the odyssey begins

Well here we are, it is the 6^th of January 2026 and its time now to tell you the story so far. As even though this website has just been launched… it has taken more than just a couple of days to get here… I’d like to take you back a number of years.

I am sat in a Maasai village listening to an elder telling a story of how the Maasai migrated down the Rift Valley, taking back all “their” cows from the neighbouring tribes as they went. Conquering all before them his oral history goes back a couple of hundred years… I sit in awe thinking how on earth did my life reach this point. Listening first hand to an elderly gentleman who has literally killed a lion many years before, as was the traditional part of the “warriorhood” back in the mid part of the 20^th Century.

His tones, spoke in the Maa language drift into me through our translator… and what pops into my mind… visions of spears? Swords? Parched lands? No, an image pops into my head of my motorbike! Dam my brain, it operates at 1000 miles an hour sometimes, which is both a blessing and a curse. Over the years I have come to realise that my brain operates quite differently than many folks I meet. It is its own entity sometimes, reminding me of a herd of gazelles moving at speed through the landscape, all sprinting in different directions but with the sole purpose of using the landscape to its advantage with all the individual animals (brain activity) moving in roughly the same direction, individually thinking but with the collective in mind. I have come to accept it, indeed, to admire it at times… because it does come up with some wild ideas, and here I was focusing on a Maasai migration, the beautiful sounds of the bush… and a motorbike.

The story completed, we finish our tea, sweetened with copious sugar. The goats milk incorporating the flavours of the herbs they have been eating, which transforms the taste.  I shake hands which is the custom (another English colonial influence I start to think… dam my brain their it goes again…). We bid goodnight and I retire back to my campfire; now under the canopy of stars I have become so familiar with after visiting this community for the last 15 years or so… and my brain continues to do its thing.

“Wouldn’t it be great to ride my motorbike to Egypt, and follow the original migration of the Maasai down the Great Rift valley through Sudan, Eritrea, Ethiopia, Kenya, Tanzania… and then beyond… documenting a story of how similar cultural signs from the Maasai had been left behind” My brain runs into overdrive and I vow to myself that as soon as I am back in the office I will start my research.

I hear a Hyena close to camp and so my brain then switches over and I refocus…

A few weeks later, back in my home in the Peak District I am pouring over maps, route finding, researching Tribes along the route, slowly bringing a dream together. But the deeper I get into the planning, the more it becomes obvious it was just not possible. Armed conflict, closed borders, famine… I have a daughter to come home too… it slowly dawned on me that my dream was just not possible.

Why is the world so closed? Well there would be many reasons behind the conflicts, but they don’t stem from love, they stem from anger, hate, divide, cultural differences, power, money… all the things I try and counter in my own life. I slowly put the dream to sleep for a while, despondent about the world and the attitudes of many people in power dictating, sometimes directly sometimes subversively, the dreams of others… the dreams of me.

Fast forward a few months I’ve still got the itch for an epic motorcycle ride, but I couldn’t think of a connection outside of the Maasai to give it purpose, I wanted to tell their story, and I couldn’t. I then picked up this book…

As I was flipping my way through the pages it hit me… why not try and tell many stories, interlinked but separate, entwined yet geographically separated. My brain simply popped and said… you need to go around the world, meet as many people living with the landscape. Then of course my brain went into overdrive… well in a lot of countries people aren’t living within the landscape… so why not try and link professionals who teach and earn a living teaching, with those who live and breathe bushcraft but may just not call it that, create a cinematic masterpiece to pull all these stories together into a documentary (yeah I had visions of grandeur)… an idea was born.

And this is me; this is my life, this is how ideas form and things happen.

When an idea takes hold, I will move heaven on earth to bring it to life. It was very apparent immediately that I could not complete such an expedition alone and being quite challenged when it comes to social interactions I thought I would need to go with one other person. But who should it be? The obvious answer was to ask my team, but I wanted more than that, I wanted this to be for me… not for Woodland Ways, which has consumed over 20 years of my life already.

I knew the journey itself would be demanding - physically, mentally, and emotionally. Riding across countries and cultures, meeting indigenous communities, carrying responsibility for stories that deserve respect - this wasn’t something to rush. And because of that, choosing the right person to share part of that trail with me mattered just as much as the route itself.

I also knew I was time restricted… as a single parent of an 11-year-old daughter I couldn’t just up sticks and leave for a year or so. But I also knew it was my role to inspire her, she is my best friend first, daughter second, so I needed to chat with her.

After chatting it through it seemed obvious to break it down into legs where I could leave for a few months at a time and then return to be with her. So I broke it down into legs… first Africa, then the Americas, and then finally the European/Asia and Australia leg. If she was 13 when I left for the first leg, she would be 15 by the time of my final longer part of the journey, a little more acceptable. I am also fortunate to be close friends with her mum, and we are flexible in sharing childcare… I began to realise I could make it work.

I just needed to find that travel companion. So I did something very deliberate.

I put out an open call.

Sharing an advert across a wide range of platforms - outdoor networks, adventure circles, bushcraft communities, and beyond, I was nervous of the response. I wasn’t looking for a polished CV or someone who simply wanted a free ride or a masculine flashy adventure. I also didn’t want it to be Jason’s trip with someone just tagging along. I was looking for character, curiosity, resilience, and the ability to sit comfortably with discomfort, and someone who wasn’t me. A person who could be ying to my yang, a balanced, dynamic partnership, someone who was different from me, but shared the same belief systems and goals. But I knew I would not know who that person was until I met them.

So the shout went out, and the response was overwhelming.

Within a short space of time, applications started pouring in. Stories, motivations, videos, emails - people genuinely wanting to be part of the something meaningful that I had manifested. I closed applications at sixty and yet still they poured in. Anymore and I wouldn’t have been able to do them justice, so I thought to myself… I need to get this right.

From there, I shortlisted down to ten people, not that the other 50 were bad, far from it, every application had a story behind it, but the harsh reality was that I would need to disappoint 59 people and that was a responsibility that sat uncomfortably with me.

After pouring through each application I was left with ten individuals’ names were now on my “to interview” pile. All, on paper and in spirit, felt aligned with what I was trying to achieve. I video interviewed each of them; long conversations about motivation, values, expectations, fears, and realities. I wasn’t interested in bravado. I wanted raw honesty.

From those conversations, I shortlisted further down to five very different people. Five people I wanted to meet in person. Because at some point, you must step away from screens.

I arranged a meeting with Nika.

I remember riding down from the Peak District to Frome to meet her, feeling oddly nervous. The motorbike roared into life, I left the estate where I live, leaning into the corners and let the bike do her thing.

That bike has literally calmed my brain in so many ways on so many occasions. When I’m working, on expedition, my brain is calculating thousands of thought processes every minute, what if this happens, how do I react to that factor, how do we do this, how is that person feeling, it’s always about keeping others safe. When I jump on that bike… it is all about me staying alive. I float, I fly, I glide, and I think about every potential assassin on the road- and nothing else. It’s the best therapy.

After 4 hours solid beautiful riding I arrive in Frome and check in to my hotel, later Nika meets me at the roadside.

Now I knew we connected immediately over video, despite an obvious age, life and experience difference there were common themes threading their way through both of our journeys to this point, but I was nervous. There’s something vulnerable about turning up on a motorbike to meet a stranger and knowing that this person might end up sharing a significant chapter of your life. They may judge you; they may not like you; you may not like them, you may be wasting theirs and your time… and yet, there is always a chance they could be perfect.

I’d rehearsed nothing deliberately. I had no script. I had a big pile of maps, some camera gear, and I just knew I needed to listen. I trusted my intuition after years of leading people in remote places across the globe.

Within ten seconds of meeting Nika, I felt it - a positive energy. I didn’t see her initially, I just saw violets and purples filling my eyes which I see as creativity, and then her face appeared through the colours. Very quickly a grounded, calm, genuine presence made her presence known. Someone who was deeply rooted in her spirituality, both confident and vulnerable. If I’m honest, I had already decided at that point this was a positive thing that was happening, she may be the right person, but I wanted to know if she would prove me otherwise, and after all, this had to be a two way decision.

So, we did what felt natural. We got on our bikes and rode out together to a biker café. She had this very cool Royal Enfield Himalayan and glided it around the corners as I followed her, with her setting her terms with the road in front. I was impressed with her road handling and her positioning, and the bike looked fantastic. I’ve been a fan of Triumph for years but to get sight of the Royal Enfield I began to wonder whether that would be the best choice for this trip.

Reining by brain back into line like a set of well-trained tracking dogs I focused on the day. No formal interview. No pressure. Just shared miles and smiles. We parked up at a biker café, grabbed a brew, spread the maps out on the table, and started talking properly, routes, places, people, realities. The conversation flowed easily, without effort or performance. It was genuine, she got it, she understood it, and it aligned with what she had been looking for. The universe pointed me in the right direction. I concluded that my initial impressions of Nika were correct.

About twenty minutes in, I closed the maps, looked up, and offered her the place.

No speeches. No drama. Just a straightforward offer, gobsmacked smiles all round and a handshake. The decision was made.

She shook my hand, and that was that. It felt right because it was right.

This expedition isn’t about ticking boxes or chasing headlines. It’s about trust. It’s about shared values. It’s about knowing that when things get hard, and they will, the person next to you is there for the right reasons.

Choosing Nika wasn’t a decision made on paper or through a screen. It was made on the road, over maps and mugs of tea, with engines cooling outside, an excitement about the journey ahead; the Odyssey before we knew it, had already began.

And that, in many ways, is exactly what Tracks & Traditions is all about.

Oh, and within two weeks of getting home I had bought a Royal Enfield Himalayan.

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With gratitude to all our supporters, past, present and those yet to join us.