Tait Miller tests his limits, for the love of adventure

Tait Miller is a professional chef, who found a new path to follow with his love of the outdoors. With a passion for wild cooking, Tait wants to promote the connection to the planet that people can achieve when they get outside and away from home comforts. With many adventures under his belt, Tait tells us of his epic challenge to cycle to Rome, and discovering that Nikwax can keep his kit protected for future explorations… 

As I sit in my London flat watching the 900 fill down sleeping bag finish up its delicate wash using Nikwax, I’m transported back to Europe… The rain swirls in my face as the mountains, that I didn’t know existed in the east of Belgium, rise up and down, up and down. I slam down the pedals on my Canyon touring bike with the determination only a guy who has spent 15 years working 80 hour weeks in professional kitchens could have. As I think about why we weren’t taught about the basics of European Geography at school, a quote springs to mind from part of my misspent youth; “There is only one constant, causality, action and reaction cause and effect”. My actions aren’t going to determine the fate of humanity, like Neo’s in the Matrix Reloaded, as I have a simpler goal of testing my limits and figuring out what it was that drove me to try and bike from Hackney to Rome in one week.

This whole story starts with a simple idea to bike to visit my big sister and her family, which sounds easy enough if it wasn’t for the fact that I live in Hackney and they enjoy their life in a beautiful seaside town just outside of Rome, called Santa Marinella. The 1300-mile route I found was an absolute beast with 50000ft of climbing, and to top it off I needed to complete the ride in 7 days so I would be in Rome in time to meet my little sister – who was doing the clever thing of flying from England, so we could both spend time with our niece and nephew, before biking back home via Slovenia.

My ride started at 2am in Hackney, with a clean sleeping bag amongst my kit for the trip. I make it the 88 miles to Dover by 10 am, ready for a swift and sunny journey across the channel. Reaching Calais in good time, I was greeted with sun and beautiful flat roads as I blasted my way up north to the Belgium border and through into chocolate country. A hundred miles later, I found what I considered to be the perfect spot to wild camp, however, some people have later pointed out that I slept in a ditch next to a farmer’s field. This was night one without showering and the creation of the ‘funky bag’.

The next day, I woke to a cat investigating my makeshift camp, ate the rest of the half-eaten bar of Belgium chocolate from the day before, packed up and got riding. I started off down dawn-lit canal paths, past a small group of special forces guys, who at first freaked me out that I might be about to be the first person to come across some sort of military coup – happily, it turned out to just be some kind of training exercise, so I passed by with a few happyish morning nods. I pressed on to find an open shop along my route so I could get my first two coffees of the day, and enough rolls and snack bars to feed half the Belgium army. The day was hot to start, which I love, so I crunched through the miles, making a few friends along the way and navigating what felt like mountain bike routes beside the canals that had formed from the storms from the nights’ before. My stink-proof Darn Tough socks and legs were now caked in the silty mud from the canal paths as I turned to tackle the hills in the east of Belgium. A friendly Belgian cyclist who I got talking to on the road about my plans for the day, simply said it was impossible.

Luckily, this was just the boost I needed to get through the rest of my gruelling day, which included rain, lots of climbing and crossing the entire length of Luxembourg in the dark. Another night spent sleeping in luxury, this time curled up fully clothed inside my sleeping bag in a kids’ play park to shelter from the rain, was the final tip over the edge from a smelly sleeping bag to funky sleeping bag. The next day was more of the same, crossing through another four countries’ borders before limping my way into a small German village to find shelter for the night, this time behind an office building. I woke to find that my back, neck and ankle had all stopped working, but being the stubborn human that I am, I rigged up my tripod to my handlebars to try and help straighten my back, and kept pushing further through Germany, trying to make it to Austria. I rode another 30 miles with jarring pain to my knee, as the final realisation hit that my neck was no longer allowing me to look up at the road ahead. The thought that I may be risking jeopardising the life I’ve been working so hard to carve flashed into my mind. I stopped as the morning light turned pink over the rolling green hills around me and, as an Osprey swooped into the field next to me to catch its breakfast, I knew it was time to admit defeat. A huge wave of sadness, disappointment and relief swept over me as I opened Google Maps and started figuring out potential train routes to the safety of a warm bed in Rome!!  

A day that started with the most amazing sunrises, mountains and clear country air became a frantic mission to make it to various stations across Europe. Bike passes, makeshift bike covers made from mattress bags I managed to get from a shop (the lovely train instructors informed me my bike couldn’t possibly come on the train without this!) and lots of curious passengers wondering what this smelly, exhausted, and kind of crazed-looking Englishman was doing on the train. Luckily by 1am I made it to the seaside station and pushed on the final few miles to my sister’s house, where I proceeded to shower for what seemed like an hour before crawling onto the sofa bed, which felt like a super king in a suite at the Ritz. The next morning I woke to the inevitable Steve Austin style wrestling moves of my four year old nephew and an espresso, and began a week of sun-soaked recovery, before packing up and starting back with my little sister to head home across Europe in relative comfort and with plenty of hot showers. Even with lots of campsite showers on the way home, the damage had already been done to my sleeping bag and, as we made it back to London, I remembered the camping trip I had promised my fiancée we would go on to Wales when I got back. Little did I know that I was just about to have a chance meeting with the amazing people of Nikwax. As I told them about my dilemma they said, “Why don’t you wash it?”. To which I replied, ”How?”, as before this I didn’t even know washing down was possible without ruining the feathers inside. By the end of the conversation, I had all the info on the wonders of their down cleaning solution. 

Now, all that remains is 8 minutes on the washing cycle before I fully dry my 900 fill down sleeping bag and I’m saved from what I thought was an inevitably stink ruined camping trip.