Cycling Across the South Atlantic: An Oceanic Odyssey with a Bicycle is Simon Levell’s travel diary from the early 2000’s. He and I are alike in our passion for insular travel, as I have taken cycling holidays around the Danish island of Bornholm, the Åland Islands (in January of all times) and, most recently, Pelee Island. We have the same self-classification:
“I am what might politely be termed –to put it mildly–an ‘island enthusiast’, or–to put it more bluntly as a local friend once described me–an ‘island nut’!”
Levell visited these regions over the first decade of the new millennium and his odyssey was presented geographically from north to south. His travelogues were easy to follow and were supplemented by maps, complete with roads and bike routes clearly marked. The book was printed on thick paper and was generously illustrated with colour photos, so I took great pleasure in seeing the locations he visited, especially Tristan da Cunha. An avid cyclist, Levell was able to bring his own bike on his travels yet for some of his trips he arranged to procure one before leaving home. I can identify with the comfort one has when riding one’s own bicycle, as breaking in a new bike takes a bit of time yet I wonder if he would have reconsidered bringing his own bike after the strenuous efforts he undertook to transport it. I understand that renting or borrowing a bike might not have been possible in some of the places, but the logistics involved with shipping schedules and bike delivery–which meant in every case being without his bicycle while still at home in the UK for often weeks at a time–might have been more trouble than it was worth.
The Atlantic islands are volcanic in nature and thus mountainous. For an experienced cyclist such as Levell he was often left with no other option but to push his bike uphill. Road conditions might make uphill cycling impossible if he has no traction, yet I got the idea that the steepness, especially on Ascension and St. Helena, made climbing the hills impossible. Certainly the volcanic dust and scree made it hard to ride through. Yet where there are hills going up, there must be hills going down. I smiled as he described his experience on St. Helena:
“From here, I was able to appreciate the wonderful views down the valley–past the huge pillar of rock known as Lot (and another behind called Lot’s Wife)–to the beach over 2,000 feet below. The next hour or so was pure pleasure, a snaking, downhill gradient all the way, where the only effort required was making sure my brake blocks didn’t catch fire owing to almost constant application.”
and then when trying to go uphill:
“The only realistic way out of Rupert’s Valley with a bike was back up the same road, so it was a case of foot-slogging-bike-pushing for the umpteenth time before finally carefully descending Side Path into Lower Jamestown.”
It is no surprise that my favourite chapter was about his cycling adventure on Tristan da Cunha. I found it particularly poignant reliving my own personal experience when he first sighted the island from his ship. Levell did this frequently on his travels (also when he approached South Georgia and the Antarctic peninsula), where he awoke while it was still dark with the excited anticipation of seeing the faint outline of these places on the horizon.
Since Tristan’s population is so small I knew everyone he wrote about. He often hung out with Andre Repetto, whom I joined on his fishing trip around the island in 2017. I am familiar with the locations where he described the beautiful scenery yet I would have found it rather shocking to see him ride up and down Hillpiece. Maybe Tristanian children actually do this, yet I never saw anyone on a bicycle in that area. I did see plenty of children riding bicycles on Tristan, yet adults preferred motorbikes (I’m not talking Harleys). Where I merely walked along the green grass fringe lining the slopes of the Base, Levell had the experience of cycling there. I wondered how he managed to get his bike up the 1961 volcano. Levell though erred in writing “Beyond the easternmost limit of the island at Anchorstock Point…” as Anchorstock is located on Tristan’s west coast.
Levell had a tendency to insert brief parenthetical asides which always ended with overused exclamation marks. These served as surprised revelations which were representative of his narrative style, yet for a printed work would have read better if they were rephrased since there were so many of them. Some of these examples are:
“Touchdown at Saunders Island (named after Admiral Sir Charles Saunders) was on a bare, dusty runway, following which the plane was met by Suzan Pole-Evans who took me in yet another land rover (the first red one I had been in!)…”
“There were occasional diversions (of my attention that is!)…”
“With windsock raised, it was only a short wait until the red-and-blue FIGAS plane (I never saw any other colours!)…”
Levell was not able to cycle on the final destination he wrote about, the British Antarctic Territory, yet provided a travelogue about his side trips to various islands, the Antarctic peninsula and visiting the post office and seeing the wildlife. He was enthralled with penguins during his trips, and was able to see numerous species.
I enjoyed these travel stories since as a cyclist-tourist I could identify with his experiences, especially on Tristan da Cunha. We share a love of the philatelic arts, and he brought postcards to certain post offices in order to receive specific cancellations. I do exactly the same thing; why send postcards from anywhere in Finland if I am planning a trip to Nuorgam? I brought along seventeen postcards–already written–to mail from the northernmost post office in Finland in 2000. I hope that Levell continues to travel by bicycle and write about his experiences.