I ignored my mother's pleas and started a journey into the unknown. I hoped it would inspire people along the way: For each mile we drove in our Daihatsu Terios, we donated a book to an underprivileged child through First Book. 10,000 miles. 10,000 books. That was the goal.
The aim was to drive from England to Mongolia. The reality was that I found myself lying on a hospital bed in a distant land. A broken collarbone and bruised ego in tow. Violent car crashes can sometimes do that to you. But this year I am trying again.
My next few rides included a chap who used to work in the White House and gave it all up for a life of adventure, a hedge fund manager, a pharmacy student and, my favorite, a Bolivian soccer journalist.
Starting at Times Square, I will be travelling across America in a vintage London cab winding my way ultimately to the Hollywood sign. Along the route I will be picking up anyone who wants a free cab ride.
I'm having a bout of anxiety, and here's why: The Uzbek Embassy was late in processing the visa of my trusted friend and cameraman, Steven Priovolos, so he was forced to travel across Europe on his Greek travel documents because his passport is at the Uzbek Embassy.