The Doorstep Mile

Alastair Humphreys
  • 4.9 (10)
  • SELF-IMPROVEMENT
  • DAILY SERIES

Would you like a more adventurous life? Are you being held back by a lack of time or money? By fear, indecision, or a feeling of being selfish or an imposter? Living adventurously is not about cycling around the world or rowing across an ocean. Living adventurously is about the attitude you choose each day. It instils an enthusiasm to resurrect the boldness and curiosity that many of us lose as adults. Whether at work or home, taking the first step to begin a new venture is daunting. If you dream of a big adventure, begin with a microadventure. This is the Doorstep Mile, the hardest part of every journey. The Doorstep Mile will reveal why you want to change direction, what’s stopping you, and how to build an adventurous spirit into your busy daily life. Dream big, but start small. Don’t yearn for the adventure of a lifetime. Begin a lifetime of living adventurously. What would your future self advise you to do? What would you do if you could not fail? Is your to-do list urgent or important? You will never simultaneously have enough time, money and mojo. There are opportunities for adventure in your daily 5-to-9. The hardest challenge is getting out the front door and beginning: the Doorstep Mile. Alastair Humphreys, a National Geographic Adventurer of the Year, cycled around the world for four years but also schedules a monthly tree climb. He has crossed the Empty Quarter desert, rowed the Atlantic, walked a lap of the M25 and busked through Spain, despite being unable to play the violin. ‘The gospel of short, perspective-shifting bursts of travel closer to home.’ New York Times ‘A life-long adventurer.’ Financial Times ‘Upend your boring routine… it doesn't take much.’ Outside Magazine Visit www.alastairhumphreys.com to listen to Alastair's podcast, sign up to his newsletter or read his other books. @al_humphreys

  1. EPISODE 1

    Beginnings

    Beginnings A dozen years ago I feel nervous and almost change my mind. A clock ticks and tocks on the mantelpiece. The small office smells of magnolia paint and aftershave. The headmaster of the school I teach at is a busy man so I will get straight to the point. The first year of my teaching career has gone well. So this is not a sensible career decision. This small moment in an everyday setting is the beginning of a new  trajectory for me. ‘I am sorry, but I have decided to leave.’ ‘Oh dear! Where are you going?’ ‘The South Pole.’ ‘St. Paul’s? Lovely school.’  A few years ago I feel nervous and sleepy as I climb down from the night bus into my first Indian morning. I heave on my rucksack. The warm air smells of sea and sewage. Palm trees rustle in the breeze. I am surprised at the lack of occasion I feel, because this small moment is the beginning of something bigger. I walk down to the beach, followed by giggling barefoot children. Waves rush up the hot sand and slide back down again. There is a row of slender wooden fishing boats hauled up above the high tide line. The sun rises from the ocean horizon. It is time to get moving. I am about to try to walk across southern India, all the way to the other side until I can watch the sun set into the ocean.  Eight months ago I feel nervous rather than excited as I stir my tea. I always feel this way before new adventures. I’m in McDonald’s, the only place in town still open this late. Hard plastic seats, piped pop music, weak tea, the smell of chips. A very ordinary setting for a small moment that might lead to something bigger. I have had a new idea about how to write a book. I’m going to serialise it by email and give the whole thing away for free before it’s even published.  I check the time; I want to get started before McDonald’s closes. I know that I’ll lose enthusiasm if I delay until tomorrow. I tap away on my phone, setting up a new mailing list, frustrated by clumsy thumbs. I already have a traditional bricks-and-mortar, 9-to-5 book publisher. Nothing they have done in 200 proud years of publishing recommends my late-night McDonald’s idea. This book will mean a significant change of direction away from them. It might not be the conventional path, but it feels intriguing. If you decide to live more adventurously, then you too will encounter these moments, whatever path you choose. You and I might strike out in very different directions, but if you are curious about the world and eager to live a little more adventurously, then we are heading for the  same destination. Trying to summon up the guts to step out of your front door and begin is difficult. This is the Doorstep Mile, the hardest and most important part of any journey.  Are you ready to walk the Doorstep Mile?  ★ Support this podcast ★

    4 min

  2. EPISODE 2

    How to Use this Podcast

    How to use this podcast Would you like to have more unusual, exciting or daring experiences? To be willing to take risks or to try out new methods, ideas, or experiences? I know that I would. Are you looking to make some changes in your life: to get outside more, be a bit bolder with your business, take up  a new challenge or get more ‘life’ in your work-life balance?  This is not a podcast about jacking it all in to launch a yoga retreat in Bali or magicking up the funding for a swanky start-up with free beer and hipster beards. Glittery though those dreams are, I’m guessing you’re more likely to be in the shove-aside-the-dirty-cereal-bowls-to-use-your-laptop demographic. Someone snatching ten minutes of yoga in front of the telly while your baby is sleeping, your good intentions hampered by busy days and limited budgets. Perhaps you have the restless, gnawing feeling that although your life’s pretty good in the grand scheme of things, a little more pazaz certainly wouldn’t hurt. In other words, you’re  probably like me, casting around for some pragmatic  idealism and a few ways to sprinkle a bit more adventure into the margins of your days. (If, however, you do make it to Bali or the FTSE 100, please don’t forget little old me…) I am not demanding an unrealistic revolution in your life, urging you to climb K2 in your pants. Instead, I am encouraging you to begin something small because it makes you happier or sets you moving in a better direction. Doing something small today – and then again tomorrow – is the best way to move towards your aspirations. It also builds a mindset that considers big things to be plausible. Besides, let’s not beat ourselves up if ‘all’ that we achieve is to become more curious, kind and enthusiastic. I describe myself as an ‘Adventurer’. It is a ridiculous job description for a middle-aged adult, I know. I have travelled on six continents, mostly by bike, boat or boot, and written various books along the way. Adventure is my career, my hobby and my biggest passion. My commute is a walk across the grass to a book-filled shed with good coffee and my choice of music all day. I earn my living by telling stories from beautiful wild places. I love all of this, and I know that I am a lucky man.  There is nothing more toe-curling than a humble-bragging self-help book. So let me add a little more detail to the social media version of my life I’ve just painted. I often feel frustrated by the limitations of time, geography and patience. The excess of admin and chores. The mad hamster wheel of childcare. By thwarted dreams and pathetic procrastination. And therefore, jumbled up amongst my shed days, the trips to the mountains, the daily routine and jumping into rivers with my kids, is a yearning to do a bit more with my life. To, at the very least, strive for more interest and purpose. To figure out which of my many dreams  to pick first and then be brave enough to follow that rather  than convention. I want to take responsibility for all of this rather than hide behind excuses and end-of-day weariness. There are easier ways to live than this. But I do not want an easy life. I am starkly aware that my time is finite. I want to avoid regrets and the drift of decades, even if all I manage some days is stepping away from the email onslaught for 20 minutes to climb a tree. I am not just living for the weekend as I hear so many people sigh at the school gates. I have fewer than 2000 Mondays left to live. I want to make the most of them, not just tick them off! I initially sat down to write this book in an attempt to assess my own life. I wanted to measure my progress and unravel how I can live more adventurously amongst the obligations of life and the ever-changing shift of priorities and purpose. I hope that it might spark a fire for you as well and that our paths intersect somewhere along the way. There is no science or deep wisdom in these pages. Like most self-help narratives the whole book could happily be distilled to a page, a paragraph, or a phrase. In this case: dream big, start small. That is how I turn wishful daydreaming into actual action. In fact, you should probably just read the chapters about the Doorstep Mile and the Death Clock, then give this book to a friend and  get started! There are countless specialist books, written by experts, about 10,000 hours this or 4-hour that, atomic goals and smart habits. My writing has nothing new to say. I would go as far as to say that you already know everything I have written, if only deep down. We all know this stuff; we just don’t always do it. All that I have to offer is a gentle, polite kick up the backside to help you step out the front door and begin. To go to your shed and do the work. If you merely lay this book aside after finishing it and think, ‘that was nice’ then I have failed, we are both wasting our time and I owe you a refund. But if you answer the questions at the end of each chapter honestly, I hope my money will be safe. My dream is that you read this book thinking, ‘yes, I knew that. Yes, that makes sense. Yes, I could and should do that. Yes, I want to do that. Yes, I am going to do that today!’ Cajoling ourselves to live more adventurously is not easy. We might like the idea but face many barriers and excuses. For some of us, money’s the problem. For others, it is time we lack. The one universal hindrance is that we are all afraid of making change happen. We know we should eat some quinoa but reach for the cookie instead. We know we want our work to have meaning and our personal lives to have purpose. We know all this stuff. We can easily advise someone in the pub what they should do with their life. We know it, but we struggle to make it happen. It is not easy to embrace the discomfort and decide that today is the day to start. To ask yourself whether it is ‘one day’ or ‘Day One’. Over years of intelligent, philosophical reflection, I have concluded that living adventurously is a similar challenge to going skinny dipping. The idea sounds exciting, but it can be daunting to do. Are you ready to strip off and jump in? Over to you Beginning an adventure can be overwhelming, but pausing to gather your thoughts might help get you moving. Of course it would be beneficial if you reflected deeply, but I’m a realist. I know you’ll be checking Instagram within minutes! So I’ll settle for asking you to give each chapter 30 seconds of thought. Grab a notebook and scribble a few ideas. After all, reading a book is not the same as using one… - Why do you want to live more adventurously?  Think about your motivations rather than  considering specific activities. - What is the most significant change you would like to make  in your life? - What barriers stand in your way?  ★ Support this podcast ★

    9 min

  3. EPISODE 3

    Skinny Dipping

    Skinny dipping It is a hot summer’s day. The sparkling river below is enticing. You’d love to take the plunge. It would feel glorious in there – so much better than being stuck here, hot and bothered like everyone else. But rather than leaping in, you remain on the riverbank feeling nervous. Vulnerable.  You think to yourself, ‘What if it’s cold?’  You mop your brow and fret, ‘Oh, respectable people like me shouldn’t be doing stuff like this.’  You clutch tightly at the towel around your body, unwilling to let go and unleash your lily-white buttocks upon the world.  ‘What will people think?’  They might laugh at you. You summon up the will to dip your toe in the water.  ‘There have to be easier things to do than this…’  Sure enough, the first step into the water is shockingly cold. (That never changes, by the way.)  ‘I knew this was a terrible idea!’  You curse at yourself. The fun you imagined has been suffocated by the immediate discomfort and the worries in your mind. How much easier it would be to stay here where everybody else is. You almost retreat. Your mind whirls with thoughts of the cold and embarrassment, not to mention the monsters surely lurking beneath the surface, ready to drag you down to your doom.  ‘They were right all along!’ you cry, feeling very sorry for yourself.  You shiver with cold and fear and your buttocks wobble. The pebbles in front of you look sharp. The sun beats down and the water sparkles. What happens next? Do you stay where you are – or will you jump? ★ Support this podcast ★

    2 min

  4. EPISODE 4

    What does living adventurously mean?

    What does living adventurously mean? I have been hooked on adventure since the age of 18. I began by reading Ranulph Fiennes, Dervla Murphy and Benedict Allen when I should have been revising for my A-Levels. Most of my heroes were adventurers and writers. I wanted that world for myself. I spent the best part of the next 20 years crossing continents, oceans and deserts in pursuit of ‘adventure’. I cycled tens of thousands of miles, camped for a thousand nights or more and travelled through almost a hundred countries. I wanted excitement, challenge, hardship and risk. To test myself, prove myself and live on the edge – of my maps, my potential and my comfort zone. And I got it all. Those were days of miracle and wonder. But my perception of adventure has changed a great deal since I first traded the green hills of Yorkshire for a year on the red soil of southern Africa. Real life arrived eventually. It catches up with most of us in the end! My uncomplicated pursuit of the life of my choice collided with the very different adventures of marriage and children. So today, I am an ‘Adventurer’ or an ‘Author’ for just 30 hours a week. The rest of the time, I am simply ‘Dad’. I have a mortgage to pay and two kids to pick up from school at 3.15 every afternoon. (Time check: 28 minutes left until today’s brief work slot is over. Or 33 minutes if I run to the school, thus risking the wrath of my 8-year-old daughter who deems such behaviour’ embarrassing ‘... much to my delight.)  Is it possible to live adventurously in real life?  This book began as my own attempt to answer that question. I no longer see adventure as the exclusive domain of rugged tough guys (and me) doing rugged stuff in rugged places. It is much broader than that. What’ living adventurously’ involves will differ for everyone. Rest assured that it need not involve crossing deserts or even sleeping in a tent. Despite the years I spent chasing big adventures from the frozen Arctic Ocean to the gales of Patagonia, this book has nothing directly to do with travel or expeditions. It is something we can all do, whether we are young and carefree, busy with bills and babies and yearning for a brief burst of escape, an empty nester, or someone looking to shake up a weary rut by learning something new. This is a critical distinction for the pages ahead: living adventurously is the attitude you charge at life with. Anyone can choose their attitude. Living adventurously is about being eager to look differently at things, be bold and risk looking a fool. This invites us to stretch ourselves – mentally, physically or culturally. To attempt challenges that are difficult and daunting. To accept the risk of failure in exchange for the enticing sense of surprised satisfaction upon completion. You can live adventurously anywhere; in your office or home as well as in the hills. You don’t have to be rich or fit or young or talented to live adventurously. It’s nothing to do with Mount Everest or the South Pole. Living adventurously is not about being lucky enough to have an adventure of a lifetime one day. Instead, it is a choice to live a more adventurous life every day. You can begin right now, without needing to spend a penny.  A combination of age, momentum and understanding that living adventurously makes me happier means that I am now quite willing to be regarded as a weirdo. I have learned to prioritise that rather than what other people think I should be doing. I often feel like an outsider because of the way I want to live. But the ticking of those 2000 Mondays convinces me that the urgency is essential and being the village weirdo is a small price to pay. I am editing these words in a garden chair swinging pleasantly in the branches of a lime tree eight metres above the ground. I sleep out on hilltops while my friends are perusing the wine list in gastropubs. I love arriving at meetings reeking of wood smoke. I often give serious corporate presentations in a suit, but with wet hair and going commando after jumping in a nearby river and towelling myself off with my boxer shorts. Fear not: no lycra, muscle, beard, ego or even wanderlust is required for the reading of this book. Would you like to live more adventurously? I know that I certainly would. OVER TO YOU: - What does living adventurously mean to you?  - Keep that definition in your mind every time I use the phrase. ★ Support this podcast ★

    6 min

  5. EPISODE 5

    How I began living adventurously

    How I began living adventurously. I did not ask any big questions like ‘would I like to live more adventurously?’ until I was in my twenties. I was just getting on with life and working towards becoming ‘Mr Humphreys, the Science teacher’. I was modest in my ambitions, living a normal life with plenty of beer and football and jumping comfortably through life’s hoops towards what could be described as ‘a successful life’. I had gone to school because my parents took me. I took the exams my teachers made me do. I went to university because my friends were going. I anticipated getting a proper job because that was what everyone did. Conventional expectations and standards have a seductive pull.  I cannot remember any specific incident that prompted me to look up from the well-worn path I was following everyone down. It is difficult when you are being swept along by your friends, your family and the conventional way of doing things. It is even harder to decide to change direction and push back against the crowd. But as I pictured the passing days building towards the drift of years, something nagged in my belly. Was this actually what I wanted from what Mary Oliver called our ‘one wild and precious life’? Did I really want to be a teacher?  My immediate answer was ‘yes’. I enjoyed teaching. I was good at it. It was a worthwhile career. I liked the prospect of becoming a headteacher and having a significant impact on young people’s lives. The holidays were brilliant. The pay was enough. But dig a little deeper, and I grew uneasy.  Did I really want to be a teacher? Was that truly how I wanted to spend my days? ‘How we spend our days,’ noted Annie Dillard, ‘is, of course, how we spend our lives.’ ‘Ah, yes,’ I continued my defence to myself. ‘If I was a millionaire, I would spend my days sunning myself in my Speedos. But everyone needs a job. You get a job, save up, settle down, retire and then relax. The Speedos come later. That’s the way real life works.’ Does it have to be that way?  ‘Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans,’ reflected John Lennon. Thank goodness he did not postpone his bold, creative ideas until later in life… So I decided to take a deep breath and change direction. By my standards, it was a brave decision. I slammed on the brakes, swerved off the congested conveyor belt I was on and looked down a different road. What I saw was a lonely and meandering path with no signposts or clear destination. It filled me with at least as much fear as excitement. I was tempted to stick with unhappy rather than risk uncertainty. But I consoled myself that if it all went wrong, I could always come back and get a job. That was the worst that would probably happen. I was fortunate in that it is far easier to take a brave leap with a safety net like this beneath you.  The road I headed down in search of a more adventurous life was, quite literally, a road and an adventure. Your path might lead in a very different direction, even if what we are both searching for is the same: an engaging, curiosity-filled, adventurous life. I strapped a tent to the back of a bicycle and set off from my front door to have a look around. That adventure changed the way I looked at things. A liberating side effect of spending the next few years on the road was that I realised there is no such thing as the right way to live. Travel shows you many different versions of ‘normal’. One definition of normal life and priorities is very different from another. Pedal far enough from your front door and you eventually become an exotic curiosity yourself.  There is no correct route through life. There is no ideal lifestyle. There is not even one perfect way of life for you. It is better than that: there is an enticing abundance of intriguing possibilities. Don’t be ashamed or afraid to pick an adventurous path that tickles your fancy then go and explore it. OVER TO YOU: - Theoretically, how could you change direction in your life to begin living more adventurously? Ignore all the barriers and realities of life. We will tackle them later. -What would be the worst thing that might happen if you did this?-What good things could happen if you did this? ★ Support this podcast ★

    5 min

  6. EPISODE 6

    Living adventurously changes with time

    Living adventurously changes with time Everyone’s definition of living adventurously is unique. I love that. It could be crossing a desert or cross-dressing, running a marathon or running a non-profit. Not only that, our own answers change over time. When I first got a taste for adventure as a teenager, it was simply for the fun of it. Climbing hills and looking around at the view, leaning hard in a heeling dinghy. These things are enjoyable. We should not make the mistake of seeing fun as flippant or something to save for the weekend. The world would be a better place with more fun in it. By the time I was in my 20s, however, my relationship with adventure had changed. ‘It doesn’t have to be fun to be fun’ was my mantra. Miles not smiles. Adventure became about the challenge. Pushing my body. Striving to be tough. Seeking an identity. Exploring what I was capable of.  I was fortunate to have a comfortable, happy upbringing. So adventure served as the grit in my oyster. It helped toughen me up and taught me to appreciate things I habitually took for granted. Adventure gave me the momentum to try to do something interesting with my life. After that came curiosity. I wonder if it’s possible to hitch a lift on a yacht across the Atlantic? Could I run an ultramarathon in the Sahara? What happens if I don’t stop when my body tells me to stop? The answers were exciting. I began to see the stars rather than the mud when I looked out of the window. The trouble with learning to think this way, however, is that it becomes hard to remain satisfied with the ordinary. Pandora’s box had been flung open. I began to realise that if I wished to continue chasing adventure, then just repeating the same types of expedition was not the way to go. Sure, I could do things on a more epic level, push myself harder and take more risks. But a dog will never catch its tail, and Sisyphus never gets to sit down, have a nice cup of tea and feel the satisfaction of completion.   And so my motivation changed again. Still drawn to scaring myself and trying new things, I began learning the violin. I decided to walk through Spain, busking to survive. The idea frightened me, amused me, challenged me and intrigued me: I was living adventurously once again. These days adventure needs to fit in around the happy chaos of raising a family. Whenever routine winds me up and grinds me down, wears me out and keeps me in, I am aware enough of the symptoms to bust out briefly and press reset. So I cycle to the sea or climb a tree. I carve out occasional free days to run in the hills of the Lake District by driving through the night (once my children are in bed) in time to greet the sunrise in the uplands. I sleep on starry hilltops rather than soulless hotels the night before speaking at conferences. On the way to a talk in the Netherlands recently, I persuaded my taxi driver to join me in jumping off a bridge into the canal with the local kids. He thought I was mad but never stopped laughing afterwards. These ‘microadventures’ are how I keep the embers of my big, selfish, carefree adventure dreams aglow amidst the busy-ness of everyday life. I do what I can, when I can, where I am. What more can we do than that? Adventure has evolved from fun to machismo to curiosity to scaring myself to seizing the moment.  I have laid all this out to help you relax about any decisions you take about changing something in your life. They are important choices, and they are urgent, but they are not binding. You once yearned for Spiderman pyjamas, didn’t you? The peak of your ambition was once to wheelie down the street. (OK, some things never change – bad examples.) I hope this reassures you that whatever definition and direction you plump for today is unlikely to be your path for the rest of your life. You don’t have to stress that you’ll be shackled to it forever. This choice or that choice could both be the right one if they lead to opportunities for you to pursue a more adventurous, rewarding, fulfilling life. Make the best decision you can with the knowledge that you have then stick to it until you can make a better decision.  You do not have an accurate idea of who you will be twenty years down the line. This is epitomised by the existence of tattoo removal services.  It is a mistake to defer living adventurously until you are clear about a masterplan or until the time is perfect. Neither exists. There is an old Chinese saying that ‘the best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago. The second best time is now.’ I might get that done as a tattoo. OVER TO YOU: - What did ‘living adventurously’ mean to you ten years ago? - What does it mean today? - If you continue living the way you are, where will it put you ten years from now? Is that a place you want to be? ★ Support this podcast ★

    6 min

  7. EPISODE 7

    No, but...

    Yes, but Living more adventurously might appeal to you if: You have a yearning to live a more extraordinary life, but don’t know how to get started. You enjoy stories of adventure but don’t believe they’re realistic for someone like you.Everything is fine, but you’d like to rekindle a few dreams and that childlike audacity you lost somewhere along the way.You wake up on Monday mornings with a sigh.You spend more time looking at your phone than making memories.Your most interesting anecdote from the past year involves office life, your kids’ potty training, the Christmas party, or something you saw on TV.The prospect of looking back on your life with regrets fills you with sadness and urgency.Now, I know what you are thinking. In fact, I can already hear you shouting loudly and angrily at me right now. ‘It’s all very well for you to say! It is easy for you. But my life is different because…’ I don’t have enough time! (54% of people said this in a Living Adventurously newsletter poll. www.alastairhumphreys.com/living-adventurously)I feel guilty/selfish/it’s not fair on my family! (49%)I don’t have enough money! (38%)I’ve got nobody to do adventurous stuff with! (37%)I worry about making the wrong choice! (29%)I don’t know how to begin! (24%)I feel like an imposter! I’ll fail! (23%)I’m scared! (22%)I know you are shouting this because it is what everyone shouts – including me when I read other people’s stuff. So I will cut you off, politely but firmly, at this point. An essential task of this book is to make you aware of this voice in your head. The loud voice that is always ready, at the slightest opportunity, to leap up and shout, ‘I can’t do this because…’ After all, if we cry for too long about our limitations, then we get to keep them.  I know there are hurdles. Of course I do. Time, money, family, illness, bills, Jaws the hamster: there are a million and one things holding us back from galloping off into the sunset and changing the course of our lives. We are all in the same boat. I recently learned a word that sums this up. Sonder is ‘the realisation that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own – populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness.’  I want to try to make you accept that the voice in your head is not really shouting at the random author of a book you’re reading. It is you shouting at you. Yelling an endless, hard-to-ignore stream of objections, excuses, self-pity, blame and To-Do lists. The same thing is happening in my head: Who the hell am I to write a self-help book? I can’t sort my own life out. I am not pretending to provide solutions with a handy 7-Step-Plan-To-Adventure-Greatness. Only you can do that. What I will try to do is help you notice the noise, feel the fear and then do stuff anyway. OVER TO YOU: List all the ‘no buts’ you were shouting at me. ★ Support this podcast ★

    4 min

  8. EPISODE 8

    Ask Why

    Ask why A hazy dimness had hung in the air all week. The northern sky darkened. I woke to grey ash falling soft as snow on my tent. Later that day, I smelled smoke. And then, finally, the route ahead was blocked by flames. This was a forest fire, Canadian style: it was enormous. The only road through the Yukon was now cut off and would remain so for several weeks, at least. Winter was approaching. I needed to cycle north to Alaska before the season changed. Hundreds of miles of blazing fir and spruce blocked my way.  It was an exasperating situation. For three years, I had been obsessed with pedalling around the world. Literally every day had been building towards that goal. Yet suddenly the way ahead was impassable. And there was nothing I could do about it.  Was this where it all fell apart? Was this the end after so much stubborn focus and purpose? Would I have to resort to taking an aeroplane? I thought of the word with disgust. You can’t really call it cycling around the world if you travel by plane, can you? Whatever happened next, the tyre tracks that stretched behind me for thousands of miles were about to be broken by the consequences of this vast forest fire.  I filled page after page of my diary with ideas (and plenty of self-pity). What this angst-filled, caffeine-fuelled brain dump eventually revealed astonished me. Why was I so obsessed with crossing the swathe of burning forest ahead of me? The unbroken nature of my ride had crumbled long ago. An enforced armed police convoy in Egypt; some blatant cheating to get to a TV in time to watch a football match in Tanzania; another escort through a long tunnel high in the Andes. So I could not claim that the ride’s purity was why I felt compelled to keep pedalling. I poured more coffee and kept writing. My scribblings eventually teased out an epiphany from the depths of my Neanderthal brain. I was out here in the Yukon – thousands of miles from home, pretty much broke, years without seeing my family – in pursuit of something hard and meaningful (if only to me). That was what felt important. That was why I was doing this. I was not cycling around the world in order to cycle around the world. I was cycling around the world to live adventurously. I had not appreciated the subtle difference until now. This clarification made my situation much clearer and opened up possibilities. The question I needed to ask was no longer, ‘how can I keep cycling around the world?’ The vital question was, ‘How can I keep living adventurously?’   Snaking through the burning wilderness was the Yukon River. Perhaps that could offer my solution? Maybe, I mused, I could travel by river rather than road? Before bulldozers and tarmac ever reached this part of the world, the rivers had been the road. For hundreds of years, local people had paddled the rivers in summer or walked them as frozen highways in winter. An idea began to take shape. It was time to borrow a canoe.  I was in the Yukon with a friend. David and I laughed and wobbled as the current took hold of our new transport and whisked us away downstream. Paddling was far more fun than pedalling. Our canoe sat low in the water, piled high with two bicycles and supplies for 10 days. The locals waved goodbye, nervously. They were worried that we were inexperienced at canoeing, that we knew nothing about bears and that we were heading into a wilderness that was on fire. All these things were true. But the best way to learn is to do.  David and I dipped our paddles into the cold, clear water and began 500 miles of learning how to canoe. When I think back now to the four years I spent cycling around the world, I do not regret those 500 missing miles in the saddle. Instead, I remember our time on the river as a magnificent addition to the overall experience. David and I still talk about it fondly whenever we meet up to drink beer or plant trees. And we always daydream of continuing down the river to the sea one day. Our Yukon adventure taught me three useful lessons. (Four if you include the discovery that spicy sausage doesn’t work as bait for catching salmon.) It is important to pause from time to time and think about why you are actually doing something. The answer might surprise you. It might also be different from your motivations when you first hatched your plan. These core values should influence every subsequent decision you make. I learned to concentrate on what I could control rather than on all that I could not. There was little point getting angry at millions of acres of blazing forest and a squillion mosquitoes. All I was able to do was deal with the situation in front of me and keep moving forwards.  Accepting (and ideally embracing) uncertainty is liberating. If you set out on a long journey, things will go wrong. If they do not – if everything goes perfectly to plan – that does not mean you are a genius. It means your goal was too modest. You will encounter forest fires and have to gamble on climbing into a wobbly canoe and seeing what happens. Mishaps turn a project into an adventure. In the long run, they often make the best memories and lessons.    OVER TO YOU: Think of something you have been doing for a long time. (It could relate to your job, outside work or with your family.) Ask yourself, ‘why do I do this thing?’ Has the answer changed over time? Is it still valid? ★ Support this podcast ★

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About

Would you like a more adventurous life? Are you being held back by a lack of time or money? By fear, indecision, or a feeling of being selfish or an imposter? Living adventurously is not about cycling around the world or rowing across an ocean. Living adventurously is about the attitude you choose each day. It instils an enthusiasm to resurrect the boldness and curiosity that many of us lose as adults. Whether at work or home, taking the first step to begin a new venture is daunting. If you dream of a big adventure, begin with a microadventure. This is the Doorstep Mile, the hardest part of every journey. The Doorstep Mile will reveal why you want to change direction, what’s stopping you, and how to build an adventurous spirit into your busy daily life. Dream big, but start small. Don’t yearn for the adventure of a lifetime. Begin a lifetime of living adventurously. What would your future self advise you to do? What would you do if you could not fail? Is your to-do list urgent or important? You will never simultaneously have enough time, money and mojo. There are opportunities for adventure in your daily 5-to-9. The hardest challenge is getting out the front door and beginning: the Doorstep Mile. Alastair Humphreys, a National Geographic Adventurer of the Year, cycled around the world for four years but also schedules a monthly tree climb. He has crossed the Empty Quarter desert, rowed the Atlantic, walked a lap of the M25 and busked through Spain, despite being unable to play the violin. ‘The gospel of short, perspective-shifting bursts of travel closer to home.’ New York Times ‘A life-long adventurer.’ Financial Times ‘Upend your boring routine… it doesn't take much.’ Outside Magazine Visit www.alastairhumphreys.com to listen to Alastair's podcast, sign up to his newsletter or read his other books. @al_humphreys

Information

  • Creator
    Alastair Humphreys
  • Years Active
    2K
  • Episodes
    57
  • Rating
    Clean
  • Copyright
    © 2025 Alastair Humphreys
  • Show Website
    The Doorstep Mile