The Hungry Cyclist: Pedalling The Americas In Search Of The Perfect Meal
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Over 100,000 miles to cover, one man, one bike and one hungry stomach.
Having created his alter-ego, the Hungry Cyclist and with thousands of pedal-powered miles before him, Tom Kevill-Davies pushed off from New York City on one of the most ambitious gastronomic adventures ever undertaken.
A ballsy travel memoir The Hungry Cyclist follows Tom's adventure into the hearts and minds of the people he meets. Revealing the diverse cultures of the Americas, Tom’s journey from over the Rockies to Baja California, through Central America down all the way to Brazil via Colombia, gives the real flavour of this truly extraordinary landmass.
This is a tale of death-battles with squadrons of mosquitoes, malodorous public toilets, of galloping dysentery one day, to drowning your sorrows with cowboys and dining with beauty queens the next. But above all it is an ambitious story of getting to where you want to be - even if you have to endure cactus-induced punctures, unforgiving desert heat, uphill struggles through never-ending cocaine plantations, or artfully dodge hungry bears, neurotic RV-driving Americans, angry rabid dogs and run-ins with local law authorities in the process.
An amazing tale of what can happen when you get on your bike and go.
option. Arguing was futile. I was ordered into bed. I was sent to the children’s room, which had three beds, and I was put in one of them. The walls were made from split bamboo and a rusty corrugated metal roof sat upon a zigzag of bamboo rafters that were thick with cobwebs. A network of crudely connected wires ran from beam to beam, culminating in a naked light bulb that hung in the centre of the room. The worn-out springs of the bed squeaked and twanged as I climbed on to the soft mattress
landscape of mountains, valleys and steep cliff-faces seemed peaceful. Shafts of light from the rising sun, like spotlights in a theatre, picked out high passes, craggy ridges and thin lines of falling water. A halfhearted sequence of stretches added a little life to my tight legs. Apart from a failed hitch on the back of a truck, I had been riding an absurdly heavy bicycle uphill for five days, and the mountainous terrain in front of me promised more of the same. Looking at my digital
Paisa—a region of north west Colombia consisting of the local departments of Risaralda, Antiquia Caldas and Quinido. Famed for its good food, beautiful women and coffee. Paisita—a woman or girl from the Paisa region of Colombia. By all accounts the most beautiful people in Colombia. palapa—a Mexican beach hut. panela—raw extract of sugarcane. Cane juice is boiled, evaporating the water to leave a pure and unrefined cane sugar. panza de carnero—sheeps’ stomach stew. patacones—disks of fried
His dome-shaped belly swelled under a dirty shirt and a pair of braces while Willie Nelson sang about a ‘Whiskey River’ from a radio set hidden among the dusty papers and coffee cups on the dashboard. ‘Good afternoon, sir. You don’t know anywhere a guy can camp in Stanton, do you?’ ‘Heeeeeeech papuut! City Park, down by the river. Gonna get mighty busy though.’ ‘Yeah, why’s that?’ ‘Stanton Rodeo.’ ‘Sounds fun.’ ‘If you’re into that kinda thing. Heeeeeech papuuut!’ Another projectile flew
arrived in the Americas over five hundred years ago, the indigenous Kuna have lived an almost unchanged existence on these small islands for millennia. They have their own language, their own laws and their own independent government, and watching the canoe cross the crystal-clear waters towards our immense white hull, I was transported to another age. Coming alongside, the two slight women lay down their wooden paddles and began to trade. Their stern faces were decorated with golden nose rings