Where is the best ....

Here are the answers to questions people frequently ask. If you have a question I don't answer here, either wait until we meet or ask it in the comments section below.
Where is the best place you have been?
The best place is south eastern Peru, the best city is Havana, the best country is New Zealand.
Would you do it again?
I would have to have a rest first! Seriously, there are so many intriguing places I haven't experienced and lots of places I would like to re-visit and explore more thoroughly that it is unlikely I will do another lap.
What did you miss the most?
Apart from friends and family I missed cooking curries, well stocked supermarkets, and BBC documentaries.
What was the best thing you took?
As well as my bike, which was unbelievably reliable, my favourite thing was an mp3 loaded with audiobooks. When I camped it was often impossible to read a book, with my mp3 I could listen to some Charles Dickens or Sherlock Holmes stories.
 Were you ever scared?
No. Occasionally I was worried I wouldn't find anywhere to sleep, but sonething always turned up. 
Did you get lonely?
If I spent a day or two riding with someone else, then when I rode on my own it felt a bit lonely. Also when you see wonderful things or are eating a good meal in the evening it would be good to share these things with someone else.
Hiw much did the trip cost?
The gear - bike tent etc cost about £2000 , the trip itself cost around £11,000 including flights. The taxnan will give me some money back.
Who were the most interesting people you met?
 New Zealanders, they have a different life but share the same language, and they are really kind and hospitable. In far off places I enjoyed talking to other travellers.
Has your trip changed you?
Superficially, I have lost a few kilos and gained a ton of memories, Hopefully I can emulate the kindness that is endemic through most of the world.

The world is full of kind, friendly people.

Fin done

It is great to see my family after a year and a week away. At Gatwick my first impression was that people looked glum; I suppose I was in the arrivals area where people had just returned from their holiday. I don't feel sad, there are many things for me to look forward to.
When I got to my sister's house she gave me a personalised map of the world. Once I traced my path through the twenty six countries I have ridden through it occurred to me how much of the world I have not seen yet.
Many people ask me about similar things. My last general blog will be to answer these frequently asked questions. I  will also do a quick blog to help other riders going to Cuba and also a road test on my bike.
Thank you for reading my posts. Also thank you for the encouragement, support and interest you have given me. Everyone is on a journey - either literal or metaphorical. I hope you enjoy yours, If not, get on your bike and go for a ride on a quiet road, you will feel better.

My older brother and his wife seeing me off on my last leg from Eastbourne  to Portsmouth. There is rain on the camera lens, that's why the picture is slightly blurred.

Saving the best ´til last

As I rode from the airport into Havana, the city's unique character revealed itself oddity by oddity. Enormous American cars from the 1950's cruised along the quiet dual carriageway. Red or pink Cadillac convertibles carried tourists while battered Buicks taxied the locals who sat 4 across the old leather bench seats. There were classic Fiats, Alfas, Peugeots and Mercedes too. It was like a living, working motor museum.
A tall concrete tower pierced the pure blue sky. This was revolution square. Surrounding apartment blocks were adorned with giant, iron pictues of Che Guevara  and Fidel Castro.
Heading toward the city centre the broad boulevards were lined with a mix of old buildings in various states of picturesque delapidation. My guest house was down a side street. Cycle taxi drivers rested in the shade, street vendors sold strings of garlic and onions, old folk sat and chatted, front doors open to the cooling breeze and gaze of curious passers by. Havana is a melting pot of peoples, architecture, cars and music. The only incongruity are the tourists.
I was late leaving the city as I had to wait for my laundry. Riding in fresh, clean kit is a lovely luxury on a road trip like this. But it didn't stay clean for long. The sun climbed to the vertical, my bike seemed to cast no shadow. The heat built, white fluffy clouds grew grey then black. Rain pelted onto the hot tarmac and instantly vapourised, a cloud of mist rose a metre above the road, My top half was cooled by the rain, my legs were steamed in a sauna.
The next day was dry, I thought I would camp. I stopped to buy bread, but they wouldn´t sell it to me as it was only for Cubans. I went to a campsite, they wouldn´t let me camp as it was only for Cubans. I was so hungary and thirsty that I had to go back to a hotel, they let me in, but charged me $60. Now with little cash I went to the nearest big town to get more. But it was Saturday and the banks were shut and there was no cash machine. I gave what money I had to a guest house owner, he gave me a room and dinner.
I headed along the north coast. The bumpy road pumelled my bike and body, incessant headwind slapped my sweat soaked jersey against my raw skin. I have sores and rashes where, you don´t want to know. One day I rode too far and ate and drank too little. At the last town I stop and order pizza and ice cream but a sick feeling fills my stomach and creeps up my throat, my legs go weak, my hearing fades, my eyesight dwindles into tunnel vision. Quickly I grab some water and sit down. Five minutes later I am okay, but had come close to waking up in a Cuban hospital.
Each day I ride through lush farmland, meadows and woods. Farmers use long sythes to gather grass and then load it onto horse drawn wagons. Cowboys look cool in their stepsons and chaps. Most locals give me a wave, some farmers gave me mangoes and bananas, some beekeepers gave me a section of honeycomb ozing with sweet honey. At roadside stalls you can buy fruit jiuce for 10 p and pizza for 20 p.
The centuries old Spanish cities spread out from tree lined plazas. Long narrow streets are lined with terrecota tiled houses. I often stay in one of these old places, they have great character, are clean, and the owners are kind. They are the equivalent (but better and cheaper) to British bed and breakfasts. Breakfast here starts with a big platter of fresh fruit. As food is hard to get in the shops I do rely on getting fed at these excellent lodgings.
Today I rode along the south coast, back towards Havana. The wind was behind me, I scarely needed to pedal, my big new tyre makes a whining noise on the smooth road. It is like being on an electric bike. Land crabs sprinted across the road,  a local woman offered my some weird fruit that was almost all nut.
Cuban roads and weather have drained my body. Cuban colour has filled my soul, Cuban culture has fed my mind. It is a perfect place to end my journey.

Lots of old cars, buildings and old fashioned shops, its like going Back to the Future.

Communist block. Images of Che Guevara  and Fidel Castro  adorn many buildings

Horse and carrsiges are common in many Cuban cities

Fresh baked pizza costs 20 pence

If you look beyond the shiney car you see normal Cubans living their normal lives. For me, this is the most fascinating  part of travel.

The joy of having a spare nipple

Borders can bring people  together. Roads converge and migrating cyclists congregate around the few checkpoints between Peru and Ecuador or Ecuador and Columbia. Most riders were heading south, aiming to amble through Peru and Argentina to arrive in the Austral area of Southern Chile in the spring (September). We would swap road stories and useful information before riding off in opposite  directions.
I headed north across the flat coastal plains of Ecuador. Through banana plantations and cocoa tree orchards the riding was easy. Then this road ran out and I had to climb fifty miles up to Quito. This is the highest capital city in the world and sprawls over an Andean valley at 9500 feet. It was a tough slog and I arrived arrived after dark on the broken concrete streets, amongst the random traffic, traversing deprived suburbs where you wouldn't want to stop. (The next day I chatted to an english speaking local who had just had his bike robbed at gunpoint.). It took ages to find a place to stay. I had one rest day to buy a new tyre, but it was a cold, damp, drizzly city, not a place for recuperation. In the next six days after Quito there was only twelve miles of flat road. It rained, which was usefully cooling on the 10 or 15 mile long climbs, but cold on the descents. My brake pads were worn out so I had to sit bolt upright so the air resistance  could slow me down a little.
This took me into Columbia, which is full of cyclists of all types, They would often ride beside me and "chat". This was tricky as my Spanish is abysmal. If I told them I was going to ride their famous climb "La Linea" they would incline their forearm or hand at 45 degrees to indicate its steepness.It actually wasn't that bad, but on the last little climb of the day I heard a "Twang, clack, clack, clack", a spoke had broken.
I had brought spare spokes. However the old one had snapped in the nipple - where the spoke joins the outer rim. That was a problem. My flight to Cuba was in three days time, riding to the airport would take two days, getting a bike box for the flight and getting all my bags sorted out would half a day, I could do without a mechanical problem. Then I saw on each spare spoke was a spare nipple. I was saved, bike mended, back on the road the next day.
It was another long ascent up to Bogota - the second highest capital city. I was powered by caffeine, and so didn't skeep too well last night; or naybe I am excited to be flying to Cuba tomorrow.

Artwork in northern Ecuado, to see real cyclists its best to head into Columbia

Right to left: Pascal who has spent four years on the road riding 40,000 miles, Hector the Argentine, heading to Mexico, and myself.

Lots of fruit, fresh from the fields

I avoivded this rain shower

Cafe in the clouds

Climbing La Linea, Colombia