Dear Mr. Neil Peart,

Every once in a while we read something that changes our life. Sometime in 1997 I picked up a copy of The Masked Rider at my local bookstore. Not only was it the first travel book I had ever read before, it was likely the first time I had ever read anything substantial on Africa. I was enthralled as I followed your month-long journey through Cameroon, led by Bicycle Africa's David Mozer. I was impressed that a white guy from Canada like myself could tackle something like this on a mere bicycle. It made the journey seem possible to someone like me and I often imagined myself in your own shoes throughout the adventure.

As with most books, soon after reading your story it was eventually swept to the back of my mind. A part of it still lingered, however, because a year later when I bought a new bicycle for commuting my thoughts quickly turned to the possibilities of bicycle touring. Not to Africa, mind you, but here—in Canada. I went to the Internet and began to research what others had done. I was surprised when I eventually came across the Bicycle Africa web site by accident. It had never occurred to me to go cycling in Africa myself, let alone look for the site of the touring outfit you had signed up with. Curiosity got the best of me though, and before long I was browsing through their various tours. The seed that had been planted by your book grew very quickly, indeed. Yes, I was going to go to Africa.

To make a long story short, in January of 1999 I found myself on a plane to Uganda. There, I met up with four others (all Americans) and began the trip that would slowly change many aspects of my life. (I found David Mozer, incidentally, exactly as you portrayed him in your book—unfailingly optimistic and very knowledgeable.) I was 23 at the time, new to bike touring and relatively new to travel (and life in general, I suppose). I was exposed to people, attitudes, cultures, lifestyles and ways of thinking that would colour so much of my world when I returned home.

More than that, however, the trip had awakened in me the desire not only to see so much more of everything around me but to share it with others, like you were able to with your book. Inspired by that trip, I spent part of the summer of 2000 on a solo cycling trip travelling from my home in Ottawa up through Québec and the Maritimes. I published the (rather long) journals from my two trips on the Internet and have even signed a contract to have an article I wrote on my trip to Uganda published in the U.S. magazine Adventure Cyclist in the next year. I am floored by the prospect of having a positive influence on the lives of so many others!

I find myself continually thinking ahead to future trips I plan to take and yearn to share my stories with as many people as I can reach. Already some have read my journals online and have been inspired to make trips of their own, whether in their own country or abroad. My trip, inspired by yours, is continuing to ripple into the lives of others. Who knows how they are going to be changed by their own experiences? If enough people get out there, expanding their minds and attitudes, who knows that kind of impact it might have? These trips aren't just a collection of memories—they can actively influence careers, relationships, attitudes, etc.—the potential repercussions are wonderful to consider.

In the end, I'm really writing to you simply because I want you to know that your book was the catalyst for what has been—and continues to be—some of my own life-changing experiences. They are continuing to form my life even as I write this, and possibly shaping the lives of others as they are touched by my own. Sharing our experiences is one of the best gifts we can give to people—something that is truly ours—and I thank you for sharing yours. I must admit I am very happy with the surprising turns my life has taken just because I picked up your book in 1997 and was amazed.

Yours truly,

Eric Mathurin

p.s. During one of our last days, David happened to mention your book. When I said I had read it he paused a moment and said, incredulous, "And you still decided to come?" I had to laugh, because I remembered very well the tribulations (dysentry comes to mind) that you had to endure. I guess when you don't have to go through them yourself, you tend to think of them as adventures in their own right. I've had my own share of tribulations, and it's amazing how we can fool ourselves into trivializing them!

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