A 6-Week Crash Course — Literally and Figuratively

Six Weeks In — What the Road Has Actually Taught Andrew

*Written by Andrew’s uncle, Bryan, derived from a detailed phone conversation.

When Andrew left Atlanta six weeks ago, he'd spent nearly a month getting ready. He researched gear, mapped routes, built the website, bought equipment, and packed and repacked the bike more times than either of us can count. Like most people, he figured that preparation would take most of the uncertainty out of it.

Then the trip started, and almost immediately, things went sideways.

The very first stretch through Poland set the tone. Bike cables snapped. Temperatures dropped close to freezing. Everything was closed for Easter weekend. He barely slept. And at one point he got locked out of his hotel room in shorts and a t-shirt and ended up trying to sleep on a bathroom floor because it was slightly warmer than the hallway.

When I asked him about it, he just kind of laughed. "After that night, everything else kind of felt manageable."

That's probably the biggest shift I've noticed talking to him now versus before he left — he just sounds calmer. Not because things have gotten easier. In the last six weeks he's dealt with dog attacks outside Istanbul, repeated bike problems, hitchhiking through rural Turkey, sleeping beside roads, bad weather, poor roads, exhaustion, language barriers, and uncertainty on an almost daily basis. But somewhere in all of that, his tolerance for discomfort has clearly grown.  I guess he just expects it now and knows that he can improvises and figure it out.

When I asked what he's learned out there, he didn't hesitate. "Adaptability, probably more than anything."

At the start of the trip, every problem felt like a big deal. Now problems still happen all the time, but they don't feel like emergencies anymore. That's a real change.  As Andrew’s uncle, I know for a fact that this perspective and mindset will literally be a superpower for Andrew in the next 50-years of his ‘normal’ life.  WOW.

The mechanical side of things is a good example. Before leaving, Andrew understood bikes in theory. Now he understands them because he's had no choice. He can troubleshoot drivetrain problems on the side of the road, repair bent handlebars, deal with worn gears and slipping chains, and improvise fixes when he doesn't have the right parts. More than any of that, he's learned how to stay calm while it's happening. And when he’s not able to fix the problem, he’s been able to find another method to solve the problem. 

There was one moment in Turkey where his drivetrain completely failed on a remote road near the Black Sea. A local mechanic came to help, which was great — except the mechanic also started hitting parts of the frame with a hammer. Andrew's words: "They were really nice people. But I was also watching them actively make the bike worse."

That line pretty much sums up the trip. Things get messy. People mean well but aren't always helpful. Things often don’t go according to plan. And yet somehow it keeps working out. He eventually hitchhiked into the next town with some local farmers, found another mechanic, got the bike running, and kept going east.

That's become the basic rhythm: problem, uncertainty, improvisation, solution, keep moving. While the circumstances change, this concept stays the same in his mind. 

Camping has changed too. At first, sleeping outside alone in unfamiliar places felt odd. Now it's just part of the routine. "You realize pretty quickly most nights are actually fine," he told me. That sounds simple, but it's not nothing. Out there, discomfort isn't something you can avoid — you're cold sometimes, wet sometimes, hungry sometimes, exhausted a lot of the time. After enough of that, you stop treating every difficult moment like a problem that needs to be solved. You just deal with it.

One thing that surprised Andrew was how much of the trip comes down to people. Not apps, not planning — just people. Hotel owners, mechanics, farmers, families, other travelers, strangers at roadside tea houses. People have helped fix the bike, shared meals, offered rides, and patched him up after crashes. "If you're going to do something like this, you have to trust people a little," he said.  He also told me how he’s gained a real sense of people… knowing who to trust.

One story that stuck with me was a roadside birthday party along the Black Sea. A group of Turkish mechanics basically waved him over and told him to sit down. There was grilled chicken over a fire, whiskey, salad, pita, music. Nobody really spoke the same language. Didn't matter. His take on it: "Hospitality here isn't really offered. It's issued."

The other thing that's changed is how simple daily life has become. Not easy — simple. Back home there are schedules, notifications, work, planning, and constant background noise. Out there, most of that disappears. Most days, as he put it, "my only job is just moving east." The priorities are immediate: weather, food, water, shelter, fix the bike, find somewhere to sleep. That's basically it. And oddly, he sounds lighter because of it.

There are still hard days, lonely stretches, stress, and pain. He's clear about that. But the underlying confidence has shifted. It's not the kind that comes from feeling in control. It's more like — "I'll probably figure it out." And at this point, six weeks in, that confidence is backed by actual experience.

When he left, Andrew thought this trip would mostly teach him about the world. And it has. But more than anything, it seems to be teaching him what he's actually capable of once routine and comfort are taken away. That's probably why he sounds calmer now than the day he left.