Two years ago today, I was on a plane home from Portland, Oregon after finishing a 2-month bicycle trip across the country with my dad. We averaged 70 miles a day, ran into more than a couple tornadoes, met Americans of all shapes and sizes, sampled the best food the Midwest has to offer, nearly got hypothermia, witnessed the poverty of the Native American population, camped on rivers and cringed in motels (many of which rent “by the hour”), pushed through headwinds, celebrated tailwinds, drank beer, ate 6,000 calories a day and - most importantly (and no less cheesy) - really discovered what life is about.

Really, not a day goes by that I am somehow not reminded of this trip. It was life-changing, because it showed me that there’s more than daily routine and day jobs and living the 9-5, five-and-two (weekdays versus weekends) grind. It was the longest two months of my life, and there were times when I would question the sanity of what we were doing, especially when we were hiding from tornado in a campground bathroom or huddling under a tarp as rain and lighting poured down on either side. But it was the spirit of adventure and the love of taking it all in, one slow breath at a time.

We followed the Lewis and Clark trail once we hit South Dakota. As we biked, we were introduced to more knowledge of the two adventurers that one would think possible. To generalize, it turns out that Lewis was the hardened traveler, eager to discover new land for his country while Clark was the researcher, excitedly discovering new species of animal and plant as they journeyed (in the end, Clark named 200+ new animal species, Lewis had one). My dad and I had a running joke that Clark was a bit of a fairy, skipping home after a day trip in the surrounding hills, “Oh Merriweather! Merrrrriweather! I discovered two new species todaaaay!”

You’d be surprised if you knew how long this joke lasted us. Eventually, sick of hearing about the two, we began to refer to them simply as “Lewis and fucking Clark”.

A large chunk of the trip was obviously the flatlands of America - the Midwest. Without any offense to those folks living in this part of the country, this was miserable. The wind was in our face, the scenery never changed and the roads were often bad. But, two-thousand miles later we hit the Rocky Mountains on the western side of Montana and I forgot all about the hard days behind us. The evergreen pines, fresh rivers and crisp air pushed us the last thousand towards the Oregon coast, where we spent a week celebrating with friends in Portland (also, not surprisingly, where I fell in love with the city).

I’m now planning my next big adventure that will hopefully start within the next year or two. I hope to bike from London, England to Sydney, Australia via Europe, Western Asia, China, the Himalayas, India, Thailand, and Oceania. I reckon it’ll be a bit different than America. But at least I won’t have to read about Lewis and fucking Clark.

• Follow the blog for the trip at bikedust.org
• More pictures in the photography section of my portfolio