1. Down Under (Australia & New Zealand)

If I remember correctly, the last time I sent out a bulk email, I was in the middle of the Aussie Outback. Well, I'm pleased to announce that I did in fact reach Ayers Rock. I pitched my tent right at the base of it (not knowing I was risking a fine of a thousand dollars for such things), then I climbed to top of it (348 m above the surrounding plain), and then I cycled around it (9.4 km). It sure is a big red rock. The 360 degree panoramic view from the top was mesmerizing. Unfortunately, Ayers Rock is pretty much smack dab in the middle of Australia. So after cycling two thousand kilometres of nothing to get there, I was looking at another two thousand kilometres of nothing to get out. There is usually a comfort in the loneliness' of the open road, but the open road Down Under is particularly open. And windy! The only town of size between Ayers Rock and the coast is Coober Pedy. And Coober Pedy is a hole - literally! The name is from an Aboriginal language and is said to mean...

2. New Zealand - Canada

Hello Again: Its been six months or so since I last sent out a big update and for that I apologize, but .... on with the show. As you may or may not remember, during my last big email, I was busy trying to hitch-hike down to Antarctica. Well that didn't work so I did the next best thing .... I went to the Arctic! I rolled out of Christchurch on New Zealand's South Island and headed up into the Southern Alps. Not far from the summit of Arthur's Pass, I stumbled across the little village of "Cass". Now if ever there was a town with my name on it, this was it. For the first twenty years of my life, I had no first name, I had no last name, I was simply "Cass". I stopped in for a photo op. The only good thing about climbing up a mountain range is that eventually you get to go down it. And go down it I did! Top speed - 96 km/h - not bad on a fully loaded bike. I've never reached the magic 100 km/h, but someday .... I cycled up the west coast of the South Island through Greymouth and...

3. South East Asia - Australia

Malaysia flew by with little incident, in fact except for that restless night in my tent when I was circled several times by a rather large monitor lizard there were no real life threatening situations. I crossed the causeway and cycled into Singapore - Holy clean city Batman! Step back a year and a half. I was in Kazakhstan, near the Kyrgyzstan border when I crossed paths with two Malaysian cyclists, Sean and SK. We chatted on the side of the road for a half hour or so, but we were both rushing to beat our quickly expiring visas so we said our good-byes and continued on in opposite directions. However, they did say "When you get to Singapore, look us up." So I did. We dropped my gear at Sean's apartment and then cycled over to where he and SK work. Did I mention they work for Shimano - only the biggest bicycle parts manufacturer on the planet. In no time, they had my bike ripped apart. After a good lube, they put it back together with a new hollow tech crank system, new chain,...

4. Summer in South-East Asia

Its been a while since I told people I was alive. So let me start by saying I'm still alive. And yes, still pedaling. As you might remember, during my last big email, Sino-Rob relations were fairly strained. Well I'm pleased to announce things got worse! I was still in Eastern Tibet when I found a stretch of freshly paved highway. I was zooming down a hill at 67 km/h. Nothing to write home about, but after months of single digit speeds, it felt like I was flying. I saw a cargo truck inching around the upcoming corner but thought little of it. Then, horrors-of-horrors, a Toyotal Landcruser decided to blow past it on a blind corner. I'd have hit the shoulder but there was none. I nailed the brakes. The back end of my bike started to slide out. I reckon I was completely sideways (but still in my lane) when I met the Landcruiser. After a short, but highly exhilarating flight, I ended up flat on my back in the middle of the other lane. I opened my eyes and saw the grill of a big blue...

5. Winter in Tibet

I rolled into Kathmandu last September and hit a brick wall (read: Chinese Immigration). I tried absolutely everything, but there was no way of getting my bicycle into Tibet from Nepal. I can't really explain why cycling to Everest Base Camp was so important to me, but I had this kind of top ten list of things on the planet I wanted to see and Base Camp might very well have been on the top of that list. So I did some backtracking. I left Kathmandu and cycled back to the Indian Border. After crossing Northern India, I entered Pakistan and headed back to the Karakoram Highway (the KKH). Unfortunately, the big earthquake (I was still safely in India when it hit) caused landslides temporarily closing the KKH and the only route north. So I took a slight detour via Darra, a dusty wind swept hole of a place in Pakistan's Tribal Area (aka. the wild, wild west - about fifty kilometres from the Afghan border) Darra is famous for just one thing: GUNS! They say that a Darra gunsmith given...

6. Автостопом на родину мафии (на англ.)

Chapter 1: The Journey Begins Sooner or later practically all members of the "Moscow School of Hitchhiking" undertake a trip across Europe whether alone or in pairs. In the summer of 1996 the founding members of the "Moscow School" came up with the rather immodest idea of a trip to Italy for competitive pairs. The "European Championship of Hitchhiking" attracted not only keen competitors, but quite a media stir as well. We even managed to attract some foreign journalists which was to prove very helpful to us along the route. Snapshots of hitchhikers in bright yellow T-shirts adorned the front page of several newspapers. The race start even made the television news right across Russia. There was a report that an ABC film crew had also been present. I decided to partner with my eleven year old daughter Svetlana, who was holidaying with her Grandparents in Brest, Belorus. I would pick her up on my way through. The race started on 1 August 1996 but I was delayed in Moscow for a whole...

7. Куда это вы, парни? (на англ.)

PROLOGUE: SO WHY DID WE DO IT? At six a.m., on the 29th of June, 1991, the early morning Moscow sun gently lit Sheremetyevo International Airport. The fragile rays penetrated the dirty windows of the terminal, landing on the otionless bodies of emigrants, sleeping on and between dusty benches; on the tired faces of OMON* soldiers patrolling up and down the lounge in full uniform; and on the silverish wings of the giant IL-86, which was being prepared for flight across the world. "Amazing," thought two young men, armed with backpacks, note pads, pens and portable tape recorders, as they approached the customs area. "The very same sun that shines over Moscow, also warms the Brooklyn Bridge, Grand Canyon and long white Californian beaches... Truly amazing." A young customs officer with a komsomol pin on his chest, smiled at the two unusually equipped tourists. "Where are you guys going?" The pair answered in one voice: "To America!" One rainy autumn afternoon in 1990, the two...