20. The (Grandly Named) Hero’s Quest.
06.05.24 : Serrekunda
This weeks blog takes a slight diversion. The last two weeks have been full of all manner of extraordinary adventures. There’s been lots of hard riding. Borders have been crossed. Friends made. Dreams lost. And it’s been hot. Really hot. In the midst of it all, I’ve been battling to cure Madonna of her various adventure-related-ailments; occupational hazards, unfortunately. There hasn’t been much time for writing and, in truth, most of my energy has gone towards maintaining a steady keel. I’ve been frantically paddling to avoid drowning in the murky waters of logistics.
So, this week, I’m sharing something I wrote recently for a friend’s blog. A piece that reflects on the why of this journey. It’s a question I’ve continued to reflect on since the time of writing. And amongst the challenges of the last weeks, I believe I’m edging closer to an answer.
But fear not, you’ll be back on the road with me and Madonna before you know it.
So, for now, I present the grandly named: Hero’s Quest.
Have you heard of the Hardest Geezer? This is, without a doubt, the most common question I’m asked when people discover where I am and what I’m doing. My invariable answer to this invariable question is yes, but for those for whom it isn’t, let me enlighten you. Russ Cook – the self-styled Hardest Geezer – is a British man currently running the length of Africa who has, at the time of writing, run for 304 days, covered 13,270 kilometres, and raised over £180,000 for charity in the process. I, on the other hand, am a British man currently cycling (most of-) the length of Africa and have, at the time of writing, covered a little under 5,000 kilometres, taken 3 holidays along the way, and even enjoyed a brief hiatus in the form of a family Christmas at home. I think you can agree, in the eternal words of Jules Winfield, that this ain’t the same ballpark, it ain’t the same league, it ain’t even the same fuckin’ sport. Literally. But this doesn’t stop the comparisons rolling in. And each time they do, I laugh it off, rattle off some attempt at humorous deflection, and leave feeling a little deflated about the scale of my own adventure.
Now, a feat like Russ’ is of such a monumentally different scale to mine that these comparisons don’t tend to cut too deep. But sometimes things come closer to home. Last year, I let a friend from university in on my embryonic plan to cycle from London to Cape Town. No way! he said. I’ve got another friend who’s just set off to do the same thing! Now, this was a bit more of a kick in the egoic teeth. As it turned out, this friend of his was also 24; he happened to study the same subject as I did at the very university – in fact, the very college – that I’d suffered a bitter rejection from at the sensitive age of 17; and he’d had a three month head start. Same sport; same league; same ballpark. It was difficult not to let this revelation dilute my excitement for the adventure ahead.
At this point, perhaps some background might be useful. From as young as I can remember, I’ve always had a strong desire to swim against the current. This has presented itself in various ways over time. In my early years, I’d regularly borrow my older sister’s clothes and dress in them (quite literally) from the bottom up to become my alter-ego, Rosie. In my early teens, I made a concerted effort to rebel; sex, drugs and questionable tattoos took precedence. Then, in my late teens, when putting any effort into school work was considered social insanity, I affected a monkish resolve, knuckling down on the academic front and even announcing sobriety on occasion – with varying levels of success – while many of my peers were on a more naturally-timed rebellious trajectory. After university, I broke free from the shackles of a predetermined career in banking – the natural continuation of a degree in Economics – to enter the start-up world, taking home a (bottom-heavy) fraction of the salary my city-slicker friends commanded. That brings us to now, where I’ve decided to hang my career out to dry while I take to the road in search of adventure.
I’ve indulged in this selective autobiography to illustrate a point. And that point is motivation. Where does it come from? Why do we do what we do? After plenty of reflection during long hours in the saddle, I’ve discovered that my own motivation can often be reaction. I mean this in both senses; reacting against the status quo, and the reaction you receive as a result. It feels exposing to put this in black and white, but if I’m being truly honest with myself, I draw a certain sense of pride from bucking a trend. When I think about it, even the route I’m taking was motivated by a reaction to something external. Why Africa? I’m often asked. Well, a year-or-so back, a very close friend of mine also happened to set off on a multi-month bike tour. He decided to cycle from the door and, with another friend, covered 15,000km from London to Almaty, following the West-East axis. So, early last year, when I too decided that I’d like to take a multi-month bike tour, cycling from the door, my choice of route was ultimately a reaction to his. West-East was taken. That left North-South. From London, to cover the distance I had in mind, North-South meant Africa. So, as you can imagine, discovering this wasn’t such a unique idea after all came as a slightly unwelcome surprise.
You might already be aware of the difference between intrinsic and extrinsic motivation. Intrinsic motivation is a drive that comes from within, whereas extrinsic motivation is drawn from someone, somewhere, or something else. For a long time I’ve sensed that intrinsic motivation is the ideal; a pure, distilled energy that wells up and remains untempered by anything or anyone around you. Extrinsic motivation, on the other hand, feels more fickle; it’s subject to factors that lie beyond your control, and seems to ebb and flow accordingly. I tend to sit pretty firmly on this side of the fence.
It’s funny how we often focus on what we want, glossing over the more interesting question of why we want it. Sometimes, peeling back that extra layer can be uncomfortably revealing. As I’ve been pedaling, I’ve been peeling. And I’ve landed on an interesting question. Would I still do this ride if no one knew about it? In essence: how intrinsic is my motivation? For a while, the answer remained beyond my grasp. Instead, I was left with more questions. I’ve chosen to write a blog as I travel, which means I’m making a concerted effort to make people aware of what I’m doing. Is this choice performative? Is the trip itself the motivator, or is it all just in aid of having something to say? Questions on questions on questions.
Luckily, in an existential pinch, I have my Grandma to look out for me. A day or two back, she emailed over something she’d read about The Hero’s Quest. The language is grandiose, I know, and I don’t intend to adopt any heroic implications about my own trip. Instead, the hero’s quest is used to cover any manner of personal adventure, big or small. The piece first paints the traditional image of a hero’s quest; one that’s found in countless forms in classical mythology. Typically, a challenger journeys to find a new life-affirming perspective and (crucially) returns renewed with energy, ready to share the wisdom they’ve discovered with others. The piece goes on to explain how today, this picture has morphed beyond recognition; the focus of the hero’s quest has transposed from the external to the internal.
Interestingly enough, this classic tradition of a true “hero” is not our present understanding at all. There is little social matrix to our present use of the word. A “hero” now is largely about being bold, attractive, rich, famous, talented, or “fantastic” by oneself, and often for oneself, whereas the classic hero is the one who “goes the distance,” whatever that takes, and then has plenty left over for others. True heroism serves the common good or it is not really heroism at all. – Richard Rohr, Daily Meditation: A New Liveliness.
As I’ve pondered the idea of the traditional hero’s quest, I’ve come to realise that often the motivation to undertake an adventure is less important than the impact that the journey has on you and, more importantly, on those around you. By this logic, the whole point of setting off on an adventure is to share what you learn with others; to take an external focus, rather than hoarding the experience for yourself. Suddenly, the idea of extrinsic motivation doesn’t sound so bad; and whether or not the adventure is record-breaking, earth-shattering, or even particularly novel pails into insignificance.
I hope that by sharing my experiences from the road, I might encourage other people to have a crack at their own quest. And I hope that the scale (or similarity) of other people’s adventures doesn’t undermine the significance of our own. Using Dogberry’s wisdom: comparisons are odorous. I’m still working to understand the why of my own adventure. But really, it seems that the most important thing is what you learn and how you use it. Is the impact personal and private, putting you in the spotlight surrounded by hoards of adoring fans? Or does it flow over, rippling out to resource the world that we’re part of? This feels like a question worth asking. So, as you sit and dream about your next adventure – big or small; a trailblazing feat or a well-worn path – I hope that you’ll let this question percolate. Go on your quests; learn what you can; and, most importantly, share what you learn with the world.
I hope you enjoyed this brief trip down memory lane, and my weak reworking of Richard Rohr’s far more profound thoughts.
Next week, you’ll hear all about the journey beyond the desert, into the heart and the heat of West Africa’s smiling coast.
You write so well, Jake, as much about the big things as the little. The questions about what we're doing and why we're doing it are endlessly interesting. Here's another thought about how we deal with them on a long quest: sometimes we can just observe the feelings, without settling on an answer to the question? Take care of Rosie.
Keep on going Jake. Spin class is my new quest, but it just doesn't compare..even at my age!.