Travel

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.

You can make a donation to The Irish Cancer Society on my behalf, by clicking here

Since I began writing on this blog around a year ago, I haven’t often been short of words. But starting out on Trans Atlantic Cycle from California last week changed all that. In a little over a week I have intended writing this blog post so many times, but it became a little overwhelming and I couldn’t quite find the words!

Ive been keeping people at home, and those following my Trans Atlantic Cycle for the Irish Cancer Society updated, but I haven’t really talked about the emotional end of things. Thats about to change!

Firstly, there are not many girlfriends who would be so supportive of a man being out of town for so long, and going on such an endurance adventure. But I am blessed on that front. Thank you Yesita Bonita for your support of Trans Atlantic Cycle – it is greatly appreciated.

We stayed with Yesi’s friend Fabi and her husband Dylan in San Francisco while I rushed around like crazy trying to get a bicycle and supplies organized for the trip. Fabiola, Dylan and Brissa were amazing hosts, and did everything they could to help. They even found time to bring us to a San Francisco Giants game (which the giants won!), and tour us around San Francisco. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving me the run of your beautiful home.

Posing in Downtown San Francisco!

We had arrived in San Francisco late on a Friday night. Two days earlier I had put out a desperate plea on social media looking for my dream bike that would take me across the United States and Ireland. That plea was probably symptomatic of my pre-tour edginess; something that other cyclists confess to also. My SOS was answered by Raymond Kim, who works for Huckleberry Bicycles out of their recently opened Berkeley store. Within two days of arriving in San Francisco, I was the proud owner of a Surly Long Haul Trucker, and she was saddled up, adjusted to suit me and ready for the road on Trans Atlantic Cycle.

Raymond Kim at Huckleberry Bicycles, Berkely. Ray is the wikipedia of bicycle touring

Ray and Huckleberry Bicycles: you have nothing but my admiration, respect and gratitude. I highly recommend these people should you have bicycle needs in the Bay Area, or if you would like to buy online from experienced and reliable people.

I named the bike Pegasus, in the hope that she would sprout wings and fly me forward to help in the battles ahead. I shortened it to Peggy to make her female, and the Y is a tip of the hat to Yesi 🙂

Flags and Irish Cancer Society Balloon

I won’t lie – my first few days on the road were troublesome and I felt a bit lonely and overwhelmed. Getting out of the Bay Area and its satellite towns was torturous. I lost count of how many wrong turns I made, how many busy intersections per day I went through, and how many times I felt vulnerable. I wondered sometimes what I had undertaken, and if I would be able for it. Daily mileage was low and it was an error prone, nervous and stuttering outset. Eventually I made it to the California Central Valley, and although my newly acquired GPS sent me on an almighty 80 mile detour, it actually served a purpose. (Theres that positive from negative mantra again). The detour afforded me the chance to experience my first day of riding on wide open roads, and the ranch, orchard and vineyard scenery was amazing. It recharged me and gave me hope that I was actually able to clock some bigger mileage and man up to Trans Atlantic Cycle.

Starting out on Trans Atlantic Cycle, near the Bay Bridge, San Francisco. June 14th 2016

In Vacaville I stopped by a UPS and mailed 8 pounds of unnecessary stuff back to New York City. I have not missed any of it, and plan to shed another few pounds soon. I draw a parallel with life here. How much stuff are we carrying around that we think we need to carry, but can manage well without if we just let it go? Letting go of stuff is revitalizing and leaves room for growth. I am still carrying more than my body weight in the saddle bags. This may not be a problem on the flat, but as I was soon to discover, it made climbing uphill sections almost impossible. (Another life parallel and lesson).

Following a nervy night in a shady motel in downtown Sacramento, where the police helicopter swooped overhead, and ladies of the night and other hoodlums were circling around, I made it uptown the following morning. I bumped into Dan Donahue, a man in his 60’s who was out cycling. He told me he has clocked over 100,000 miles on two wheels since he first started commuting to work. His grandmother was Irish. A lovely man to meet, and it was a nice start to the day.

Once uptown, I made for Sacramento State University Campus, where I had read that a bike trail originated which would take me to Folsom. I asked for directions and met two absolute gentlemen, Dave Pratt and Steve Huddleston, who work nearby on a state sponsored geology study. They walked with me to the trail head, and we had a fantastic conversation about many things. Dave even gave his phone number should I need it, as he lives between Folsom and Placerville, where I was headed. That made the total of nice gentlemen I had met three, and did a lot to balance my opinion of Sacramento. Thanks guys.

After bidding farewell to Dave and Steve, I got on the American River Bike Trail, which follows the American River all the way to Folsom. It is beautiful, and in the absence of traffic and knowing that I need not waste energy worrying about directions for 20 miles or so, I got some great time to relax on the bike and meditate. Ive always been drawn to water (says he sitting writing this in the Nevada desert!), and I find it easy to relax when I am near it. I just love watching the flow of water, and find it very soothing.

Alas, the relaxed bike ride left me behind schedule, and I arrived in Folsom during Friday evening rush hour. After a quick snack I hit the road again, and a few short miles later started my first ascent into the Sierra Nevada foothills. I had left Sacramento too late, ridden too leisurely and was now struggling to get to Placerville. I wouldn’t use the word panic, but I was definitely worried about getting off the road before sun down. Highway 50 was very busy with California traffic heading up to the mountain resorts for fathers day.

First glimpse of Lake Tahoe

I arrived in Placerville, got my head down at a Norman Bates styled motel and slept for 10 hours solid. I awoke, showered, had breakfast, got the bike checked out with Andrew at Placerville Bicycle Store and hit the road. It was immediately uphill, and I am not ashamed to say that it beat me. I stopped after around 20 miles, and freewheeled back to Placerville. I was feeling very low at this point, and it looked like Trans Atlantic Cycle had failed at the first hurdle. And then a long lost friend appeared! Lyle, who lives in Grass Valley – around an hours drive from Placerville – and who I had roomed with while at college in Ireland, swung by and came to my rescue. His trustee truck, ‘The Red Dragon’ carted my luggage up the hill, and although it took all day and left me completely exhausted, I made it over Echo Summit and down into South Lake Tahoe where I hunkered down for two days to recover. Thank you Lyle and The Red Dragon. She may me from 1993 but she saved me big time. And all while running on salvaged vegetable oil!

Lyle and his Red Dragon truck

When needing to rest and recharge, I could barely have picked a better place. 968 Park Hotel in South Lake Tahoe is the kind of place where you feel like you have arrived at a new home. Neal, who checked me in and told me about his Irish heritage, was a total legend, telling me stories about the local area and giving me tips on where to find everything I might need. His best advice was to hit the hot tub in the hotel, which I did for about 45 minutes and it was the magic cure I needed. I slept well, rested indoors the following day, and was even greeted and given good wishes for my trip by the hotel manager Sean Pratt at checkout. 968 Park is part of the Joie de Vivre chain, and this particular hotel in Tahoe is boutique styled, with almost all of the interior decor made from recycled materials. Very cool, and homely. All of the staff are friendly and helpful, and I would highly recommend it.

Feeling recharged, I cycled my last mile on California roads and crossed over in to Nevada, following highway 50 as it meandered along the eastern shore of Lake Tahoe. I stopped at Logan Sholes where I had lunch and the most amazing period of relaxation on the entire trip so far. The view from here is breathtaking – almost heavenly. I really swallowed it in, and it helped to remind me just how lucky I am to be alive and healthy enough to be able to do this charity ride and see the great American landscapes.

Peggy having a rest at Logan Sholes vista over Lake Tahoe

The bear signs by the roadside as I climbed Montreal Canyon to Spooner Summit was amusing! Thankfully, Spooner is at 7, 148 feet, so pretty soon I was descending into Carson Valley at 38mph. That is beyond the pace of even the Usain Bolt’s of the bear world. The scenery was spectacular, and as I descended I could pick out highway 50 AKA ‘The Lonliest Road in America’, as it weaved its way across the Nevada desert. Thats the route I will be following on Trans Atlantic Cycle.

Oh dear, or is it oh bear?!

As another day ended, I was again on the road later than I had anticipated, but when cycling through such beautiful scenery, I found it hard to avoid stopping to take pictures and being thankful that I was experiencing such wonderful places, while also raising money for the Irish Cancer Society. Those two emotions are very humbling, and in my experience, staying humble and finding time to breathe in the great outdoors is a great recipe for inner peace and happiness. I am certainly feeling those emotions on Trans Atlantic Cycle.

If you would like to make a donation to The Irish Cancer Society you can do so here: Trans Atlantic Cycle

You can follow updates on several social media platforms by using the hashtag #TransAtlantic Cycle

Trans Atlantic Cycle

Im writing this over New Foundland and that means that Trans Atlantic Cycle is underway! The charity cycle from San Francisco to New York City and Letterkenny to Dublin is still around 10 days away, but we have managed to raise around €1,600 euro so far for the Irish Cancer Society, which is a really healthy start.

I am undertaking Trans Atlantic Cycle for many reasons; primarily to raise fund for The Irish Cancer Society, but also to challenge myself and challenge a theory. Six months ago I was afraid to even look at someone else on a bicycle – now Im planning a long tour. Thats worth celebrating (thanks Philip O’Rourke for getting me through that). I also want to prove that with the right attitude, amy negative experience can be turned into something really positive.

I have set a fundraising target of €5,000. To generate that amount of money for a very worthy charity, coming off the back of a very negative 19 months, would be amazing, and would go a long way to proving that with positive thoughts and plans, positive things can happen, even when they are born out of a negative.

This is a short little blog post. Soon I will land at JFK, and next week will travel out to San Francisco where hopefully I will meet my bike, which will become my best friend throughout the summer of 2016.

I am nervous, excited, inspired, humbled (by the donations and good wishes thus far) but mostly I am determined to make Trans Atlantic Cycle a successful both for the Irish Cancer Society and for myself and anyone like me. Maybe there is a fine line between determined and stubborn – either of those traits would be welcome once I am out on the road.

Thats it for now. I just wanted to thank everyone for their encouragement and generous donations thus far, and to provide an update that Trans Atlantic Cycle is now a step closer.

You can search for updates by using the #TransAtlanticCycle hashtag. Lets do this!

Succeed by putting Success in Perspective

For many people, success is like the proverbial carrot on a stick, or like the tail to a chasing dog – it is something that we instinctively chase, but never quite seem to catch. In truth, this philosophy renders the pursuit of success a recipe for failure. When we put success in perspective and realize that achievement is defined by ourselves and not by others, we can not only succeed, but we can gain peace and contentment.

In August 2015 I travelled to Arequipa, Peru. I then made the long trip north towards Cusco, from where I travelled by train down the Rio Urubamba Valley to Aguas Calientes. The final destination was of course the amazing Inca site at Machu Picchu. Visitors to the world famous site have a number of choices regarding how they will spend the 6 or 7 hours they have on site. Most people simply potter around the ruins. Others trek towards the sun gate. Some visit the Moon Temple and climb Huayna Picchu, which is the sugar loaf mountain that provides the backdrop for the iconic Machu Picchu photographs. We chose the Machu Picchu Mountain option, which involves climbing over 2,500 stone steps to an overall altitude of 10,111 feet, which overlooks the entire site.

The view over Machu Picchu from half way up the steps of Machu Picchu Mountain

The climb is quite challenging; for although it is stepped all the way, and does not exceed forty five degrees in gradient, it does involve constant climbing and is a real endurance test given the semi-jungle landscape and the effects of such exertion at altitude. Unlike a mountain climb where you are generally on your own or in a small group, several hundred people climb the steps at the same time, so even stopping to draw breath is difficult as you would be holding up those behind you. At a couple of spots where there are openings in the thick vegetation, there is the oppurtunity to step aside to have a snack and admire the views; but it is generally a fairly constant two and a half hour slog up the uneven steps.

Having passed through a stone arched gateway, the approach to the summit becomes narrowed and gradually steeper. Eventually the path rounds several large boulders, and seemingly comes to an abrupt end on a narrow ledge which acts as a balcony from where the visitor is not only treated to an astounding view of the lost city, but of the valleys and mountain peaks of the extended Andes region. It is completely breathtaking. Like most people who climb Machu Picchu Mountain, I paused in amazement as I took in the memorizing panorama.

And then my old acquaintance came back to haunt me…

My trip to South America had been a bolt from the blue. Or more to the point, a bolt from the black. A year previously, I had taken a heavy tumble from a bike, and had been through nerve pain, concussion and was at the time suffering from heightened levels of anxiety. It was all manageable with medication, but it all still had limits. The ledge is approximately 50 feet in length and perhaps only 4 feet wide. At the far side of the ledge, a rough flight of steps with no handrail points towards the sky. These steps must be scaled to reach the top of the mountain. The longer I rested up on that ledge, the more I realized that the steps were a bridge too far for me at that particular time.

Once I had started to realize that the steep flight of steps were more than I could handle, I was crestfallen. Feelings of failure emerged. I knew I had an issue with the steps, and the more I tried to coax myself onwards by forcing myself to face them, the more my anxiety grew. In fact, the anxiety was growing to the point where even remaining on the ledge was becoming problematic. I told my climbing partner that I was going no further; that I would stay here while they went ahead to the summit. They tried to encourage me, but it was pointless – I had reached my summit. Eventually they went ahead, and I sat on a rock at the opposite side of the ledge from the steps. Instead of admiring the view, my eyes were transfixed on those steps, and I was feeling very sorry for myself. And that is where and when things started to change…

While sitting on a ledge above Machu Picchu, I realized that I could define my own summit, and enjoy the view

While sitting on that ledge feeling sorry for myself, I stared out forlornly over the view. And then it hit me. Why on earth was I sad, when I was so lucky to be in this beautiful location? It was only then that I really started to fully appreciate the view. Until then, it was simply a stop along the way to something else, instead of being a beautiful place in its own right. I started to realize that the only reason that I had been sad was because I would not be going to the top of the mountain. But this was someone else’s goal; someone else’s idea of success. As it turned out, the summit wasn’t much higher, and if anything, I was to spend the next hour or so in a much more enjoyable place than the overcrowded peak just beyond those steps. And the calm feeling I experienced up provided the inspiration to start writing about the whole experience. For me, by putting success in perspective, just getting to that ledge was already an incredible achievement. By appreciating the views and the tranquility on that ledge, I realized that what I had thought was a failure was actually a blessing in disguise. It gave me the time, space and perspective to appreciate just how far I had come.

The road up the mountain from Aguas Calientes to Machu Picchu

I had overcome a fear of flying to cross the Atlantic to New York, and leave there on an even longer flight to Lima, where I connected to yet another flight to Arequipa. (Thanks must go to Alison Clarke of Fearless Flying for helping me to get onboard those planes). From Arequipa, the journey to Cusco had involved a 23 hour bus trip and getting snowbound overnight on a volcano at just over 14,000 feet. Even the bus ride up the treacherously steep dirt road from Aguas Calientes to the entrance of Machu Picchu had been a case of challenging my anxiety. And now, here I was, a further 2000 feet further up the mountain, overlooking not just the citadel of Machu Picchu, but the surrounding mountain peaks. I was perched on perhaps the best viewing point in the Andes, at 10, 100 feet. Not bad for someone who had spent the previous months suffering from anxiety, and a fear of flying and heights.

After stopping to put perspective into how far I had already come, all anxiety left me and I enjoyed my time on the ledge

Instead of looking at the short distance to the summit with a feeling of failure, I looked at the 10,000 kilometers I had already scaled with a feeling of satisfaction and success. Finding this perspective, not only brought about a beautiful feeling of awareness up on that ledge, but it changed the outcome of the day, the remainder of my South American odyssey and in many ways it also changed my life. Had I stayed with the feeling of failure, I would have been in sullen mood for the rest of the trip. But by marking my own summit, and labelling it as a success, I came down the mountain in a much better place emotionally.

Sometimes we have goals, which are unachievable. We only set these goals because we are matching what others are aiming for. While success and goal setting are admirable pursuits, if we set a goal based on someone else’s dream or ability, and we fail to achieve it, then we are only making ourselves feel inadequate and ultimately unhappy. We need to set our own goals. We need to measure our own success. Success comes from the realization of our own goals, not from recognition from others if we match their goals. I now use this philosophy in each and every aspect of my life, and I am much more in tune with the achievements of what I can do, rather than the fear of disappointment at what I cannot do. In fact, I don’t see any activity in my life as a failure now. By putting success in perspective, I can always find an echo of success in what other people would consider to be a failure.

The whole experience made me look at things differently. Im pretty sure that if I had made it to the top of that mountain, that my ego and pride would have ratcheted up a notch, and I would have subconsciously set myself an even higher target as a measure of how successful I would be if I scaled an even higher peak. I am now grateful that I did not make it. I am grateful that I felt that disappointment and feeling of failure, because I got to challenge it and discover that putting success in perspective is much more rewarding than constantly elevating my expectations to what others would deem to be successful.

On a ledge over 10,000 feet up in the Andes, peering out over Machu Picchu

Wild Atlantic Retreat announced for weekend of March 11th-13th 2016, in Glencolmcille, Donegal, Ireland

Let the refreshing ambience of the Wild Atlantic Way soothe your soul in one of Ireland’s most spectacular coastal locations.

Wild Atlantic Retreat

Get away from it all for a magical weekend of pure fresh air, ocean views, chill-out time, hiking, meeting new friends, meditation, live music, good food and spectacular scenery. This is your chance to escape the world, on The Paris Method‘s inaugural Wild Atlantic Retreat in Glencolmcille, County Donegal, Ireland.

The calming influence of the open ocean and spectacular coastline along the Wild Atlantic Way in south west Donegal will revitalize you, setting you up for a great spring and summer. Staying at one of Ireland’s finest hostels, Aras Gleann Colm Cille, you will be treated to the famously warm Donegal welcome, and enjoy a memorable weekend of YOU time.

Details:

• Friday March 11th, Check into the wonderful Aras Gleann Colm Cille. (Check their trip-advisor here).
• Friday evening ‘Meet and Greet’, followed by an introduction to the area, and The Paris Method.
• Saturday March 12th Following breakfast, we spend a quiet hour together, building on our introduction to meditation.
• Hike to the wonderful Silver Strand Beach at Malin Beg, picturesque pier and Martello Tower (With Packed Lunch).
• After a warm shower, relax over a simple but delicious home cooked evening meal.
• After dinner meditation hour.
• Saturday night live music entertainment.
• Sunday March 13th breakfast followed by short meditation time, and reflections on our experiences.
• Sightseeing trip to the majestic Slieve League cliffs (With Packed Lunch).
• Lunchtime check-out with farewell session.

FREE collection/drop-off to connect with local transport services.Fly-Drive package available from Dublin and Glasgow via Donegal Airport

• PRICE: €119 per person sharing.

To book your place:

Web: www.arasgcc.com

Email: info AT arasgcc DOT com

Phone: +353 74 973 0077

Hostel Facebook Page:  Aras Ghleann Colm Cille

The Paris Method Facebook Page: The Paris Method

*Itinerary subject to change, based on group size and weather conditions

They drove from Shanghai to Donegal in a Mini Cooper. But has the journey now ended?! Let’s help if we can…

A modest Chinese couple slipped quietly into a popular Donegal hostel on Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way in December 2015. They had arrived at their intended destination – beautiful Glencolmcille, with it’s majestic cliffs, hidden coves and famous traditional culture. This is not a particularly unusual occurrence; Áras Ghleann Cholm Cille attracts visitors from all over of the world, right throughout the year. But this wasn’t any ordinary arrival. The self-styled ‘Two Lunatics’ from China had made the 16,558 kilometer trip from Shanghai to Donegal in a Mini Cooper! Now The Paris Method wants to track them down using the #Find2Lunatics hashtag, and send our best wishes for their journey home to China.

Luna and Han Jin Li who drove all the way from Shangai to Donegal in a Mini Cooper, pictured here at Aras Ghleann Colm Cille. This was the most westerly point of their epic road trip.

September 12th 2015 was an exciting day in the lives of Han and Luna Jin Li. Having updated their social media accounts with hashtags such as #MinisOfInstagram and #TransEurAsian, the Shanghai couple loaded up their new Mini Cooper and took to the open road. (Let’s hope they remembered to switch the immersion off!) Bidding farewell to their home city on the East China Sea, they set off northwards via Beijing towards the Mongolian border. They would eventually ‘kick’, ‘drag’ and ‘push’ their ‘little car’ around the world to the Wild Atlantic Way in Glencolmcille, Ireland.

The mammoth road trip took the lovable ‘Lunatics’ through north-eastern Mongolia, into Russia and it’s vast Siberian wilderness. Passing by the worlds deepest lake (5,314 feet) at Baikal, and through the historic Russian cities of Tomsk and Novosibirsk, they eventually reached Red Square in Moscow – where the excited couple first encountered snow.

Up next was St Petersburg; and then it was northwards into Scandinavia. The little Mini Cooper got to visit Santa’s Village at Rovaniemi, and crossed the Arctic Circle to visit Inari. From here the traveling trio veered south, through Sweeden, where they shopped in the largest IKEA store in the world at Haparanda and relaxed in the capital city Stockholm.

Driving from Shanghai to Donegal takes you through many different landscapes and experiences

The Norwegian leg took in ‘expensive’ Oslo, and the coastal cities of Bergen, Stavenger and afterwards they visited the beautiful city of Copenhagen, Denmark with its little mermaid.

Central European highlights were enjoyed in Berlin, Cologne, Amsterdam (where the ‘little car’ had to be dragged kicking and screaming into the Van Gogh museum), and Rotterdam with it’s iconic windmills.

A car ferry brought them to England for a stopover at Oxford, and another from Holyhead in Wales carried the couple across the Irish Sea to Dublin. Once on The Emerald Isle, the satNav was set to the north west; to the wild Atlantic coastline which the Two Lunatics had dreamed of visiting.

In the Irish midlands, Storm Desmond greeted Han and Luna’s arrival; reminding them that the Wild Atlantic Way was aptly named. When the now rapidly aged Cooper finally turned into the Aras Ghleann Colm Cille car park, it looked a little worse for wear, with flood debris trapped in the front grill. But Han and Luna had achieved their goal of traveling all the way from Shanghai to Donegal in a Mini Cooper!

Half way around the world, from Shanghai to Donegal, with a list of destinations on the Mini Cooper’s door

Paul O’Hare, who manages the family run Aras Ghleann Cholm Cille, initially saw nothing out of the ordinary about the couple’s arrival. “We have people from all over the world coming to stay with us, so a Chinese couple showing up in December is nothing new. We just got them checked in as usual, helping them feel welcome ad comfortable. It was only later when I went outside and noticed the car registration plate, that I realized they had actually driven all the way from Shanghai to Donegal! I was amazed. The funny thing is, they were equally amazed by the beauty of the Glencolmcille, Malin More and Malin Beg area. They loved the coastline and the culture here.”

When asked about the journey from Shangai to Donegal and their plans for the return leg, Luna and Han explained how they loved to travel, and seeing the Wild Atlantic Way around Glencolmcille was a dream come true. The Slieve League cliffs, the Folk Village, ghost village of Port and Glenlough, Glen Village, Malin More and Malin Beg were on their bucket list. The couple thoroughly enjoyed their visit, relaxing along the rugged Wild Atlantic Way -with it’s often stormy yet beautiful relationship with the Donegal coastline.

Glencolmcille represented the final destination on their westward journey. After a few days of enjoying the beautiful scenery and famously warm hospitality, they once again loaded up the Mini Cooper and took to the road; this time planning to take in central and southern central Europe.

So off the happy, free-spirited couple went. But then, it appears, there was a slight diversion. One of the last updates from the Two Lunatics social media, documents a harmless slide into a ditch near Doonbeg Golf Club. Thankfully Han and Luna were completely uninjured, and received some great assistance from the locals. But it appears that the Mini Cooper took a little collateral damage.

Luna and Han’s Mini Cooper slides into a ditch 🙁 Thankfully they were uninjured.

And then – the updates suddenly stopped with a simple Merry Christmas message, and no updates have followed. Have Luna and Han abandoned the Mini Cooper and flown home? It is very possible that they are resting up along the Wild Atlantic Way, sheltering from the latest storms, while the Mini Cooper that made it from Shanghai to Donegal is patched up for the return journey. Maybe we will never know. But with your help, we just might. Please share this story so we can all send them our best wishes.

Han and Luna have thanked the ”kind and warm-hearted Irish people” for their help, following the incident with the ditch, using the loveIreland hashtag. Well, as it happens, that is exactly what we are famous for. Visitors come to Ireland for the first time to see our beautiful scenery, but often leave with an even greater memory of the amazing Irish friendliness and hospitality.

SO…let’s get behind this couple, and help in any way we can to get them home…wherever they may be. If you have any news with regard to how this epic Trans-Eurasian return leg is progressing, please send Paul O’Hare a message via the Aras Ghleann Cholm Cille website; he would really like to wish his guests well. You can track any updates that Paul will hopefully receive by checking on the hostel’s Facebook Page.

Lets find this happy and adventurous couple, and send them our help and best wishes for their return journey home to China! Do you have an update about their progress?

In the meantime, we can only but sit back and admire the adventurous spirit of this amazing couple. If there is one thing better than having a dream, it is doing whatever it takes to make that dream become a reality, and seeing others reach out to offer help along the way.

What an epic road trip and experience this is. Luna and Han, if you are reading this – please know that there are people in Ireland cheering you on to finish this epic road trip, and share the amazing story of how you drove over sixteen and a half thousand km’s from Shanghai to Donegal in your Mini Cooper! Hopefully you will also be able to tell us about your safe journey home to China. Bon Voyage!

This is the story of how I first discovered what I call my Wild Atlantic Way Meditation using The Paris Method. I hope that by sharing it, I can help at least one other person to experience a little bit of peace. I would love to tell you that I made this discovery out of some deep experimentation with spirituality involving soft music and candles, but I did not. I discovered it out out of pain, loneliness and desperation. Maybe it was better that way.

Sometimes life gets us down. There are times when we feel the need to just get away from it all. I am no different. Having discovered meditation by chance, while on a trip to Port and Glenlough in County Donegal, I now believe that there is no better place for soothing the soul, than Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way. I recorded the video below at St John’s Point on a winters evening. I think it epitomizes the soothing influence of the ocean on the Wild Atlantic Way, under a sky that is very specific to Donegal at sunset.

I am not too sure what it is about the ocean that captivates me. I am almost hypnotized by the movement, size, depth, power and beauty of the Atlantic ocean. I love the smell of the seaweed and the salt water, and if in Donegal, the feeling of being deeply cleansed by some of the freshest air imaginable. I love the dynamic coloring of the water, from aqua to white, and blue to grey, sometimes all within a single seascape. I am as content sitting watching the ocean as I am being in it or on it. This stimulation of my senses forms a mystical attraction which pacifies me, cajoling my mind towards complete relaxation.

The calmness and serenity I feel from Wild Atlantic Way meditation on Donegal’s rugged coast, has brought me to a beautiful place emotionally – a place that I did not know existed. Maybe because so much of our body consists of water, we find identification by embracing such volumes of it. Maybe the ocean speaks to us on some higher level of serenity, far beyond our comprehension. We may not be able to understand it, but we can certainly feel it. This gives the ocean a mystical characteristic which is really alluring. The Wild Atlantic Way meditation which I discovered and will describe in this article, gave me one of the most profoundly beautiful experiences of my life.

One of the many different types of sunset over the Atlantic ocean, seen from the Wild Atlantic Way in Donegal

At different times in my past I had been open to the notion of meditation. For one reason or another, be it a busy work schedule, pressures of taking a masters degree, drinking too much, or just from burning the candle at both ends, I had felt down and on edge. Although I was open to meditation, I always thought that it wasn’t for me because my head was too busy. Isn’t it ironic that the very reason that I needed to meditate was the very reasons why I did not.

So, I just stumbled through life, from from dark patch to the next, always with racing thoughts. If I was being creative or when I would be in a happy place, racing thoughts were fine – maybe even beneficial. But when I would suffer lows, my thoughts would continue racing, only this time in a negative manner. So I would just wallow there, and the subsequent self pity would lead to negative and festering emotions.

Maybe I just didn’t want to face myself; preferring to conceal my inner feelings in the shadows cast by anxiety and unhappiness. I am a man after all, and I always understood that a requirement for membership of the masculine club was to appear to be too tough to consider my own feelings. Big boys don’t cry and all that. I think I presumed that everyone felt the same way i did. My life just seemed to rumble along without much awareness. And then I had a biking accident. Absolutely everything changed – and everything changed absolutely.

I came off an electric bike, hitting my head and face off the road at approximately 35mph. I wasn’t wearing a helmet. I suffered a lot of cuts and injuries over most of my body and was also badly concussed. I was, in the words of the surgeon who treated me, ‘lucky to be alive’.

Unable to work, drive or do much at all for two months, I was laid up on a recliner chair in a stupor. A nasty cut to the back of my hand had damaged a nerve, so I was given morphine to relieve pain. Weeks later, when the concussion had cleared, I realized how low I was feeling. My social interaction had evaporated. I was probably suffering from cabin fever and mild circumstantial depression. I remember thinking that I had hit rock bottom. Funnily enough, since then, I have looked back and thought that rock is actually a great foundation on which to build something!

Being injured and off work had created financial problems. The accident had left me experiencing a lot of anxiety and negative thoughts. I felt vulnerable. I suppose it is only when we are forced to stop, that we really take a look at ourselves. I didn’t particularly like what I saw.

I planned a drive to the coast in the hope that a walk would clear my head. So on November 8th 2014, I got into my car and drove. About 45 minutes into the journey I saw a sign post for a place that I had heard of just once before, but had never been. On the spur of the moment, I made the turn. Port is probably one of the remotest places in Ireland, and it would be here, in this most desolate and lonely outpost, that I would find myself.

Panoramic picture at Port, Donegal, on Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way

The long and lonely road simply comes to an end at a little cove, which is surrounded by dramatic cliffs. The nearest other human being is probably 4 or 5 miles away. I parked up and climbed up on a hillside, eventually arriving at the cliffs. The scenery is absolutely amazing; there is nothing but ocean, sky and the coastline. Man’s footprint has not been visibly left here.

Rainbow over Tormore Island, at Port, Donegal, Ireland

I did not fully appreciate the beautiful scenery at the time. I was distracted. The drive had done little to lift my spirits. I was probably also suffering from self-pity. I walked along the cliff face and repeatedly ran my problems over and over in in my head. I was thinking about the mounting bills, struggles with finding the right medical treatment and how to pay for it. I was worried that my career was coming under threat. And ironically, I was mostly worried about how worried I was.

The walk which was intended as a way of clearing my head, was actually making me feel worse. My negative thoughts were racing, and on each rerun my problems seemed to magnify. I felt at one with this place in terms of isolation. How I was feeling at that time was pretty close to self-inflicted mental torture. Finally, almost out of desperation, I just stopped walking. All of the stress and negative emotions had left me feeling completely exhausted. My rational and logical thinking had been completely browbeaten by worry, negativity and self-pitying emotions. From my vantage point, four hundred feet up on the cliffs of Port, I stood gazing aimlessly out over the Atlantic ocean. Out of sheer desperation I completely surrendered to all of the emotional pain. My thinking was: I am so tired of feeling this way – and I just want to give up.

Time passed. Eventually I sat down on some heather, continuing to stare out over the ocean. A breeze was blowing onshore, and my senses were filled with the sights and sounds of the Atlantic. I noticed the patchwork or colors on the water, where in places the faint sunlight was breaking through the clouds, sending sunbeams down onto the ocean. Other patches were darkened by the passing of a heavy isolated shower. There was an average swell, and I watched as the waves made their way towards the base of the cliffs, where they would smash against the rock, sending spray high up onto the cliff face. A few hardy sea birds hovered in the wind, no doubt searching for an evening meal. I didn’t really notice it happening, but I began to relax. (If i had have noticed, it might not have happened!)

The view over the Atlantic ocean, from the remote cliffs at Port, County Donegal, Ireland

In the past, when I had tried to meditate, I had merely ended up getting more frustrated and stressed. I read once that when trying to meditate, that I should concentrate on emptying my head of all thoughts. How on earth could I both concentrate and have no thoughts at the same time?! That contradiction always bothered me. But by simply taking in the phenomenal natural beauty of my surroundings on the Wild Atlantic Way, I had finally arrived at the point where my frenzied thoughts were quieted by more conscious thought. And that is when I inadvertently practiced The Paris Method for the first time. That method finally afforded me the chance to harness and relax my rollercoaster thoughts enough so that I could meditate – and it was beautiful.

It had started when I had surrendered my quest to find immediate solutions to my problems, and became aware of my surroundings. I came to realize that my perspective at that very moment was pretty good. I was under no immediate pressure, and the panoramic view in front of me was pretty spectacular. So right at that moment, I realized that all of my worries were either in the past, where I could not change them, or were so far off in the future that they did not require a solution right there and then – if at all. I discovered that all I really needed to focus on at that very moment, was that very moment. That was a really nice and welcomed thought, and it completely grounded and pacified me.

400 feet above the Atlantic waves. Port Cliffs, Donegal, Ireland

I then made a decision that regardless of how dire my financial, medical or career situations actually were, I would face them with a positive attitude. I realized that I was completely on my own, and that the only ally that I could call upon was myself. If I was to rely on myself alone, then I needed to make sure that my attitude was positive, otherwise I would be working against myself which would only serve to restart the emotional turmoil.

Upon reflection of how I could adjust my attitude, I realized that much of my worry was actually brought about by procrastination regarding medical appointments, paperwork, and communication with my employers. I made a decision right there and then to deal with those outstanding matters at the first available opportunity. And guess what? Once I made the decision, my problems suddenly seemed more manageable, and my worry towards them began decreasing. I had done nothing but make a decision, and my problems had eased to the extent that they faded from my present thought.

This brought me to realize that life can sometimes be difficult for a reason. I thought on one of my favorite movie quotes: ‘without the bitter, the sweet aint as sweet.‘ By becoming aware that these tough times may actually serve the purpose of enhancing the good times, I had given myself the inspiration to fight my way out of this low ebb.

The peace that I was starting to find led to the final step, which is spirituality. I was so grateful to have the opportunity to enjoy such a beautiful location, with a thought process which wasn’t racing uncontrollably like a neurotic roller-coaster. This awareness and gratitude made me very much aware of the growing sense of spirituality which I was feeling. The more I focused on it, the more beautiful and enjoyable it became. And that, is how I arrived in a meditative state for the first time in my life. It was peacefully euphoric.

Maybe men don’t openly talk about these sorts of emotions regularly, but I am not ashamed to say it: I had found the most serenely beautiful moment of my life. Given that just a short time earlier I had been pacing with worry and anxiety, it seemed incredible that I had found such a peaceful feeling. Maybe it is true what they say: the darkest hour is just before dawn. I began to realize that the more I had surrendered the more I enjoyed it. I had started to learn about the importance of nothing.

As I made my way back down the hillside to the little cove, it felt as though I was walking on air. My head was clear, and my outlook was greatly improved. On the road home though the wilds of central Donegal, I replayed the experience. I wanted to bottle this peacefulness, and to do that, I had to understand how I had arrived at the feeling. I labelled the steps I had gone through up on the cliff top. Perspective, Attitude, Reflection, Inspiration and Spirituality. I would later abbreviate these steps, creating the PARIS acronym. Paris was a very poignant term, because I had also had an experience in the French capital over 10 years previously. But on that occasion I had not stayed with the feeling long enough to have understood it.

Since that day of revelation at Port, Wild Atlantic Way meditation has continued to bring much peace and joy. Even when I am unable to get to the ocean, I imagine that I am there, and repeat those 5 simple steps of The Paris Method. I imagine the sounds of the waves; the wind and the sea birds. And I imagine the entire Wild Atlantic Way seascape under the amazing twilight of a Donegal sunset. The experiences are just too profound to keep to myself. I know that I have to share them.

Sunset over the Wild Atlantic Way, at Port, Donegal

There is something magically transformative about the ocean. Just as the salt water can help to heal our broken skin, the clean air and the vast expansive ocean can somehow also heal our minds, and soothe our soul. I know without doubt that the rugged Atlantic coastline of county Donegal has given me a remarkable awareness of how to be myself, and how to like what I see when I meditate.

This Wild Atlantic Way meditation has turned my entire thinking around, allowing me to appreciate life on a whole different level. I am a long way from perfect (I have no wish to be perfect!), but my wild atlantic way meditation has given me a framework onto which I can build some positive direction in my life. Up until today, that direction has taken me on a journey which is so beautiful that I cannot even start to put it into words. But I will, eventually.

The fact is, that back on that November day in 2014, I had not yet encountered the worst effects of my biking accident. I am still working through those. It is a long, arduous, and sometimes very unpleasant process, but my Wild Atlantic Way meditation is helping me to get through it.

Maybe, just maybe, if you try The Paris Method for yourself, you will discover some of the peace that I am referring to. I really hope you do.

And now for something completely different. How I escaped the roar of The Celtic Tiger, and became an Irishman in France!

Ireland, 2007. Celtic Tiger. Boom boom boom. A time when 50s were considered loose change, houses were sold while oblivious cows still grazed the grass where the foundations would be, and the country swayed to the soundtrack of reversing tele-porters, cash registers and credit card advertisements. (”Blah blah blah is a trading partner of Blah Blah Blah and regulated by the Central Bank of Ireland – Terms and conditions apply). Indeed.

La Fournil (The Bread Oven) in south west France. Escaping the Celtic Tiger, 2007

It seemed as though half the country was a giant building site, and the other half was in a rush to get there. Yellow fleurescent-vested, transit van-driving, breakfast-bap eating ‘developers’ (known to all other civilizations as builders) were two a penny, and were highly paid and popular men. These were the times when a man went to the bank to get a loan to fix a van, and came back with a new jeep and Hitachi digger. You were nobody if you weren’t getting on ‘the ladder’. Even getting on wasn’t enough; you had to be climbing. The staple conversation was of rezoning, house prices and 100% mortgages. It was (in)famously called ‘showtime’. Those who were on the outside looking in at this Celtic Tiger frenzy watched as Ireland did it’s very best to eat itself. I HAD to escape.

Ireland during the chaotic Celtic Tiger years. Image: www.irishtimes.com

While not everything in the Celtic Tiger was bad, and I admire those who did well, it just wasn’t for me. At that time I was mid-way through a masters, and had hit a brick wall. I needed to escape the hustle and bustle and find space, but rent prices were extremely high, even in rural areas. I did some research, and immediately picked France – a country I love. I also chose a part of France which is both beautiful and off the beaten track – Le Lot. The few people I told about my trip beforehand, decided that I was on a property-buying mission. I smiled and let them have their ideas without telling them otherwise.

I packed up Blinky* with as much as I could cram in, and headed for the peace of rural France, where there were no breakfast baps, no magnolia developments, and most thankfully of all thankfulnesses, no teleporter bleepers.

* Blinky was my old car at the time. A sort of aqua green color. ‘Blinky’ because it was the same color as one of the ghosts in Pac-Man according to my nieces Rowan and Fiona!)

I drove from my Donegal home in the northwest, to Rosslare, in the far south-western corner of Ireland. Taking a final look around, I found it ironic that there was a construction crane right near the dock! Smiling, I secretly hoped the construction frenzy wouldn’t follow me over the Celtic Sea! And so, on a cold and overcast March evening, I boarded the ferry for the 19-hour night sailing to Cherbourg, France.

On my rambles through south west France. Villeneuve sur Lot, 2007

After having dinner and watching some football, I went to my cabin. Hanging my jacket on a hook on the back of the cabin door,  I got undressed and climbed into the surprisingly comfortable bed. I was asleep quicker than you could say ‘full planning permission granted for forty more magnolia houses’.

What wasn’t in the script, was that I awoke suddenly around two hours later. Turning on the light, I saw my jacket now hanging almost horizontally. And then it fell back against the door. Just when I thought I had been dreaming or hallucinating, it rose again.

Curiosity got the better of me, so I dressed quickly and went out on deck. The first (and only) thing I saw was the light of another ship or a town. Im not sure, but it was a light. And then, it fell from sight! It disappeared right into the ocean! Then it reappeared. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I realized we were in the middle of a huge silent swell. The waves were so perfectly ribbed and large, that the ferry was sideways surfing up and down along the peaks and troughs. Holding onto the rail, I stayed out on deck watching, figuring it was better to see what was happening, as opposed to guessing from my cabin.

There was little wind, it was very dark, and apart from the yo-yo light, the only parameter I had was gravity. Guessing wave height was pointless, but all I know is that when we were in a trough I couldn’t see the light – just a wall of water partly lit by the lights of our ferry. Then the wall would give way and the other light would reappear.

One of the few reasons that I was sorry to be leaving Donegal was the fact that I was leaving the famous Atlantic coastline behind. Donegal is a surfers paradise. Ive never been much good, but I love it. I have always had some sort of weird fascination with the ocean, and the movement of water. A few years later, back in Ireland, I would be inspired by the seascapes along the Wild Atlantic Way to create The Paris Method. But on that ferry crossing at the spring equinox of 2007, I stared at the rolling waves in a sort of a trance. It was slightly frightening, but I was somehow calmed by the force of the ocean.

I later learned that our crossing had been made during a perigean spring tide, combined with a big swell. I walked (staggered) around the boat for almost 2 hours. It was eerily quiet out on deck. Watching as the ferry got rolled by the huge waves in the dark of night was a strangely hypnotic experience. I eventually rolled to sleep in my cabin at around 4am.

When I woke the next morning, the waters had calmed. After showering and going out on deck, I discovered that I was not the only one who had been shaken from my sleep the previous night. Everyone was in post-mortem mode, comparing stories, discussing what time of night the biggest roll had happened, and how sick they had all been. While on deck the previous night, I had presumed everyone else had been asleep. It urned out they were all huddled in their cabins, either afraid, sick, or both. I told a few people about the light rising up and down out of the sea. They stared at me as if I were crazy for going on on deck. Maybe I was a little crazy. The thing is, when you are on your own, you don’t really have anyone who can either confirm or deny how good or bad something is. You just sort of have to make your own mind up. For the last hour on board I thought about the fact that I was on my own, and realized that I had taken on something of an adventure by going away alone to a country where I could not speak the language.

Sunshine on the quiet roads of rural France.

After docking, I got into Blinky, rolled off onto French soil and hit the juice. The sun was shining, Blinky was in decent shape, I had a full tank of fuel and a Red Hot Chilli Peppers CD. What more could a man ask for?! I remember thinking that the downbeat thoughts that I had about travelling alone were silly. This was freedom! I had nobody to answer to, nothing to worry me, and 30 hours to get to my destination. So I rolled up the volume, opened the sun roof and let rip. Blinky and I never had it so good. Sometimes I travelled by motorway, and sometimes driving cross-country if I thought the scenery looked nice. And it almost always looks nice.

Rambling through the French countryside, March 2007

I stopped at a few village cafes. I love coffee and love cafes, and in my humble opinion, authentic little coffee houses in the villages of the French countryside are among the best. One particular cafe, right in the heart of the agricultural lands of Normandy, served the best butter croissants I have ever tasted. I ate four and took another four with me to eat along the road. Blinky’s carpet got covered with crumbs and flakes – something it would have to get used to. I met a few English speakers on my first couple stops, but the further south I travelled, the less English I heard. Linguisticly at least, I was venturing into the unknown, and it was bliss.

That day was the best day I had experienced in the two and a half years since I had given up ‘the drink’. I was on the move, and had the freedom to stop randomly and explore this amazing countryside at my leisure. I had been captivated by the allure of the open road and was hooked. After skirting Le Mans, I studied a roadmap at a service station, and decided to detour towards the town of Blois.

Chateau de Blois, Loire Valley, France

Visiting the Château Royal de Blois, with its abundant history, is an experience that will stay with me forever. This beautiful old Chateau which was a former residence of seven French kings and ten Queens, today houses thousands of noteworthy paintings, and items of historical interest. It was also here in 1429, that the Archbishop of Reims blessed Joan of Arc before she marched her army to liberate Orléans, by driving the English out. It really is one of the gems of the Loire Valley.

Daylight was beating me, and as I didn’t want to miss any scenery by driving through the night, I stopped off for the night somewhere near Tours. Although this had been a very special day, which I didn’t want to end, shortly after I had checked in, I was sleeping like a baby.

The following day I continued my journey southwards, regularly leaving the motorway to drive through the picturesque countryside. This was only my second full day in France, but it already felt as though I had been chilling out for weeks. The pace of life was just so different to what I had left behind in Ireland. At two in the afternoon, Blinky and I rolled into the town of Cahors. I was due to meet the owners of the Gite I had rented at four, so I wandered around ‘Centre Ville’ for a while, taking in the marvelous ancient architecture. Following an espresso to snap me back into the 21st century, I made my way through the countryside to the village of Catus, and eventually to my new home from home.

The entrance to Begot, in Le Lot. My home from home in 2007

La Fournil (The Bread Oven) at Begot, Le Lot, France 2007.

My landlords gave me a great welcome, and then showed me to my bread oven. Yes, bread oven! I had rented a little Hansel and Gretel styled holiday home called La Fournal (The Bread Oven) which had been used to bake bread for the troops during the 100 years war. It is part of a tiny hamlet, perched atop a little hill in the Lot river valley. Lot is one of France’s best kept secrets. Not as busy as the Loire valley, less expensive than the Dordogne, the Lot river meanders westwards through miles and miles of rolling hillside which is sparsely populated and mostly oak covered. This department has a reputation for being among the most traditional and old fashioned in all of France. With the exception of cars and electricity, Lot looks and feels as it always has. There are no new buildings as such, and people are laid back and are as self-sufficient as possible, with their own mini-vineyards and vegetable patches. Life in ‘The Lot’ is simple and very peaceful. I was really happy with my selection.

Having surveyed my new surroundings, I took a seat and picked up the book that I had been reading prior to setting out on the journey. What exactly Scar Tissue by Anthony Kiedis has to do with my dissertation and human computer interaction I don’t know! I liked the band, and liked reading about how the singer had struggled with addiction. He could have been doing with some time in the Lot.

Sometime around eight o’clock I realized that I was hungry. Croissants are tasty, but they don’t really pack much punch. Partly out of curiosity and mostly because I didn’t want to cook on the first night, I got into Blinky and headed back to Cahors. Maybe I just wanted to see what the nightlife was like. I would be disappointed on that front. The french retire early, and although it was not yet 9pm, the streets were empty. I stopped at the only restaurant which still had a light on, walked in and took a seat.

”Bon Soir”

”Em, ah…Bon Swar?”

With that, the waiter handed me a menu. Over and over I studied it. I think the waiter was as unsure how to proceed as I was, so he went off to wipe tables or something. Eventually he came back, and asked me something in French, which I deciphered as a diplomatic version of ‘make up your mind – you are keeping us opened late here’! In desperation (hunger had escalated by now), I scanned the page one last time, and pointed to ‘steak’.

”Steak”, I ventured, with raised eyebrows that begged for confirmation.

”Ah oui, steak”

”Frites”, I elaborated, again with raised eyebrows. ”Et coke”.

After a few scribbles and a very unconvincing ”merci”, he was gone.

I sat in silence for around 20 minutes. No music. No customers. Just me; An Irishman in France. And my rumbling stomach.

Out of the blue, the waiter reappeared and in an instant he had everything laid out on the table and was gone again, obviously trying to stave off any awkward hand-gestering requests I might have.

I tucked in. Believe it or not, I was actually very proud of myself for being able to order in a French restaurant. I got to the stage where I had silenced my stomach, and after taking a long drink of coke, sat back waiting for space to be made so I could finish the meal. I surveyed the room. Off to my left, the menu was also printed on a wall sign. I looked at it to reaffirm how cool my ordering skills had been. There it was: Steak, with another word after it. ‘Steak Cheval’. Cheval I thought; I wonder what that means? Maybe the cut? Or the way it is cooked? I was actually mid chew when it hit me! Cheval is horse! My French adventure suddenly seemed a little more daunting. Being an Irishman in France was going to be interesting!

Bed-time in ‘the bread oven’ loft. 2007

As I drove the 20 miles or so back through the dark and silent French countryside to my little bread oven, I smiled to myself as I remembered the steak and the awkward exchanges with the waiter. I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a bit lonely, especially when I got back to the dark bread oven in the middle of this oak-forrested rural setting. Mostly though, I felt a sense of adventure, freedom and independence that I had not known before. France was going to be a challenge, and it was was already an adventure. I climbed up into the loft and got into bed. I read another bit from my book, while listening to the hooting of a pair of owls. As I closed my eyes, I was thankful that I hadn’t heard the sounds of a construction site nor talk of tracker mortgages in over 48 hours. I was, an Irishman in France, and it was complete tranquility.

Tranquility in the oak woods of Le Lot, France, 2007.

Aguas Calientes is the last stop on the long road to Machu Picchu. Only a near-vertical hairpin dust road stands between the town and the Inca ruin, which is towering somewhere overhead, high above the clouds. Recently renamed Machu Picchu Pueblo, it is a very picturesque town with character and Inca tradition in abundance.

Incan fridge magnets in the craft market at Aguas Calientes, Peru

We had arrived into the station aboard an Inca Rail service, which had taken us on a scenic journey through the Urubamba River Valley. The first five minutes in Aguas Calientes are a bit of a fluster. Transitioning from dreamily weaving through dramatic scenery, to the crowded platforms of the little train station comes as a shock. You arrive along with several hundred other travelers, and immediately meet the same numbers standing in line, waiting to make the return journey. Add to this the unloading of all of the towns supplies, a few dozen canvassing travel reps and a maze of stalls selling crafts and souvenirs, and the result is quite the bottle-necked bazar.  Thankfully it wasn’t long until we saw a young woman holding up a card with our names on it, and so we happily trudged off, tracing her steps through the crowd.

Hand made jewelry in the craft market at Aguas Calientes, Peru

After walking through what seemed like the worlds largest, and most tightly packed craft market, we emerged onto the streets of the little town. We crossed a metal foot bridge, which spans a ravine, containing a crystal clear stream which was in full flood. We would later discover that a great secret lay further up the ravine. A rain shower passed over. The locals popped up umbrellas; obviously as accustomed to regular showers as this visiting Irishman. Turning right at the other side of the bridge, we joined a narrow street, and started climbing. There are no gentle gradients here. If you are going uphill, then it will be steep!

Shelter from the rain at Aguas Calientes

It came as a great relief when we checked in to our hotel and got to leave our bags down and go freshen up. And then, it was off to explore. Our first port of call was The Rasta Bar, where the upstairs floor did its best to convince us that it was actually a slide and not a restaurant floor. Maybe the earth moves here, Im not sure. Anyway, it was great preparation for getting around this quaint and sloping town. A quick lunch and several games of Jenga later (the town seems to have a fascination with Jenga), we were rolling downhill once again to the hotel.

On the hotel manager’s recommendation, we made a visit to to the town’s famous thermal spa, which is a short walk up into the ravine. I would imagine that Aguas Calientes may not be very pleasant for those with restricted mobility. The streets are very steep and narrow, and there are no taxi’s that I saw. We walked uphill, until the street gave way to a lovely path which followed the course of the ravine. After a couple of hundred yards, we arrived at the thermal spas which give the town its name (Aguas Calientes – ‘Hot Waters’ in Spanish).

The mountain stream at Aguas Clients

Thermal Spa high in the Andes

It is a magnificent experience to step into one of 3 hot outdoor pools, in a jungle ravine, high up in the Andes. There are people from all over the world here, just chilling out. You can order cocktails from the spa. This was exactly what I needed after 2 long days on the road from Arequipa! I laid back, and watched through the verdant overhead jungle vegetation, as the sky darkened towards nightfall. It was bliss. After being a little stressed with the busy train station and the crowded fuss on the platform, I was happy to have had this opportunity to relax and get back to myself. Something as simple as a busy train station may have been enough to trigger a lowering of tolerance, a lack of patience or a lack of awareness. That is all it can take. I was really happy to have this spa experience, which I used to get myself back on track.

Central plaza at Aguas Calientes, Peru

The spa had perked me up, restoring my energy, so afterwards we walked down towards the little central plaza near the train station. By chance we hooked up with other members of the wedding party who we had last seen on the snow-bound bus trip from Arequipa, and they led us to a bar where the remainder of the party were having drinks. We then had an impromptu group dinner which was an unexpected treat. Someone suggested having Cuy. I had read about this with both curiosity and trepidation. Pronounced ‘kwee’ it is essentially what we know in Europe as Guinea Pig. I played safe by ordering steak.

Architect-standard Jenga!

I had agreed with fellow traveller Tino, that I would share his Cuy. When it arrived, I had other ideas. The plate was set down and had the animals head and 4 legs dangling over the edges. I am normally open to trying new foods when I travel, but it took me around 20 minutes to accept a fork full. I chewed. But I could not bring myself to swallow. I just couldn’t get the idea of rodents out of my mind. I ran out onto the street and spat it out. A local having a smoke at a bar door laughed and asked: ‘Cuy?’ After I had emptied my mouth I said ‘si’. It probably tastes ok, but it just looks wrong.

Among the wedding after-party were 4 or 5 friends of the bride who had all met at Architecture college. The Jenga started again, this time on a whole different level! It occurred to me that maybe the reason Jenga is so popular here is that everyone is so enthralled by the construction of the ancient city up above us. Tino and another guy from Hawaii, were thankful that I wasn’t going to share the Cuy, and so they proceeded to devour the whole serving. To my horror, the piece de resistence was the animals head, which they shared. Apparently it is a great custom in this part of South America. Architect-standard Jenga kept me distracted, otherwise I may have been sick.

Yes, thats the Cuy head :/

We said our goodbyes and made our way back to our hotels. The others had arrived the previous night, and had therefore seen Machu Picchu already. But I was buzzing with anticipation for the trip the next morning. I found it hard to sleep. The alarm was set for 5am, and I got into that situation where when you think about how little time you have to sleep, you reduce your chances of sleeping. To solve this, I brought myself back to a Wild Atlantic Way experience I had back in Donegal the previous January. Visiting the ocean, or even thinking about a visit, always calms me, and I soon fell asleep, under about 6 Incan blankets. Thankfully, the Cuy did not visit me in my dreams.

At 6am we left our hotel and strolled down the streets towards the station. Busses commence at 6.30am, and I was shocked to see that there was already a long line. As Aguas Calientes began to start its day, we boarded a bus and took what is without doubt the most hair-raising road trip I have ever been on. The distance traveled, as the crow flies, is not far. Probably 2 miles at most. You are basically driving up into the sky, turning around hairpin after hairpin on a bumpy, narrow dust road. The Urubamba river looks smaller and smaller with every turn. I closed my eyes when we met a bus coming down the mountain. It just didn’t look possible to pass by each other on this narrow ledge. We took the inside and the rear view mirror clipped an overhanging branch. My eyes popped open to see the other bus whizzing past ours – both drivers smiling and waving at each other. I was seriously looking forward to getting off this bus. I would advise anyone with a fear of heights, to avoid the window seat while traveling up to Machu Picchu. As nervous as I was, I was still very excited. We rounded one final hairpin, and came to a stop in a tiny bus park. At last! After traveling the long but scenic road from Arequipa, we had finally arrived at Machu Picchu!

The almost vertical hairpin road to Machu Picchu

It was still not yet 7am and already there was a line at the ticket office/security check. But we had arrived! I took a deep breath and took a moment to myself, to ensure that I would enjoy every minute of this visit. I knew that a great adventure lay ahead. Passing through the entrance, the first sunbeams of the rising sun lit up the world famous ruins. It was a sight that made ever mile of the arduous journey worthwhile. Yes, even the hairpin road part. The peace and beauty is almost tangible up here in the Andes. The picture cover of my childhood South America encyclopedia had come to life.