just that morning, where temperatures had hovered in the mid twenties , I now felt uncomfortably over-dressed in relatively balmy Kentucky. Some people took the opportunity to smoke. Others hurried to beat the line for the toilets in the station building. The train staff unloaded trash bags and picked up fresh supplies. The Mennonite wives, who were sporting long flowery-patterned dresses and white bonnets, held hands as they skipped and ran around a little patch of grass in the parking lot. Their husbands stood shoulder to shoulder in silence. I tried to figure out which one was secretly letting go of his long-held ‘drifts’.

A welcome stop and a chance to stretch the legs at Huntington, West Virginia.

Once back on the train, I walked back to the next carriage, where I knew the cafe/shop would now be fully stocked (TIP #1: Always coincide your dining and bathroom breaks with the immediate aftermath of major stops, as you will find the train facilities freshly cleaned and restocked). I ordered a cheeseburger and a Pepsi (“a classic American” as the friendly Amtrak server described it), and sat down at a nearby table to dine alone. After I had taken a few bites and then paused for digestion, a voice from behind me asked: “Pardon me sir, but I was wondering what part you’re from?” I turned to see that it was one of the Mennonite men, who also happened to be sitting alone.

Now I must admit, I had been looking for the opportunity to speak to an Amish or Mennonite since I had cycled across America in the summer of 2016. There really is no easy way to instigate conversation with these curiously simple and withdrawn people, without risking the danger of making them feel uncomfortable. So many tourists come out of the cities on the east coast to Lancaster County in particular, and are quite intrusive in how they approach the locals. This has resulted in the Amish becoming even more withdrawn, like spooked deer in hunting season. I took this unexpected opportunity for communication by asking the man if I could join him.”It’d be a pleasure sir.”

(TIP #2: Embrace the social aspect of travel in the coach class. You can meet some really interesting people)

‘Erik’ and I talked about a range of subjects, including a very interesting discussion about how he was of the opinion that agricultural co-operatives are not necessarily acting in small farmers best interests anymore. To my surprise, upon hearing that I was Irish, Erik asked me if Irish dairy farmers were well off financially. I silently noted that he appended the word ‘financially’ to the term ‘well-off’. To me, this gave an insight into the first notable difference (aside from attire) between his world and mine. His people would consider themselves ‘well-off’ in many ways other than financial. I made a mental note to remember that.

As a dairy farmer who milked ninety cows, and who did not have access to the internet and newspapers as a means of gauging market trends, Erik based the value of his stock on the prices of similar products in the supermarkets. This, I considered, was a simple yet highly effective strategy. Maybe it was a micro-example how how the Mennonite approach to life may be slightly more insular and simplistic, but enjoyable and comfortable none the less.

The product which Erik was referring to was KerryGold, a very tasty Irish butter which is now widely available in the United States. It is generally stocked in small supplies, and at over ten dollars a pound, is perhaps twice the price of other butters. I saw that this had led to Eriks question, and had perhaps spurred his willingness to engage with me in the first place. Erik’s mystery shopping may have given him an indication of market value, but his more paraochial existence deprived him of a more in-depth understanding of pricing factors other than net payment to the producer. I explained that the cost was so high given the addition of international taxes, the federal requirement to comprehensively test overseas farm produce, the inclusion of additional preservatives and shipping costs. There was also scope in the figures to make room for one or possibly two American importers cut. Although he had little way of knowing this prior to our chat, he immediately understood. Mennonites may not be worldly, but they certainly aren’t slow – especially when it comes to food production.

To my greater surprise, Erik then talked about the emergence of driverless cars and drones. It was a very unexpected and surreal twist to a conversation with a man who had no watch, smartphone, newspapers or any other modern ‘conveniences’. Yet, I immediately understood the practical relevance to his curiosity. Neither of us needed to implicitly reference why this new mode of transport should be familiar to me and not to him, but we did discuss it at length. The concept of driverless cars has been known and explored by me for well over a decade, given my background and interest in technology, but Erik’s musings on the matter were owing to more recent and populous developments. Mennonites and Amish may like to live traditionally, but yet, when something new emerges, they will consider it. So long as it does not pose a threat to their way of life, they are open to using it.

Amish and Monnonites will ride in a car provided someone else drives it, and provided the journey is for business purposes and not pleasure. They do not fly. Given that a horse and carriage can only take them so far, and that they regularly meet and visit other similar groups right across the country, they have been perhaps Amtrak’s most regular customers for decades. For the more forward thinking (not to mention business-minded) Mennonite man, which Erik most certainly was, this new form of transport was of interest. It transpired that he was making what was a regular trip between his dairy farm in Virginia and his crop farm in Kentucky. The train worked well, but there was still the matter of getting to and from his farms and the nearest stations.

I found myself reassuring Erik that self-drive cars might indeed be of interest to him. “The mechanics are the same. The appearance is the same. In fact, standing on the sidewalk, you wouldn’t be able to differentiate between a passing driverless car and a manually operated car. The only difference is, you express your desired destination beforehand, much like you do when you buy a train ticket. After that, you simply sit back and relax – just as you do when taking the train.” Again, without confirming that he was Mennonite and I was not, Erik thanked me, and concluded by saying “Well, it certainly seems like it is worth looking in to – when the time comes.” And therein, I decided, lay the main difference between my cultural upbringing and Erik’s.

Regarding the driverless car, he would look in to it – when the time would come. In my world, people spend so much time and energy speculating, disagreeing, and talking about what the future might or might not bring. So much so that we often miss the present. In Erik’s world, he may soon have to face a difficult decision, but he had an entirely different outlook. Easing the burden of travel between his farms, while running the risk of incurring the wrath of his elders for breaking tradition, would be an ethical dilemma. (Actually, I had already decided that Erik was himself an elder. A decision maker. So his decision carried greater responsibility). But, Erik wasn’t going to waste time worrying about this matter. At least not until ‘the time comes’. Brilliant. My mother always offers a piece of advice which says ‘Don’t meet trouble half way’. I smiled to myself as I wondered if she was secretly a part-time Mennonite!

The drone question was addressed full on by Erik. “I’ve nothing against them, but some folks have been flying them over their neighbors properties and invading their privacies. Do you think thats right?” he asked me. I had to agree with him that it was not ‘right’ and that drone intrusiveness was a problem. I pondered what morale code drone users adhere to, and how they decided (if at all) what was ‘right’ and not right. I also felt empathy towards the Amish and Mennonite people, when I considered what it must feel like to see a strange flying machine with a camera right above their yards. Part of me felt ashamed of the outside world.

Erik had a kindly, calm and open personality, and I treasured the opportunity to talk with him. Too often we recoil from communicating with people who are different in some from ourselves, and this non-communication can alienate us and others. I felt so happy to have broken through a boundary, and for the conversation to have been so amicable and enlightening. All too quickly though, we arrived at Erik’s station. We shook hands, wished each other well, and I watched as he departed with his wife and friends. I looked through the window as they stood by their old-fashioned suitcases on the platform, perhaps waiting for local horses and carriages to come to pick them up. Their clothing looked so different, so primitive, yet so clean, smart and tidy. I sat back in my seat as the train rolled along on the banks of the Ohio River, and tried to comprehend how my way of life and Erik’s coexisted. The term ‘purpose over pleasure’ seemed to stick in my mind. I certainly admired the ability of the Amish and Monnonite communities to sustain their place in the world, using such a modest set of guidelines and ethics.

In the shadows of Cincinnati train station, at one forty five in the morning, I slipped off my shoes, reclined the seat, and snuggled up under Jaime’s Magic Blanket. This black and charcoal, intricately patterned blanket, had been a gift to my wife Yesi, from her father Jaime, when she had left Peru to come and live in New York City. After our wedding, when I had arrived from Ireland to experience my first New York winter, Yesi and I would regularly cozy up under this Andean treasure. The comfort of the Llama wool, combined with the sentimental value, meant that within minutes we would be warm, content and sleepy. Hence I had named it ‘Jaime’s Magic Blanket’. It had the same effect on me right there on the train in Cincinnati, even though Yesi wasn’t there with me. She was however with me in my thoughts. Within a few minutes I was content and had fallen asleep. (TIP #3: When traveling on a train across America, consider bringing a blanket and/or pillow for added comfort).

I woke briefly around an hour later, to the sound of low chattering and the wonderful smell of spices. I leaned sideways in my seat to see that a little further up the carriage, a Chinese family of three generations, were huddled around a series of pots and flasks, and were enjoying a midnight feast in the amber glow of a travel lamp. For a time I studied how happy they looked as they dined as a family. The gorgeous aroma had made me feel quite hungry, so I rectified this by munching on some peanuts. (TIP #4: Always have snacks on hand when on a long train ride, but try not to overdo it, as you could get sick with the motion of the train). My semi-conscious food cravings held at bay, I quickly drifted back to sleep and did not stir again until we were in Illinois, around an hour out of Chicago.

I was pleasantly surprised by how well I had managed to sleep. The view now out through y window was dramatically different than it had been when it was last daylight in West Virgina. The landscape was no longer mountainous and wooded, but perfectly flat, and as it was early spring, it looked a little barren. After having a coffee and a cinnamon roll for breakfast in the dining car, I made my way to the downstairs bathroom, and took a wet-wipes shower. (TIP #5: Wet wipes are an absolute must when traveling overnight in the coach class of a train across America). I then changed my clothes and generally freshened up. I got my things together and a short time afterwards we began to weave a pathway through the suburbs of Chicago.

The beautiful architecture of the Great Hall at Union Station, in central Chicago.

When the Amtrak Cardinal finally drew to a stop in the bowels of Union Station, the first leg of my marathon journey by train across America had come to an end. I thanked the friendly Amtrak staff, picked up my bags, and stepped off the train. Before setting out, I had designs on a little walkabout tour of downtown Chicago. I had a four-hour layover before heading further west on a connecting train. However those plans were dashed upon hearing that the lockers in which passengers could store their luggage before boarding their connecting trains, were no longer available (presumably due to terrorism fears). Had I been more clued in to this situation, I could have switched around my bags so that I could have checked most of my luggage onto the next train in advance of its departure, and possibly kept one backpack which could have contained everything I needed on the onward journey. This would have enabled me to leave Union Station and go for a walk. (TIP #6: Organize your luggage by separating the items you might need while on the train ride, from the items intended for use at your destination).

It was not an especially good day for a walkabout in downtown Chicago anyway. The skies were overcast, and a wave of drizzle was creeping in from the shores of Lake Michigan. Whistle-stop sightseeing in Chicago would have to wait for another time. Instead, I made my way to the Great Hall of Union Station, and after having some lunch (Chinese food!), I sat in peace, relaxing and people watching. There is nothing like a train ride to help you work on your levels of patience and on the acceptance of each moment of the journey, whatever it is that each moment may bring.

I could think of a lot worse places to be left guarding my belongings. Union Station in Chicago, and it’s Great Hall in particular, are of great architectural beauty. It is a classic old-style railway station, and so the surroundings really accentuated the authenticity of traveling by train across America. I was happy with my experience so far. But a much longer ride lay ahead, on board the iconic California Zephyr, which would bring me over the Rocky Mountains, and out into the American wild west.

Click here for Part Two: The California Zephyr, from Chicago to Reno Nevada

As I cycled on The Katy Trail in Missouri, approximately two thirds of the way into the charity challenge of riding across America and Ireland; a new mantra came to mind: See the good in everyone – especially yourself. Thinking about that sentence, and all that it entails, gave me increased awareness of my motivation. From that point onwards, I picked up the pace and put myself in a position where I was able to reach New York City on my target date of August 14th 2016.

I had a beautifully peaceful and spiritual experience overlooking this Missouri River sunset – by connecting with my motivation

Later that same day, I crossed the great Missouri River. I stopped and stared in awe at the amazing sunset. That led to several minutes of beautiful quiet time, reflection and meditation. When eating my supper later still, I wondered if I would have even noticed that sunset and had that peaceful spiritual moment on the bridge, had I not been thinking about my new mantra. Having the conviction to hold true to a genuine motivation cuts out a lot of stressful and unnecessary thoughts, and opens the door for newer, more beautiful emotions and experiences. You can be self confident without being cocky. When you are sure of your motivation, you can see the world from a different perspective.

When I announced that I was doing Trans Atlantic Cycle to raise funds and awareness for The Irish Cancer Society, I didn’t give too much background, or explain my motivation for doing such an epic challenge. Despite some people telling me that I wouldn’t do it, I shouldn’t do it or that I couldn’t do it; I am doing it. My motivation is strong – because it came from within. I knew that I could do it – one day at a time.

For a long number of years, I bent over backwards to seek approval from others; probably because I doubted myself so much. Sometimes we are our own worst critics. Self doubt is a ball and chain that we must cast off. I was once dependent upon others to grant me happiness and contentment. I was willing to do things that were detrimental to my own wellbeing and peace of mind, in the pursuit of winning approval from others. I now see that for the folly that it was.

Two years ago I fell from an electric bicycle. The injuries were very painful, and the trauma was a heavy burden to bear. I slipped into self-pity which compounded things. It took a long time to find treatment, but I was eventually referred to Philip O’Rourke. During my sessions with Philip, I realized that I had to face my fear and get back on a bicycle. To do this, I had to look deep within myself, and start to build from the bottom up. When I eventually felt better, we discussed the possibility of doing a cycle to celebrate the fact that I was well again. A case of, “hair of the dog that bit you”. I started to think about doing a charity fundraiser. Philip is a cancer survivor, and had been given invaluable help by The Irish Cancer Society during his recovery. It seemed fitting that I should help the charity that helped the man who helped me. It completes a nice little circle of giving.

Cycling alone across America is by no means a decision that you come to lightly. I weighed it up. And then it occurred to me: there are thousands of poor souls in Ireland who are fighting cancer, or grieving a loved one, who would jump on a bike in a heart beat if only it would make things better. The realization that I was blessed and fortunate enough to have recovered from my accident was enough to inspire me to take on Trans Atlantic Cycle. It is a tiny challenge compared to what many others have to face.

When I realized that I could experience peace and serenity by counting the blessings that I have instead of lamenting the things that I don’t have, my view of life changed. Isn’t it funny that when we pledge to help others (instead of trying to impress them), that we actually find peace and contentment ourselves? And when we concentrate only on our own material needs, we oft times encounter discontent and unhappiness? And so, armed with this attitude and motivation, on June 14th 2016, against all the odds, I was standing at the pier in San Francisco with my trusteed Peggy, about to set off alone across the United States of America. I was happy, at peace with what lay ahead, and confident that I would have the conviction to complete what I set out to do.

I meditate every day while cycling. And afterwards I make a point of counting my blessings. Most days, the first blessing that comes to mind is that I have my health, and that I was able to get up out of bed and face another day. In the past, I focused on negatives. Now I count my blessings, and the gratitude that this brings always gives me a good head start to the day.

I passed this poignant sign outside a a presbyterian church in rural Illinois. Such a powerful message.

I have faced many obstacles during Trans Atlantic Cycle. The Sierra Nevada’s came very early and were too much for my legs. It took three attempts to make it over Echo Summit. I was exhausted and had to rest for two days at South Lake Tahoe. The heat in Nevada caused all sorts of issues. I was dehydrated and had diarrhea in Utah. I was gasping in the thin air near the top of Monarch Pass, the 11,300 foot summit where I scaled The Rockies. I fell coming out of The Rockies. I was faced off by a mountain lion in Montrose, Colorado. I had to ask the police for assistance when it looked like I couldn’t find a place to stay late in the evening in Sacramento. I have had countless tough days. But one thing has been constant: my motivation to do this.

I believe that Trans Atlantic Cycle is 75% mental and 25% physical. I believe that if your mental attitude and motivation are right, you can overcome any obstacle to achieve your goal. There is always a way.

Brooklyn Bridge and Freedom Tower in New York City. Both of these were difficult projects, but when completed they signify growth, freedom, movement and a bright future. I thought that was a very symbolic thought as I entered Manhattan.

I am writing this as I rest up in New York City, before moving on to Ireland, where I will ride from Letterkenny to Dublin, to the offices of The Irish Cancer Society. I am thinking about a few lines from Rudyard Kipling’s poem ‘IF’:

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;

If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two imposters just the same;

Regardless of whether or not I complete Trans Atlantic Cycle, I hope that I am showing that even from the darkest place, you can find the light of hope. When I was asked to dig deep to find the will to face my fears and get back on a bicycle, I inadvertently found so much more, locked away inside. I am so much stronger than I thought I was. I have goodness within me. I discovered those things by finding silence and calmness through meditation. I learned to be able to give myself a pat on the back instead of flailing myself for no good reason based on what other people might think of me.

Trans Atlantic Cycle has been an amazing journey and adventure. It has been the most spiritual time in my life. I have seen the world from many different perspectives. Perspective is my favorite word. It is the first step in The Paris Method. Getting grounded and finding out about yourself in an unbiased way is a complete revelation.

No matter how fragile you may feel initially, you can build strong motivation to achieve your goals by using fundamental positives as the first building blocks. Rock bottom is the best place from which to build any strong foundation. A little over a year ago, I barely had the motivation to go out to the local shop. Now, I have cycled over three and a half thousand miles across America on my own.

I am not too sure what lies ahead – although I have an idea of what my future will be like. For now, I am returning to that silent, spiritual place which I get to by practicing The Paris Method, and whatever I discover about myself there, I know that it will be genuine, true and in my own best interests regardless of how others see it. I have learned to see the good in people – especially myself. I have been turning a negative experience (my bicycle fall) in to a positive outcome (raising funds and awareness for The Irish Cancer Society). But most of all, I have learned how to find peace. For years I searched frantically for it. I looked for it in other people, through vacations, in material possessions, inside bottles (thats a whole other story), and in many more ways and places. And all the while, it was there with me all the time, deep inside of me. I just had to figure out how to find it, and believe in it.

People have asked me if I prayed during my journey. I most certainly did. But I wasn’t praying for my needs, I was saying wordless prayers of gratitude for being given the time, the health and the energy to do what I am doing. I can honestly say that I breathed in every last drop of what my journey across the United States of America had to offer me. It was and is, a life-changing experience.

Thanks for reading. I hope that Trans Atlantic Cycle is the start of a spiritual adventure of continued personal growth, and I hope that I can continue to do a little bit to help others – instead of trying to impress them. That is my motivation going forward.

So, I am cycling 3,750 miles across America and Ireland to raise funds for The Irish Cancer Society. Trans Atlantic Cycle has so far been defined by people – great people. I am leaving a trail of new friends across the United States of America. New friends, who I am sure will become old friends. This challenge has also been heavily ingrained with emotions. The support for #TransAtlanticCycle is very much appreciated. I am a lucky man to have such good people around me.

Ray Kim, whose expert advice at Huckleberry Bicycles really set me up well for the long road ahead.

In San Francisco, I met Ray Kim in Huckleberry Bicycles, who was amazing to deal with, and still provides support. I stayed with Fabi, Dylan and Brissa – such great hospitality. Tracey Cullen, a talented singer/songwriter, allowed me to use her music ‘First Kiss‘ in the video I made about leaving San Francisco. It is a beautiful song, and it was great being able to use it. It is available to buy on iTunes.

Donna contributed so much in terms of motivation and support, and made a generous donation to The Irish Cancer Society. Then there was Sinead, who went out of her way to help me, and hooked me up with Cheri and Jim in Carson City, where I was treated like a king.

Cheri and Jim, who provided great hospitality at their lovely home in Minden, Nevada. They were great hosts.

Jim’s 1965 Mustang GT, which I got to drive! Not many men would hand over the keys of such a car. Thanks Jim

The Desert Angels – where do I even start to describe their kindness. I met these twin ladies outside of a grocery store in Dayton. When they heard where I was headed, they went home, packed up their motorhome and basically shepherded me all the way across the state of Nevada. I am still lost for words as to how I feel about their kindness, but it was epic, and has remained in my heart.

The ‘Desert Angels’ M and Liz. These twins really saved me, by shepherding me across the state of Nevada

When all seemed lost after a heatwave swept through Utah, up stepped Grace and Bob. Had it not been for their assistance, I would surely have succumbed to the 110 degree heat in the Canyon Lands.

Things went a little pear shaped in Moab. Trans Atlantic Cycle hit the wall, to borrow marathon terminology. The heat and elevation combined with all of the long cycle rides, finally got to me. I had to remain indoors for two days as I grappled with stomach cramps, diarrhea, and a blip in form. I posted an online update from Moab in which I was a little cranky, but I am so glad that I did it. It is good to share the tough and embarrassing moments as well as the classic Instagram moments.

Once the heat subsided, I scaled the La Sal Mountains, and in doing so, crossed another state line; this time into Colorful Colorado, where I again immediately met some nice folks. Tony, Amanda and their kids were great hosts. While visiting their hillside house and strolling on their grounds admiring the views, I came face to face (around 40 feet away) with a mountain lion!. I back-traked, and once out of sight I ran back to the house. I was both shaken and delighted to have experienced this very rare encounter.

On the eve of July fourth, I met Randy Kerr; a gentleman, and a phenomenal athlete. At 60 years of age, he is competing in (and wining) all sorts of mountain bike races. His fitness, and his commitment to it, are a lesson to any cyclist. Randy doesn’t hear so well (a legacy from his Army service), but it didn’t dampen our conversation. I had the pleasure of riding out of Montrose with him, just after the Independence Day parade, and we rode the very scenic (and very tough) road to Gunnison, where we watched the town’s fireworks display. That was a special day. En route I also bumped into Brad and Chris, and spent a very enjoyable hour on their breathtakingly beautiful ranch in the mountains.

While resting in the homely Wanderlust Hostel, where Amy has created a lovely atmosphere, I met yet more nice people. Mike, who was en route from Atlanta Georgia for a new life in Denver, was a good guy, great company, and a lot of fun. I also met Ron, and hung out with him for a day or two. A retired federal employee, he forgoes luxury to vacation a little differently. Ron hikes. For hundreds of miles. And he hitches rides between trails. I don’t think I have ever met a more humble and genuine man, and that is exactly why he does what he does. The wild country and the low budget experience, remind him of how lucky he is to have his luxuries when he gets back home. Ron, if you are reading this, I think you should write a book – people would love to read it.

Mike, who was heading to Denver

Also in the unique Wanderlust Hostel, I met John, a pharmacist from Garden City Kansas, who was guiding his young daughter through a Colorado vacation. Watching how much time John spent with his daughter, ensuring that she was having a good time, was just a joy.

On my last night in the hostel, I met Natalie; a school teacher and adventurer from Cincinnati. Again, conversation flowed. We covered ground from health insurance, to outdoor pursuits, right through to spirituality. It was this topic that has provided a legacy now that I am out on the road again. Natalie, I wish you nothing but success and happiness. I also briefly met Kevin Record, from Tallahassee Florida who is riding across America from East to West. Kevin is also fundraising for a cancer charity. We compared notes and experiences, and although our meeting was brief, we will stay in touch on social media.

Kevin Record, who is going the other way across America. If only we had more time to chat. Kindred spirits

After almost settling in permanently at the Wanderlust, I finally made the move that I was preparing for. Monarch Pass had been looming large in my thoughts since I had left San Francisco. I won’t lie, had it not been for keeping some cancer victims in mind, I may have bailed out of that tough climb. My aunt Kathleen passed away in 2008 from Cancer, as did Jimsie in 2016, and those two, along with numerous others, were in my thoughts the entire day. At 300 feet from the summit, the climb was so steep and the air so thin, that I was literally gasping.

I rested for a time, and just like an apparition, along came Kawika Plummer, a trans-American rider from Hawaii, who stirred me up for a final push, and so I followed his back wheel to the summit. Kawika often rides up to 140 miles a day. I hope Im so fit at that age!

Kawika from Hawaii, whose wheel I followed up the last 300ft climb to Monarch Pass. Top of The Rockies

I actually stayed on the summit of Monarch Pass for around 2 hours. I was just so happy to be there. Places like this are the Everest of the cycling world. Monarch is 3,500 feet higher than the highest summit on the 2016 Tour de France. I was feeling very emotional, as I remembered those who had been in my thoughts as I struggled up the mountain. It was a strange mix of happiness, sadness, achievement, tiredness and satisfaction. There were a few tears. And that’s ok, and ok to admit to.

Top of The Rockies! Happy to finally scale Monarch Pass – Highest point on Trans Atlantic Cycle at 11,312 feet

And that brings me to another defining day. En route to Canyon City, I was riding US50 as it turned and twisted through a deep gorge, which followed the flow of the Arkansas River. The scenery was beautiful, but those steep canyon walls had a little menacing input into my adventure. Some rock fall rolled out in front of me, and there was little that I could do. Thankfully, the split second that I was airborne gave me time to accept what was happening, and I managed to roll with it as i hit the road. Peggy took the worst of the hit. Thankfully, after a few running repairs and a few days rest, Peggy and myself were back on the road. It could have been a lot lot worse in so many ways.

Poor Peggy looking a bit worse for wear in Canyon City, CO

Road rash after falling between Salida and Canyon City, CO

For my part, I escaped with some road rash and a few cuts. My hip is sore but there is nothing broken. A very nice French tourist (whose name I did not catch) dressed one of my knees on the roadside, and a lady called Diane gave myself and Peggy a ride into the nearest town. From the highs of Monarch Pass, there was a bit of a low that evening as I gathered my thoughts and rejigged my plans. I became even more determined to keep going and reach New York City. I have met too many genuinely kind and supportive people, and have too much support from family and friends to just throw in the towel. There is also the matter of thinking about all of the people who will benefit from the donations which have been made on Trans Atlantic Cycle’s behalf to The Irish Cancer Society.

I called to mind a mantra which I have been using from the outset of Trans Atlantic Cycle – every negative experience can have a positive outcome. And sure enough, after vowing to continue, I finally rolled out of The Rockies and entered the Arkansas River Valley, where once again, the people were friendly and kind almost beyond belief. I felt rewarded for making the decision to continue. I visited two hospices while riding through the valley; firstly Sangre de Cristo in Fowler, and then Arkansas Valley Hospice in La Junta.

The staff of Arkansas Valley Hospice, who gave me a warm welcome

It was just amazing to be greeted by these wonderful people who do such amazing work for their patients. These visits had a very humbling effect upon me, and added renewed determination which counterbalanced the hurt I was feeling since the fall.

In La Junta I was given hospitality by John and Kathy, whose caring nature and dedication in helping others less fortunate is quite simply staggering. I completely relaxed in their home, and added a few more names to the long list of great American people who I will be staying in touch with when this is all over. John and Kathy have such a profound impact on the lives of those they care for. Thanks must go to selfless Mary Palmer for the introduction.

Denver Bronco’s fan John Mestas, and his lovely wife Kathy, who made me feel so at home in La Junta, Colorado

I was quite sad to be leaving Colorado, as it has definitely been my favorite state to have visited thus far. The scenery is beautiful and the people are really friendly and kind. So far, Kansas has been Kansas. Some people complain about how boring the landscapes are, but I really like them. The land in places is so flat that the cattle ranches, wind farms and corn fields stretch out as far as the eye can see. I was raised on a farm, so can appreciate the beauty and fertility of this land. It is vast, and it is a wonderful feeling to be surrounded by so much of what others describe as so little.

One of the many corn fields in Kansas. They roll out on both sides of the road as far as the eye can see.

It has been very hot, even at night time. It is hard to know which is more comfortable; the heat at night, or the rattling of an air conditioning unit. My hip is also still troubling me. But it was good to cross another state line, and in doing so, change timezones once more. I am now only an hour behind New York City.

It is always such a milestone when entering into a new state. But I was sad to leave Colorado

If anyone is in any doubt, this challenge is very trying. It is taking a lot of energy and sometimes I have to dig right to the bottom of the tank to find the strength to keep going. But, there is a two-fold benefit happening which cannot be ignored. Firstly, donations are being made to the Irish Cancer Society as a result of the effort that I am putting in. And secondly, I am meeting some truly wonderful people on my journey across America. Sometimes the experience becomes a little overwhelming, but it is all very positive nonetheless. I have spent a lot of time alone with my thoughts while traveling through this beautiful country, and have decided to write more extensively about the experiences after I have completed Trans Atlantic Cycle. There is so much to tell.

To make a donation to The Irish Cancer Society on my behalf, please visit the following page: TransAtlanticCycle

The title of this blog post is something of a misnomer. There are no lows; just calm periods that have the effect of making the highs more enjoyable. Im in Moab; a beautiful cycle-friendly town in south eastern Utah. Many who are cycling across America will pass through this little town. The landscape here is simply amazing, and the place has a real feel-good, laid-back vibe. There are dozens of cycle paths, dirt bike and ATV trails, and some amazing hikes through natural arches and canyons. But I’m just not feeling at my best today, and I’ve learned the hard way that it is okay to have days like these. Tomorrow is another day.

I made this video log when I was feeling the strain today. Its good to talk about this kind of stuff, as opposed to sugar-coating it.

I am tired, my digestive system is a little off, and I am certainly affected by the altitude, heat, and the number of miles cycled since I left San Francisco. In the past, a day like today may have tarnished the good times, but not now. I know it will pass. One of the best (and hardest) lessons I have learned is that when a down day comes, to realize that it is a passing moment, and it will indeed pass. Today, I was able to recognize that I am tired, and off-color, and so I accepted that the feelings I had were temporary. Self awareness is a game winning ace to pull from the deck on a day like today. I know that if I rest and refuel, that today’s worries will just drift away, as a cloud does when it temporarily blocks out the sun on an otherwise blue sky day.

I’d like to thank the girls at Bike Fiend, Moab, for not only cleaning my chain and checking the bike over, but for lifting my spirits when I walked in to their store in a very tired and weary state. I also need to thank Cheri and Jim in Minden, Nevada, who gave me kindness, hospitality, a bed, meals and some great encouragement. I just couldn’t have been treated any better, and that stays with you out on the road.

Cheri and Jim: great people who really helped me in Minden, Nevada. That kindness stays with me.

I was also saved in the Nevada desert by twin sisters M and Liz, who I named my Desert Angels. I am still a little lost as to how to describe how far M and Liz went to ensure that I got across Nevada safely. Grace and Bob also extended some much needed generousity. I will be eternally grateful to these amazingly kind people. These were all random acts of kindness by strangers. I benefitted from American hospitality at its very best. Isn’t it ironic that I met such great people, and such good company on the ‘Loneliest Road in America’?

It really is ironic that I met so many great people, who helped me so much…on The Loneliest Road in America

Trans Atlantic Cycle is incredibly difficult. It is okay for me to admit as much on this blog. Even if nobody reads this, just writing it helps to get it out of my system and allow that feeling to subside.

People have asked me what music I have been listening to out on the road. So far, I haven’t listened to any music while on the bike. I love music, and play bass and ukulele. But I haven’t played music yet while cycling across America, and probably won’t either. While doing something else (cycling), I prefer to be giving my concentration to what I am doing, what I am seeing and hearing as it passes by. Music would gradually allow my mind to slip from the present. Songs remind me of the past and give me ideas for the future, and thats okay. But right now I want to be aware of the present. I have meditated a lot while crossing California and Nevada. I have let go of a lot of negative thoughts and worries along the way – in a form of emotional littering. I like to imagine that any negative thoughts or feelings just flutter over my head and get left behind on the side of the road behind me. Without casting off some negative emotions, I cannot make room for newer happier feelings.

Some things need to be cast off and left on the side of the road. There, they can slowly rust away naturally instead of causing a wreck.

I try not to look too far ahead. All that matters most days is that I am moving. As long as I am moving I know I am working towards something. I need not be concentrating on what that something is, but when the wheels are turning, I am happy in each individual moment.

I have drawn parallels between cycling across America and life in general. When moving uphill, I am aware that my energy is being used at a higher rate. But I am also aware that the top of the hill is coming, and there will be a downhill sometime soon to balance things out. The last time I checked, the Pacific and the Atlantic are at the same level! I started at sea level, and I will finish at sea level, so the hills are balanced. Some days I cycle into a head wind. There may not be a tail wind to balance that out, and that is okay. Sometimes in life we just have to grit our teeth and bear into the headwind. When I happen to catch a tailwind, I make full use of it. The same goes for life. Being aware that things are good, and enjoying them to the maximum is important. Being aware that things are not so good, and accepting that they will pass is equally important.

Someone commented on social media today that after cycling across America, my life will never be the same again. Well, it is already different. Every moment brings change. There isn’t really a goal as such, just the progression towards something, and the awareness of each wheel turn along the way.

A ‘sign’ in a bathroom just as I was finally getting out of Ely, Nevada.

Today was a less than high day. But I still managed to make a little progress by sharing how I feel. And now that day is almost over, and tomorrow is another day. I have been using a few mantra’s during this Trans Atlantic Challenge as I have been cycling across America:
One Day at a Time
Onwards and Upwards
Positive from Negative

The most poignant one is a quote on canvass which I saw in a bathroom just before I finally got out of Ely, Nevada. I really feel that it was a sign, in more ways than one:
”Don’t be so focused on the finish line that you forget to enjoy the journey”.

Learning how to enjoy even the less than high moments is something I am working on as I am cycling across America. Even a down day is richly rewarding.

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