The high roads to Tibet, Gansu, China




Odysseus' Last Stand

“I wanted an adventure. I figured that an irrevocable change was coming to the mysterious world of foreign travel, of exotic lands, of princes and princesses, or unexplored castles and ruins. Guidebooks, air access, and visas to hidden kingdoms were becoming commonplace. The ends of the earth were no longer a myth passed down by a grandparent, but a package tour that included a rental car.”

In 1992, Dave Stamboulis looked around and saw a world that was moving too fast, speeding out of its mind. He wanted to slow down. In an era of preplanned and packaged expeditions, he wanted a great adventure, complete with surprises, spontaneity, and lots of room for error.

He decided to bicycle around the world.

Odysseus’ Last Stand is the story of Dave’s seven-year and 40,000 kilometer journey around the world. Based on the detailed journals he kept throughout his travels, it conveys the richness of sights, sounds, and teeming life that make up the globe as experienced from the saddle of a bicycle. Dave learns about the differences and similarities that bind the world together; experiences firsthand the effect of international politics on media-invisible countries and cultures; and meets an endless array of unique and wonderful characters.
 Very few individuals have made the time, nor had the finances or inclination to attempt a journey of such scope, and Dave’s perspective on world travel and culture is startlingly and refreshingly different from what one might find in any ordinary travelogue. He immerses himself in the culture of every country he visits, learning languages and customs as he travels. As a cyclist, he explores the role that the bicycle plays in the lives of people around the world-and in the process, learns about its importance in his own life.

At its heart, Odysseus’ Last Stand is a study of one man’s struggle to find his place in a world that never stops to catch its breath. Everywhere he goes, Dave sees the clash of values between the developed and developing worlds, and he examines the tension between tradition and progress with insight, compassion, and good humor.


Awards and Reviews

Society of American Travel Writer’s Award:
Travel Book of the Year, 2005-2006. Silver: Dave Stamboulis,
"Odysseus' Last Stand: The Chronicles of a Bicycle Nomad," Sanuk Press
Here's a travel writer as off-road warrior. Yes, it's a first-person tale unlikely to make you jump out of your seat and bike around the world; it's too daunting a task for most of us. But it's a marvelous tale, with twists, turns, humor, pathos, the expected (but still marvelously enjoyable) and unexpected.

Midwest Book Review
In 1992, Dave Stamboulis began a bicycle trip that was to last seven years and 40,000 kilometers around the world. Odysseus' Last Stand: The Chronicles Of A Bicycle Nomad his his account of his adventures as he bicycled through obscure countries and foreign cultures, taking in all the sights, sounds, and teeming life that can be viewed from the slower and more intimate pace of a bicycle. What motivated Stamboulis to his epic odyssey was the need to slow down in a world that was moving every faster, and to explore the role that the bicycle plays in peoples' lives around the world. Odysseus' Last Stand is also a candid and informative study of an attempt to find his place in a world that is a complex web of tensions between ancient traditions and technological/industrial progress, value differences between the developed and the developing countries. Along the way we are treated with insights, compassion, and a great deal of humor. Enhanced with eight pages of color photographs, Odysseus' Last Stand: The Chronicles Of A Bicycle Nomad is especially recommended reading for armchair travelers, as well as anyone who has thought about traveling the world along the lesser known paths.

Amazon.Com Reviews


Enlightened in Laos

An Excerpt from Enlightened In Laos, published in Cycling’s Greatest Misadventures, June, 2007

……Locals told me there was no accommodation available, but recommended a guest house in the next village on my map. However they cautioned me about a long steep climb to get there. I figured I had enough light left to do the thirty-odd kilometers, so I went back to the garage, and dropped a grand total of seventy cents into the hands of the mechanic who was now back in his hammock snoring away.

I got about ten kilometers into the climb, indeed a steep horrid track, when another two spokes broke. Figuring that I must be near the top of the ascent, I walked the next few switchbacks. At the top of the pass I assessed the damage and reckoned that I could stand up off the saddle and just coast down into my accommodations for the night.

The descent was joyous, but at the bottom of the hill there was no village. The road again rose abruptly. I cursed the road builders and began walking once more. I walked the bike uphill for ten kilometers until I saw lights. Dirty, fatigued, and not at all happy, I arrived well after dark in a small town atop a mountain. I later noticed that the town’s name was Phu Khao, which I knew meant mountain in Lao, and I cursed my failure to see that on my map.

Phu Khao’s one and only guesthouse was squalid. A set of rickety wooden stairs led up to several filthy rooms that smelled of unwashed truckers and fermented fish paste. A young boy, who appeared to be in charge, feigned sleep when I came to the reception. When he did acknowledge my presence, he informed me that the hotel was closed.

Too tired to speak Thai (the Lao could understand my Thai due to the languages similarities, although I usually failed to understand them), I berated him in English, telling him that I was tired, hungry, and couldn’t possibly go anywhere else since my spokes were broken, My tantrum worked, and he begrudgingly unlocked a shabby room on the second floor.

The town’s few eateries had shut for the night, but I found two cold, greasy pieces of fried chicken at a sidewalk vendor’s stand. I bought a warm bottle of Beer Lao, and retreated to my room, where I spent most of the night awake, as the blankets provided weren’t nearly enough to keep the chilly mountain air out. Of course I had not packed any warmth, but I did find my rain coat and I put that on. But it was not enough to keep me from shivering all night.

In the morning, I gave a local mechanic the last of my spare spokes. He was so friendly and enthralled by my freewheel removal tool (local freewheel removal was done with just a piece of flat metal and a hammer) that I gave him the tool as a present.

The road picked up into the mountains exactly where it left off, full of ruts, holes, rocks, and absolutely nothing worth cheering about. My rear wheel agreed with this assessment, and my journal entry for the afternoon read, “This sucks….big time!”

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