Trans Am Upside Down

The Stats

2007-09-09T14:34:00.000Z

Countries visited: 16
Continents: 2

North America

Central America

South America

Days taken: 298
Cost: I really don’t want to know

Mileage:
Tierra del Fuego to Prudhoe Bay: 30403km unlike the 17,848km it says on the sign at the end of Ruta 3
Total trip distance: 40161km

Bike stats:
Punctures: None (I have to include this because Mike had three)
Tyres worn out: 5 (A bit of a sore point with Mike, he went through 10)
How many times did I actually change my own tyre: None (Mike, 3 puncture repairs, 3 of his own and 2 of mine – well I’d hardly want to break a fingernail now, would I!)
Oil used: too much
Clutch changes: 1 – And this was after being explicitly advised to ‘Whatever you do, look after your clutch!’
Chain broken: 2 (Both before I bought the tool to fix it)
Chain and sprocket changes: 3 (It took me 2 to learn how to look after them better)
Break downs: Um, no comment (Damn that carburettor and chain)

Bad accidents: 1
Times I dropped my bike: Um, several
Times my bike blew over: 4 (The wind was quite strong in some places)
Times I had to pick up my bike by myself: none mostly thanks to Mike and a little to the machismo of Latin America

Road kill tally (Seen but not created by us - except for Larry the Lamb of course):

Dogs – hundreds

Cats – not so many

Lambs - 1

Llamas – 12

Horses – strangely, at least 9

People – 1

Unidentifiable – numerous

Best riding days:

Riding Ruta 39 crossing from Argentina to the Caraterra Austral, Chile.

Feeling like Che Guvera on the road from Uyuni to Potosi in Boliva. (Although no plans to start a revolution)

Riding the Dalton Highway back down from Prudhoe Bay (although this was technically at night time).

Strange how all of these were dirt roads, and I supposedly hated riding on dirt roads.

Best moments:

Uncrating our bikes in Buenos Aires.

Being served breakfast in bed or rather, in our sleeping bags in our tent, by the hostel owner in Hotel Argentino, Rio Grande. (It’s the little things)

Reaching the ‘road’ after two days of riding through a gravel pit that is the south west of Bolivia.

Reaching Deadhorse, Alaska in one piece. Job done.

Worst days:

Having to ride bruised and battered, on Ruta 40, in the wind, after my accident.

Waiting 4 weeks for a god damn boat from Colombia to Panama, only to spend the first two days very seasick.

Saying goodbye to Mike in Vancouver.

Leaving my bike at the warehouse in Vancouver.

Lessons learnt:

In the thinking of Karl Bushby, (The Goliath Expedition http://blog.goliath.mail2web.com/ ) ‘For every one person that will do their best to disrupt your day, there are thousands of complete strangers that will go out of their way to make it better.’

Nothing is ever as difficult as you’d imagined it to be.

Never take no for an answer – Unless of course that’s what you want the answer to be! i.e. Do you think it will rain today?

And on a final note:
NO, the inspiration for this trip was NOT ‘The Long Way Round’ or ‘The Motorcycle Diaries’ but rather my own lust for travel and ‘Jupiter’s Travels’ by Ted Simon.

Home

2007-09-09T14:21:00.000Z

Arriving into Prince Rupert, we were back to the reality of the bikes. Shopping around for a new front tyre had become a priority for me - vibrating down the road on an oddly worn front tyre had lost its appeal. And having become accustomed to the ‘proper bed’ lifestyle onboard the ferry, when we got drowned in the evening summer rain, we lost our hardcore status and opted for a hotel. The joys of bad TV were also included in the price. So with all this going on, and the fact that it is really a bloody long way, it took us three days to ride to Vancouver Island.

Whistler over run with mountain bikers!

We had wanted to stop in at Whistler but being a long weekend, the place was packed and out of our price league. So onto Gill and Collin’s place in Victoria. You probably don’t remember, but Gill and Collin were the couple we met backpacking around South America. We’d met them in Valpariso, Chile, just before Christmas. And although they wouldn’t be home for a few days, they’d left their keys at the neighbour and left some beer in the fridge for us. A godsend!

Piglet takes over the sofa at Collin and Gill's!

The bikes got a good wash and yet more maintenance. Then it was time to organise the rest of our lives. Mike managed to sort out shipping his bike to Europe and booked his flight to follow, relatively quickly. I, on the other hand, was at a bit more of a loss as to what to do with my bike. I tried to sell her, only to find out that she couldn’t be imported into Canada. The other option was to scrap her, which I just couldn’t bear. So, as you read, I am still in the process of stupidly trying to import her into Australia. Fingers crossed.

With the BMW delivered to the airport and wrapped in plastic, Mike flying out on Thursday and me with still no idea of when or what I was doing, the reality of the end of the adventure was starting to hit home. To take our minds off our impending separation, finally, after 9 months of saying ‘We really must do some trekking’, we picked a doozie. The Grouse Grind! 2 hours of a seriously uphill slog. The view of Vancouver from the top was worth it though and finally we got to see some grizzly bears, albeit in The Grizzly Bear Park.

The view from the top of Grouse Grind.

Finally I received an agreeable price for shipping the bike to Australia, an email to say that they might just let me import my bike into Australia (Apparently I was an unusual case, what’s new!) and I was able to book my flight to Australia.

The rojo beast at the warehouse, ready to be crated.

After a very tearful farewell at the airport, it was ‘hasta luego’ Mike. I loitered around the Departure Gate for a while (Well what did you expect after being together 24/7 for nearly 10 months!) but then it was time to head back to Dan and Maya’s place and pack up my own bike, ready for my last ride to the shipping warehouse. And to get a nap in before my 35 hour transit via San Francisco (The twelve hour stop-over made much better by catching up with Cat, a friend from London) and Auckland, home.

Cinnamon Rolls on the Inside Passage

2007-09-09T14:14:00.000Z

Desperate to get off the bikes for a bit, we hightailed it to Skagway, home of cruise liner tat. It was a beautiful ride down through the mountains, scenery like what you see in the brochures. Unfortunately Skagway itself was marred by an infinite number of jewellery shops, I mean, what is with cruise liners and jewellery shops anyway? I’ve never understood that one.

Mike getting in on some snow train action - the only thing that doesn't invlove a jewellery store in Skagway!

Finally it was time to put our feet up and rest, for a few hours at least. The earliest ferry we could catch was one that went from Skagway to Juneau, capital of Alaska and home of the Alaskan Brewing Company.

The hostel in Juneau was definitely unique in one respect; it was the cheapest IYH I’d seen. To keep the cost down there was a ‘shoes off at the door’ policy and all guests were issued with a chore. I thought she was joking about the chore to start with but when I got told I’d be wiping down the kitchen bench, I realized she wasn’t. No probs though, I would have wiped down the kitchen bench before using it anyways. Mike had to vacuum the spare 2m2 in his dorm room. It’s a hard life being on the road and having to do domestic chores.

Juneau wasn’t too bad a capital city, and of course we had to visit the brewery, where we were minor celebrities. Tara and her hubby (We'd been on the Prudhoe Bay Oil tour with them, and then again on the ferry to Juneau) had visited earlier and told the guys working there about us, so when we turned up on the bikes, there was the usual battering of questions. The only problem of turning up to a brewery on bikes though is the issue of free samples. At this brewery they were very generous with their samples. You get a glass before you head in (you can duck out for a top-up during the spiel if you’ve downed the first glass before you’ve finished learning about how beer is flavoured) and then they try to ply you with as much of the stuff as they can before you leave. We just had to be content with buying some for the road.

It's all about the flavour at the Alaskan Brewing company

From Juneau to Prince Rupert we took the slow ferry, stopping at numerous ports. Good fortune shone upon us again when, queuing up to board the ferry, we got talking to Larry and Willy, two old pro-racers taking life a little slower these days and just mooching around Alaska. On the overnight ferries you have the option of paying extra for a cabin or pitching your tent (Duck tape instead of pegs) on the top deck. Or you can just roll out your sleeping bag on the sun loungers. Mike and I were quite looking forward to this, waking up in the morning to the beautiful view, probably at 5am due to the early sunrise. However, having told Larry and Willie our intentions, they proceeded to sneak off and pay for us to have our own cabin for the two nights we were on board. Cool, a real bed and our own bathroom. I know I’ve said it before, but the generosity of people still astounds me. So not being able to get on the ferry that we’d originally wanted had its benefits.

Willie and Larry getting their bikes ready.

Although we didn’t see any bears, we did see a lot of other wild life as we sailed down through the fjords, including Orcas, porpoises and whales. We also saw some truly unique Alaskans, reiterating the adage for a woman in Alaska, ‘The odds are good, but the goods are odd!’ Sitka, the former Russian capital of Alaska, takes the cake for this as we spent an evening drinking with Bo and Christina, a young couple with their tent pitched on the ferry.

The Vikings have arrived in Petersburg.

You know when you eat something that is so delicious, you’d seriously consider travelling from the other side of the world, just to eat there again. Well, we discovered the best cinnamon rolls in the world. Petersburg, or Little Norway as it is locally known, was the town. I can’t remember the name of the bakery but if you fancy a taste, it’s just along the road a bit, on the left, as you’re heading into town from the ferry terminal. You can smell it long before you’ve reached it and I doubt you’d be able to resist the temptation. Sailing down the inside passage was definitely a highlight of our trip for me. Maybe that’s because I could just sit inside out of the cool breeze, watching the world float by. Or maybe it is because it is spectacularly beautiful.

You couldn't fault the scenery!

Tok, we just can't escape.

2007-09-09T13:53:00.000Z

Just one night of listening to Ken, the owner of the Sourdough RV park in Tok, we had to escape. Hearing about how much he enjoyed 'camping' was driving me to distraction. C’mon, let’s be honest now, being set up in your ½ million dollar luxury RV is hardly camping guys. Camping is when you need to do yoga just to untangle yourself from your sleeping bag and the hard ground in the morning, not to mention having no shame when you get up in the middle of the night to make a dash to the toilet wearing fluffy socks, your saggiest thermal underwear and not forgetting the motorcycle boots with laces trailing in the dirt. But let’s face it, no one is up to see you at that time of night anyway.
The only thing to say for Ken was his way of dealing with children. The sign read ‘Any unattended children will be given an espresso and a new puppy’.

Angie, Bob and Mike in a hurry to leave Tok!

After riding through the vastness that is Alaska, the Yukon and BC, we had agreed that we deserved a break, to put our feet up and let someone else do the steering. Our plan was to take a ferry on the Alaskan Marine Highway through the Inside Passage instead of retracing the paved highway. But once again the RVs were organised and we weren’t. No room on the direct ferry for us. I’m sure these things happen for a reason though and we made the most of our delayed departure from Alaska by taking a side trip down to Valdez which included a scenic, off road, detour with a river crossing and a few tricky bits, complete with fresh bear scat just to keep us amused.

Mike looks for the old Valdez!

Is Mike taking the scenic detour, or is he running away from the bears!

Brian and Vanessa own another camping ground in Tok, (We just couldn’t stay away, that, and Tok is the junction of all road routes in and out of Alaska). This camping ground was more our style, no RVs, just motorbikes and a sauna. What else could you ask for!
Mike had been wanting to get some flying in, be it just a one off flight or lessons. Where better than in Alaska where people flying planes is as commonplace as if they were driving their cars! We liked Brian, Vanessa and the sauna so much that we opted for a day off while Mike tried to sort out something with the planes. Funny, although he could have been ready to sit his license in 3 weeks, the US, for some strange reason has a 3 month security check on any applications for learning to fly. A bit like closing the gate after the horse has bolted, me thinks.

Top of the world highway

With that it was time to ride the Top-of-the-world Highway to the peculiar gold rush town of Dawson City and home of Diamond Tooth Gerties. One night was enough to savour the delights and for Mike to find a new girlfriend. No need to worry though, Diamond Tooth Gertie was flirting with all the boys. Mike may tell you different but I wasn’t too worried, after all, it was me who he went home with.

That's Diamond Tooth Gertie on the left. At least Mike didn't have to get busy with his teeth on her.

Anchored down in Anchorage

2007-08-01T06:17:00.000Z

Denali National Park is a 'Must Do' for any visitor to Alaska, but as we rode past the entry, the hoards of 'Blue Rinses' and kids turned us off. That, and you can only ride 15 miles into the park before having to pay a large sum of money to take the shuttle bus. Stopping further south we managed to get some photos of the cloud shrouded Mt McKinley (Denali) before continuing onto Anchorage.

Mt McKinley, Denali National Park

So you'd think things would be easing up, a little less stressful being this close to the end. In desperate need of a beer, and being a Friday night, Mike and I head out in Anchorage. We've got the low down on where the live music's at, we've changed out of mucky riding gear and we even went to the trouble of washing. We walk six blocks to find an ATM. My mood turns from bad to worse when I can't withdraw $100 (Don't worry, this was to last me a few days, I wasn't going to spend it all on beer). I try again, it will give me $60. Stupidly I look at the balance. -$1872. Ouch! My monthly 'allowance' should have gone in few days ago. Had I really spent it all in two days?

In a foul mood we walk another block to get that beer. What do you know, with no USA identity you need your passport. We can't convince the bouncer that we're older than the 21 years we obviously look (This adventure has taken years off, evidently) so have to traipse back to the Hostel.

As a result of our mood and the fact that we did end up getting that beer (after walking 21 blocks), Saturday turned into a duvet day. Lazing in bed with a hangover and afterwards, bike chores.

Still miserable on Sunday, the rain not helping our moods, Mike headed off to Tok while I decided to stay in Anchorage and sort out my financial woes. It was time to check the dreaded bank balance. Ah ha, it would appear that I had been feeding the population of Caracas, Venezuela for a few days. I was kind of glad that it wasn't my financial mismanagement that had lead to my money troubles but with only $32 in my wallet, a credit card that was nearly maxed out and having only one night's accommodation paid for, I was kind of in a pickle.

But as a guy once told me in a Hostel in San Diego, years ago, when I had less cash and no credit card, 'Something always turns up', it was chin up and get on with it. By 10am Monday morning I had a job spring cleaning a Motorhome for $100. Not bad for five hours work. I also get fed and watered and taken on a rather long scenic drive.

Seeing as how the bank wouldn't send me a replacement card (That would be sent to my friend's house in London who happened to be on 3 weeks holidays, great timing) or refund the stolen money for some time, my best chance of escaping Anchorage before the winter was to try and catch up with Mike, at least Mike had a credit card that wasn't almost full. With it still raining and after having thanked the staff at the hostel who had continually tried to put a smile on my face, I rode out of Anchorage on Tuesday morning.

I hadn't heard from Mike since he had left but I figured if I kept emailing him with what had happened and where I hoped to meet up with him, he might wait for me. Five hours down the road I see Mike's bike parked outside a campground in Tok. For the first time in days I've got something to smile about. Bless him, Mike had been emailing me since Sunday afternoon to tell me he was waiting in Tok for me, but for some strange reason, his emails were bouncing back. As a last ditch effort, he had parked his bike on a road that he knew I'd be passing on. And boy was I happy to see it.

Been there, got the t-shirt!

2007-08-01T05:59:00.000Z

Caribou and oil pipes, that's Prudhoe Bay.

The tundra around the oil field is very barren yet the Caribou are everywhere. We even see some Arctic Swans, just like normal ones but bigger. Then it's time for some postcards and souvenir shopping. If I've ridden all this way, I want the t-shirt! We get our photo taken for the post office wall of fame (Which I guess the locals all look at and laugh, thinking we're mad) and decide we can't be bothered cooking. And as it's already 7pm we may as well celebrate in style. $20 each for a buffet dinner, but by damn it was worth it. New York steak that was delicious, and a really good salad bar. Plus we were allowed to take food for the road. The restaurants in the only two hotels in Deadhorse certainly look after their clientèle.

A photo for the Post Office wall of fame, Deadhorse.

It was 8pm before we turned around to head south. Passing Galbraith Lake we decide to skip the mosquitoes and get back over the pass into the mountains aiming for Coldfoot. The ride was one of the most memorable of the entire trip for me. The light from the midnight sun was beautiful as was riding up through the mountains. We rode until almost 2am, the sun never setting but weirdly the light changed from an 'evening' kind of light to a 'morning' kind of light. It was so beautiful. If my eyes weren't falling out of my head I think I would have liked to kept on riding all night.

The evening light on the North Slope.

The Dalton Highway was one of the best gravel roads we have ridden on and for me, one of the most scenic. The trick was I figured, to have the appropriate vehicle with the appropriate tyres and of course be able to ride the thing. And we met some interesting characters on the way up. But it was time to head back south and towards the end of the adventure. In Fairbanks it was time for a shower for both us and the bikes and Mike finally changed his tyres. Next stop Anchorage.

Dawn light, nearing 2am just before Coldfoot.

It's the journey not the destination!

2007-08-01T05:12:00.000Z

For the entire ride up the Alaskan Highway, any other riders that we'd met have been going on about how rough the roads were, how rough the Dalton Highway up to Deadhorse was, telling me this as is if they I shouldn't attempt it. It's slippery, full of potholes and the trucks are just downright dangerous, not slowing down to pass. This made me a little nervous about the final stretch of our little adventure. Would the bike break down on the 900 miles of gravel up to Deadhorse and back? Would I have an accident so close to the finish line etc....? But as I finally got around to telling one particular biker, 'Hey, we'd survived riding through Bolivia in the wet season, nothing could be worse than that!'

The Dalton Highway, a good gravel road!

Either we got lucky or these other riders just weren't up to the task. We managed to miss the rain that makes the road so slippery, we arrived just after the grader had been through, so no deep ruts of gravel, and what do you know, the trucks slowed down for us.
Other people had said to us 'Why do you want to go to Deadhorse and Prudhoe Bay? There's nothing there but an oil refinery!' Well for us it was a must. It was the end of the line, from tip to top. It wasn't about the destination so much as it was about the journey, but we had to finish somewhere.
So we set off from Fairbanks at the reasonable hour of midday and meandered our way through the many roadworks and potholes, stopping briefly to chat to other riders, most of whom had made it to the Arctic Circle and decided that that was far enough.

Another imaginery line to cross, the Arctic Circle

Ourselves at the Arctic Circle got lucky. An extended family travelling up from Anchorage in their motorhome were so excited at meeting us at the end of our journey, they fed us sandwiches and gave us beer for us to celebrate. Ham sandwiches beat pot noodles any day of the week.

We ran into Jeffrey, who we'd shared a tent pitch with in Watson Lake and I was very glad to see that he had made it all the way to Deadhorse as he seemed a little wary about the road, like I was, after listening to all the stories. Jeffrey warned us the mosquitoes get bad on the North Slope, and he wasn't far off.
Our first night we pitched at Galbraith Lake, overlooking the Arctic tundra. I would liked to have stayed awake to watch the changing sky - passing rain storms, which were thankfully in the distance - and the midnight sun, but the mosquitoes kept us well and truly wrapped up in our tent and I couldn't help but fall asleep, despite it still being light.

Galbraith Lake, and mosquitoes!

It was exciting, our last day's ride before reaching Deadhorse! I'd booked a tour for 2pm that takes you to the Arctic Ocean and drives you around two of the sixteen oil fields on the North Slope. It's the only way to get to the Arctic Ocean. We'd heard that the last 50 miles into Deadhorse were hard (worse than the rest of the highway apparently) and I'll admit that they weren't the easiest 50 miles we'd ridden. But we were still making good time for our 2pm appointment to the end of the road. That was until Mike got a puncture in his 'beyond bald' rear tyre (He was carrying a brand new tyre but didn't want to wear it out on the sharp edged gravel roads, so had refused to change them until after the Dalton Highway). Fortunately we didn't have any banditos about to shoot us here and we manage to get it plugged with no dramas. Pulling into the carpark with five minutes to spare for our tour, the BMW's next stunt was to run out of petrol, maybe Herr Bertie was doing his best to prolong to the adventure.
Loaded onto the bus after passing our security checks and an introductory video, we're given the tour of the oil field. It's obvious that most of the passengers aboard are there for one thing only, to get to the Arctic Ocean. So the tour guide does his best to make the oil field sound as interesting as possible, which I guess, it is, and we arrive at the ocean. After being instructed that if we hear the horn of the bus we're to gather into a group and head for the bus in an orderly manner, no running, as there is a bear in the area, we're allowed out. Mike and I prove to be the not-so-hardcore ones of our group and only dip our toes in the water. The other few passengers get changed into their swimsuits and lay down (It's very shallow and to actually go swimming you need to walk out a couple of miles) in the below 1 degree temperature water. Hmmm....... I guess each to their own. Mike and I instead crack open the beer and celebrate, the end of the line!

Celebrating in the Arctic Ocean!

Whitehorse, Buckinghorse, Deadhorse, what's with all the horses up here?

2007-07-22T05:08:00.000Z

Getting up to the north of Canada, the towns become fewer and farther between and their names become more intriguing. Like how did Buckinghorse River get it's name. Did the horses of the first settlers buck their riders off at the mere thought of crossing this particular river? Was Whitehorse named after a white horse that grazed there? Who knows but riding through them does make you wonder.

Just incase you didn't believe me, Dawson Creek, Mile 0

Dawson Creek marks Mile 0 of the Alaska Highway, a 1532 mile road to Fairbanks, Alaska. The Highway is considered the 16th Engineering wonder of the world, built in a mere 8 months in 1941 to provide land access for the US Army to Alaska. The Japanese had already invaded Attu Island, the farthermost Aleutian Island, providing them with a strategic military point for invading the northern US, so there was some quick work to be done. Without approval from the Canadian government, the US started ploughing through, I guess things haven't changed much since those days. Fortunately the Canadians are an ammicable bunch and gave permission after the first month of construction. So along this road you can see pine trees, more pine trees and as far as the eye can see, pine trees.

And if you didn't believe me about the pine trees either, well there are some lakes as well!

Northern Alberta, British Columbia and the Yukon are vast so this means a lot of pine trees, some lakes and snow capped mountains and days and days of riding.

The road just keeps going on, and on, and on....

But before you know it, we're in Alaska. Oh and Mike wasn't arrested at the border for his unpaid traffic offence from the Grand Canyon.

Friendly Harley riders save the day!

2007-07-22T04:54:00.000Z

Er yuk, it's raining. And who hates the rain more than me, of course, the Lady herself, Miss KLR650. She doesn't start, doesn't even turn over. And all this on a day we were trying to get going relatively early. Turns out she had right to complain. When we checked her battery, it was bone dry. So that'd be a big OOPS on my part. But she's not one to complain and after giving her a drink and a quick recharge she fires up, no problem. I um and ah whether to replace the battery then or wait to see if it is OK. For once on the trip, I forgo the 'Let's wait till it dies' attitude and pay up for a new one. Changed it in the parking lot of the motorcycle shop and by this time its stopped raining. Finally it is time to get going but not before lunch.

So we leave Calgary at the respectable time of early afternoon and slowly make our way up to Banff. After getting caught up in the road works and jay walking tourists through the centre of town, we manage to escape the road diggers and without running anyone over, head for Lake Louise. Due to our late start we weren't going to make it to Jasper that evening so we decide to check out the campground here. Due to our late start this morning, the campsite is already fool. Damn all those tourists being on school holidays, getting up early and making reservations for their preferred campsites. Who are they to be so organised!
We ride up to Lake Louise before heading north to find somewhere else to stay. And where are all of the organised hoards who already have their campsites? Up at the lake also. It was so busy and the parking lot wasn't even full.
After buying some supplies, we get talking to a Harley couple in the parking lot of the supermarket. In the habit I've become accustomed to, I ask if they have a campsite. 'Yes they do', 'Would they mind sharing it with us?', 'Of course not, if it's OK with the park rangers'. Luckily it's Canada we're in and the Park Rangers are pretty cool. We're sorted. Sandy and Jim won't even accept us paying half of the cost, 'How can they be doing us a favour if they lets us pay?' Apparently they'll be calling in the favour with Mike when they visit in Scotland next year, Sandy is herself from Scotland.

Lake Moraine, oh and that'd be me in the foreground.

Surprise, surprise, we manage to get up and going early next morning. We decide to visit Lake Louise again, should be better light and with everyone rushing off to get to their next campsite, it shouldn't be so busy. Oh how wrong we were! And we thought it was busy the evening before. This time Lake Louise car park was overflowing. We didn't hang around.
The stunningly blue Lake Moraine is out of the way a bit and the road isn't suitable for large RVs. That cuts out half of the tourists. Although still busy, we were able to escape the masses and reflect in the gorgeous surrounds.
Heading up the Icefield Parkway, Boo Boo's mate walks out in front of us. Very cool. Unfortunately no photos though. Although they amble, bears don't hang around too long for a photo shoot. Ever northward we tramp across the Athabasca glacier before declining to pay $24 for two scummy looking ham sandwiches and two cans of coke. We settle instead for $6 for a bag of crisps and share a bottle of Gatorade. Pure extortion, but restaurants can charge what they like in the National Parks.

Managing not to fall down a crevice, we traverse the glacier

Jasper is a bit of a none event and after re-stocking the pantry it's off for a bath. Despite the mosquitoes the hotsprings are divine and Mike has a hard time dragging me away. But there is a road to be ridden and a tent to pitch somewhere.

Ye haw, it's show time!

2007-07-20T06:46:00.000Z

...Stampede time that is! After missing every festival in every Latin American village/town/city we travelled through, low and behold if we don't make it to Calgary for the start of the Stampede. For once our timing is immpecible.

Now that's a cowgirl!

Luckily for us, Mike had met a Canadian in Baha California very briefly and fortunately we were able to crash at his place for a few days. Chris donned his cowboy boots and hat and we were off. First we made it to the last 20 minutes of the parade (It started early and after 8 months on the road, who were we to start getting going before 10am!) but that was enough of the cowboy hats and boots and learning how to yell Ye Haw! rather than Ya Hoo! Next a bit of sight seeing - Calgary is actually quite a big place. Of course Chris is also into bikes (he has 4 of them) so we inevitably visit a few bike shops to stock up on some parts and winter kit for our journey north, mainly getting some new winter gloves to replace the ones I lost in Bolivia.

Morning number two brings with it a cheap breakfast at the Legion's Club (A Canadian version of the RSL). So stack up the pancakes and get ya dancing shoes on, and it was only 1oam. Mundane chores such as much needed haircuts and beauty salon visits get me ready for Sunday's entertainment - the rodeo (I'm still learning to call it a rodeo rather than a rodeo as in Rodeo Drive, LA)

Mike isn't drawn into the whole Cowboy attire, but Chris, being a kind of local gets right into it.

Heck, it wouldn't be a stampede without the horses. We enter the show grounds looking way out of place for our lack of cowboy attire. There are the few side show alley games to be tried and fortunately, no one wins the large teddy bear - how would we zip tie one of those to the bike!

Then for over two hours we are entertained by horses and stedes trying their darndest to get whatever it is on their backs off. The most entertaining part of this was the look on the guys faces just before being let lose out of the pen, the camera zooms right into the grimmace of the cowboy that says 'What the hell am I doing here!' And of course the Aussie guy won his event.

This cowboy actually screaming, 'Somebody get me off of this thing, ooh, ouch, ouch!'

Next it was onto something a little less demanding, pigeon racing and line dancing. And then day wouldn't be complete without riding a torpedeo and finishing off with a few ales with some of Chris's mates. It was hard to leave the stampede but when I started to eye off a pair of pink cowboy boots, I knew it was time to get moving again.

Shoo fly don't bother us!

2007-07-08T02:01:00.000Z

After a night in the safety and comfort of a noisy Bozeman Campground, we head up to Lindburgh Lake for our first 'free camp' in the USA.

Mike gets the fire going to scare away the bears at Lake Lindburgh.

July the 4th is upon us and we manage to miss the shortest July the 4th parade in the country. We miss it by a minute or two but as it was only ten minutes long, over two very short blocks, two minutes was quite late. Oh well, we manage to get some photos of some over dressed and too-much-make-up- wearing cowgirls, 'girls' not quite being an apt description, there are some things women of a certain age shouldn't wear, before heading on.

The end of the 4th July parade!

We'd heard rave reviews of Glacier National Park (I know, I know, there are so many national parks in the USA) and after another stop for a Huckleberry milkshake we head off on the 'Going to the sun' Road. First on the sight seeing list is in the glacier lake which is suprisingly warm and very clear. Despite the families frollicking on the shoreline, we can't help ourselves and strip down to our underwear to join them. After basking in the sun, we eventually drag ourselves away to continue along one of the most spectacularly scenic roads of the enitre trip, big call but it was simply stunning.

Stunning view, shame I'm in the way.

Our last night in the USA is spent shooing weird flies off us in a campsite just south of the border. Bring on Canada.

Where of where art thou Yogi Bear?

2007-07-08T01:18:00.000Z

Wyoming, what can I say? But god the mosquitos at Riverside - population 69 for a very good reason. Then the long, straight and once again, hot, roads. Followed by a strange lunch in Landers. Trailer trash company while we eat burgers for lunch, followed by a too short test ride on the much talked about 2008 KLR. Oddly, neither Mike or I are convinced about it so I leave my credit card in my pocket and continue the ride to the stunning Grand Teton National Park on my own familiar and comfortable KLR.
The Grand Tetons are Bear country, so we had to be careful with all of our 'smelly' stuff. But where were we supposed to draw the line? Would our smelly socks attract the attention of the bears? Paranoid, we didn't take a chance. Even our panniers were put away in the bear lockers, we didn't want the bikes torn apart while Yogi searched for the source of the peanust butter scent and my Dove Eyecream.

Somewhere in the Grand Tetons is Yogi!

We spend the day looking for Bison, elk and other wildlife, but have no luck with the bears. The next evening we're a little more relaxed about the wildlife and we even venture to meet some of our camping neighbours. They're riding Honda Goldwings and I have to say its the fold-out tent trailer they've got that grabs my attention first. Finally I know what some of those bike trailers are carrying, and I thought these guys just took the kitchen sink with them on holidays. This bunch of riders are pretty cool though and even dish us out some massive blueberry muffins, another reason for needing a trailer I guess, these things wouldn't have fitted into our relatively minuscule panniers. And although its not a Harley, Mike accepts an offer of a ride on the Goldwing, was he converted? Not on your life. He could barely lift the thing off the sidestand weighing in at over 900lb (Not sure of the conversion but just think, serioulsy heavy). But with 1800cc (That's almost three times the cc of my little KLR) he admitted that once he had it going, it was very comfortable and easy to ride.

As we've timed our travels through the USAs National Parks impeccably to coincide with the summer school holidays, we get up at 6am, skipping breakfast (Shock, horror, how did we cope I hear you ask? Well I was a little grumpy later on) just to ride the 50 miles up the road to the famous Yellowstone National Park and secure a campsite. Just as well as the campsite was full by midday.
After a haphazard start we finally get breakfast and are able to get some sightseeing in. Yellowstone is huge and has two circuits through it to take in most of what the park has to offer, that being hot sulpher, often smelly, springs including 'Ol Faithful', waterfulls and of course, the wildlife. Afternoon One took in the less than spectacular but at least on time 'Old Faithful', Virginia Waterfalls, the only time we felt we were alone in the park, and a drive through the Yellowstone River valley. A gorgeous setting for all of the bisen and elk that roam freely.
Day two we back track through the Yellowstone Valley for more Bisen spotting, or avoiding in this case as they wandered along the roadway. We also spy a grey wolf on the prowl before heading north. Following the advice of a local on where to spot the bears, we begin our search whole heartedly, stopping at every pull out. All to no avail. Just when we had given up all hope of meeting Yogi we come across an 'animal jam'. A term coined by the rangers to describe the traffic jam caused by cars stopping on the road to view and photograph the wildlife. Yogi wasn't in attendence but Boo Boo, Yogi's side kick was, and with a friend. They were meandering along a creek below the road, searching out the berries.
We'll hopefully see some Grizzlys (Or brown bears as they're called in Alaska) when we get to Alaska, obvioulsy from a distance.

Not quite Yogi, but Boo Boo makes an appearance

The Girls rule!

2007-07-08T00:30:00.000Z

With a new 'hardcore' TKC80 rear tyre we head off into Colorado. It's like arriving in heaven when we finally make it to the coolness of the mountains - refreshing to be back amongst snow capped peaks and alpine forests. I think I've turned into a mountain girl.
Leadville is our first destination in Colorado and we are exuberantly greeted at the hostel by another guest. He's firing questions about the bikes and our journey before we've even dismounted and removed our earplugs. We get introduced to the extremely generous 'Wild Bill' who manages to find a room for us despite being almost full up and who also serves up a delicious roast dinner. Over the course of the evening and the following morning we're entertained with stories from 'Wild Bill' both about the history of Leadville (A very successful mining town with a Titanic connection) and his interest in blues music from his home state of Mississippi. And we are in awe of the fellow guests, some of whose own adventures are taking them along the Continental Divide trail, a rather long walk from Mexico to Canada. Leadville is at the crossroads of three major trails through the states and therefore walkers quite often turn up at the hostel. As adventure bikers, we seemed to be few and far between in this neck of the woods and become the centre of attention for a few hours. It would have to be one of the most friendly hostels we've stayed in. So if you do end up in Leadville, or Colorado even, take the time to stay - http://www.leadvillehostel.com/.

A detour via Vail and Aspen ski resorts, through gorgeous alpine vallies brought us to Boulder. Erin and Chris Ratay, legen advriders - check out http://www.ultimatejourney.com/ for the story of their 4 and half year jaunt around the globe on bikes - kindly put us up in their well equipped and beautiful home. They have a basement kitted out for the purpose of guests which includes books on their own travels as well as others, a massive map of the world and a decent map of the USA, just so we could see how much further we still had to go, one day we'll be finished. In the garage the bikes got the same treatment, the car was kicked out and our two overweight dirty bikes were parked up next to Chris and Erin's own stock of BMWs, a KTM and a Kawasaki. We had tools galore at our disposal and even learnt how to pick up our overladen bikes by ourselves - better late than never. So the KLR finally got a new tool box, one that is useful and half the weight of the other two that Mike removed in in Moab.

Girls who ride!

And some guys who think they can :0)

What else to do in Boulder, we went out and got drunk a couple of nights, God, we're so out of practise, and we got to meet other advmotor riders. And, if you can believe it, for once the girls outnumbered the boys. Anyone listening to Erin, Spice, Kasey and I compare notes and tell stories of our own motorcycling adventures, would have thought they were in a parallel universe, where the girls rode and the boys weren't to be seen. The boys were actually at the bar topping up their own testosterone levels. After such wonderful company, it was hard to leave but after waking up each morning and seeing the map of the USA on the wall, we knew we had to get on.

Not more national parks!

2007-07-07T23:48:00.000Z

Next stop, Bryce Canyon. Some would say even more beautiful than the Grand Canyon but the two are so different you really can't compare. We arrived with time for a swim before hitting the sights for sunset. Ah, what luxury after a rather hot day of riding in the heat.

The stunning Bryce Canyon amphitheatre!

So we've watched the sunset over the beautiful pinnicles of coloured sand and we're dawdling back to the bike when we hear a rattle. It first sounds like a cricket chirping but then you remember all of the Westerns you've watched and alarm bells start ringing. A wee little rattle snake was letting us know that he was curled around the exposed root of a bush, about a half metre from where we were walking. Unfortunately we were too suprised to grab for the cameras. But seeing the wildlife was cool, once our nerves had settled down of course.
Shall we stay another night and take it easy? Yup, the campground we were staying in at Bryce was very nice and it'd be rude to not continue to enjoy the use of the pool when we we're camped right next to it. So that morning we did a mini hike to a stone that did look remarkably like the statue of Queen Victoria outside St Pauls Cathederal in London. We toured around a bit more in the park, still waving to the Potato Posse before returning to enjoy the pool - ah, this is the life.
Riding up through Escalante, we continue through yet another national park, Capital Reef. A few more photos and its on to Moab. After the heat of the day and long ride, we give up on being 'hardcore' and opt for the Lazy Lizard Hostal.
Moab has a lot to keep you entertained, including white water rafting, moutain biking, trail biking (and if you are so inclined, you can hire a jeep or ATV), Arches National Park, Dead Horse Point and Canyonlands National Park in close proximity and, more importantly, a micro brewery. What we didn't realize was that a). it would be way too hot to do anything other than go to the micro brewery and b). that a Harley Riders convention was in town. Oh well, you can't have it all.

Deadhorse Point, yet another beautiful canyon.

As I was just about to clock up another year on the old age calander, we sensibly opt for the micro brewery, not being detered by the amount of Harley Riders there. After finally National Parking ourselves out at Arches and Dead Horse Point, which are both stunning, I spent my birthday suitably working on my bike at Arrowheads Motorsports with Fred often lending advice and a hand. The KLR, as a birthday gift I'm sure, behaved herself beautifully by not having anything go wrong i.e. bolts sheering etc..., and then needing a bit of maintenance myself, Mike treated me to a 75 minute massage, bliss. By 8pm, when it had cooled off enough to move, we headed to the Micro Brewery for a delicious dinner and some decent beer. Not a bad day at all.

The Potato Posse

2007-06-27T18:20:00.000Z

After a quick and hot visit to Hoover Dam, we purchase our National Parks Pass and head up through Lake Mead. Just before Mesquite, my bike overheats again. Stopped by the side of the road, (was actually free wheeling it down to where Mike had managed to pull over and wait for me) by chance George and Sarah pull up. They're on their way to Colorado for a Blues Festival. They offer to put the KLR in the truck for me but I figure by the time we've go it in there, she would have cooled down enough to continue. They follow us to Mesquite, hazard lights flashing, so that trucks don't run up the back of me, and I limp into the service station. George and Sarah say their goodbyes and we stop for an hour to cool off ourselves and let the bikes cool down. We won't be making it to the Grand Canyon tonight.
Riding into Zion National Park as the sun is going down is stunning. Despite the impending dusk, we have to stop for some photos, so a late arrival turns out to be a blessing.

Scenic riding into Zion.

Setting the alarm for what we think is 6am and an early start, we catch the shuttle bus that runs people up and down the canyon, stopping at the trail heads and points of interest. What we didn't realise is that Utah is an hour ahead, so everyone is up before us. We take a couple of hours out to do some short walks and have a look around, before heading onto the cooler north rim of the Grand Canyon.

End of the bus line in Zion

So this is where being organised and having an itinerary comes in handy. We arrive at the campground and what do you know, there are no sites left. Apparently we should have booked over a week ago. We do manage to 'squeeze' (they do like to do things big here, there was room for about another 10 tents on this pitch) onto another couple's site and we save ourselves the $17 - our hosts wouldn't let us pay incase we were to get kicked off.
After dinner it is confirmed that the park rangers don't have a sense of humour. Despite the 'Stop' sign usually meaning more of a 'Give Way' thing, (in this case not a 'As in Rome...') Mike gets pulled over by a power wielding young ranger for running 3 stop signs and going above the 15mph speed limit. He gets away with just a $75 fine for one stop sign incident and a warning for the others. On closer inspection of other drivers, it seems Mike got unlucky. No one actually stops at 'Stop' signs and EVERYONE speeds, except for me of course and that's just cause the bike can't go any faster, not through want of trying.

Smile, we made it before sunset.

So we eventually get to see the sunset over the canyon and what a sight. The next morning is more canyon viewing, see associated photographs under the yet to be altered 'Central Amercian photos' in the menu to the right of this blog, and it is beautiful. We spend hours gazing at the landscape before us.

Taking time out for the view.

Eventually we have to drag our butts back to the bikes, there are more Harleys to wave at. (That would be the Potato Posse by the way. If you repeat potato over and over again, that's what a Harley sounds like and they always seem to be in large groups so you get RSI by the time one group has ridden by.)

Leaving Las Vegas

2007-06-27T17:32:00.000Z

Banjo playing George lives in Norco, horse capital of the US. We met him on our last night of camping in Mexico when he kindly invited us to stay at his house. The generousity of the North Americans amazes us. Everywhere we go, we have met strangers and friends alike, who can't do enough for us. From accommodation, food, directions, to help in any way, shape or form, there is always someone around wanting to do something for us or at least give us a friendly wave.
George had emailed us his address explaining that the back door would be unlocked and probably the front also. He would be away picking up his daughter from college and he may not be back to see us, but we were to go in and make ourselves at home. Fortunately he and Sarah made it back the same evening as us and we were treated to some banjo before bed.
An oil change for Mike in the morning before we head to Vegas, baby!

Dualling banjos!

Getting back into true KLR form, what should have taken us 4 hours takes us 7. The temperature was maxing out my thermometre at 50 degrees. Route 15 is the main thoroughfare to the Canadian border, inland, and the traffic doesn't sit still at over 75m/h. My little baby couldn't cope and overheated. I was flatout sitting on 120km/h and with the thinner oil put in by the mechanic in San Diego, she struggled with the heat. Just across the border into Nevada, we chance upon a Tourist Information Centre that has a phone line set up for the sole purpose of organising accommodation in Las Vegas. With that sorted, we decide to take a look at an outlet centre across the way and hang out in the airconditioning until it cools off to a more acceptable 45 degrees. Shopping done, we get to Las Vegas, at sunset. It's absolutely roasting and we shower and hole up in our airconditioned room for a good few hours.

2am is the best time to stroll along the 'strip', it isn't so crowded and the temperature is almost bearable. We missed all the cheap all you can eat buffets though so it was dodgy food at some cheap dodgy casino offering $1.99 margaritas. How could we refuse.
We drag our weary butts out of bed the next morning, knowing that it will be unbearably hot outside. As we didn't see much of Vegas the night before, we pack up, don our jeans and boots ready for an afternoon departure but head out for a look see. After checking out a few casinos, you get the idea that they're pretty much all the same. Sensibly and for some reason, I'd remembered that you can get into Ceasar's Palace hotel pool easily enough and remember to keep our swimmers in my day bag. Looking totally out of place in jeans and boots, we stroll around the pool, pick up some unused towels and stake our sun loungers in the shade. About an hour of frolicking in the water and relaxing, we decide we really should be making a move. Back into jeans and boots we head up to New York, New York for the roller coaster ride. Standing in line, Mike and I look at each other, both thinking, 'What the hell are we doing?' It was literally a scream and we finally recovered about a half hour later. Next on the list of things to do in Vegas was the all you can eat buffet. The cheapest one was at the Sahara. Another hour later, bellies full, we catch the mono rail back to the Imperial Palace, where our bikes were parked. It's hot, we're full and very tired. Maybe we should stay one more night.

Vegas, where anything goes!

After discussing the various merrits of the buffets on offer at the diiferent hotels with the check-in lady, and explaining that the little convenience store within the hotel was charging $4 for what equated to a cup of milk, she kindly threw in two vouchers for the breakfast buffet the next morning.
We played $2 on the 1 cent slot machines on our way back to our room and that was Vegas pretty much done for us. Phew, I was exhausted.

LA rising

2007-06-27T16:33:00.000Z

So far we're doing alright for accommodation in the USA. After Cameron and Jessica's hospitality, Ming is our next host. I used to work with Ming in London at WATG and Ming now works in the Irvine office. Despite having just returned on Saturday from a job site in India, Ming kindly puts us up and organises for Ric, another WATG veteran, to come out for a few Sunday beers. They went down well after we learn that the cheapest way to buy beer in Orange County at least, is to buy it by the pitcher. After boring poor Mike with all the gossip of who's doing what at WATG, it's time to head up to LA proper.

After getting Mike's rear shock serviced in Anaheim in the morning, with his bike repair bills adding up, its time to stop with the bikes and enjoy ourselves.

Venice Beach is our first stop in LA proper. After sharing a delicious hotdog, we stroll along the boardwalk, checking out the 'weirdos' that give Venice Beach it's character. During the week it's not so busy and there seem to be more tourists than characters, but it is still enough to keep us entertained. Then for a change of scene, we head to the canals, what Venice was named for. It is a beautiful and quaint little area and if it wasn't for the heat, I'd of thought I was in the Cotswolds of England. This is where I'd live in LA, because I could afford to of course.

Getting 'into' Venice.

I saw this little fella and now I know where all of my worn spare parts to the bike have gone.

Mike had arranged our accommodation for the next three nights and as we ride in the direction of Irl and Marnie's home, we happen along Santa Monica Boulevard. Sheryl Crow's song goes around in circles in my head. And just to keep the music theme going, as we head to San Fernando Valley, where Irl and Marnie live, it switches to 'She's a Valley Girl'.

With all of this musical influence, it makes sense that Irl and Marnie are both muscians, working in the 'industry'. Marnie works on movies - while we were there she was disecting the scores for 'Chicken Run', while Irl composes and produces music for TV, Funiest Home Video style of thing. Irl invites us to check out the studios where he works. Pretty cool stuff. And we also get the low down on some music venues to check out whilst in LA. Despite Roger Waters playing at the Hollywood Bowl, we opt for the low key (and more affordable) Baked Potato. Scott Henderson, a bit of a guitar hero of Mike's, is playing there and we spend the evening eating oversized and delicious baked potatos and watching Henderson wield his guitar.
And not to leave Mike and I out of the music scene, Irl and Marnie have Playstations 'Guitar hero'. I'm rubbish and stick to the Base guitar on the easyiest setting but still, one can dream of being in a rock band.

Other cool sights and scenes we checked out in LA were of course, the Hollywood walk of Fame, the Porno Walk of Fame (this was Mike's idea), Rodeo Drive, I wasn't quite feeling like 'Pretty Woman' but the movie title did lead to Roy Orbison's tune by the same name getting stuck in my head for wee while. Griffith Observatory - as seen in James Dean's 'Rebel without a cause', was also very interesting and a beautiful Art Deco style building. There was the Getty Centre, another beautiful, but modern, building set overlooking the vastness of LA. We also rode along Mulholland Drive (passing Jack Nicholsan's house), conjuring up yet another tune to go around in my head (REM this time) and took a trip out to Malibu. Long Beach was also on our list and by the time we had finished it was hard to decide where we wanted to live. Venice Canals, Malibu, Hollywood Estate or Manhattan Beach, the list goes on.

Whether it was the fact that we didn't have any bike maintanence to do, Irl and Marnie's hospitality and extremely comfortable spare bed andnot forgetting their adorable dogs, Lady and Roco, or just that recognising so much of LA from the movies and seeing it for real was exciting, we both fell in love with LA. But as with all journeys, you have to move on at some time.

Adios Mexico! (Or will it be just Hasta Pronto?)

2007-06-08T05:06:00.000Z

We cross over in the afternoon after getting lost in Tijuana and then swept up in the queues of traffic. Several street (or mid-lane) vendors selling the most incredible pieces of tat (why on earth would you want to buy a large Grecian urn or a horrendously ugly mirror with the virgin Mary painted on it while in a queue of traffic bound for the US is beyond me), nearly lose their lives or at least the merchandise as we lane split all the way to the front of the line. It's a bit of a shambles as there is no where that we can check out of Mexico and the US guys have no idea about bringing a vehicle into the US.
We've lined up a place to stay with Cameron and Jessica, a lovely couple who are, of course, into motorbikes. So San Diego here we come.

Can you tell which sprocket is the old one?

Cameron rides a BMW GS1200 and Jessica is on a Yamaha XT350, so both prove to be very helpful when it comes to finding people and parts to fix the bikes. Mike hits the BMW shop and gets a rather rude shock to find his steering head bearings and rear shaft drive bearings and seals aren't in great shape. This is added to having also blown his fork seals and requiring bits and pieces for the GPS. I'm up for a new clutch, and of course a new chain and sprockets, yet again. 5 days later we're well fed washed and repaired.

Saying our goodbyes to Cameron and Jessica

And for future reference, if anyone needs to cancel their temporary vehicle import for Mexico, the easiest way to find the office in Tijuana is to leave Mexico, then turn around and go back in and follow the signs for the aduana office. Conveniently located for when you arrive rather than your departure in Mexico. This will save you $300+ they charge for not cancelling your vehicle import document correctly. I figure this is a last ditch effort by latin America to try and scam more money out of me, but once again I'm not letting them get away with it.

Aw shucks, he missed me.

2007-06-08T04:36:00.000Z

So I get the bike on the centre stand fine, but that's about it. Two hours and after the help of some Aussies staying in the same hotel, I return, covered in grease to beg the mechanic for help.

I leave Loretto early the next morning and head up to Mulage for breakfast. I meet James, a Canadian also riding a KLR and as he has spare chain parts, I decide to ride with him for a bit. Bless him, nice guy but god he rode so slowly. After a tediously long ride we finally make it to Catavina and set up camp, just in time to get some photos of the kind of cool boulder field, which looks great in the setting sun.

Nice landscape

So I'm up early the next morning but end up waiting for almost two hours for my KLR buddy to get his butt into gear, it's obvious he's not done much of this traveling before so I bear with it. After another morning of tediously slow riding, he pulls over for some fresh mango for lunch. It gets covered in chilli seasoning, lime and salt. What a fantastic combination. So this guy isn't all that bad, showiing me a thing or two. After a couple of pieces of mango, I said to James, 'I keep expecting Mike to turn up in my rear view mirror'. James made some comment in reply and without another word from me, sure enough, Mike turns up. Not quite in my rear view mirror as I was parked, but there anyways. This is all a bit exciting as I didn't even know where Mike had been for the past few days. So what took me seven days to ride (including the stopover for surfing) Mike rode in two and a half. Turns out he missed me so much he was trying to catch up, and had ridden from Mulage that morning. So I take back what I said about James riding so slow, it was a good thing.

Getting rugged up in the cold desert

Not wanting to be a spare part of the happily reunited couple, James bids us farewell and heads off on his own. Mike's a bit of a shaking mess having left at 4am from Mulage after an hour's sleep and 5 cups of coffee, so we only continue on for another hour.
It's a late start the next morning, and we only make seedy Ensenada, an hour up the road, for our last night in Mexico.

So much for my two days and I'm into the US.

My next bike will be shaft drive. (That means no chain)

2007-06-01T21:44:00.001Z

I do get away early, if you can believe it. I´m heading north to Bahia Conception, when I decide to take a detour to see what the guide book describes as ´worth seeing´, a 300 year old Jesuit Mission by the name of San Javier. It all goes terribly wrong though, when about 7km down a deserted and horrendously rough track , the only description the guide book has gotten right so far, my chain snaps, again!
It´s not so deserted though as about 15 minutes later I´m rescued by a passing German tourist, Ronnie, in a hire car. He just so happens to be well into bikes and is more than happy to help. We decide to carry on to the mission to see what the fuss is about. I´m kicking myself now as it isn´t all that. However, good fortune shines on me again when we meet Eileen and John, an American couple who just so happen to have a large truck and offer to drive the bike to Loretto. Yet again proving that there really are good people in the world.

John and Ronnie get the bike loaded up.

So now I´m sat in an internet cafe, my chain should be repaired in an hour or so. I´ve filed off all the jagged edges on the rear sprocket, caused by the free flying chain and all I have to do is try to get the bike on the centre stand to replace the chain. Wish me luck both for getting the chain back on and getting to the USA in two days time.

Surfing with sardines

2007-06-01T20:37:00.000Z

I took the evening cargo ferry to Baja and had the delightful pleasure of spending 16 hours trying to avoid any attention, got to love the iPod. Once again I'm the only female stupid enough to travel by myself in Mexico, fun when you're on a boat with about 50 truck drivers who all wanted to know where I was from, what I was doing and where was my boyfriend. I needed the answers recorded so that I could play back every time I was asked.
I love it when you've pulled up somewhere, or you've just ridden the bike onto the boat, in full view of everyone, and they ask 'Is that your bike?', 'Si', 'Do you ride it yourself?'. This is where I'm really tempted to respond, 'Well actually, I've been carrying it around in my backpack for 7 months, I only rode it onto the boat to show off' or something to that effect. Of course I bloody well ride it, how else to you think it got here!

Hiding on the top deck of the ferry.

Anyways, I digress from telling you about a fantastic fours days I've just had.
After a tediously hot ride down to Cabo San Lucas, I got the hell out of there after only an hour. What a horrendous place. Wall to wall resort hotels line the beach front so I was unable to find a path to the beach, even the cheap food is expensive and of course, it's full of rich Americans on Memorial Weekend holiday. (Please excuse the fact that my usual occupation is designing these resorts for these rich Americans, I cringe every time I think about it).
I read the guide book and based on its out of date information, I head uo to Todos Santos. Todos Santos is supposed to have beach camping, and according to the guide book, it's supposed to have a beach. It has neither. I turn back for 10km (the guide book tells me it's only 4km, but hey, who am I to argue!) and head down a slippery, sandy track to Playa San Pedrito. There is also supposed to be a camping ground here with nice showers of which I'm much in need of after the ferry trip. Imagine my suprise when all I find is a deserted beach, the remnants of a hotel, the remnants of and RV park and one lone RV truck parked at the end of the beach. It's late and the RV is from Oregon. I approach with caution. The owner turns out to be a local who has been there for 25 years. I pitch the tent then Jo invites me back into town for a beer at the bar where his son works. On the way back into town, I'm informed that there used to be a great little set up at San Pedrito, until it got washed away in Hurricane Katrina. That would explain it.
The next morning, Jo takes me into town to a hotel/RV park that he owns. I get my much needed washing and that very nice hot shower sorted. After a guided tour of the town, I'm then driven down to Cerritos. Ah, heaven.
Jo knows Tav, the guy who runs the surf shop, so I get half price board and wetsuit rental and line up that night's new camp spot. The seller for me as that there are two girls already pitched up by the surf shop, so some female company. Wa hey! That evening it's camp food of pasta and tinned sardines with beers around a campfire. The two girls, Brigette and Carolyn are a really sweet couple from near Seattle. They have been cycling down Baja for a month already. It was great to have their company but after supplying them with fresh coffee and drinking water in the morning, we have to say goodbye.
Surf day 1. Tav points me in the direction of some beginner waves. I'm not entirely convinced about his choice and I spend the morning not doing so well. The current is very strong and after almost two hours, I've managed to catch and surf only two white water waves. Doh! The afternoon I relocate. I start talking to some kindly surfer locals, getting their tips and advice on which bit of white water is the best for a beginner. I do better.

Home for a few days.

That evening a bunch of Aussies arrive. They've come for the surfing and although they we're only going to stay for a few hours, they start drinking. They pitch up next to us (Tav is permanently pitched up by his shop and is more than happy for travellers to stop by and free camp for the night as long as you don't leave your cigarette butts in the sand. Also, you usually get roped into cooking his dinner for him).
Just in time for a sunset surf, Torsten is next to arrive. He has ridden down from New Mexico on his BMW GS1100. He is an engineer of sorts and has rigged up a very clever rack for his surf board. Its quite a party around the campfire.
Surf Day 2. I pack up early, I´ve quite a few miles to cover. The Aussies leave early also, they´re heading the same direction. Alas I decide to go for a quick swim to cool off before heading. That´s when Tav tempts me with free board and wetsuit hire for the day. He must like my camp food cooking. Torsten decides to stick around for another day also. The surf is easier and I frollick for hours, getting a sunburnt nose and forehead. I do ask, but I´m yet to find the trick to stop getting a sunburnt face whilst surfing.

Surfer chick!

After I´ve cooked the lads some quesadillas for lunch, Torsten heads out to the back waves, those ones that are way out and huge. Tav and I are watching from the beach. It seems that he is so far out that there is no surf. Eventually he disappears. After a bit longer sun bathing and still no sign of Torsten, I go for a walk to the point to see if he´s around there. I find him, hands and feet shredded from the rocks. He´d got caught in a current and with a dodgy shoulder was unable to paddle back in. I get him and board back to the shop for some first aid.
Penny, a cute boxer pup joins us. She´s just been to the vet and is very poorly. I think she is in need of some female company as she sidles up next to me for some TLC. About 10 minutes later, another injured surfer comes to join us. This one with a bloodied nose. It turns into a right little sick bay. Honestly though, we were having a great time, except for me worrying about Penny.
Not perturbed by the afore mentioned injuries, I get back in the water. By this time, there is a weird thing going on in the white water. Thousands and thousands of sardines are swimming in the channel. As the current is so strong, you kind of have to wade through rather than swim through the surf. So you get these little fish running into your legs. You tread on them. And they jump up and land on your board. It´s a little freaky but I´m getting better with things like that and manage to have the best surf session of my life. I actually catch a few real waves. I´ll make a surfer yet.
All you can eat pizza for dinner then it´s off to bed.
Take two for an early start in the morning.

Mike gets in trouble with the police, yet again!

2007-06-01T20:20:00.000Z

From Mexico City, Mike and I ride a beautiful route through the mountains west to Lago Chapala.
Mike is determined to have interaction with the police from every country we have ridden through and to get the attention of the Mexican police, runs a red light, twice. How he didn't see it, or notice that the police were there, at the intersection, was beyond me. So while the police blow their whistles at him, he ignores it and keeps riding, expecting me to follow. The police then turn their attention to me, so I inturn ignore them and when the light turns green, I ride off in the opposite direction. Of course this means that I lose him and after a half hour of wandering the streets of Chapala (the bike parked up in a back street to avoid any further interest from the police) I locate Mike. He had been caught by the police while he was waiting for me up the road a bit, but had manged to argue his way out of it, talking about being a tourist etc.
Calmed down we then settle into a nice evening, and to prove that I still have what it takes, when Mike left me for 5 minutes to get some money from the hotel room, I was chatted up and asked out for a beer by a local Mexican. It might have been flattering except that this guy must have been nearing 50 years old and would have tucked under my arm, he was that short. Bless him though, he scuttled away in such a hurry when I pointed out the tall good looking guy walking towards us was actually my boyfriend.
We spent a few nights at Puerto Vallarta and then onto Mazatlan before parting company again, the mountains and Copper Canyon for Mike and the beach and surf of Baja California for me.

Topes and Lamb roast.

2007-05-25T00:33:00.001Z

With a sore back from the Mexican affliction known as topes (topes are speed humps of varying sizes, typically located every 5 meters through the main streets of villages, or at the turn off for any lane, footpath or hell, just for the sake of it. Some are visible before you bounce over them, most are not!), I head for a rendezvous with Gary. Gary is an English guy who has lived in Mexico City for 30 years. He has talked me into visiting (It only took one email and an offer of somewhere to stay and somewhere to work on the bike - oil change this time) the big bad city of Mexico, explaining that it isn't as bad as people made out. Gary is very much into his bikes and met me in a small village outside of the city, enabling me to follow him for the 45 minute ride into what is the vastness know as Mexico DF. So, now I can sit here and write, Mexico City isn't so bad to ride in.

Mike, on the otherhand, didn't make the rendezvous. So whilst I sat there in airconditioned comfort playing on the internet at Gary's work, Mike had the displeasure to ride in the vastness of Mexico City, not really knowing where he was going. He arrived several hours later, very tired and frustrated. It was good to see him again!

I'm not the only one having problems with my bike. Mike's having problems with the BMW but as usual it's nothing major and we've time to spend chilling out and enjoying the sights and atmosphere of Mexico City.

How the local women do it. Mike takes me for a ride, old school style!

For the next few days we were looked after with all the creature comforts. A hot shower that worked, cute dogs to play with and delicious quesadillas. Gary and his son, Lloyd, took us to the world's third largest pyramid, just outside of the city. We also met Leslie, Gary's daughter, and basically, we were made to feel completely at home. A perfect antidote for my homesickness. Even Mexcio City obliged us when on a lazy Sunday, it started to rain as we tinkered with the bikes, just like London. AND we had a roast lamb for dinner with roast tatties and gravy. Mmmmmmmmmm...............................yum!

It was very hard to say goodbye to such hospitality. And Mexico City is great. It's just that it's vast!

Sadly we have to say goodbye to Gary and his hospitality.

Iron Butt Lady

2007-05-24T23:44:00.000Z

Oh, what a shower and a good night's sleep on a comfy bed can do for one's spirits.

I rise early, nearly dropping the bike on the slippery tiles as I leave the hotel, and I'm off. Probably one of the earliest starts I've had.

An hour and a half of twisty roads, I arrive in San Cristobol de la Casas. Mike's blog read that he'd had a good time here but all I have time for is breakfast. But what a good breakfast, three fat pancakes and a decent coffee. The town seems really cool, plenty of Europeans rather than gringos too. Being a Sunday there are loads (well actually only 3 or 4, but that's a lot for here) of bikers out for a Sunday ride. I get some advice on some good routes and head north (North west really but it doesn't sound as catching).

More twisty roads, then through the narrowest part of the isthmus. The Pacific and Carribean Oceans are relatively near at this point, causing winds reminiscent of Patagonia. Only this time, it's like a fan forced oven. For the first time the bike overheats. Doh!

After a little wait, I set off again. I arrive at where I thought I might spend the night. Still three hours till dark and the town doesn't look great. Do I go via the coast or directly up to Oaxaca? It's a minimum four hour drive of twisty bends and military check points. Determined, I set off. Even the soldiers checking for those ellusive drugs, guns and smuggled people in my panniers get the idea when I rant about 'Mas rapido por favor. Este mucho peligro on la camina para moto en la noche'. (Hey almost a full sentence in Spanish, only one English word thrown in). The suspension is now set up beautifully and the KLR takes the curves easily. I arrive in Oaxaca before nightfall, and thanks to Mike, I have directions to a cheap hostal with parking. More than eleven hours of hard riding and I've qualified for the Iron Butt status. Although I think my butt would have other ideas about doing that length of ride again.

Oaxaca is a beautiful colonial town. There are tourists around but not too many. The only other person in the dorm room is sick, so she declines my invite for a beer - well earnt after the long ride. She is also hiding in the room. I didn't know this at the time and went out unawares to the Zocalo for a walk around, some food and an email check. Whilst in the ineternt cafe, a Mexican archiologist starts chatting to me. Seems harmless enough. That's until I leave, and he follows. We're still chatting and he invites me to see some ruins nearby. I'm ready to decline as I've had my fill of ruins, and then he tried to kiss me. A slap and I definelty decline. What is it with these men! The next morning the local men are at it again. They see a single girl walking around by herself and try to start talking to them. Trying their moves. 'Excuse me, what time is it?. Oh, where are you from?, What is your name? etc...........'

Better late than never, I read the guide book. Oops, there is a section in there that warns women to be careful about the 'Zocalo Boys' in Oaxaca. Men who try to pick up American women. Now I know why my room mate is hiding.

Oaxaca's beautiful San Domingo Cathedral

It's time for headphones and the iPod. I can ignore the men without being rude. Despite the locals, Oaxaca has some beautiful cathedrals and also a good mechanic (of course!)

I get a second opinion on the clutch plates, he tweaks some other bits and pieces and I'm ready to leave.

Good days, bad days

2007-05-16T02:18:00.000Z

Hmmm, have a safe trip. I certainly hope so.

A quick ride out of Belize, it's not a big country, and I'm at border control. According to the border official who stamps me out of Belize, I'm 'remarkable'. I'm a girl and I'm riding a large motorbike and I'm travelling by myself. Ok, I'd better get used to these kind of comments.

Arrive at the Mexican Border. Oh look, a girl, riding a motorbike, travelling by herself! At the sight of my name in my passport, a rather jolly border offical starts to sing, 'Michelle, my Belle' (The Beatles have alot to answer for). Not one of my favourite songs, but I bare it with a smile - he's being very helpful.
It's all going too well. I'm across the border and I gain an hour with Daylight saving and I'm further than where I thought I'd be by that time of day.

Yup, it WAS going too well. I cross from one state border to another getting stopped by a military checkpoint. Yep, I've got room in those panniers for drugs, weapons, and the people I'm smuggling. While getting searched I can feel the eyes of all the men (Where are the women in this country?) waiting in the cars behind me. The eyse of all the soldiers - do they have nothing better to do? - watching. I do my best to stand up tall and not let it bother me. Get kitted back up and out of there. I notice the truck behind me in the que at the checkpoint is still behind me. Can't really call it following as there isn't anywhere else to turn or go, it's one straight long boring road. But still. But still, I'm very glad its there, when my bike decides to alleviate itself of a rather important and necesary item - the chain. 75km from my chosen destination for the night, Escarcega.
Carlos, a weird looking, short little Mexican who was travelling in the truck behind, is kind enough to stop and make sure I'm OK. He speaks English with an Atlanta, Georgia accent, but at least I can communicate with him. He and his uncle drive me 26km further to find a mechanic who in turn, drives Carlos and I back to the bike. An hour later the chain is fixed, Carlos paying out $40 for the service as I have all of $4 on me and I'm now obliged to give Carlos a lift to Escarcega. God know's how he survived 75km sitting on my luggage rack with barely any padding, carrying my backpack, but we get in just before dark.
It causes a bit of a stir, riding into this one horse town. Carlos is a local restauranteur and seems to know everyone, he seems quite happy to wave at everyone and I of course feel very, very self conscious. There is at least a bank here so I can pay Carlos back, but when it comes to my choice accommodation for the night, the guide book recommends a cheap hotel, I end up in another dilema. Carlos insists its too dangerous to stay there, I can't afford the accommodation he is saying is safe. After 15 minutes of his insisting, I submit and he pays for my accommodation. I was desperate for a shower. But don't fret, he left me in piece and went home to his mum, it was Mother's Day of course.
The next morning, Carlos shows up to take me to his mate's motorcyle workshop, just to see how badly the bike was damaged in the 'Chain' incident. 'Muchas Gracias, Carlos', he's off to see his pregnant girlfriend in Merida.
Did I mention what a dump Escarcega is? No? Well it is! There is a gringo who is also trapped in Escarcega who just so happens to be working at the motorbike shop. He's a yachtie who lost his boat in Hurricane Katrina and has been a bit of a lost soul since. He's building himself a motorbike out of scraps to escape Escarcega. My good fortune is that he a) Speaks English b) is a very good mechanic and c) has no problem sorting out my bike. Unfortunately it takes a lot longer then the couple of hours I was hoping.

I could always escape on this CBR900, no?

So my rear sprocket is 'F'd. I should have taken a photo. The teeth are shaped like waves, caused by my chain being too loose this time and the chain took a couple of chunks out of the engine casing, damaged the chain guards. The chain is salvagble the sprocket not so. So I'm sent off to Campeche with another generous Mexican, an excruciatingly boring 5 hour return trip, and can only return with a rear sproket for a Suzuki. I'm stuck the night in Escarcega. Damn!
Gringo offers a patch of floor of his bodega which I readily accept. He's the kind of guy you wouldn't mess with, so I feel kind of safe.
Day Two and while waiting for the Suzuki sprocket teeth to be cut and welded onto the damaged Kawasaki sprocket inner (You gotta do whatever it takes to get going again) Gringo, his name was actually Raul, gives the KLR a bit of an overhaul. Carb cleaned, yet again, thanks to really bad Mexican fuel, its adjusted, my suspension is sorted and the bike grows back to its pre new shock absorber height, exhaust is cleaned, boy did it need it. And fingers crossed, it's liking for oil may be sorted. We'll have to wait and see on that one though. Downside, he thinnks the bike needs a new clutch set. It's never ending, this maintanance malarky!
I escape at 3pm, leaving Gringo to finish his own escape machine. In a foul mood, tired and hot as hell, I splurge, $15, on a hotel with my own shower. No hostals in the town of Oscinga. Quick emails, a quesadilla and I'm off to bed. It can only get better, surely!

It's like being on holidays.

2007-05-16T01:44:00.000Z

A bit sad and I admit, a bit nervous, to be leaving the security of Mike, I head east into Belize. To my suprise, I actually enjoy the ride, at my own pace and the border crossing is the easiest and quickest yet. I did embarrass myself with the Belizian border officials though, you see, they speak English and I'm only used to speaking to border officials in Spanish. So they had to politley remind me to refrain from my Spanglish and try, if I might, to speak English. It came out rather stuttered and slowly at first but I eventually got the hang of speaking in my native tounge and with a smile and quite a hefty insurance payment, I was waved through.

Belize is nothing like the rest of the Central America that I have seen. It is lush, green and colourful. The signs are in English, or a version of, there are many more Afro Carribean people milling about, and it is super expensive. It feels like a breath of fresh air.

I'd heard good things about the Belize Zoo, and when I whizzed past the entry sign, I did an about turn and went to investigate. It must be good, Camron Diaz and the late Steve Urwin had visited. And for the second time in two days, I wasn't dissappointed. It is a refuge for injured, confiscated and captive bred rare native animals. Everything from the howler monkeys, to the very rare Harpy Eagle, to a toucanette (Small toucan, obvioulsy) that sounds like a frog, to a tapir that may just pee on you. Mountian Lions and pumas and crocodiles. But what capped it off were the educational signs that went with each of the habitats, very funky carribean.

How could you resist the Toucan with a sign like this?

Unfortunately I then had the displeasure of arriving in Belize City. What a dump, and a dangerous one at that. I did find a 'decent' hostal where I could lock the bike up (read, 'park it far as possible into the garden at the end of the path to keep it out of view, god know's how I'm going to get it out of there!') and meet some Canadians and Belgiums. I heard good things about the Chinese food in Belize City but this time I was disappointed. So after an early dinner, I hide out in the hostal.

Early the next morning, no point hanging about, the Belgium lot and I head to the dock to catch a ferry to Caye Caulker. 50 minutes later, we're set up in Tina's Backpackers, sand between our toes and ready for the beach. There are a few backpackers, just enough to have the services that you want on the island, but not too many to ruin the lazy, chilled out atmosphere. I feel like I'm on summer holidays.

Not quite sure of the translation, but you get the idea. Bare feet only on Caye Caulker

Day two of my holidays, I'm off for a dive, might as well make the most of the little certificate I just got. I was a little disappointed as my mask kept fogging despite numerous attempts to clear it - it was like looking through my rather scratched motorcycle helmet visor. So visability was, in reality, probably a lot, for me it was less than an inch for my right eye. We did get to see a turtle, a bit like the ones in Finding Nemo, but there was only one and a baby drum fish, which is supposed to be a rare thing. A huge green moray eel and then, something that resembled a shark with an overbite, but he was only about a foot and half long. He took quite a fancy to me, much to my horror, and kept bumping into me. Maybe he had poor visability too! At least the Dive masters got a laugh out of it.

Back on dry land, I avoid the local men, who are almost as bad the 'overbite' shark and hangout with some Watford crew (Watford being to the north of London and where my mate Stevo used to live) and one of the Belgium girls. Time to try the local brew, Belikin Beer. Catch phrase of Belikin Beer - 'You´d better Belize it', Yup, bad ey!

On the mainland, I struggle to drag the bike kicking and screaming backwards out of the garden and down the path. Holiday over, time to get to Mexico.

Guatemala

2007-05-16T00:14:00.000Z

After spending several hours driving through Guatemala City (Which included an impromptue stop in the McDonalds carpark waiting for the BMW to cool down - air cooled bikes aren't so clever in horendous traffic) we arrived in Antigua. Somehow we landed in some decent accommodation at a language school with the obligatory parking and over friendly dog. She liked to come into our room in the morning and once tried to snuggle up with Mike in bed, Oi, just hang on a second, that's my job!
We also bumped into Volker (I've learn't how to spell his name now) again, worked on the KLR - yet again, the BMW got a new spring for the rear shock, we saw one of the guys from Buena Vista Social Club perform in a small restaurant (although the keyboardist was so bad, we actually left early) and basically just hung out for 5 days, relaxing. Antigua's a rather cool colonial town. And although I had visited when I travelled into Guatemala 6 years ago, I don't remember too much of it as I spent most of that time in bed sick. So it was good to come back and see it again.
The highlight would have to be climbing Volcan Pacaya. We set off mid-afternoon and climbed for only about an hour and half, more than enough for me. But the idea of setting off late is so that you're up on the lava flows for dusk, when they glow rather spectaculary. It all got rather exciting when some lava decided to erupt rather close to us and head our way. All fun and games except our path of retreat was blocked by hundreds of tourists trying to get closer to take photographs. You can't really blame them but when you are the closest and it's all a bit hot and red, you kind of just want to get out of there. If you can believe it, some girls wore flip flops and carried their handbags, not particularly appropriate.

After a nice breakfast to celebrate Mike's 37th birthday, we went to get some petrol and head up to Lake Atitlan. A bit of a rule for riding in a group of two or more is that if you lose someone, you go back to the last place you actually saw them and wait. So after I missed a left turn that Mike took, that's what I did, unfortunately Mike didn't. He filled up with pertol, did a lap around the block and headed out of town without me. I also filled up with petrol, at a different station, but then got held up by tourists unloading from a coach, for 10 minutes. By the time I eventually got back to where Mike had been, he'd long gone. I spent the next four hours waiting for him, wondering how long was long enough to wait before you got worried. Eventually I left the bike parked with instructions for some of the locals working in sight that if they a saw a BMW they were to get him to wait by the bike. I walked back into toen to email Mike, our only form of contact and somehow ended up with the local motorcycle police sending out a search party. Eventually I checked my emails and I get an 'Ooops, I'm already in Lake Atitlan'. Obviously he fancied a ride without me for his birthday and all.

Lake Atitlan was as beautiful as I remember, but god, when it rain, did it rain! We did a boat trip around the lake to some other towns, all a bit boring to be honest, the highlight was skipping the last village and getting a lift back to our town in the back of a truck. We also saw some rather good muscians at a local bar and met a rather lovely and informative lady from Cumbria (that's in the UK for those of you who didn't know).

Tikal was our last stop in Guatemala, and it didn't disappoint. Although the guide book did say it could take two days to see it all, we arrived super early (advantage of having your own transport) to avoid the crowds and the heat and being the keen archeologists that we're not, we were done just after midday. Tikal was a large Mayan City dating from before Christ to sometime afterwards (Helpful with dates aren't I!) And is quite spectacular with temples jutting out from the jungle below like skyscrapers. The only dissappointing thing is that the decorative stone work has mostly warn away with jungle growth and rain, limestone just not passing the test of time. There are preserved decorative details within the museums but out of context, they kind of lose their meaning. Still worth a look though.

Back in Flores, our base for visiting Tikal, Mike and I bid each other farewell, Mike heading for a dodgy border into Mexico and me to Belize. It's time to have some mini adventures on our own.

'F' its hot!

2007-04-30T00:20:00.000Z

My Mum and Dad will be glad to know that I don't swear so much anymore. But in this case 'My giddy Aunt, it's hot!' doesn't quite convey just how hot it actually is.
I've set up a new map case for my handle bar, finally utilizing a compass/thermometer that I've been carrying around. Not only does it give me something else to look at, I can see just how hot it is - riding in the 40s just isn't fun. Even my new ventilated jacket is too hot. Naughty as it is (I now have to take back all the times I commented on the idiot bikers riding in London in t-shirt and shorts when the thermometer went over 20c), the morning ritual has gone from putting on bike jacket, gloves and helmet to lathering up in suncream, gloves and helmet. Long trousers always so as to avoid searing flesh on the melting bike seat, but still, I don't think my zip-off hiking trousers are going to protect much if I come a cropper. The other option though, in the words of the Wicked Witch of the West, 'I'm melting, I'm melting!'

A quick trip to Granada, one night with a late check-out so as to see what there isn't really to see there, (I'm not sure but we never seem to 'get' a lot of the places that other travellers do) and we head northbound. Oops, I should mention that we did have one of the best pizzas for dinner, a normal amount of cheese! So I guess that kind of made a visit to Granada worth it.

On the thinking that the mountains will be cooler, we decide to miss Leon, another colonial town in the north west of Nicaragua. We head for the middle border crossing of El Espino, going through the extremes of 40c+ through desert country to getting drenched on the mountain roads, twice. Of course the second time was two minutes before pulling into a hotel (after having dried off from the first drenching), got to love our timing!

We had already decided not to stop in Honduras. Pretty much everyone we had spoken to didn't have anything good to report about the place, except for the Bay Islands in the Carribean and we could do with making up some time. And with the heat that we were enduring, I don't think I would have hung around for too long anyways. So after a relatively painless crossing into, a fast ride through and a painless exit, we arrive in El Salvador. I thought the Costa Rican crossing was long. According to my trusty thermometer, it's cooled down to a mild 38c, I'm guessing humidity 95%. This is in the shade of the warehouse where we spent over three hours waiting for our Aduana papers to be typed up. It took about a half hour to get the paperwork sorted out and given to the officals. About an hour or so later, they come to check to Chassis and Engine numbers.
BIG problem.
For some unkown reason, Mike's engine number doesn't match what is written on his documents. Stranger still, is how we've come this far without it being picked up before. Another half hour later, someone else comes to check the numbers. Still not correct. Another half an hour later, I get the thumbs up, they're typing our papers up now.
It's just about this time that Vladamir rides up (Although 'rides' doesn't quite capture the essence of his arrival). Vladamir is an 'energetic' Russian. In a little over six months he has ridden his BMW GS1200 Dakar from Moscow down to Spain, caught a ferry to Tangier, continued down to Dakar and the west coast of Africa, through the Congo and all that, into Durban, South Africa. His bike then went on a boat to Buenos Aires, Argentina and then he headed north. Although he didn't wait the four weeks in Cartagena like us, he still got held up for two weeks in Medillin, Colombia, repairing his bike after a minor accident. All this in six months. Makes us look like turtles.
He carries a machette, taped between the pannier and the bike itself. Has he ever had to use it? Yes! In the Congo for cutting down jungle (?), for protection from the mad Africans (?) and apparently it is quite useful to scare off the hasslers at the border crossings in Latin America (I can understand this although we'd just end up in more trouble). He is a journalist writing about his travels. Basically what he sees from the bike. The road ahead, and glimpes to the left and right. Not sure how exciting a read that would be. Most of the time he must be describing a blur. But each to their own and he is on a time limit. He must be back in Moscow to his wife within the year. And for that he must get to San Fransico, ship the bike to Vladistock, Siberia, and ride more than 8000km across Siberia, Mongolia and Russia.
And he thinks the Africans are crazy!
I have no doubt he will get there with time to spare though, the guy couldn't sit still. And as for time spent at border crossings, athough he doesn't understand Spanish and we had to help him fill out his Aduana forms, his Russian mafia presence was nothing to be sniffed at. He was out of there in less time than us and I'm thinking that it was may be due to him that our papers were processed as quickly. They weren't game to keep him there longer than necesary and they couldn't very well issue his papers before ours.
We watched our fellow biker speed off into the fading daylight as we ourselves had a very fast ride to La Union on the promise of cheap seafood. Made it just before complete nightfall into what appeared to be (even in daylight the next morning) a port of dubious character. After a much needed cold shower, and a quick if slightly frustrating search for a restaurant, I got my lobster then it was off to bed. What a day!

With San Salvador reading like San Jose, the guide book stating its best kept secret was some little church, we opt for giving it a miss and heading up to Guatemala and maybe some cooler weather.
The good thing about Nicaragua, Honduras and El Salvador is that their roads are good and although they have stupid speeds i.e. in the same vein as northern Peru (25km zones on the PanAmerican highway) unlike Peru, the police don't seem to mind that they're the only ones sticking to the speed limit. We follow the locals' lead and after stopping for a Homer Simpson style breakfast of donuts, Gallo pinto (Rice and beans) just not appealling at that time of morning, and buying the obligatory El Salvadorian sticker, we head quickly for the Guatemalan border.

As I'm typing this, I'm now thinking that I've written this before. 'Mike should do the paperwork at borders'. He has us across in under half an hour and we're looking good for making our chosen destination.
Note for Mike: Next time there is a very dark sky in the direction of our travel and Michelle says, 'Lets just get going and see how far we get before we need to put our waterproof jackets on', don't listen to her. Go with your instinct. Five minutes after leaving the border, we come around a bend in the road into a wall of rain. Welcome to Guatemala!

Surf's up!

2007-04-29T23:52:00.000Z

Smelly Biker Bob and his Peruvian girlfriend, Angie, are in La Cruz, just south of the border with Nicaragua. After spending the night drinking beer and boring poor Angie talking 'bike', and comparing notes on the crossing from Cartagena to Portobello, (We thought we had it bad, their boat nearly sank, caught on fire and the captain fell unconcious due to smoke inhalation during a storm with 8 meter waves) we head to the Nicaraguan border together, less hassle from the kids and more sets of eyes to watch the bikes while you're filling out paperwork. After what had to be the longest border crossing yet, we fianlly get to San Juan del Sur. Nicargua's surfing mecca.

Bob and Angie stay only one night, Bob, the Englishman that he is, not coping too well with the heat. We stay for two, catching some waves at a local beach. A mad Calafornian 'dude' rents us our surf boards and gives us some pointers. We spend the day frollicking in the white wash attempting to improve our technique. I don't do so bad, figuring out which wave of the set will be the best and I manage to stand up more than not, except for the period just before lunch when I started to confuse myself by trying to stand up 'regular' (left leg forward) rather than 'goofy' (right foot forward. Pirroettes don't quite work on a surfboard. The sun must have been affecting me. Mike took his time to warm up and it wasn't until after lunch that it came together for him. So of course the first wave he stands up on is perfect. For starters, it's a proper wave, I'd been playing in the white wash for the best part of the day, and he looks like he knows what he's doing. No flayling arms for this surfer. Damn him and his natural ability.

Things go downhill once back on the PanAmerican Highway. Mike is pulled over for crossing a line. $300 pesos and his International Driver's Licence confiscated. The unfriendly policeman speeds off in his car and we're left wondering what to do with the ticket just issued (unpaid) and whether he needs his International Licence or not. We've never had to show it and it looks dodgy as anyway. So we decide to ignore the ticket and continue on our way.

Isla Ometepe, refered to by Mike as Omlette Island (got to love how our Spanglish is coming along) is next on the list. Frustration over the price of the ferry and departure times, leaves us in a bad mood. We're sure the place is lovely just after the wet season, but right now, at the end of the dry season, it's stinking hot and the place looks dead. Grrrrrr........................!

Costa Rica, the cheap and friendly country!

2007-04-29T22:29:00.000Z

We awake in Boquette and although its a little cloudy, we can see a heck lot more than the day before. With a light heart we head for the border of Costa Rica. The light heart fades quickly. Despite numorous border crossings under our belt, they never fail to frustrate me. Not that the Costa Rican border was particularly difficult, but for some reason I get charged $10 to leave Panama, Mike $1. Go figure.
So its my turn to check us into Costa Rica. After denying the help of the local kids, I set off on a mission of visiting 'this' window, then 'that' one. Back to the 'this' window to be told I now need to pay for 'that' piece of paper, at yet another window. The guy starts looking at the clock, 5 minutes to midday, or in his case 5 minutes to lunch time. I'm still missing one piece of paper. Get it and back to 'this' window and suprise suprise the guy has gone to lunch - for two hours! I notice the larger Aduana office and proceed, with a pretend girly tear in my eye, to explain that the Aduana booth is cerrado. The tear works! However it still takes an hour for the poor chap, who fell for the tear, to process our papers.

Costa Rica is supposed to be expensive, this is mainly due to the number of ex-pats living there, tourist prices and all that. But after bouncing up and down a dirt road in the coastal perma culture village of Uvita, we find what used to be a hostal of sorts. Michael, a German expat, is reluctant to let us stay but because of the Scotish connection and as we promised to make no work for him, we pitch our tent on a covered platform, in a rather pleasant jungle setting. Holly, the caretaker, who returns later to find us already set up, is English but grew up in Scotland, so after the comparing of notes on locations of education, work and living in Scotland, Holly won't except payment for the tent pitch or the coffee. Nice one.

A morning dip in a waterfall, more chatting about Scotland and perma culture, before we head off for San Jose in search of a new rear tyre for me and a new spring for Mike's shock absorber. We pick up a new tyre enroute and get drenched in the process. Once again, what would have been a scenic and twisty ride, is turned into a nothing but cloud and fog and 'Oh Michelle has a new tyre' and therefore a slippery ride into San Jose. Note to one's self. When riding through Central America in the wet season, it is better to get going early in the morning to miss the afternoon drenchings.

Riding into San Jose, I was reminded of driving into the outskirts of an Australian city. It had a nice familiar feeling to it. However, I kept this opinion to myself when Mike, pulled up next to me at one of the hundred sets of traffic lights in the city, exclaims, 'God this is a dump of a place!'
The city itself has nothing of excitement, unless you're playing 'Guess how many of the hookers are actually tranvestites' game. I was rubbish.
And of course we get caught out by a public holiday and have to spend the weekend there. We do a few day trips to the outlying areas, farms, volcanos and shopping malls (for the Cinema, food court lunches and to get rid of our material urges - we can't afford anything!). Tuesday comes and of course the part that Mike ordered for his shock absorber hasn't actually been ordered. This travelling marlarky is becoming a bit predictable. If we are in need of something for the bike, the only place to get it will be a dump. We will arrive on a Saturday afternoon of a long weekend and then what we need/oredered won't be available.

So onto La Fortuna and Volcano Arenal. We pitch our tent (Actually it was Mike who pitched the tent with the 'help' of a rather cute puppy) in the backyard of Hostal Sissy. Views of the volcano of course. And super cheap.
So what we save on accomodation, we blow on what has become a bit of a habbit of ours, Hot Springs. Mmmm, nice, and well, hot! Oh and I nearly forgot, Mike gets us some free drinks. An honsety system doesn't work if Mike sorts out the final bill, having to declare just how many drinks we've had. The volcano doesn't do much that evening, just a wee explosion of hot stones that last for all of five minutes and that we mostly miss. We bump into Lars and Sandra and find some cheap eats. Our budget's doing well in Costa Rica.

It has to be our shortest day so far on the trip (not counting our attempted departure of Uyuni), a mere 40km to Nuevo Arenal. Andreas and Christine had told us about a German Bakery and we follow the abundance of signs and with that amount of direction, we were never going to miss it! Without looking at the price, we're lured by the look of the struedal with vanilla icecream and the aroma of coffee. It's elevensies, so it has to be done. Tom, the German baker, is a keen biker and before we know it, we're on his boat watching the sun set with beers, delicious cheescake and snacks. Ah, this is the life. Dinner that night is raiding the restaurant fridge of imported cheeses, sausages, hams and local beer, setting the scene with tea lights due to yet another power cut. My cravings for European food satisfied.
When we go to take our leave the next morning, Tom refuses to accept payment for any food (The struedal and coffee alone would have set us back $12, ouch!) or for the accomodation, a nice cabaña that he has out back for the sole purpose of accomodating friends and family, and is a little put out by the fact that we actually want to leave. Apparently most bikers end up staying for a few days at least. Muchas gracias to Tom!

Panama

2007-04-17T15:09:00.000Z

Well I'm sure there is a lot more to Panama then the canal but that is all we saw of it. After arriving in the rainy season (thanks to being delayed 4 weeks), spending an entire morning sorting out paperwork for the bikes, we head out of Portobello getting absolutely drowned. The road to Panama City wasn't exactly fun but we arrive safely and set up for two nights, enough time to do some much needed washing, have a decent Chinese and a decent Indian meal, not cheap but oh so worth it! Oh and I nearly forgot, a Dunkin' Donut.
Panama City is a refreshing change with tall sky scrapers and a very modern feel. There is still the old town which is going through the process of regentrification and there are still the street vendors to add some character - a nice blend.
The Panama Canal is quite something. Not so much a canal as I thought it was going to be, more of three sets of locks that lift the ships 26 meters above sea level into a lake and then lowers them back down to sea level about 8-9 hours later on the other side. We arrived at Miraflores Locks just before 10am and spent the next hour just watching the big ships go through, in between rain showers of course. We bump into Vaulker and check out the exhibition and museum. There are plans to build another set of locks by 2014 which will double the capacity of shipping through the canal and also allow boats almost double the size that can fit through now, mainly American Navy Aircraft Landing ships. Definitely worth a visit next time you're in Panama.
After the excitement of the big smoke, we head up north to the 'Swiss' like village of Boquete. Apparently there is some lovely scenery around the village but as it was chucking it down again, and the cloud was thick, we didn't see much of it until the next morning. It was nice to snuggle up underneath a duvet again though.
4 nights in Panama, next stop, Costa Rica.

The adventures of McLody

2007-04-16T23:17:00.000Z

The KLR gets loaded.

Mike the stunt man performs his acrobatic tricks while I play photographer, again!

And she's tied down.

Next time I think I'd like to go sailing, will someone remind me that I get sea sick!
So we've waited 4 weeks to catch a boat to Panama, via paradise and what happen:

We should have realised something wasn't quite right when we boarded a boat called the MCLODY rather than the MELODY!

Day 1

Morning: We're all bright and chirpy, finally we're out of there. 9 of us on a boat that sleeps 6. This should be fun. Colombian Customs plus dog board the boat, searching for drugs, just as well we stashed them in my luggage, as my panniers were the only ones not searched, again (just kidding Mum, no drugs). An hour and a half delay.
Afternoon: I sit on deck trying not to move or to be sick, unsuccessfully.
Evening: Sick again.

Nice shade of grey/green

Day 2:

All Day: I spend the entire day flat on my back in bed. Positioned so as to have as little movement from the rocking of the boat as possible. Didn't miss too much as it's raining. Captain's comment 'Strange weather, it hasn't rained for months!'
Late Evening: Still raining, arrive at the San Blas Islands at 10pm (About 5 hours later than normal due to 'Unusual currents in the waters')

We're anchored in the San Blas Islands for the next few days.

Day 3

Morning: Stopped raining but overcast. After finally emerging, the captain and his wife ask if we'd like to watch a DVD, 'No thanks!'
Afternoon: Wife takes us, to Potluck Island. This is the stuff paradise is made of. Unfortunately, no sooner had we claimed the hammock and we're ushered back into the dinghy and shipped back to the yacht for lunch. Starts raining.
Evening: Rain continues.'Would you like to watch a DVD?', 'No thanks!' We finally get lunch at about 6pm. No dinner.

Here comes the rain again.

Day 4

Morning: It's raining. I'm feeling 150% better and have returned to my normal flesh colour. I make pancakes for those of us awake.
Afternoon: It's drizzling. Captain and wife finally make an appearance. 'Would you like to watch a DVD?', 'No thanks!' (If they ask us one more time....)
We ask, 'Can we go to Potluck Island again and play Volleyball?', 'No!'
Captain asks us to eat more fruit. Lars, Sandra Mike and I spend the rest of the afternoon and evening concocting exoctic fruit cocktails with rum.
Evening: We get lunch just before 6pm. No dinner. More rum cocktails (There was nothing else to do)

Day 5

Morning: Happy Easter. It's raining. Set sail for a Kuna Indian township on some island 2 hours away. This is Mike and my extra 'treat' for having been kept waiting for a month for this god damn boat. Some treat. I spend the two hours getting there, in bed trying not to be sick. We get dropped off, on some slum of an island where the townsfolk are all drunk and annoyingly chatty (worse than when I'm drunk I imagine) and there's not even and Easter Egg hunt. It's still raining. Our treat is a load of bollocks and is actually Captain and wife wanting to go to church, they're Mormans. The only memorable thing is Lars (fellow traveller), meets a local by the name of Siete Bullets. He was shot 7 times in the one go and still has a bullet lodged in his shoulder. Nice town.
Afternoon: Hey it's stopped raining. And we get lunch at lunch time. 'Do you want to watch a DVD?', 'NO!!!'
'Can we go to Potluck Island for a swim?', 'No'. 'Oh!'
Sandra tries 'Can we go to Potluck Island?', 'Ok'.
Cool, we like Potluck Island and even Fidel Castro comes with us this time.
Evening: BBQ dinner, it's good. Cake for pudding too. Spend the night getting drunk on Rum, bitching about the boat trip.

Sandra, Lars, Neil, Ethan, Mike, Me and Vaulker, cast-a-way on Potluck Island.

Day 6
All day: I spend the day in bed, successfully trying not to be sick. Despite the hangover.
Evening: Finally arrive in Portobello, Panama. Hooray!

A bit wobbly when we get off the boat. Just wish we'd arrived in day light, then I'd have some great photos of the bikes getting unloaded. First, using the main sail rigging, the bikes are lifted/lowered into a small launch. Mike manages to hang on to them while they're shipped into a jetty. After getting rid of one nuisance local, (he was drunk and fell into the water, twice, thankfully not taking the bikes with him) there are a couple of men waiting to heave them out of the launch. All this in the pitch black. The only damage to the bikes is the BMW has lost it's horn button, nevermind, it was in a stupid place anyways.

So, am I glad I waited 4 weeks for that? No! But as always, after the event, I'm glad we sailed.

Our Ruta Map of South America

2007-04-01T18:57:00.000Z

I was a bit bored still waiting for that bloody boat, so here is a map of our route so far. With points of interest notated.

Update on the boat, we leave at 6am on Wednesday 4th April on 'The Melody'.

Trumpet fish won't rule the world.

2007-03-28T19:01:00.000Z

So there you all are, thinking 'They must be in Panama by now, surely!'
Guess what?
We're not!
We're still stuck in Colombia, waiting for a man and his bloody boat. For Christ's sake, Colombian Time, argh............
But hey, I shan't complain too much. After two frustrating weeks of having the captain push the sailing date back further and further and very little sign of any other option, we bailed on Cartagena for a lovely little hamlet on the coast by the name of Tananga. Three or so hours north of Cartagena, Tananga is reminiscent of a Medditeranean fishing village, except full of Colombians littering every available piece of beach and sea, and where dogs rule and cats dare not tread. Not painting a very pretty picture am I! Despite the rubbish, the dogs are quite cool, some of them at least, and it is very pretty.
The diving ain't bad either. So Mike and I got brave and signed up for our Open Water Dive Certificate. Apparently it is cheap here and we hoped to make something good out of the time we had sat and waited for afore mentioned boat.
I admit that I only signed up because I didn't want to be bored ****less while Mike went off and had fun, and I also admit that I was scared ****less. The thought of deep water has always brought about a fear of being being eaten by Jaws, treading on a stone fish, or being stung by a Blue Bottle or Box Jelly Fish. The Australian Pacific coast has a lot to answer for. After being assured that there were no 'creepy crawlies' in the water who could eat me, I had the pleasure of watching the very naff and Americanised PADI video of learning to dive - for three hours.
Eventually we got into the water and to my suprise I found it quite relaxing to breathe. Pretending I was Darth Vader, without a light saber. Despite a panic attack with tears and begging the instructor not to make me go back under water (I was above water at the time thank god), I managed to get through and pass the course.
My favourite fish was the Porcipine Fish. For those of you who have seen Finding Nemo, this is one of those fish that blows up into a balloon and has spikes when scared. Sadly though, they can only do this about three times before dying.
But of all the fish, I guess the award for 'Tries hard, but just isn't bright' goes to the Trumpet Fish. There were loads where we were diving, big ones, small ones, bright canary yellow ones. Ey, just hang on a sec, Trumpet fish aren't supposed to be bright canary yellow. They are when they're camouflaging themselves in a school of other canary yellow fish. Sounds like a clever little habbit, being able to change colour to match their environment. Unfortunately this is where it comes unstuck for poor Mr Turmpet Fish. On this occasion, he missed the fact that he was about 20 times larger and a completely different shape to the fish he was trying to blend in with, remaining completely conspicuous. Ah bless 'im though, he gets points for trying.

Anyways, we're sat, once again, in an Internet Cafe in Cartagena. We should find out in about an hour whether there is a boat leaving tomorrow, so fingers crossed.

End of the road (End of Chapter 1 - almost)

2007-03-13T18:04:00.000Z

After an arguement about the price of breakfast and a quick paddle in the delightful waters of the Carribean, its back on the bikes for a three hour ride to the end of the road in South America for us - Cartagena. My clever new jacket becomes a little frustrating when we pass through rain storm, after rain storm - waterproof lining on, waterproof lining off, waterproof lining on waterproof lining off. But still, I arrive in one solid piece rather than a melting mess.

Cartagena is a large and hectic city. It has a very beautiful Old Town full of colonial architecture, horse drawn carriages and touts. Of course, the hotel we'd booked was in the scabby area just outside the Old Town, full of hookers, pick pockets and drug dealers apparently. After two nights there, we left the very friendly Villa Colonial and moved downtown to La Bocagrande, full of horse drawn carriages, highrisers and touts.
We're now hanging out in our 'holiday apartment' filling our days with lazing by the roof top pool, catching up on all the little things that we've been meaning to do and drinking rum and cokes in the evening. I'm still waiting for my rear shock absorber to arrive from the US and we're still waiting to hear about a man and his boat. Fingers crossed both happen very soon.

Next stop, Panama (And Chapter 2)

Iron Butts

2007-03-12T19:53:00.000Z

After a few errands the next morning we head out of Medellin, excited at the prospect of camping again. We come across another extremely helpfull Medellinian (is that what they call someone from Medellin or did I just make that up?) who leads us out of town on his scooter after coming across a major route that's closed for road works.
The two hour ride to Rio Claro that Mr Suzuki told us about, turns out to be three very twisty hours and we arrive, tired and hungry with no food in preparation for camping. Despite it blowing our budget (but not by too much) we opt for staying in the hostal instead of camping, a decission I'm very happy about later that evening when a large and spectacular thunderstorm passes through. I'm no longer hardcore!
The hostal is really cool, much better than our Amazon expedition. It's like a big tree house with our dorm being open on two sides to the jungle. The owner is a biker himself but we don't give him too much of a chance to chat as we're keen to get into the river and cool off.
Thankfully the staff have got breakfast ready for us for 7am, despite a power cut due to the storm and by half past, we're out the door, probably our earliest start with the bikes yet. It's going to be a long day, 3 hours back to Medellin then another 8 or so to the Carribean.

Hanging out with the military boys! (Hey, nice new jacket and all)

After 5 years of riding, I've finally got the hang of going around corners which is just as well as we're on twisty roads until lunch time, passing many military guys with AK47s and sub machine guns. They assure us that there are no 'combatos' and that we're safe. We also pass a lot of guys in orange boiler suits, reparing the roads and trimming the verges. Despite the traffic in Colombia, you have to give it to them, their roads are in pretty decent nick.

When we hit the warmer, lower altitudes, I decide to stop and unzip my new flashy jacket to 'cool' mode. Mike didn't hear me beep to let him know I was stopping - ear plugs, that and my horn is a bit rubbish by all accounts - and keeps riding. When I've stripped down, I'm thinking he'll be waiting just down the road. He was. It's just that I didn't see him 'cause I was overtaking a semi trailer at the time. Riding on for about half an hour, keeping a close eye out for him, I was beginning to think that he'd finally had enough of waiting for me and had just kept riding. I did stop at some road works and ask the 'stop and go' girl whether she'd seen 'A grande moto paseo, 5-10 minutos ago', but obvioulsy my Spanglish didn't quite get the question across and she replied 'Si'. So there I am, hurtling along thinking 'Well if he isn't going to wait for me, I'd better get a move on and try to catch up.' About another 10 minutes later, looking in my mirror, I see a flustered BMW rider coming up quite fast behind me. Oops, did a get a slap on the wrists for even thinking that he would ride on without me!

The rest of the Iron Butt ride is less eventful, passing through Braham cattle (For some strange reason these are my favourite sort of cows, I don't know why) country. Despite the heat and being in the tropics, the scenery is somewhat Autumnal and it really is a pleasant ride. And managing to avoid donkeys and after a few near misses with cyclists swerving all over the road, we make it to the Carribean, after dark but in time for cerveza.
Ahh, the lovely sea side.

Salud!

Murder capital of the world.

2007-03-12T19:17:00.000Z

In the 80/90s, for as little as $30US you could hire a Sicarios (Hormone ravaged teenager) to settle a score in Medellin. Drug gang warfare had escalated to the point that Medellin had the dubious honour of being given the title of murder capital of the world. I think it avaraged something like 7 murders a day.
Times have changed a bit and although the drug trade still makes up 25% of Colombia's GNP, Medellin is the friendliest place we've been to on the entire trip. Understandably, tourists seem a little reluctant to come here still and maybe that's why the locals are so generous and kind. They've not grown jaded to the visitors yet and they're excited about the evolution of their city into something they can be proud of. To be fair, we did stay in what appeared to be a posh part of the city, El Poblado, but we had bike friendly accommodation here, food that wasn't rice and chicken and decent coffee available just around the corner. Oh and did I mention all the lovely, lovely bike shops - with motorcylce kit for women, in my size! Mike fell in love with a Kawasaki Ninja 1400 too! I wonder if he'll let me have a ride!
Of course the BMW shop wasn't just around the corner with all of the other bike shops, but they made up for it in being the best BMW dealership place I've been to. I don't even own a BMW and I got given decent coffee, free Ruta 40 (name of the dealership) and Colombian flag stickers (which I proceded to stick on upside down - doh!) and a free t-shirt. And the owner, Mauricio, who had some very cool photos of his own TransAmerican Adventures on the walls gave Mike a free rear brake light lens cover for free. The guys there, including some of the other customers, couldn't have been nicer.
Also nicer, were the Suzuki guys, where I bought a rather cool (litterally) new bike jacket. My ever faithful old red jacket had seen better days and with the heat and humidity of Central America looming, with no ventilation in it, the jacket was just too hot. It was a sad farewell to a jacket that had seen me through several winters in the UK plus protected me all the times I fell off the KLR in Wales and the scrap on Ruta 40 in Argentina, but needs must and my nice new very CLEAN jacket will hopefully serve me just as well. So look out for the new black jacket in the next lot of photos.

A sad farewell to my beloved jacket

Despite selling me a jacket, the Suzuki guy also told us of a cool place to go see. And sent his secretary out to buy us a map of Colombia (with more accurate squiggles indicting twisty roads).
Next stop then, Rio Claro.

100% Colombian

2007-03-12T18:21:00.000Z

So we're primed and ready to spend 3-4 hours at the border to cross into Colombia - apparently that's the standard crossing time according to all other bikers we've met. Up early we make it to the border just before 9am. Some how, just before 10am we're through, possibly this had something to do with the rather camp border crossing guard taking a shine to Mike but I can't be sure.
It was a good thing though that it didn't take the normal 3-4 hours as although it was a beautiful ride to Popyan, our first night's destination, with all of the twisty roads, it was also a very long ride. Mike's GPS shows relatively straight lines between the villages and towns and my map wasn't much better, but looking back on where we'd actually riden, the GPS plotted a course that looked rather like a child had got hold of a crayon and squiggled out the straight lines.
Popyan is a nice colonial town and after a foot blistering hour walking around in his bike boots, Mike came up with one of the few places to have parking for two motos. Very basic but also very very cheap. This meant we had money to spare to try the local beers and rum. Ah got to love rum (these were straight with lime, I'm now onto the rum and cokes - a bit easier to take).

Our actual route is the dotted line. Not quite what WorldMap is showing.

With a slight hangover we head off the next morning, aiming for coffee country. We'd hoped to stay on a coffee finka - coffee plantation, not a coffee drinking philosopher with a lisp - which we should be able to book through the tourist office in Puira, unfortunately, we remember rather conveniently, that as it is Saturday, the tourist office is closed. Damn, another search for a hotel that has parking. However, this time we're not so lucky with the price or the parking. It's expensive, the guide book not helping by listing the two most expensive hotels in the entire city, and we end up parking in a parquedero.
You know when you get a feeling about a place and it's not a good one, well we got that about this place. Searching for dinner was a nightmare with loads of derilict people begging and drunks littering the sidewalks, arguments between the down and outers and loads of gambling dens. We got some nasty food - which is all we could afford - and holed up in the hotel for the rest of the evening.
Next morning things didn't get better. Thinking that we had only a reasonable distance to travel to Medellin, we had a slow start, being a Sunday and all. Stupidly we tried to pay for the parking before we'd finished loading up the bikes. What we didn't count on was being charged almost double what we'd expected. This lead to an argument and getting locked in the parking lot. Eventually the police were called and I have to admitt I was a little nervous at this point, but true to form, the two motorcycle police who turned up were gems. After a phone call to their superior, we agreed to split the difference of the extra charge for parking. Which, in hindsight, was fair enough. 'parque para noche - moto $4500' didn't come with any times actually listed but we were there for almost 16 hours.
A bit of the usual chat about the bikes, we ask how do we get out of town. Being a Sunday morning, these guys had nothing better to than give us a Police escort. Best thing about this one though was we got to ride in the bus lanes, down one way streets the wrong way and over pavements etc all with police authority and quite a few strange looks from the public. Saved us hours of getting lost and frustrated.

Just off centre!

2007-03-10T21:33:00.000Z

We spent a few days in Quito running around trying to get parts for the bike. For once, the BMW is proving easier to fix than the KLR, despite having a Kawasaki dealer in town. No air filters, no brake pads, no rear shock and no womens motorcycle clothing. They do have a front sproket but can't get the old one off to change it. Word of advide for Kawasaki riders in Quito, don't bother with the really nice, but somewhat inept guys at Kawasaki in Quito.
Two days later, we've sorted all but a new jacket, with ventilation, for me. I've a new rear shock on it's way to Colombia from the US and Mike found a German guy who loves KLRs to fix all the bits that need fixing.

A bit of sightseeing in the old town and we're out of there. We've decided to skip the Galapagos Islands due to a lack of funds and an ever diminishing amount of time. So it's up to the middle of the world - the equator - for a quick photo and then Tulcan, our last night before crossing into Colombia. The thing is, the toursity middle of the world, isn't quite in the middle. It's about 240m off centre. Some French blokes used astromony to set out where they thought the equator was, several years ago. About 5 years ago, some clever people with their GPS discovered that the French had got it wrong. In fact, some pre-Inca indians had built some temples exactly on the equator, on top of a hill and lined up the soltices and equinoxs. Seems the French had been a little lazy and only studdied the site for three months before thinking, 'nobody will notice if it isn't exact'. So we stopped for the obligatory photos but didn't get refund on our entry fee for 'false advertising'. We did carry on and find the correct equator on Mike's GPS though.

The obligatory photo, depsite the false advertising!

The real equator!

It was then a rather hairy ride on a gravelly/sandy road north to Ottavalo. This was in fact due to Mike loosing his back brakes - not good on down hill sections. Pretty scenery though.
Then on to Ibarra where we took Mark and Diasy's suggestion of having an icecream - best ron y pasas (That'd be rum and raison) we'd had in the entire South America. Highly reccommended.
We made it into Tulcan at night fall. Full of nervous aniticpation about the 4 hour border crossing and 'guerilla' infested jungles of Colombia that we would face tomorrow.

Welcome to the jungle...

2007-03-10T20:30:00.000Z

...we've got fun and games
And insects that bite, fish that bite and reptiles that bite.
After a rough ride to Coca (glad we weren't on the bus), we get set up with a place to leave the bikes for a few days while we're in the jungle. It's a 4am start in order to catch a bus that has come from Tena and is going through to Limoncocha. Fortunately our guide, Orlando, is on it. 3 hours later we're at Limoncocha Laguna on a river taxi to our very basic cabañas. Note to self, always try and get photos of your accommodation before booking excursions. Actually it was ok, at least the mosquito net didn't have any holes in it. It's just that the 'thunderbox' toilet was a bit off putting. If you actually used it, there was something down in the pit that made a squeaking noise, I'm not sure if it was a happy squeaking noise or a 'why do you have to p**s all over me' squeaking noise. Either way, I went bush for the next few days.
So that morning's walk through the jungle was quite interesting. I became a jungle princess for a day, with a woven headband and face paint. We were told about plants and seeds and nuts etc. Not much in the way of animal sightings though. After siesta in the hammocks, it was pirahna fishing time. I like fishing, despite being rubbish at it. But I didn't particularly enjoy this fishing, why? Because there was a rather large hole in the boat - at the waterline! And above that, wet rot. Orlando thought it was rather amuzing that I gasped, everytime the boat rocked slightly towards the hole. For god's sake, there were pirahna in the water. What did he expect me to do.
Anyways, Orlando is a natural at fishing with a twig and worm and starts realing in the fish. He was keeping the best bait for himself though, I'm sure. I manage to catch only one and the smallest fish, about 4cm long. Mike catches a beauty, a big red pirahna - beginner's luck. Then proceeds to drop it into the boat, leaving it flipping, flapping and snapping at my butt. I'm trying not to panic and I can't exactly move otherwise I'll rock the boat and water will get in. Finally Orlando has stopped laughing and manages to get it into the bucket. We get to see some large Cappaccino (that's not the correct spelling but it's something like that) monkies in the distance and some cool pre-historic looking birds from the boat.
Guess what's for dinner? Yep, Mike's favourite, fish! I quite enjoyed it though. Early to bed as there's 'f' all to do in the jungle at night except watch fire flies.

Cool pre-historic bird.

(Photo courtesy of Mike)

Day two and it's obvious Orlando can't be bothered and would rather be somewhere else. But we're off to primary rain forest this morning. Wellies and long sleeves on, machette weilding Orlando leads us on a three hour walk. The shaman doesn't turn up so Orlando makes me kneel down while he wacks me on the head with some leaves, apparently scaring away evil spirits. When's it Mike's turn to get some attention? We get to swing on a rather large swing and see some quite tall trees though. I end up suggesting more things about the plants that I learned in biology that Orlando just 'humphs' agreement to. So all in all, not a particualry interesting walk.
Afternoon siesta before meeting an indigenous family who are to show us how they live and also how they make their craft and weaving. What we actually get is walked around the garden of the family whose cabaña we are staying in, where Mike finally gets his turn at local traditions. Apparently, when they have muscle pain, they drag leaves across the affected area. What Orlando fails to explain to Mike is that the leaf has thistles on it. Within a minute, poor Mike's arm has turned into a mass of welts - gee thanks Orlando! At least it took the attention away from the pain in your arm, Mike!

Pain in the arm!

Mike's welts.

So Orlando turns out to be the master craftsman and shows us how to make thread/rope out of a plant, a bit like flax. We then walk to the field where the husband and wife are slashing and burning and crop rotating corn and stuff. It's Mike's turn again and this time he gets to carry the heavy basket of sweet pototoe back to the farm house for them. Great! We don't even get to eat any! Back at the cabaña we get the sell on the local craft. Of course it's Orlando's own work, how convenient. When I ask to buy one of the net bags that the owner of the cabaña makes, how convenient that he doesn't have any for sale.
That night it's caiman hunting. This is quite cool actually. We have a bigger canoe, without holes and Mr Caiman, owner of the cabaña, is coming with us. As we get down to the water's edge, there are some really cool insects, glowing in the dark. The frogs are going mental and a few obvioulsy have no taste in beer. 'Bud'-'weis'-'er', 'bud'-'weis'-'er' is being chortled in different octaves along the edge of the lagoon. As we get further into the lagoon, the glowing insect increase and the edge looks like a city lit up at night. Mr Caiman, with his mating call (sounds like he's just clearing his throat) is a bit rubbish at spotting caiman. Orlando's torch is as bad as mine so he's rubbish too. Mike's a natural and with his super power torch is able to pick them a mile away. The little fellas are a bit shy though and it takes us a while to get close enough to one that doesn't run away. He's about two meters long and not really scary at all. They have little heads. I'm sure it would hurt but even the two metre long one looked like he'd only have your pinkie off.

Who's a pretty boy!

Things that bite!

Mosquito larve anyone.

Day three, thank god! We canoe up to the protected area in, you guessed it, another leaking canoe. This one I refuse to go in until the hole is bunged up, rags will have to do. Mike and I take it turns to empty the boat of water and paddle. An hour of sweaty excercise we arrive. Orlando's not talking to us much. So it's my turn to laugh when he nearly jumps out of his skin. I'd just gasped, again, at the site of a three meter long black and yellow diamond patterned snake. Orlando hadn't seen it but almost stepped on it. Stupidly, I wasn't quick enough with the camera and it slid away before I could get a photo. That was about the highlight of wild life viewing, we saw a few birds and monkies off in the distance but without binouclars, they could have been pigeons and cats playing in the tree tops. So after walking around for another 2 hours in our wellies, it was time to canoe back for lunch and then chill out, again, in the hammocks. It was late afternoon before our water taxi came to take us out of there and catch a bus back to Coca.
So I didn't get to see pink dolphins but at least the hotel in Coca had some mad parrots and a Toucan running around. Oh, plus some tiny wee monkies and large tailess rat things.

Glad to be getting out of there?

Who needs Rio...

2007-03-10T19:29:00.000Z

...when you've got crazy Ecuadorians.

Carnaval weekend.

We'd arrived in Tena, hoping to organize an excursion into the Amazon Jungle. What we got instead was a weekend filled with tubing races, eating with a sloth, and the biggest water fight I have ever been part of.

After two days of hunting down an excursion that seemed to tick all of the boxes, we lined up a trip to Laguna Limoncocha. But as it was Carnaval weekend, no-one was heading out of town until Monday, so we had to stick around.

The line up started on Saturday with the inagural beach party at Shandia, a local indian community about half an hour's bumpy bus ride out of Tena. We were the only tourists to show up. Although there was a Canadian volunteer based in the community who filled us in on the day's events. It was a fun day - rather like being invited to an extended family's (one that you don't know) BBQ lunch. Mike came third in a inner tube race down the river while I upset the local kids by taking some of their photos. Jealousy kicked in and pushing and shoving ensued followed by tears as they all tried to get their photos taken. They just loved to see themselves in the display on the digital camera.
So after a hectic day's BBQing and being eaten alive by sand flies, we opt for a salad at Tena's finest restaurant. It's a slightly surreal set up, with the young, akward waiter, trying so hard to do silver service that he can't manage the small details i.e. Like when I started to cough and was obvioulsy in need of water, he proceeded to slowly and carefully lay out my napkin and cutlery followed by Mike's, before even thinking about getting me some water. All the while, I've turned a strange purple/red colour and Mike insisting 'Agua pronto, pronto, rapido, rapido'.
Then came the sloth, crawling along the rafters, hanging down stealing the folded napkins from the wine glasses. She kept us amuzed for a while as we ate our rather scrumptious salads, anything was better than chicken and rice.

Sunday was spent in Misahuali, a half hour bus ride in the other direction. This party was much better organised and has been an annual event for years. There were latin bands, girl bands, boy bands and rock bands. All this in between the bikini girl wet (beer) t-shirt competition, which of course had all the guys cheering heartedly. I think there was a section of muscle men posing on stage too but that somehow didn't seem to rouse the crowd as much. Not quite what the missionaries had in mind when they converted the locals to Christianity all those years ago, I'm sure.
Besides the music and frivolities on stage, the crowd were entertainig themselves as well with water fights, flour bombs and something like shaving cream being squirted over any unsuspecting party goer. I think some girls took a fancy to Mike and we ended up getting saturated and squirted all afternoon.

Lava flow anyone?

2007-03-01T01:42:00.000Z

So after the delicious feed of pancakes, it's time to hit the road. It will be a hard day's ride, a whole 40km to Baños. Still we decide to get up at our usual time and suprisingly are on the road just after 9am.
Heading out of town, sun is shining and things are looking rosy. That's until we hit this, see below:

Oh dear!

Always up for a challange, we decide that we can get through this. It's jackets off, panniers and luggage off and away we go. There is a small track with bike tyres, obvioulsy the locals have been through here already. After an hour of trying to push (Mike was riding it) my lardy bike up a very steep section, I'm covered in sand/ash and the KLR is bogged down. It's time to admit defeat. The KLR is too big to get through, so the BMW stands no chance. We somehow manage to get the KLR out of the rut it's dug itself into and get loaded up.

Now this lava flow/Avalanche happened in August last year, so imagine our suprise when just as we're getting our helmets back on, this earth mover comes around the bend, being led by a rather tipsy foreman.

To the rescue

We decide to see how long it will take him to clear a path. In the meantime, two locals pull up on a little 200cc. They're a bit annoyed that the track that they could have got through on has been totally ruined. 2 hours later though, and after being asked for a bribe by the other biker 'to pass', all three bikes, with the foreman now hitching a lift on the 200cc - yes, that's correct, three men on one 200cc bike - are through.

Mike and I take off. Only to get around the next corner and find even less of a path through the next lava flow. We turn the bikes around, ready to return past the earth mover, with a look of defeat on our faces. The local guys have caught up by this stage and indicate that we should follow them. Sure, why not, we can't even see where the track is.

Easy peasy riding, even I can do it!

Following a little 200cc bike through tracks like this is not easy, actually it's embarrassing with us on our big overland machines, struggling to keep the things upright while this guy just nips through. Fortunately we're in Ecuador and not Peru so the locals are firendly as ever and stop to wait for us and help us push and shove the bikes through. And they also ferry my panniers through when things get a little narrow.

Please don't drop my bike over the edge, Mike!

I play photographer while Mike does all of the hard work.

After about 5 crossings, getting worse with each one (I had to put the camera down and start helping to get the bikes through) we finally get make it. We stop at the turn off for Bilbao and give the guys their bribe. $10 for beers all round, we couldn't have got through with out them.

Unfortunately/fortunately we miss the turn off for Baños and end up taking a 40km detour across to the other side fo the valley. This does provide us with rather spectacular views of the volcano that caused all of this mess. And it is on pavement, so a bit of fun for the last half of the days ride.

We pull into Baños, late afternoon, filthy, tired and starving. Why do all of these 'It will only be a short day' rides always end up taking forever!

If looks could kill...

2007-03-01T01:06:00.000Z

Slowly travelling into Ecuador, the first thing we notice is that the people seem to be a lot more friendly. They smile and wave at us. It's a refreshing relief from the poverty and dirt of Peru and arriving in the beautiful little town of Cuenca, things seem quite Americanised, sort of familiar. Nice new pick-up trucks and big country homes seem plentiful and florsits and jeans shops are abundant. We find a really nice hostal and settle in for a few days. After purchasing a new pair of jeans we decided to go for a stroll around the city. It's on our way back from the snake, spider and caiman zoo that the attacks start. Unfortunately, as it's approaching Carnaval time, the local children like to throw waterbombs at people, or shoot them with a water pistol. All this as their laughing parents look on. We didn't realise at the time that it was for Carnaval, a bit like Guy Fawkes night and fireworks, and after narrowly missing being drenched by three water bombs from a balcony above us, I decide it's time to turn the corner and get off that street. Only to walk straight into a drive by water bomb attack. A teenager had pelted me, not only completely drenching me, but winding me in the process. After recovering from that attack, filthy looks were being shot everywhere and we hole up in an internet cafe for a while to dry out and calm down.

On the way back to the hotel, little children were running scared as I gave them a 'Don't even F ing think about shooting me with that water pistol otherwise I'll shove it somewhere you won't see it for a while' Unfortunately this only seemed to work on the younger children.

Enroute to Baños, the town, not the toilet, we are attacked several more times. It doesn't seem too bad now that we know it's for Carnaval and it's also warmed up a bit. I use the technique that I have developed at getting past mad dogs, to get past the children by the side of the road with buckets of water. Slow down a little bit so you can see what direction they're going to go, and just when they think they've got you, give it some gas and get out of there. Most of the time this works but sometimes you get a refresshing drenching.

Also enroute we pass an Africa Twin. Mark and Daisy, from Brighton, (www.markincyberspace.com) are heading the opposite direction. The usual 5 minute pull over and chat turns into over an hour of standing by the side of the road swapping stories, email addresses and advice on where to stay and where to go and watch out for dodgy police in Northern Peru. It was a shame to say goodbye as A: they weren't German and B: they were a great laugh as we joked about being asked if we were German all of the time. (Sorry Andreas and Kristina but everybody asks that)

Mark and Daisy

As a result, we only make it to Riobamba for the night. Things happen for a reason and we stop in at the hostal Mark and Daisy had recommended. There we find a Dutch couple and a Swiss fellow. We've got the deluxe room with the tweest four poster bed ever and a kitchenette, and the offer of pancakes from the Dutch couple is too much to resist. Anything but chicken and rice. So we decide to skip any sightseeing and stay in for beers, pancakes and a good chat.

Strange days with road kill of a different kind.

2007-02-19T22:56:00.000Z

After the surf it was time to make a dash for the border. Mike certainly did himself proud with his GPS route finding this time. Somehow we missed a rather large town almost entirely and ended riding around some rice paddies for nearly an hour. Scaring the naked local men, as it appeared to be bath day for the men of Peru on this particular Thursday, we got to see a rather different side to the agriculture. Beats riding through a mad city with crazed drivers anytime though.

On our last morning in Peru we had rather disappointing breakfast, no, actually, a totally disgusting breakfast, that fortunately we didn't eat much of. Half an hour out of Piura, we were slowed down by a bus in front of us. When we passed around the obstacle on the road causing this delay, we saw, much to our suprise, that it was road kill of the human kind. Almost covered completely in blankets, just the bare right foot was sticking out. Now we've seen a lot of road kill, mangled dogs, a few cats, rodents, birds, llamas, armadillos, not forgetting Larry the lamb and even two rather large horses have been left to rot by the side of the road quite often with faces distorted by tyres and inards spewed all over the road. But this one made our empty tummies turn. No entrails were smeared over the road, but what was clearly a brain. I've no idea what would have casued the accident to leave the body in one peice except for the brain as the only vehicles around was the police car, a mototaxi, which barely had enough power to carry the driver and one passanger, and a donkey. Could have been a hit an run in the night maybe considering it was early in the morning, but either way we're glad we didn't have much for breakfast.

So on we go, another half hour up the road when we take the bypass around Sallinas to head for the border. Just after crossing a cause way, Mike pulls over. 'Hmmm what's up now!' Great, we kind of have a long day ahead and Mike gets a flat tyre. A rather large nail straight through the tyre. We've been stopped for less than a minute and I'm thinking that we'll need to take the wheel off, strap it to my bike, Mike can ride it to the tyre repairman just up the road (there is aways a tyre repair man just up the road) and get it fixed while I stay with his bike and the luggage. Great plan, but within that minute of stopping, we have a taxi stop his car and hysterically indicates that we must keep moving. I'm thinking we're not in the way, people can go around us if needed. Then a local bike pulls up shouting, 'Peligro, Peligro, vamos, vamos!'
'Why, what's dangerous? We're not on the road!'
The response, fingers turned into a gun pointing at us 'Bang, bang'!
Oh! We're not in danger from other vehicles but in danger of getting shot. Great! The local biker gives up and is out of there. Next a police motorcycle turns up.
Same again, 'Vamos, vamos, peligro, peligro!'
Mike's response, 'You've got a gun, you can stay here and protect us cause I can't go anywhere with this'.
Mr Policeman reluctantly agrees that yes he does indeed have a gun and so he sticks around, in a rather nervous manner. But none the less, restoring our faith in policemen.
So it's at this point in time that I'm glad it's Mike's tyre that has a puncture. Out comes the nail, in goes a sticky rubber thingy, and yes, that is it's technical term I'm sure, and he pumps up the tyre with his little mini electric pump. You've got to love a tubeless tyre. Mine's not and would have involved taking the inner tube out, unpacking a pannier to get to the spare and putting the new tube in then trying to get the tyre back on. So in under 10 minutes we were back on the road again. The locals had calmed down. Turns out, after chatting to the policeman while Mike sorted his tyre out, that the 'peligro' was only 'poco' rather than 'mucho', and we remained unscather by the banditos.
A dead body and this, all within the first hour of riding. Fortunately that was enough weirdness for the day and we crossed into Ecuador and made it to our first night's stay with out further drama.

Surfs up dudes....

2007-02-19T22:36:00.000Z

.....God I hate the word 'dude' but anyhow, the surf was indeed up. Just enough for Mike and I to catch some waves, little tiny weeny beginner ones. We had headed for the surf again and after a bumpy, sports bra kind of ride, from Huaraz through Canon del Pato, we arrived after dark, (thanks to being pulled over by the police for a chat - no bribes though), in a little fishing village called Haunchaco. The attraction here is not only its surf, which around the point was a lot bigger for those who can, but the fishermen. Or more correctly, their boats. They're like a surf kayak made out of straw, similar to those on Lake Titicaca and have been made like this for over 2000 years apparently. So the fisherman paddles out through the waves, catches his fish then surfs back in. They're still fishing like this, but now for what appears to be a rather boring ride, tourists can be paddled out, paddled around for a bit then ride the small waves back in.
We opted for the adrenallin rush of surfing with boards. So booking ourselves in for a lesson with Eduardo, (North surf school, who also teaches orphans to surf to keep them out of mischief, and has a little bambino of his own on the way - got to give the guy a plug, he wants to go to Australia to surf but would need to scrimp and save for a year just for the flight) a brilliant instructor, we squeezed into our wet suits and headed for the beach. Two hours later and after much amuzment to the locals on the beach, I had the hang of it, sort of. I was able to stand up, and ever so slightly manouvre the board. Not too bad for not having been on a surf board for almost 4 years, when I couldn't stand up then either. Mike, the natural, stood up on his first go, then his second, lost it on the third but was back into it by about the 6th or 7th wave. We hung out in the water until it was almost dark and we were exhausted. Ah, I love the surf - especially when there are no sharks!

Touching the void and Poor wee Mikey bo bo.....

2007-02-17T00:37:00.000Z

....isn't a well boy! I'll spare you the details as you can read his blog for that but as a result depsite having had 3 days off in Lima, we opt for an internet day in the beautiful Huaraz. This is the Cordillia Blanca. A stunning part of the Andes where the true story of Touching the Void occurred.

Just like the book cover.

Touching the void is about two mountaineers who are climbing a particular peak, when one slips and falls down a crevasse. As there is no response from him, his climbing buddy has to make the awful desicion to cut the rope, meaning certain death for the fallen guy, or perishing in the worsening conditions himself. It's a true story with a happy ending though and the guy who slipped, then was cut loose, falling to certain death down a crevasse, manages to haul himself out of the crevasse and literally drag himself, broken legs, dehydrated, frost bitten and hungry, back to base camp, just as the survival climber was about to leave. Phew!

Not a bad view to be looking at whilst recovering!

We didn't opt for any climbing here but Mike got some much needed delicious tomato soup and some time to recover from his own ailments. I managed to upload, but not name and file, a whole lot of photos for your perousal, if you really could be bothered, they're not great and I've only really posted them there for my Mum's benefit, so don't feel obliged.
Plus the scenery in Huaraz is stunning. A beautiful change from the desert and chicken farms.

I'm also thinking of changing my luggage to a top box, one that will fit in with the locals!

The little adventures of Northern Peru.

2007-02-17T00:03:00.000Z

Heading out of Lima (a two hour fight through traffic, pedestrians and animals on a quiet Sunday morning) we make a B line, using the trusty GPS, for the motorway. North of Lima is much the same as the south, sand dunes, chicken farms and heat. It's almost time to get out of Peru but not before a quick side trip back into the Andes to Huaraz.
Of course every day is different and this one was no exception. We heard about the police being dodgy up in the north but weren't quite expecting to be pulled over so soon. Well I wasn't pulled over, Mike was. I was merrily following Mike, sitting at about 50km/hr, no idea what the speed limit was due to a convenient (for the police) lack of signs, when I notice Mike to start looking in his mirror, he's slowed right down by now and I'm thinking 'Cmon, lets get a move on, we've passed through the town, why are you slowing down?' Then I look in my mirror. Ah, that'd be a cop car following us. Damn it, he's got both of us for god knows what. Just a second, he overtakes me, cutting me up squeezing in between Mike and me. I get a sort of 'It's not you' sort of dismissive wave then the lights go on. He wants Mike. We pull over and this chubby chap gets out, all smiles. Hola, de donde viaje? etc! Espousa?, no, cama matrimonial? Quanto es BMW? and so it goes on for a few moments, this facination with our marital status and the value of Mike's bike. I've guessed by this time that they're not just curious, both cops'd be asking questions if they were, not just Mr Chubby while Mr Skinny loiters by the car. Mike hands over his fake licence, confirming that he is indeed from Scotland and yes whiskey comes from Scotland. Then Mr A**hole, formally know as Mr Chubby, produces a little book of fines. 170 soles, or could that be 340 soles! He's done with making small talk that may include me and drags Mike over to the car. I find it very frustrating coming from a culture where women are pretty much treated as equals, to a culture where males reign supreme and I should be at home having 9 children. So I'm left out of the negotiations (I'd only annoy Mike if I was trying to help anyway) and wait patiently by my bike for the outcome. 85 soles out of pocket and very one very peeved Mike. Mr A**hole, although remaining all smiles, suddenly became 'No entiendo' when Mike asked for evidence of this speeding fine, or for a reciept, or to be taken to the police station. And despite me being hot on the tail of Mike, I'm not fined (Bribed), one advantage of being a female then I guess.
So a 6 hour ride to Huaraz turns into 10 as we slow down to 35km for every cop car parked at either side of each village and town. Of course this annoys the locals, truck drivers and police alike but we're not giving them any more excuses to try this trick again. They can't fine us for going too slowly.

Nazca Lines and sandblasted teeth.

2007-02-16T23:01:00.000Z

Astronaught or 'Owlman'?

'Astronaught right, ok, wait, wait, un momento, left side only, Astronaught left'! It only took these few words from the rayban wearing pilot and I was almost sick. What was I doing? Banking rather steeply to the right, then the left over the Nazca Lines in a rather little 6 seater plane. All before breakfast. Word of advice, when banking steeply to the right (or left for that matter) in a little plane, don't be trying to focus on the little digital display of your camera. Its not good for the stomach. The astronaught was the first of the heiroglyphs we flew over, so I was in a bad way for the rest of the trip. Fortunately it was only about a half hour flight.
The Nazca lines are best viewed from the air in the early morning light, with the low level sun casting shadows across the raised edges of the lines. We had the cheap tickets, again, and went up at about 8am but still had a decent view of the lines although our photos don't really do them justice.
Nobody is quite sure what the lines are for. Some are dead straight and run for miles into the horizon, possibly indicating points of equinoxs or soltices. Others are graphic respresentations of animals, birds, insects and mutations of the aforementioned. It is believed that they may have been used for religious purposes although this has never been proven. There is also the belief that as most are continuous lines, they were some sort of processional tracks. Mike and a fwe others think it is an alien landing site but I'm thinking a kind of punishment made for 'bad' people who were made to go and 'walk the line' in the midday sun when they misbehaved. Depending on the crime, the different lengths of line were to be walked. No one else has a proven theory after years of research, so why not, ey!
Anyway, I've dumped a whole lot of photos in the photo section under Nazca Lines (just to be organised) if you want to see some badly composed images - I wasn't well remember and wasn't quite looking at what I was taking a picture of.

Seeing as how we were up bright and early, we decided to get going (after I'd recovered a little from the motion sickness, Mike's used to flying Microlights so faired better than me). Huacachina, a couple of hours up the road, was our next destination. So what's to do there, I hear you ask. Well sandboarding for one thing, or if you want some real excitement (and the possiblilty of getting motion sickness again) hire a dune buggy. As we'd arrived late in the afternoon, we seemed to have missed the groups of buggies going out. Fortunately the restaurantuer where we had lunch talked us into hiring our own buggy and driver.
So the three of us pile into this thing that slightly resembles a thing out of Mad Max, only colourful. And off we go. Crazed Peruvian driver to the left of me, crazed Mike to the right. No windscreen. We take off, sedately pulling out of the little oasis. Then we hit the dunes and the driver gives it some. Mike is now deaf in his left ear with fingernail marks in his arm. I'm screaming and swearing like a trouper as we tear around the dunes climbing to the ridges then dropping face first over the edge. How we didn't roll it I have no idea. We stop for a minute to take some photos and admire the view, but that's not what we're really hear for so it's strapped back into the buggy and off we go. By this time, I have a mouthful of sand, it's hard to keep the stuff out when you're grinning so much. Then it's time to try to sand boarding. We'd seen some people treking to the tops of dunes dragging the board behind but being the lazy people we are, our driver parked at the top of a rather steep dune, waxed our boards, strapped us in and pushed us over the edge. Now, I can snowboard just fine but I'm not sure whether it was that I hadn't for more than two years, or that sandboarding is quite difficult, but the first attempt didn't go so well. By the time you go to get a turn in, the wax has worn off your board and you literally have to point the thing straight down the dune to get any momentum. Needless to say, I fell over a bit, filling up a few pockets on my cargos with sand on the way.

See Mike, this is how you do it!

Our everfaithful driver was there at the bottom to pick us up and tear up some more dunes. We got some more boarding in, finally getting the hang of it, and more photos. Mike was also allowed to drive a bit and did very well, not rolling it once. And although I'd stopped screaming so much, I think the driver had no intention of letting me anywhere near the driver's seat.
After about two hours, it was time to head back to the oasis. But just to make sure every orephus was full of sand, we stop once more, this time its head first on our bellies down the dunes. What a giggle.

Yep, Mike managed to keep it upright!

Half an hour to empty pockets, boots, ears and mouth of sand, we jump on the bikes for one last dash for the day, this time to the coast. It's time to see the ocean again.

Corners, cows and carburetors!

2007-02-14T03:07:00.000Z

The roads were like this the whole day and next!

On a map it doesn't look that far from Cuzco to Nazca, home of those weird lines in the desert. But try riding it one day when you're early risers like Mike and me. Actually for once, we're not that late in starting, I think we managed it before 9am somehow. But as usual, days just don't turn out how you plan. Especially when you throw in an entire day's riding where there is only one stretch for about 2 km, that doesn't involve a corner - most of which were hairpin bends. The rather 'detailed' map shows a relatively straight road, thanks alot!
Fortunately, for a rare occasion, I'm in 'the zone' for going round corners, thank god, otherwise I think Mike would have left me after the first 50. I manage to keep up, but that probably has something to do with the fact that he was taking them a little slower, realising that around every other corner there would be a cow, standing, blissfully unaware of her surroundings, in the middle of the road. Not only did I loose count of the corners, but of the amount of times there was livestock, being hearded, grazing, or just mooching about for one reason or another and sometimes for no reason at all, in the middle of the road. Obvioulsy wire fences aren't big in Peru.
Oh and did I mention that my bike started to stall again. Quite usefully as I was going around some of those rather tight corners. The carb was getting blocked again. That guy in Cuzco was probably as much a mechanic as I was. Although I was cursing him for most of the afternoon, thinking that I'd been ripped off, I have to apologize and state that it could well have been the dodgy new fuel filter that was now broken. We replaced it later in Lima with a fancy new one and I haven't had any trouble since.
So needless to say we din't arrive in Nazca that night but had an interesting ride into some hick town about 2 hours short, riding in the pitch black, freezing cold, around hairpin bends still watching out for cows.
That night I dreamt that I was riding around corners, all night! (Like when you come off a boat that you've been on for a while, and you still think you're gently rocking on the water when you lay down) Only when I woke up in the morning, I had another two hours of them. God, what I would have given for a straight bit of road!

Machu Picchu and bit of other stuff.

2007-02-14T01:26:00.000Z

After Lago Titicaca, the Gringo Trail takes you northward (If you're heading in a south/north direction that is) to Cuzco. Now I'm not sure what it is like on a bus, but on a bike the ride into Cuzco is lovely. The land becomes mountainous again while remaining verdant, unlike the barren altiplano. Fortunately we have a reccomendation for biker friendly accommodation from the ever helpful Jeff at Norton Rats Tavern, Plaza de Armas, Cuzco (I have to give him a plug as he has been helpfully responding to my sometimes silly questions about overland biking in Peru, Ecuador and Colombia for over a year now in preparation for this adventure). So it's pretty much straight in, parked up and unpacked. Right from the go, it's hard not to like Cuzco and as my amiga, Kirsty, discovered just recently also, it's a great place to chill out. We have plans of bike maintainence, much needed Spanish lessons, time out, and I'm going to cash in the leaving gift from my work, J2Design, a one night stay in Hotel Monasterio, a converted monastery (hence the name) luxury hotel. All this and of course a trip to the famous Machu Picchu.

So first up it's chilling out and playing tourist. We pop into Norton Rats Tavern for a pint and burgers, nothing like living it up with the locals. But hey, Jeff's been there for over 9 years now so that must count for almost being local. Whilst there, we happen to meet a rather amuzing and energetic Canadian mountain biker, by the name of Timmy. Over the course of our week in Cuzco, we run into Timmy quite a bit, and as I'm writing this, almost a month later, we have to thank Timmy for two particular tips he gave us of riding KLRs and motorbikes in general. I won't bother you with what they are but we used both today to get us through some rather tricky terrain which you can read about in a blog entry regarding volcanoes in Ecuador.

Next was getting the Spanish lessons in. In total four hours. Two hours before Machu Picchu and two after. They were good and we tried to tie them in with the Spanish lessons that Mike had on his MP3 player, although these tended to make me fall asleep. I think I managed to learn one or two more words and sometimes I can now even string half a sentance together. Maybe I should take another few lessons and see if the elusive grammtically correct sentance will happen for me.

Onto bike maintainence. Oil changes, normal and fork. As usual, I get chatting, just for something different, and don't finish the basic tasks until it's dark. When I get home (where ever that may be) I'm going to have to make sure that my home has a garage with good lighting, just so I can finish the bike maintainence. Mike's done an oil change and some other lubricant change, don't ask me, I know nothing about BMWs, except that he is finished long before I am.

It looks just like the photograph!

So then the 'highlight' of this entire adventure, a visit to Machu Picchu. We've decided to be skin flints and opt for the cheapest train fare up there, which for us, with our own tranpsort, isn't a problem as it leaves from Ollytatambo rather than Cuzco, and it's only $48 return. So we pack up one ruck sack between us, leave our panniers at Casa Grande, the hostel we were staying at, and head up to Ollyatatambo. I have a rather organised (for once) suggestion of checking to see if there are still tickets available for that night at the Cuzco train station. That's where our little plan comes unstuck in more than one way. There are no tickets left for that night. Despite being low season, the trains are still packed. A quick discussion and we're on the next cheapest ticket, $58, and still leaving from Ollytatambo. One problem solved. Next problem, my carburetor decides it's blocked again. So I keep stalling. For C***ts sake! Ok, so it's my fault for not noticing that that fuel hose is deteriorating rapidly and flaking off into the useless fuel filter, therefore blocking the jets, but hey, what am I, a motormechanic! Fortunately we ride past a motomechanic's and arrange to leave the bike there for a bit of TLC. So it's two-up on the BMW to Ollyatambo. We'll get to Machu Picchu eventually.
It's a lovely ride up there. We're only pulled over by the police once, asking to see the bike's documents, which of course, are handily located in the pannier back in Cuzco. But Mike's fake driver's licence seems to do the trick as does answering that 'No, I'm not Mike's espousa, rather his novia'. I'm not sure what the facination with Mike's and my martital status is, but the topic comes up even when we just stop for petrol.
Ollyatatambo is a rather lovely little town with Inca ruins and once again, my reccommendation would be to catch a train from here rather than Cuzco, just because you get to see so much more of the country side getting to Ollyatambo.
So the big day's arrived. We're off to Machu Picchu. The rather slow, rickety 8:40am train gets us to Aguas Callientes just before 11am, then it's a dash for the 20 minute bus ride to the entry of the ruins. Followed by a few minutes of frustration trying to buy the tickets to get in, lining up to get in, then being told that we actually need to fill in some details on the tickets, so having to go back to some desks, fill in our names and passport numbers and some other bits and pieces, lining up again, then we're in. We're in, behind what seems like thousands of other tourists. Unesco world herritage estimate that the site can only cope with 200-500 people a day, without sustaining damage. Today they were obvioulsy taking no notice of this number. Over 400 alone did a two hour trek to the Moon Temple, within the site, and the place was still packed. Mostly with large groups following umbrella wielding guides arround. We didn't hire a guide, maybe we should have, but just eavesdropped on a few groups we were passing. We also had two guide books. I have to say, that although dissapointed is probably not the right word, I wasn't as 'blown away' as I thought I'd be. I think it could be that we've all seen the photos of the site, and they inundate you in Cuzco. Every travel agancy's window has the photographs plastered up. But it does have to be said, it does look exactly like the photos, and I still manage to take over a hundred myself (not quite as many as whale watching but the subject in these photos aren't moving this time).
One benefit of being disorganised is that we couldn't get the normal train back to Ollyatambo, it of course, is fully booked. We have to catch one an hour later. That gives us an extra hour in the ruins. It also gives Mike the opportunity to chat to a Peruvian, on holidays with his father, who seems to know a lot about the history of the Incas. We learn more about the site in 10 minutes of talking to him than reading the guide books and eavesdropping. Plus we have the place to ourselves almost. We start to get a feel for 'magic' that draws thousands there every year.
This particular day was also happened to be Australia Day, so hence the photo of me with the Aussie flag in a restaurant in Aguas Calliantes in my photo section.

Back in Cuzco, the KLR's has had some TLC, more than I bargained for. It's clean, the guy has replaced the broken mirror and it didn't stall once on the way back to the hotel.
Time to check into our luxury accommodation for the night.
Suprise, suprise, there is no parking for one clean/one dirty motorbike. I don't think they'd do for having us just park up in the lobby. So its quickly back to Casa Grande who are rather excited that two of its guests are staying at the poshest hotel in town, before returning to more familar surroundings, and we're parked up. I just drag my bin liner covered dusty backpack with me back to the posh place. You can just tell the concierge doesn't want to go near it, but it's his job to take it to the room. It's weird being back in a hotel of this class (Something I had to get used to with my work) and I think my poshest English accent makes an appearance. But the dusty bike clothes give me away.
After bouncing around the enourmous bed (The size of two doubles together without the split down the middle - god knows how they found sheets to fit it though as most other hostals can't find sheets to fit a standard double in South America) for a few minutes, it's off for another two hours of Spanish lessons. We're taught how to ask for food in a restaurant including how to ask what comes with the dish. Something that Mike remembers still but I forgot as soon as we walked out of the classroom. Memory like a sieve. So dinner is the usual blundering through mostly in English and a few hand actions. Although to be fair, the staff can all speak reasonable English. We arrive 15 minutes after our reservation at the hotel's restaurant, only to realize that we've missed the night's traditional entertainment, yep - those panpipes. What a shame!
Then we have the quietest night's sleep we've had since who knows! I'm not sure about the oxygen enriched rooms that they claim to have to help with the altitude, but it was still good. And a bath, I'm not normally a bath person, but I have missed them since leaving England (And no smart comments, I've been showering) so I get to have a lovely long bath with bubble bath and all. Got to love those little bottles of posh shampoo, shower gel, conditioner and moisturiser they have in the hotel rooms.
A bit of a mix up checking out of the hotel in the morning leaves us a little dissapointed (They wouldn't let us stay for free the next night! :0), but overall it was fantastic gift and much needed bit of luxury. Back to Casa Grande and our affordable budget!

Un sole, un sole.....

2007-02-06T01:53:00.000Z

' The Sun Gate'

This kid stood in the way so you 'had' to take a photo then hit you up for a $.

The cutest little voices whisper to you. We're on the Isla Taquille in Lago Titicaca and it's beautiful. We've followed the Guide Book's recommendation and caught the slower, cheaper local boat out to the island and are staying the night. This place is so tranquil and the people so friendly. The children, still trying to sell you their little wristbands, are so sweet and gentle that you can't help but give in and buy one. It makes for such a pleasant change from the mainland.
These guys live in a kind of communist state. There is one community restaurant on the island, but they also take it turns on a week by week basis as to which restaurants are open for the day trippers. We met a local lad who spoke very good English and who is trying to promote healthy tourism to the island. We stayed at his family's home where we were also fed. There are no hotels as such and this way the money goes directly to the Islanders rather than any tourist company based in Puno.

We travelled by a small boat, stopping at the floating reed islands for 20 minutes. This was more than long enough. The rumours that they are very touristy was an understatement. And I think we faired much better than the actual tourist boats. It was kind of weird walking on the reeds though, so I shouldn't be too damning.

So when the day trippers arrive, they have a very steep, 500 step climb to get to the Sun gate, before making their way down to the main square. The guide book says it's a 20 minute climb. I doubt it. Fortunately we landed at another port and although steep, it wasn't half as bad a climb to the township. And the best part was, we had our local man giving us a running commentry about the history and lives of the locals all the way to a restaurant that served the most delicious fish. It also had the most amazing views.

After a delicious lunch of soup and fish, we drop our bags off and go for a wander around the norhtern part of the island. Unfortunately it turns cold and the storms that we had been watching off in the distance start to move in so we head back to our abode and have an afternoon nap before dinner. It's a hard life.

The view was amazing

The next morning we took a stroll (or an out of breathe climb more like it) to the beautiful beach at the southern tip of the island. It was too cold to go in past our ankles but like a couple of nonces we did some pilate stretches. It was one of those mornings where you're glad to be alive in mind so we wanted our unfit bodies to feel the same. Mike did well and after half an hour of trying, all the time stating he has never been able to touch his toes (he does have very long legs), he managed to reach them. I have photographic evidence, but I'll spare you the image as he is not fully clothed. I even think he gave the fisherman who turned up not long after we arrived, a bit of a fright.

Lunch was at our 'favourite' restaurant where we got an idea of what the day trippers were like. But how the five obese Americans who were sitting at the next table ever made it up the stairs from the dock without having heart attacks will remain one of life's great mysteries.

It was sad to leave that little bit of paradise, and once again my recommendation to anyone in the area would be to stay overnight and avoid the tourists boats. If nothing else but to avoid the horrible pan pipe versions of bad 80's music the local seem obliged to play.

The worst ruins in Boliviar and the first and worst attempt at bribery.

2007-02-03T05:25:00.000Z

Frank from Donny Darko?

Maybe it was worth the money just to see this at Tiawanaku

After an excellent ride back to La Paz on the replacement 'Most Dangerous Road', Mike and his GPS navigate us quickly around the outskirts of La Paz and we head for one of the 'Not to be missed' sights of South America. Tiawanaku is the site of what used to be a rather large civilisation. Pre-Inca. Unfortunately the Bolivians don't really know how to curate a site like this and you really have to use your imagination to even begin to see something left in the ruins. What gets us is the cost. It all but wipes out our Bolivino kitty and Mike's wallet, we're not impressed - at all! Just as well today we hit Peru. And no, the guide book got it wrong, it is not a site, not to be missed. Our suggestion is to go through Cocacabana, much pretier by all accounts.

We're a bit nervous leaving Bolivia. When we entered through the National Park 10 days ago, there was one dirt road we should have taken. The one that took us to the Aduana (Customs) Office, conveniently located about 5km down a road I thought the Park Ranger told us not to go down. So the bikes have never been imported into Bolivia officially. Today we'll see just how inept the Bolivians really are.
So we come to a road block just before the Peru/Bolivain border. We're motioned to pull over and show bike documents and passport. Other traffic is being stopped and appear to be paying about one or two Bolivianos to pass. Mike is first to get his papers looked at and handed back but as I'm trying to hand mine over for inspection, we get 'There is a US$10 fee'. 'What's that for' we ask, 'we don't have US$10'. 'Ok, $10 (Bolivianos)' We get the idea pretty quickly and Mike, on the ball, pulls out our empty kitty, cleaned out from the visit to Tiawanku. He also pulls out his own, empty wallet and we explain, in English of course, that the expense of the ruins has left us with no Bolivianos. And that as we are going to Peru we haven't got anymore. They get they're words mixed up and suggest that the fee is voluntary rather than obligatory, we opt for the voluntary approach and say that we volunteer not to pay it. They try a spin around and of course we 'No entiendo'. I still have my documents in my hand, Mike's are right in front of him on the table, so we guess it's pretty safe to leave. They're laughing at our 'No entiendo' but let us get on. If they'd been on the ball doing they're job properly instead of trying to get a bribe, they could have held us with every right for not having the correct aduana documents. Bless them, no wonder they're a land locked country with a poor economy. Even when they have the opportunity to make some money somewhat legitamately, they balls it up.

La Paz and the World's most dangerous road.

2007-02-03T04:23:00.000Z

Although Potosi is a relatively cool colonial town, after recovering from the tour of the mine, we headed off to La Paz. From what I'd heard of La Paz, I have to say that it kind of scared me. Rumours of kidnappings for your credit cards, crazy drivers and a smog filled valley made me ask myself 'Did I really want to go there?'. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I needed a new chain ASAP. So we had to stop by.
After getting caught up in the world's entire population of minibuses, on a Saturday night, and scraping through a street parade, dancers in traditional constume blocking the main road into the city, we find the Autopista into La Paz down town. If I thought all the mini buses were on the outsirts of the city, I was sorely mistaken. The hotel that we had booked, on the proviso that it had parking for 'Dos Motos', turns out to be to be a dud. It's a nice hotel, and after several clutch burning hill starts to get there, I was rather disappointed/furious when the hotel manager points to the sauna as being the location to park our bikes. At a push, with panniers off and both bike and rider breathing in, we still would have had little chance to fit. Ok so we can park in the courtyard, not quite as secure but it's off the street. Well that's great but how the hell do we get the bikes up a flight of non DDA compliant stairs where the risers are much taller than the treads? And all this in a country full of short people. Once again I'm very happy to bump into Andreas and Kristina again. Turns out they have a hotel with secure parking. Within half an hour and many near mises with some minibuses, Mike giving some drivers a whole lot of his left indicator, the horn being badly located on the BMW, we were parked up, checked in, and unpacked.
We spent the next couple of days souvineer shopping, Alpaca wool products abundant in Gringo Alley. And Mike bought a Charranga to calm his guitar playing urges. We also had the pleasure of meeting some very nice, unscarry locals and Police with the KLR also getting a much needed new chain and sprocket.

The bikes get a wash

Then it was time to attempt the infamous, Road of Death. After gettting some prices for the mountain bike tours, we opt for taking our own motorbikes down. We'd met a couple of bikers who'd given us the GPS way points and shown us some photos. Couldn't be too hard, surely!
Fortunately after 15 years of construction, a safer, just as scenic road opened about 3 months before our arrival, taking all of the traffic off the Road of Death. And that day we didn't even have to contend with the mountain bikers as the tour groups were on strike over a local toll rising from 3 Bolivianos to 15.

I had a good reason to be a bit cautious.

I admit it was a bit scary at first, the road is quite narrow, but getting into the swing of things and the bikes getting a wash under the many waterfalls, we spent a lovely 4 or so hours slowly bouncing down the track. We arrived in the lovely Yungan town of Coroico in time for a late lunch and decided to stay the night. It was warm, the people friendly, and the altitude was low. Not to mention that the setting was beautiful. This part of Boliviar I really like.

If you kids don't behave.....

2007-02-03T03:47:00.000Z

......it'll be down the mines for you.
We arrived in Potosi and got ourselves set up in a hostal. No mean feat considering there are no street signs. That and we had a couple of stairs to get down with bikes to get them parked up securely.

Nope, not much fun at all.

So the next morning we head off to the mines. You've seen the adds, jolly Welshmen talking about pot noodles. Not this bunch. After getting kitted up in miners jackets, pants, boots and hard hats, we head off to the markets. Apparently it is customery to bring gifts of soda, cocoa leaves or dynamite to the miners, we opt for the soda and Mike can't resist the temptation to buy some dynamite. So we head up to Cerro Rico, a mine that has been in opperation from the arrival of the Spanish over 500 years ago and claimed over 9 million lives - moslty African and the local Indian slaves who had to spend 6 days a week working, eating and sleeping down in the mines, allowed out only one day a week.
It is a mountain at the top of Potosi and currently has 14000 miners working in it. The conditions are apalling and there is no Work Place Health and Safety, life expectancy is just 45 years for the miners. Boys from as young as 14 years old work in the mines, pushing trolleys weighing more than a tonne, from the depths of the mountains to the exit points, no electricity for winches, for over 10 hours a day. All for the equivlant of about $6 a day. We were down the mines for less than 2 hours and that was more than sufficient. With the arsenic fumes, cramped conditions and having to leap to safety, out of the way of hurtling trolleys, although enlightening, I couldn't wait to get out of there. If you ever hear me whinge about work again, remind me that anything is better than working down a mine in Boliviar.
As a side note, since leaving Boliviar, the Government has agreed to immplement a plan for better working conditions for all miners. They've only been waiting since 1985 for this.

Feeling a bit Che Guevara

2007-01-29T01:04:00.002Z

After a night of torrential rain, it's time to leave Uyuni. I'm a bit dubious about the road condition to Potosi. Andreas and Kristina are putting their bike on a train to Oruro, a town that we'll pass through in a few days. I'm thinking I'd like to do the same but Mike's addament that we should ride. We load up, say our goodbyes, get to the edge of town, filling up with petrol, and get about a kilometre up the road if that, before my bike starts making a horrible noise. It's a grinding, crunching sort of noise. It's not constant which makes us think it's something to do with the rotation of the wheels or drive chain. We're getting better at diagnosing problems with the KLR, it's the drive chain. I'm kind of glad at this point that I now have an excuse to turn around and head back to Uyuni. The road is a mud slick for as far as we can see. I didn't fancy that for the 208km ride to Potosi. Although it is the shortest attempt at leaving a town, we limp back to the hostal, settle back into our room and try to establish what exactly is the problem. Turns out its an issue with my maintenance, or lack of it, once again. The chain is in such a state that the 'slack' varries from 2cm to 10cm. (It should be a consistant 5-6cm) Not good! This would explain why it derailed in San Pedro but now that I had tightened it, it was grinding on the tight spot and ran the real risk of snapping. No chance of replacing it here, we give it a good clean, something I should have done quite some time ago, andadjust it quite lose. I'll have to be careful going around corners and over bumps at the same time, easier said than done with the corregations. So its back to Minuteman Pizza for a coffee.

That evening there is less rain and I'm slowly talking myself into the ride over the mud slick. I tell myself I'll be happy to make 50km the next day and what did I expect riding through Bolivia in the wet season.

We have a late start the following day, still can't seem to get out of bed too early, and we were waiting for the drizzling rain to stop. Then off we head. Within 3km of the town we see a casualty of the mud slick, a car has obvioulsy been going too fast and flipped. The entire front is smashed in but there appear to be no injuries as the occupants are sitting by the side of the road and seemed pretty relaxed. I did't feel so relaxed at that moment I have to say.

Eventually the road rises into the hills and the mud turns to a sandy/gravel mix of a road. Which works fine for me. The rain drains very quickly from the sand and the gravel isn't too deep. The rain clouds have lifted this side of the mountains and the view opens up to be some of the most scenic yet. We pass through a few river crossings and we're slightly disappointed that they're not deeper, they're a bit too easy for us hardcore bikers! We pass through some more adobe villages, some lived in, some left to the ghosts and llamas, and eventually hit the high mountains. It's at this point that I finally feel like I'm in the South America that I'd imagined. High, verdant mountains that drop off very steeply, providing a bit of exciting riding and some great views. Weird rock formations that make me dig into the depths of my brain in an attempt to remember what I learned in Science about land formations and geography. And it's at this point I start feeling a bit Che. I don't fancy starting a revolution, but there's a particular scene in The Motorcycle Diaries where he takes a corner too fast, losing the bike in the gravel. No, that's not what happens to me, the chain issue always in the back of my mind, but that's what the road's like. I guess you had to be there.

The road to a revolution? Not quite!

The people of Bolivia suprise me. They're a sour, stone faced bunch. I don't think we saw one smile the whole day, except for three lad's who thought it'd be fun to kick a football right across the path of the bikes. Although I think they may have been sneering rather than smiling. Three times they kicked the ball across my path, fortunately I'd slowed down enough, not wanting to play their game, and only went past when one missed the return kick.

It turns out that the altiplano Bolivianos are a rather aggressive bunch, not only to gringos but to themselves as well. They have no qualms about spitting on or kicking their animals, inlcuding what appear to be pet dogs. Their method of shepparding their flocks involve throwing stones, usually the size of a fist, at the backs of the animals, cattle, llamas and sheep. We later find out that they have no problem with throwing stones through bus or car windows either but fortunately we are spared any of this. They do have a very hard life on the altiplano, its a hard exisitance trying to grow food on the stoney ground and potatoes seem to be the staple diet. Or down the mines. And they have been screwed over by several governments for such a long time. But seeing people so aggressive is a bit of a shock after the past few months.

So after 7 hours, and after being charged 10 Bolivanos each for the pleasure of riding on an unpaved, muddy road (Although we did enjoy it) we arrived in Potosi. Not bad considering I would have been happy with 50km that day.

2007-01-29T01:04:00.001Z

2007-01-29T01:04:00.000Z

Salar de Uyuni

2007-01-24T22:25:00.000Z

We reach Uyuni without any trouble and soon find the Minuteman Pizza Restaurant. A restaurant owner from Michigan I think, has set up shop in Uyuni, a very unattractive, not much going for it sort of town. The reason the restaurant is such a success is that Uyuni is the jumping off point for excursions to the Salar de Uyuni and jeep tours down to San Pedro. In the dry season you can also make it to Argentina from here. So it's on the Gringo trail. But that's not the only reason. It's because it serves the best pizza in Bolivia, if not South America, does fantastic fluffy pancakes and makes real coffee. All for not much more than the price of local food. We do try local food on arrival, llama stew and maize. I'm ok with it but Mike's not too keen on the Llama, a bit tough for his palate. So we become regulars at the Minuteman Pizza restaurant. We deserve it after the past few days. The other highlight of Uyuni is out little adventure into the Salar. Mostly, people visit this when it's dry. The largest salt lake in the world. With the wet season kicking off, we get it with about 2 inches of water on top. That's no problem. A good excuse to take a jeep tour, giving the bikes and our throttle hands a well deserved rest. Plus, salt and bikes don't mix, and if the bikes are to last until Alaska there are some things best left undone.

Very pretty

So a day's jeep tour is booked and off we head, via a delapidated train museum, a salt mine - basically piles and piles of salt - and the disused salt hotel. Not looking too inviting after 25 years. Then it's a long, slow drive out to an island with a 1203 year old cacti. This sounds pretty dull but the reflection of the sky on the water of the salar is simply stunning. A bit like the whale watching, we take hundreds of photographs. I'll post them soon enough and hopefully you'll get a glimpse of how beautiful it was.

Pick a track, any track, they're all shite!

2007-01-24T20:33:00.000Z

I wasn't joking with the title of this blog!

Sorry Mike but I had to steal your title. It is the only apt one for our first two days in Bolivia.
So we leave San Pedro not too bright and early. The clouds have lifted over 'Mt Doom' and we are in excited spirits. We can now see the snow capped volcanoes on the border of Chile, Bolivia and Aregentina. 'Mt Doom' in Bolivia dosen't look so scary now.
The bikes are running extremely well despite the altitude and we tear pass the tour groups heading up into Bolivia. Following the sign we turn off the paved road, the last we'll see for at least a week, and head for the Bolivian border. It's here that I notice oil pouring out everywhere. For *^#'s sake. What's wrong with the bike now. We'd started the morning with Mike's bike leaking fuel, turned out just to be a random incident with a overflow hose, and now this. Fortunately with my new found moto mechanico knowledge, the problem is diagnosed as me not having tightened some bolts enough last night and the cam chain tensioner had come lose. (There'll be a test at the end of this adventure on all the things that have gone wrong with my bike and I expect you all to know as much about motorbikes as I do). It's all quickly reset as the tour groups take their turn in rushing past us.
We get to the border a couple of kilometers down the road, only to find out that the policeman who I'd asked about immigration for Chile, on the outskirts of San Pedro that morning, had either lied or, more likely, not understood me. No exit stamps for Chile then. The Bolivian border is fairly easy although they don't want to see any paperwork for the bikes. Strange but hey ho! The prospect of riding through Bolivia in the wet season is still top on my mind and thinking about anything else is diminished in respect.
We take off around Laguna Blanca, towards Laguna Verde. Mike quickly starts deteriorating as the altitude takes affect. Trying to follow my rubbish Bolivian map, we end up back at the information centre. I lose the first bag of cocoa leaves to the wind while the park ranger draws the correct roads on my map, I´m taking particular note of what roads not to go on. Armed with a second bag of cocoa leaves from the nice guys at the National Park information centre, we head off. By this time it's about 1pm.
An hour or so down the road, we stop just short of the Dali field, cocoa tea and peanut butter sandwiches. So far so good. Thanks to the cocoa leaves Mike is feeling better and the roads aren't too bad.
Next stop, some geisers down a dirt track a few kilometers off the main route. I take particular note not to go down the road I'm sure the ranger said not to. Damn it! Down goes the bike. First time for the day. It kind of got blown over, knocked over as I was getting off and fell over as the side stand sunk into the soft ground. It's right about now we realise just how heavy and inappropriate the bikes are for this terrain. Heading back to the main road, I get stuck in a rut, 2nd time for the day the bike goes over. Mike's way up in front but fortunately the friendly Bolivian's jump out of their jeep beind me, they really don't have a choice as I'm blocking the track, and help me lift it up. Yes, yes, I know it's mucho heavy!
All's going well as the shadows get longer. We're heading for the supposedly spectacular Laguna Colorado. The wind's picked up and the peninsular we were told to camp on is exposed, so we head for the hostal where the tours stop. Then the road deteriorates. Badly. We're now hardly managing 10km/hr stuck in deep soft gravel. Tracks and tracks of it run out before us. After an hour of walking the overweight lardy bikes through this excuse for a road, we're exhausted. It's a case of the grass is always greener and we're constantly crossing from one track to another, anything to find one that has a bit of solidity to it. Third time for the day, over she goes. Double damn it! Out of breathe from the altitude and being exhausted we plough on. It's getting much darker and there are fewer jeeps tearing past us, making short work of the deep gravel. Fourth time, over she goes. This isn't much fun. For the second time on this trip, what I'd give to be in a jeep, or anything on four wheels. In what seemed like less than 5 minutes I drop the bike again. This time there are tears. We can hardly make out the hostal in the distance, it's almost pitch black and we're shattered. And no, Mike didn't drop his bike once that day or in the whole of Bolivia for that matter, thank god.
After what seemed like an eternity of riding in gravel pit, we pull up outside a hostal. I've never been so happy to see an Africa Twin parked up. Kristina and Andreas are there, have been since about 5pm, and have spare beds in their dorm room, they quickly organise for us to sleep there and have dinner with them. The hardest day of riding so far is over.
It's off to bed early but not sleeping too well with the altitude and stress of the day's riding playing on my mind.
Rising early we go for a walk to check out Laguna Colorado. It's only now that I can appreciate the landscape, not only because it's daylight, but because I'm not cursing riding in it. Something that is short lived. This morning we head off with Kristina and Andreas. Between Mike and Andreas's GPS and my shite map, we have somewhat of an idea of where to head. But once again it's a case of riding in a deep gravel pit. Miles and miles of fields of gravel.

Um, what happened to the road?

Great. Mike's got the hang of it and is managing to get some speed up, lucky thing. I'm still struggling with the weight of the bike and fear of dropping it at any speed faster than a walk. I have no idea how Andreas is managing on their bike, not only the weight of the bike and luggage but also a passenger. They do however drop it, the first time for their trip that morning.
There are a few quiet tears to myself as I struggle on while the jeeps tear past, but I push on, somewhat consoling myself with the knowledge that this is the toughest riding I will have to face on the entire adventure. And somewhat proud of myself for not whimping out and taking the paved route via northern Chile. And of course, we're rewarded with some spectacular scenery. This really is another world, high up on the altiplano surrounded by volcanoes, no vegetation, just miles and miles of weird rock formations in an amazing array of colours (although to be fair, most of it is red) and gravel. After lunch we head a bit higher and reach some solid ground. We can also see in the distance, dark, ominous clouds. Nothing to worry about, yet! There's a bit of confussion over which direction to head but we end up following some jeeps down by a lake. The landscape is slowly changing, unlike the weather, which is changing at a rather alarming rate. Before we know it, it's raining, hailing, then snowing. We're in a barren landscape and feel somewhat exposed when the lightening starts. The thunder is thrown in to complete the atmosphere. It's right about now we realise that washing our gortex trousers all those miles ago maybe wasn't such a good idea without re-proofing them. And Mike gets starts to develop hypothermia when he stops to put his jacket lining in, both his t-shirt and lining getting saturated in the process.

Let's throw some snow in, just to add to the fun!

It's just after this that I myself become a tourist attraction. It's snowing, the gravel tracks, although not as bad as earlier in the day, are causing me grief and soaked through to the bone and freezing, I admit I am once again struggling. So having a jeep full of Argentinans or some annoying nationality (It was them that were annoying, rather than the entire nation) leaning out of the window taking photos of some chica struggling on a bike way to big for her, in the snow, waving a cheery hello was the last thing I needed. What's worse, they pull up right next to Mike who was waiting for me - again - jump out of the jeep in their little shorts and t-shirts to take photos on themselves in the snow. And of course, of all the places in the vast lansdcape to stand, they pick the middle of the only track that's working for me at this point, blocking my path. For god's sake, get back in your jeep and 'f' off!
Not to worry too much, we kind of get the last laugh when towards the end of the day, after it's stopped snowing, and I've got my heated grips melting my hands, we get into some terrain I love. Rocky paths. It's what we were riding on in Wales and for the last few hours I'm loving the ride. Especially when we pass a jeep, I'd like to think it was the one with the annoying Argentinians, with a puncture. In this type of terrain the jeeps have to go slower up the steep, rocky paths, so we kick butt. I don't stop to take a photo though.
Eventually we hit a fantastic road. It's gravel, but smooth and hard. We pick up speed and pass through a crazy lava field. Mike's off and out of sight as Andreas, Kristina and I crusie into Villa Alota. Torrential rain has started again but it's a 'propper' road all the way to Uyuni from here. And god am I happy about that!

New Years Eve and are shims connected to the thigh bone!

2007-01-24T19:30:00.000Z

'$25000 for dinner, you must be joking'. 'Welcome to San Pedro' I'm quickly told. Ok, it only equates to 25GBP but still, we're in Chile and 25GBP is a bit much to pay for a three course dinner with only a Pisco Sour and Champagne at mid-night to drink thrown in. We opt for a 15GBP three course dinner with no Champagne but music all night. Shame I only make it until 11:30pm before the mix of red meat, melted icecream, alcohol (And not even that much) and altitude takes its toll. It's stuffy in the restaurant so Mike has no problem leaving either and we head back to the hostal to drink our own alcohol, you'd think I'd learn, and celebrate the coming of the new year by ourselves. But the sound of the fireworks is too much to resist and we take a stroll in the fresh air. I have to say, San Pedro has been one of the coolest places I've celebrated New Year's Eve. It's all very chilled and relaxed, locals and gringos walking around the streets moving from effigy to burning effigy, fireworks going off around your feet (OK that bit can be a little scary but not as scary as what I've spent in London on my mate, Mark's, balcony) with drink in hand but very few drunks. A very nice way to welcome in 2007. I hope you all had a suitably happy New Year's Eve celebration.

Pre-burning, our Wickerman!

So what's to do in San Pedro? Not much except hangout with other hippy gringos. Or you can head out of the village to an assortment of activities. We decide for New Year's Day to take a ride to the Lagos about 80km or so down the road. As usual, this is an adventure in itself as my chain derails and jams. Fortunately it doesn't break. This incident is qucikly followed by Mike getting bogged in sand, not something you want to rectify at this altitude. Ahh, the joys of motorcyle travel. And all this just to be told we can't have lunch by the lake because the birds are breeding.
It is a small world however and we do happen to bump into a couple travelling overland. Him in his jeep (He's been travelling around the world for 9 years. First on a motorbike than after a year long break to work bought himself jeep). She, Martina, travelling around on a motorbike for the past 5 years. I say a small world because if my chain hadn't derailed we wouldn't have passed them. And also because when I first looked into getting kitted out for this adventure, Martina had her bike advertised on the overland website, Horizons Unlimited, and I nearly bought it off her. Plans change and she is still riding it and I bought another one. But it is weird to think that I'd emailed this complete stranger over a year ago and now through a random incident, I actually meet her. About an hour later, they've convinced us to ride through Bolivia thus changing our own adventure entirely.
A chain de-railment isn't the KLR's only concern. Just outside of San Pedro you can also visit Valle de Luna, particularly pretty at sunrise or sunset. The wet season has hit Bolivia and with it brings clouds and a bit of rain to San Pedro, usually in the afternoons. So we opt to get up early and view the Valle at sunrise, without the tourists. Just our luck but we choose the only morning it's cloudy. The setting is still pretty but not as spectacular as promised by the guide books. Not to worry, after sitting for an hour or so waiting for the sun to make an appearance, we continue our ride through the valle. A bit of a grind and a crunch later and I'm left very little clutch. It's not my morning. I get it into 3rd and hope to god the clutch cable doesn't completely fray on the 15km ride back into town.

So we're heading into Bolivia hey! This is the part of the trip that scares me the most. Especially with the wet season kicking in. I look at the KLR workshop manual and decide it's time to do some serious maintenance. Plus fix the problems already present. For three days, the KLR resembles an insect as it is pulled apart, checked over and in some cases put back together. We moved hostals to where we can work on the bike under shade and on concrete. I'm setup near the outdoor kitchen and this provides me with constant company as I work. There is quite a mixed bag staying at the hostal from the self proclaimed oldest backpacking Israel (He was nearing 70, so may be he was the oldest), to an extended German family, a lovely couple from Portugal, two crazy Dutchman, aren't they all, and a motorcycling Dutch couple who were on vacation without their bikes. Mike does some work to his bike before moving onto mine. I need the moral support if nothing else as I attempt to check my valves, realise the reason the brake fluid is low is that there are no brake pads left on my rear brake calliper (just as well I tend to use the front brakes more) and attempt to figure out what is wrong with my speedometer. So while Mike fixes my speedometer and diagnoses the problem with the brakes, I replace the clutch cable and attempt to check the valves. Damn it. Unlike Mike's, they're not good. This means a 200km round trip back to Calama to get some new shims (I only found out what these were when I pulled the engine apart and read the manual but hey, doesn't it sound like Iknow what I'm talking about, almost!) and new brake pads.
We'd planned to head into Bolivia the following day and after having the brake pads rebuilt and shims ground down - you have to make do when there aren't parts available in the whole of Chile - we get the KLR going at about 9pm that night. There is a small cheer from Eric and Nanette, the Dutch couple, Andreas and Kristina who've also arrived in San Pedro, and of course Mike and me when I turn the key and the KLR starts first go and suprisingly, with no weird noises. Phew! I admit, I almost have tears of joy at hearing the engine start. It's the first major work I've done to the bike by myself and I can't believe that I haven't wrecked the engine.
Bolivia here we come!

Death on Ruta 5

2007-01-24T18:58:00.000Z

North of La Serena there isn't much in Chile except for the Atacama Desert. Ruta 5 is the main route north on the Panamerican. And apart from some stopping at some horrible towns, most people just head straight through onto Arica or into Peru. If you have the time however, there are some wonderful deserted beaches and wild coastline to stop at. So of course that's what we did. Campsites on sandy white beaches became our home for the next few nights. It was a welcome break from the monotony of Ruta 5.

It's a hard life, but cooking isn't too bad with a view like this from the kitchen!

The un-nerving thing about Ruta 5 was the amount of memorials to people who'd lost their lives in road accidents along the way and the remnants of blown tyres. You couldn't go for more than a mile without a memorial and in most cases, it was for more than one person, quite often what would appear to be entire families. This combined with nothing but desert, alternating between stone and sand where not even the smallest blade of grass appeared to exisit, made you feel somewhat sad. It was easy to see how so many accidents could happen though, drivers falling alseep at the wheel on such a straight and boring road, either at night when there were no street lights or in the heat of the day when the sun burned away fiercely, quickly tiring those without airconditioning. All we could do was have our MP3 players blaring to give us some relief. That was until my iPod also died. Great, at least three hours on a dead straight road with no gadgets to look at, my speedometer still not working, no scenery other than what I'd been looking at for the past 3 hours and now no music. Does nothing survive this road.
The one highlight on Ruta 5, apart from taking detours down to the coast to camp for the night, was the giant hand. But even this had a sour stench. You'd think people would walk a few more paces away and take a leak or dump away from the only exciting thing on the road.
After the beachfront campsites, Antofgasta is horrible. It takes at least two hours of being mis-directed by either well-meaning or grumpy locals before heading to the shopping mall for lunch at about 6pm, only to find, by looking in a copy of the Lonely Planet guide book in the book shop, that there is no Tourist Information Office in Antofagasta. Doh! We take a note of a few hotels with parking and hole up for the night. We can't wait to get out of there.
At least on the road to Calama, the following day, after turning off Ruta 5, there are some somewhat creepy ghost towns to look at. These are entire towns of adobe buildings left to ruin after the nitrate era. We also cross the Tropic of Capricorn and pass some moutainside artwork. These are a few images created on the sides of some stone dunes, a la Nazca Lines style. At least someone has taken the initative to try and enterain drivers enroute.
We pull up in San Pedro de Atacama in time to shower and rest before heading out to celebrate New Year's Eve.

The earth shook and the moon shone.

2007-01-24T18:39:00.001Z

Ooh, ahhh.....pretty but I can't see any man, or cow for that matter!

Just east of La Serena is a very pleasant town of Vicuña. It was here that we experienced our first noticeable earth tremmor in Chile, whilst taking a nap in the tent, I felt the earth move (And no, Mike wasn't in there with me). Our purpose for stopping in for a night was to take in the public observatory called Mamalluka. It was truely amazing. From 10pm until 1am, yes I know, it was way past my bed time, we were treated to a very passionate presentation of the stars in the southern hemisphere. This included looking through telescopes at the moon, the Southern Cross and all manner of cosmos things. It was late and I was tired so I don't remember the terminology for most of the stuff our guide shared with us but we did get to see the rings around Saturn and a take a very cool photo of the moon. Plus we learnt how to find north by looking at the Southern Cross, and that there are 13 star signs not 12 and Pluto is no longer a planet. Needless to say I didn't wake too early the next morning. All that education was hard work.

The earth shook and the moon shone.

2007-01-24T18:39:00.000Z

Christmas with a view of the Wickerman

2007-01-24T18:14:00.000Z

After almost two months on the road and no desire to spend money on anything that we didn't actually need (How uncommercial we've become), we decided that what we actually did need was a Christmas mini break. Four days in a semi-decent hotel (Not quite what I'm used to, but I was spoilt with my job) with a balcony and view over the beach to watch the sunsets. We also scored a room with a two plate cooker and minibar - although that was empty on arrival it didn't take us long to fill it with Christmas cheer.
The setting was La Serena and the beach was long and sandy, as opposed to pebbly. For the next four days we chilled out, a little bit of shopping (no matter how uncommercial we'd become, Mike needed a new wash bag and some board shorts, and I needed a pair of swimming goggles) just for something little to open on Christmas morning. A little bit of sight seeing, La Serena is a rather pleasent colonial town. And we also unpacked the frisbee for the first time, so some excercise. The afternoons were spent on the balcony with nibblies and pisco sours trying to take photos of a weird statue across the bay. If any of you have seen the British cult movie, The Wickerman, with the sun setting behind the statue, you were transported to the final scene on Summer Isle. Check Mike's photos for what I mean although it was far from being as creepy.
Amongst all this we also squeezed in a whole lot of eating and drinking as is required at this time of year.
And of course the bikes got a bit of a rest and an attempt at some maintenance.
Ahh, all very pleasant and enjoyable indeed.

Real coffee and Christmas Drinks.

2007-01-24T17:18:00.000Z

Mmmm......the smell of real coffee (Slightly burnt but better than Nescafe) has greeted us at the gate. We've just arrived at Pablo Neruda's Valparaiso house for a look see. What an amazing house. I think if I lived there, I'd never leave. I would sit in the living room all day, if I'd managed to drag myself out of bed that is, and read a book and look at the view. Maybe I'd get up and go to the bar and make myself a Pisco Sour if I was feeling slightly energetic in the afternoon or if some friends dropped by. The views across Valparaiso from both his bedroom and living room are stunning. The study at the top of the house would make a nice litle get away if you wanted a change of scene, but I'm not sure how much study I'd get done there either.
Valparaiso is a refreshing change from the grided streets of most of villages, towns and cities we've been to so far. The ramshackle colourful houses give the impression of tumbling down the hillsides into the port and you wonder how, in an earthquake zone, they've manged to stay stuck there for so long. There seems to be an art community exisitng healthily on those hills as well for almost every door and quite a few walls are covered in some amazing murals. Looking up the steep stairways, you sometimes glimpse some creative illustrations and it takes a double look to realise that you aren't looking at a real scene.
Back to the coffee. It suprises me considering how European I'd imagined Chile, or Santiago at least, to be, at how shite (Sorry about the swearing but it really is) the coffee is. It's not even the 'water dressed in brown' filter coffee that you sometimes get served in cheap hotels. It's Nescafe and 'con leche' means you get dished up some Coffee Mate. Mmmm, delicious. So on the rare occasion you smell real coffee, its time to stop and have one. And this is how we met Collin and Gill, two ex-UK now Canadians, backpacking through South America. Stopping at the cafe at Pablo Neruda's house, we get to talking. Before we know it, we've been taken under the wing and guided down to the posh area of Viña del Mar. Collin and Gill have rented an apartment for the Christmas and New Year period with views of the beach, a balcony and a kitchen. After a glass of rather delicious red wine (I guess you can forgive them for the lack of decent coffee when they do produce some fantastic red wines) we're invited to stay for dinner. If the truth be known, I think Gill is keen for some English speaking female company and Collin is just keen to talk. Mike's happy to have a bit of company other than me I suppose and I'm keen to cook in a somewhat clean kitchen. Don't worry, I was also keen for some female company and between us, Gill and I run the risk of talking the hind leg off a donkey - just as well there were none in that posh neighbourhood.
Sitting of the balcony drinking Pisco Sours, eating roast chicken and vege, with chocolate coated strawberries (Thanks to Katie for showing me how to make them all those years ago) for pudding, it was hard not to get in the Christmas spirit. And it was rather sad to leave. It was very tempting to stay on in Valparaiso and join Collin and Gill for Christmas day. But it was time to get going again.
By the way, we did make it to Santiago for a day but after a rather long walk down a road that was lined with tool shops, we quickly became rather jaded. The highlight of the day, apart from buying a 14mm spanner at the first tool shop we came across, was lunch at a fish shop in the central mercardo. Highly reccommended but if you catch the bus into Santiago like we did, it's best to then catch the metro up into the city centre rather than spending two hours walking on the same straight road. Dull, dirty and very busy with people. Get me out of the city.

28 Hairpin bends and more bad luck!

2007-01-11T00:39:00.000Z

We escape the camp ground of Mendoza on a Tuesday morning through the industrial park. It's not the most picturesque route we've taken but we do hit the scenery a bit further on as we climb up into the Andes to cross into Chile. There are a few sights on the way, including an Inca bridge and a statue of Christo Redentor at the top of the Andes. We don't make it to the statue though as there is still snow covering the track so we have to settle for a view of the highest mountain outside of the Himalayas, Co. Aconcagua. It's not a bad compromise even if I did dropp the bike on the snow covered track doing a u-turn.
After customs come the 28 hairpin bends as we head back down to a reasonable altitude. Trucks, buses and cars, they're all loving it. I did try to take a photo but it didn't capture the 'moment' so to speak. For about 15 minutes, yes I still take corners slowly, I'm giggling like a giddy school girl with every turn.
We have an audience again setting up the only tent in a camping ground but we're getting used to it, even if this is Chile. (Interesting fact that I didn't know but had suspected, Chile is named after being chilly but was a mis-spelling after some French, I think, cartographor got the spelling wrong, a lot like me and my place names in this blog)
So after the heights of the Andes we head for the coast, bypassing Santiago and hitting the coast just north of Valparaiso. It's early on in the day and we're thinking great, loads of time to find somewhere to stay and get some breaky (Can you see a theme developing here, you think the trip is about motorcycling but it's actually about food and making sure we get our breakfast).
Stopping for a photo of the bikes by the Pacific Ocean, all's going to plan. That is until about 500m down the road I go over a bump that I wouldn't even notice normally, except this time, the back end of my bike has dropped and my butt feels like it is dragging on the ground. I know I've put on some weight with my quest for breakfasts but really, this is a bit much! Fortunately there is no traffic and I can pull over straight away. At least this time I've broken down with a view of the Pacific Ocean.
Five hours later and some major sunburn (Reminder to myself, when I break down I must put on sun screen and my hat) the bolt that had vibrated out has been replaced and the bolt that had sheared off under the strain of being the only bolt holding the subframe on, has been drilled out, replaced and all corresponding broken brackets have been re-welded. Another note to myself, Lock-tite all nuts and bolts that hold the bike together.
I'd like to add a very big thankyou to the plumber who was working in the house that I pulled up in the front of. He immediately came out to see if everything was ok, then offer us help when he found out it wasn't. He stopped what he was doing, loaded my luggage, panniers and rack into his van and lead us to a mate of his who was a very good welder, up the road a bit. And to Mike, who once again, knew how to put the bike back together with cable ties and also had the correct size bolt to replace the one that had fallen out, unlike myself. I'd like not to thank the couple who rode past twice on their very nice clean BMW and although it was obvious my bike was in trouble, avoided eye contact, the missus on the back probably saying, 'Don't stop dear, they may need help and we wouldn't want to get our hands dirty!'

What is it with Argentinian's and campsites!

2007-01-11T00:24:00.000Z

So it's hot and we're in the nicest park (as opposed to San Rafael's) in Argentina. It took a while to find the camping ground in the park and as usual we have a police escort to get there. The camping ground is heaving. It's a Saturday and there are people everywhere. We squeeze into one site and pitch our tent. In a camping ground of over possibly 100 sites, there is only one other tent pitched. We learn that these guys consider camping grounds to be a place where you go for a family BBQ, not neccesarily to pitch a tent and stay the night. That doesn't mean that they all pack up and leave us in the piece and quiet to sleep. The luch crowd dissipate and are replaced by the younger evening crowd. Then a wedding party turns up at about 11:30pm beeping their horns with at least 10 cars in tow (They obvioulsy got the last time slot for the church booking). These guys do know how to party though, they we're still going at 6am. Thank god for ear plugs!
Three nights in Mendoza Municipal Camping ground was enough, that plus the mechanic that we were hoping would work on Mike's BMW can't help us. So after a swim, the excercise nearly killing us) we head off to Chile.

Mike has a run in with the police - again!

2007-01-11T00:04:00.000Z

We limp into San Rafael, carburetor still playing up. It's quite a cool town, and it has a few wineries which always help. Although if you ever do make here, don't bother thinking it would be nice to go for a walk and have a bottle of wine and picnic in the park. Even the gypsies camp on the outskirts of it as it's probably the most unkept, awful park I've ever seen marked on a map.
But anyway, we locate a fellow called Luis whose teenage daughter collects spiders, scorpions and insects to set in resin and make into key rings and gear lever knobs. A little wierd but Luis can clean out my carburetor, so I don't say anything. So the bike gets stripped down and starts resembling one of the insects from Luis' daughter's collection. Then the police turn up. We start thinking, oops, that was a rather 'orange' light we went through following Luis to his work shop.
They've seen Mike's bike parked out the front and we've been busted. Doh!
A rather scary looking busted up cop comes in, all smiles if that is possible with the bad teeth he has, followed by a rather neatly dressed colleague. Turns out, the busted up cop, who has turned up on a bike, was just checking out Mike's BMW. Can't be much crime happening in San Rafael as we have their attention for over an hour discussing the finer points of the BMW 650GS versus the KLR 650 (You have to ride one to understand). And also the poor quality of gear supplied to the police. We get shown all manner of scars and bruises but in the end it is decided that the KLR650 is a much better and more comfortable bike than the GS. Doesn't stop them both jumping on Mike's bike for a photo shoot though.
It seems the police in South America, rather than hanging out in donut shops drinking coffee, hang out in bike shops or at the bike mechanics.

Ruta 40 - Should I give it another chance?

2007-01-10T23:23:00.000Z

After the excitment of Bariloche, we start heading north again. Taking a detour off the Ruta 40 through the Siete Lagos. All very pretty and even the ripio was good. But if you don't think there is such a thing as karma, try being me and riding the KLR.
We make it to San Martin de Andes, set in a rather beautiful landscape, by, you guessed it, one of the seven lakes. Stopping for the night at the ACA campsite, which I din't think was too bad, a little noisy but Viedma was worse. When no one is bothered to collect any money off us for the site in the morning, Mike (He'll kill me for blaming this on him but I did warn him about bad karma) decides we should just leave. Apparently the male showers were a lot worse than the girls.
Nothing eventful happens the next day except a siting of a 'wannabe' Mighty Boosh meets Miami Vice hairdresser in an out-of-the-way, nothing happening kind of town. (I lead an exciting life!)
That is until we meet the night caretaker and a little boy in another out-of-the-way little town called Chos Malal.
I can't even begin to describe the weird conversations and events that take place that night, but needless to say, we didn't sleep well. Having the caretaker warn you to lock the bikes together because he is the problem (as far as we could make out) was weird enough, but having the sound of Mike's bike alarm being set, mimicked from the bushes, after dark, was just plain weird. And we were the only ones camping there - again!
So your thinking, bad karma, what bad karma! Well we head back on to Ruta 40. It's not too bad to start with. There's a road, which is always a good sign. And its not raining. What can possibly go wrong. After passing some signs that appeared to mark where towns may have been (and where we were hoping to get fuel and have some lunch) the road quickly disintegrates. There are sand drifts blown across what is left of the road and it all starts looking a bit like Morroco.
Of course I stop to take a photo. It's about 1pm and not a cloud in the sky. So yep, it's very very very hot. The bike doesn't start again. I can smell petrol and of course I can see there is petrol leaking everywhere, but being the kind of girl I am, I have absolutely no idea what to do about it. So I do the only thing I can, wait for Mike to come back and find me and work out what is wrong. So it's a blocked carburetor. Not a problem, except being the KLR, the float chamber screw that would normally drain it, is seized. It is now so bad there is petrol in the air filter. Honestly, I did do two bike maintenance courses, it's not my fault we didn't get past learning what an allen key was! So after an hour or so, we're sunburnt and hungry and we've been windblasted again by the mini tornedoes that like to hit you at inappropriate times, but we manage to get the bike going again. So its annoying but not too bad until I burn my knuckles putting all the tools away in a hurry before the bike stalls again. Just not my day!
Ruta 40 had completely deteriorated by this stage and I wonder why they have allowed a road that was obvioulsy a road, deteriorate into something as bad, if not worse, than the gravel we had been riding on further south.
We eventually got lunch at 7:30pm that evening. I now make sure we pay our campsite fees.

The Lake District - The Tango and The Wind Riders Biker Meet.

2006-12-10T17:44:00.000Z

'Taking it easy in Bariloche'

El Bolson is lovely. Not only because it's warm enough to take the thermal linings out of our bike trousers, and I'm down to only one pair of thermals underneath those, but it is very pretty. It's a bit of a hippy town and it never ceases to amaze me that they sell the same things at these markets all over the world and all of the vendors have the same hippy look about them. One good thing about this market though, was the fresh fruit. We could feel the vitamins kick in as soon as we'd finished our freshly pured strawberry and banana smoothies. It had been a while.
After siesta, I locate a bike shop with a tyre in stock for my rear wheel. Mike's not so lucky and the moto mechanico wants to charge him a fortune for the fork seals he busted on a pothole.

Heading up to Bariloche in search of a cheaper mechanico, we notice that there are loads of bikes on the roads. Ok, so once again they're lovely roads, but we haven't seen many bikes for quite a while and these ones are large i.e. the same engine size as mine if not bigger.

After a bit of looking around town and the best Lemon Meringue Pie, we've located a club that teaches the Tango. Classes don't kick off until 10:30pm so we head out for beer, the micro brewery type, and pizza. Donning our best kit, oil stained cargos and our cleanest, out of shape t-shirts, we hit the dance floor. Once we've stopped laughing, we start to move our oversized, akward feet somewhat in time the the music. Fortunately Mike is pretty good at counting the beat, the Tango is in something weird like 6/8 time. Not the easiest for me to follow. Eventually the few other people in the club can't bear to watch us destroy their national dance and Mike get's led off by a girl who actually knows what she's doing and I get swept around the dance floor by 'Harold Bishop', who manages to teach me a thing or two, and possibly made me look not half bad, even with my motorycling boots on. Patricia, our teacher had almost given up, but after a short break, she has Mike back up Tangoing around the room - with all of the leg flinging thrown in too.

All the dancing was a bit too much for me and Mike founds out the next morning that there is a Biker meet on that afternoon. Following the Circuito Chico route for 64km out of Bariloche then down to a campsite for beer and music. I'm usually not too keen on large gatherings of bikes, especially the leather chap wearing kind but figure it might be a bit of a laugh. So off we follow. I'm Mike's 'Chica', being lasy going pillion for the day. We're a bit late but catch them half way round the circuit. They leave as soon as we arrive but we don't let that put us off. Stopping for a bit of tourist stuff, we head off down to the campsite later in the afternoon. I know why I've never been to one of these meets before and I know never to go again, but god it was funny. There was so much testosterone flying around. Tug-o-wars and beer games. Who can rev their engine the loudest, you get the picture. They did have a great and cheap (no tourist prices for the local bikers) asado though.
The highlight of the evening though had to be the band. Jesus they were awful. Leather clad, tone deaf and playing air guitar, the lead singer had it all. We had to leave before they worked out we were laughing at them rather than having a jolly ol' time.

'Looks like Mike wants to join the Wind Riders'

Carretera Austral

2006-12-10T16:54:00.000Z

'The Carretera Austral'

All of the cyclist we had met so far, and there have been quite a few, were heading up the Carretera Austral. And when we got there, we could see why.
Ruta 39 was the most southerly route to cross the border and that's where we started.
It was already warmer, being out of the wind, and the road, although mostly dirt, was an easier ride. But the best thing about this route is the scenery. Kilometres and kilometres of rainforest and steep valleys with glacial lakes and waterfalls. It's all good. And I can't think of any more adjectives to describe how stunning/amazing/beautiful the scenery is.
I almost want to trade in the moto for bicycle and start cycling, but being the lazy person I am, I don't.

'Mmmmm......look at that winding road!'

It's not all dirt roads so one for the guys who've ridden through the Rhayader Valley, get yourselves down here. A paved road, for a good 200km, with no traffic, no wind and twists and curves that you dream about. My rather squared off tyres (from Ruta 3 and 40) got a bit of a work out. And if you've got time to look, it's very, very pretty.
So all fun and games until you hit the road works. My now balding tyres decide they don't like the gravel roads so much anymore and we're back down to slow speeds. There is freshly laid tarmac that we're not supposed to be riding on, but the gravel on the 'Devisio' is so large and slippery, we think 'What the heck, no one's looking' and ride on it. Great until we come across a section that they're actually working on and the guy on the roller is so peeved that he aims his roller straight at Mike. Commonsense prevails and he stops at the last minute. There's a bunch of guys waving they're arms at us but then just ask us to slow down a bit. I think they can see that it is too dangerous to ride the bikes on the Devisio. We don't care, our number plates are covered in mud. I can hear the workman now, 'Bloody Foreigners!'

On a bit of bad note, the Carretera Austral may not remain as beautiful as it is now. Pinochet apparently sold the water rights to a Spanish/German company who are planning to dam the valley and build a Hydroelectricity plant. The power would be then transferred overland 2000km up to Sanitago, using the large overland pylons. I'm all up for alternative power supplies, but not at the expense of National Parks and areas of oustanding beauty. Not sure on the details but it would be an absolute tragedy to loose this area to a dam. There have been protests so hopefully it won't be going ahead and they can develop some other way to provide an environmentally friendly power source.

We turn off the Carretera Austral to head up to EL Bolson, back in the much cheaper Argentina, and a new rear tyre for me. Leaving Andreas and Kristina to head further north in search of some thermal springs.

'Another lovely view from our tent'

Lets try Ruta 39 instead

2006-12-10T16:42:00.000Z

'The good Ruta 39'

The German couple we passed in the Landcrusier had suggested the crossing to Chile via Ruta 39 wasn't too bad. I was up for anything to get off Ruta 40.
At an average speed of 37km/hr, we were slower still. But it's not all about the speed. Especially when you have beautiful scenery. And fun tracks to ride. And most importantly, no wind.

'Cowboys and gals'

We passed through paddocks where the sheep and cows didn't run out in front of you. There were twists and turns in the track as we made our way back into the Andes. Lakes of amazing blues and turquoise to stop and have lunch at. Pink flamingoes and Condors and all manor of wild life.
A long day but free camping by a stream, just across the Chilean border, in the mountains, was heaven. Who needs that beach.

The soul destroying Ruta 40

2006-12-10T15:59:00.000Z

'Is it straight on do you think Mike?'

Andreas and Kristina, a German couple we met in El Chalten who are two up on an African Twin are now travelling with us. We head off to Bajo Caracoles, over 300km of Ruta 40 on ripio. It was going to be a hard day's riding.We fill up with petrol at Tres Lagos and then head off.
My god, the wind. It's hard enough trying to keep the bike upright on the ripio as it is but add to the equation, the inssesent winds battering you from the side and front and its just not fun. After two hours and meeting a fellow biker (German of course) travelling the other direction, we stop for lunch - in a rare hollow of landscape to avoid getting dirt blown into our sandwiches. It's here that we look at the Ruta Argentina (Argentinian Road Atlas) and decide to head to Gregores Gobernador. We should be able to get some cash out, no point in turning up at the next pertol station 300km away, only to find that they don't take Visa. And also the Ruta Argentinas indicates that this route should be a better road. It means a 60km detour.

'Lunch time, keeping low!'

So much for a better road.
Mike was in front, me in the middle and Adreas and Kristina following. The road was dead straight as it had been for the last 60km or so. The track isn't too bad but it is a track rather than a road. We're making steady progress. That is, until we hit a patch of deep large gravel. Mike makes it through but I think I was somewhat tired and didn't notice his brake lights or the very slight change in colour of the track. The KLR and I don't make it through. It's the first time I've dropped my bike on the trip and as well as being a bit sore, I'm gutted. I was really hoping not to drop it at all. Oh well, that was probably wishful thinking.
The spill has broken the KLR's windscreen and headlight protector but other than that she is fine. I'm a little in shock, annoyed at myself for obvioulsy not paying enough attention to the road. A lesson learnt. After a bit we continue the last 30km into town, find a nice cabaña and stay the night, out of the wind.
I really don't understand how people could live here. But the laundry guy comments 'Mucho viento' (Much wind) so maybe it is uncommon.

At an average speed of 42km/hr we weren't getting anywhere fast. We pass another German motorcylist and then a German couple in a landcruiser and Swiss in a overlander truck. How much would I have paid to be in that Landcrusier! Warm, out of the wind and easier to drive than ride on the gravel roads. You could listen to music, chat to your travelling companions, maybe even have a nice warm cup of coffee on the go. Anything to pass the monotany of driving for 100kms on bad roads, in a straight line, whilst being buffeted by the wind.

After the hardest day of riding yet, I'm miserable. I'm shattered, sore and the thought riding in wind like we have been makes me want to cry. This is no holiday. Where's the beach?

El Chalten - The way National Parks should be

2006-12-10T15:39:00.000Z

' Happy Trekers'

You've got to love a place as beautiful as El Chalten that also has free camping, free entry to the National Park and Mt Fitzroy as a back drop.
We stopped here for 3 nights. Getting some exercise with a gentle 3 hour trek on the first day and sleeping and catching up with the diaries on the second day (The wind had picked up and the clouds rolled in so there was no point in a 6 hour trek to see mountains covered in cloud). Plus I was feeling rather lazy.
If you have a choice and want to get some treking in, I'd recommend skipping Torres del Paine and heading to El Chalten. Apparently it is the home of treking but don't let that put any novices off. Yes there were hardcore guys there but then there was also us and 'Brian'.
As we're slowly making our way up to the 'Mirrador' (Viewing spot) for Mt Fitzroy, a group of about 5 people passed us. They had the whole kit and caboodle happening. All the technical clothing, the walking poles and the backpacks with stuff clipped on including snow shoes and crampons. These guys looked serious, obvioulsy heading up to climb the glacier. Then came 'Brian'. He was obvioulsy with the group but unfortunately he looked to be the clumsy one. He stopped to adjust something, just in front of us. We passed him. Then he went running past, trying to to catch his friends. A water bottle fell off. He stopped again, clipped it back on and then carried swiftly on. Then a crampon fell off. I think it was Mike who picked it up, handing it back to 'Brian' and suggested he may need it. I just hope to god the rest of the group hadn't left him in charge of anything important.

' Lovely vistas'

El Calafate - oil changes and glaciers

2006-12-10T15:18:00.000Z

The spring flowers on the edge of the pampas and in the Andean foothills are beautiful. Reds, yellows and purples plus all the shades in between. The ride, on pavement, into El Calafate is stunning and the landscape reminds me of what I learned in my Geography classes about glacial valleys. And Lago Argentino is stunning in foreground with the snow capped mountains in the distance finishing off the perfect picture.

We opt for a day off here deciding the bikes need some TLC. A wash and oil change are in order. Clean bikes, it's oil change time. The wind is picking up again and if we thought we we're dirty and dusty before, it's about to get worse. My advice to anyone doing an oil change on a bike, don't do it in the wind. The bikes were fine, but our bike kit didn't fare so well. We managed to get oil splashes all over us, not a problem until we hit the next bit of dirt road and the dust stuck. Our trousers look permanently filthy now. And yes Mum, we have washed them. Anyone know how to get oil stains off Gortex without ruining the waterproofing?

'The left half of the glacier'

El Calafate is very touritsy with its draw card being the Glacier Perito Moreno. It is amazing. We spent about 2 hours captivated by the 50m high, 5 km long face of the advancing glacier. The noises and crashes as the ice advances, falling into the lake is something else. And the colours on blue and white are beautiful. Once again, loads of photos that don't do it justice. You'll have to come and see it for yourselves. And don't be put off by the amount of tourists. The viewing platforms are so well laid out that you hardly notice anyone else.

Ruta 40 and Larry the Lamb

2006-12-10T14:50:00.000Z

'Rest stop on the easy part of Ruta 40'

Next adventure is the infamous Ruta 40. A major route north on the western edge of the Pampas. It's still flat and still very windy. And the road is of varying quality. Some of it is paved, some under construction to be paved and it seems to someone on two wheels, an awful lot still ripio, at least in the south where we were riding.
Now you all would have heard the saying 'Survival of the fittest'. Well on Ruta 40 it is also a case of 'Survival of the smartest' and Larry the lamb didn't quite make the grade. But with a mum like his, it was hardly suprising.
The section of Ruta 40 we were riding at this particular point was about 140km of ripio and not much else. Its flat and windy. So why then would two ewes decide to cross the road right at the moment that the only traffic on the road for probably the last two hours is passing? One of the great mysteries of the world. So the one tourist bus in front of us barely misses the two mums and the first lamb to cross. Larry is a bit slow so he doesn't realise mum has crossed the road just yet. Well not until Mike is passing. The brake lights come on, there is a bit of dust. Mike's bike is sliding down the road on it's side and the little lamb is also on his side. Not looking to well. By the time I get there, Mike is up and in one piece but the lamb isn't. We lift up the BMW (bikes tend to leak petrol when laying on their sides so it's best to get them up as quickly as possible) and then inspect the damage.
Unfortunately it looks like game over for Larry. There is still a bit of movement from him but while we are trying to figure out what to do with him, it seems he has taken his last breathe and we are saved from having to do anything. I'd like to mention that Larry took a major blow to the head so I suspect it was rather quick for him.
The worse thing for us was the fact that his mum kept looking back over at us from a distance, waiting to see her baby come over and join her. Why didn't she 'Stop, look and listen'. It was very sad and I nearly cried at the unnecessary death.
After a few minutes, when Larry's mum has wondered off a bit further and stopped looking back at us, we pull ourselves together and ride on up to El Calafate.
That night we had a drink for Larry, stupid as he was.

Northbound onto Torres del Paine

2006-12-08T21:42:00.000Z

'This sign just about sums it up, apparently there are no palm trees in Patagonia 'cause they were all blown over to Africa'

To cut a boring story short, we left Ushuaia the next day and managed to make the ferry to Punta Arenas with 15 minutes to spare. Thank god as the next ferry was in two days time.
The highlight of Punta Arenas was finding Milo for sale in the supermarket (Peanut butter would have been better but Milo wasn't bad) and now Mike is converted.
Back to Rio Gallegos to pick up some tyres with the hope of giving this Argentinian town a second chance. No such luck. Still a grumpy 'ol town. And we manage to escape by 5pm the following day. A bit late to be leaving town but we wanted to get as far away from there as quickly as possible.

Next stop, Torres del Paine. This is our first real taste of just how money orientated the Chileans can be. 15GBP each to enter the National Park, then a 92km ride on the worst ripio we have ridden, just to reach one of the few campsites that we don't have to pay to use. (And you have to camp in a designated campsite) It was out of principle that I was heading for the free camp. 15 quid, just to look at some mountains. Unfortunately it started to rain. And the free campsite was actually another half hour walk, in motorcyle kits, from where we had to park the bikes.

'Our Refugio in the rain'

Torres del Paine's saving grace for us was that it stopped raining in the morning. Which put us in slightly better moods, although we still had 92km of horrible roads to ride (at least without the rain we would be able to see where we were riding). No rain also meant no clouds, so we could at least see the god damn mountains that we had riden so far to see.

'Kind of worth the ride'

Fin del Mundo - Take Two

2006-12-08T21:27:00.000Z

'The Sign'

After a day off, internet, more washing, and most importantly, checking the weather reports, we head back to Ushuaia. If we're going to do the Trans American, we should at least start it properly.
It turns out that Ruta Tres (3), that we have been following pretty much all the way from Buenos Aires, actually finishes about another 20km or so past the city of Ushuaia, in the National Park. This is where 'The Sign' is.
Embarrassingly, we have to tell all of the people who are congratulating us on finishing the Trans Am, that we're in fact, only just starting it. Most people start in Alaska, hence the name of this blog, Trans Am Upside Down.
More photos, a quick look around the park, it's still cold, and it finally feels like the adventure has started.
To make the most out of our second visit to Ushuaia, we also embark on a tour cruise on the Beagle Channel. I suggest to all of you that if you ever get the chance, then get to Ushuaia and the National Park. It is stunning. But you could miss the Beagle Channel cruise if you wanted, especially if you don't cope so well with sea sickness - or the smell of sea lions.

The beginning - Tierra del Fuego, more like Tierra del Fria

2006-12-04T17:14:00.000Z

Something's different, and I can't quite put my finger on it. It takes another couple of kilometers before I realize that we're riding through a forest. It's been about 1000km since I saw anything that resembled a tree. We've just turned inland about 70km past Rio Grande. And then come the snow capped mountains, and lakes. It's so refreshing I almost feel like I've just eaten a Smint (Actually, I had just eaten a Smint but the scenery is still stunning).

'The wrong sign'

Eventually we reach Ushuaia. We stop to take some photographs at the ¡Bienvenido to Ushuaia! sign, despite the policemen at the control point looking on amuzed. We've made it to the beginning. Mike notices that the sign is a bit different to the one we've seen in everyone elses photographs and that it no longer says how many kilometres it is to Alaska but hey ho, here we are.
For once it's not too cold. That is until we wake up the next morning and it's snowing. Fun packing up a tent in the snow. We hear that it will be -3 degrees that night so we decide to make a run for it back to the warmer climate of Rio Grande. It was a short and sweet visit to Fin del Mundo.

'Let it snow, let it snow, let snow'

I was looking forward to the ride back across the mountain pass. Paseo Garibaldi. About 80kms of winding roads and no traffic. It was very enjoyable, if a bit cold, until I see the snow settling on the verges. I'm starting to think this may not be such a good idea, twisty roads in the snow. Hmmm.....
It turns out not to be such a good idea when we get to within about 3 km of the pass. It's first gear and both feet on the ground. Fortunately there is no traffic so we literally ride the bikes up at walking pace. We make it to the pass and Mike stops to take a picture. I think I'd mentioend that it would make a good photo opportunity when we had passed over the day before, when the sun was shining!
Photos taken, still no traffic, then over Mike slips - with the bike. All of a sudden there is a semi-trailer and two 4x4s behind us and another two cars coming from the other direction. I love the way they all turn up, just as one of us drops our bikes. I'm also thinking 'How the hell do we get down from here?'. It's fine going up hill but the bikes weigh a tonne and there is ice all over the road. I stand no chance of keeping the KLR in control. Maybe one of the 4x4s could put my bike on the tray back and take it down for me. No point in trying to be tough and independant at a time like this.
I just start to warm up the eyelashes for a bit of fluttering and appealing to the macho truck drivers, after I've helped Mike pick his bike up of course, before asking the guy approaching us in my 'un poco Castillano', 'For how much further is the road covered in snow?' I think he says 'not much' and with my eyelashes back to normal speed, I decide to be brave and independant and see if I can't ride the bike down myself.
Turns out I can understand a bit of Latin American Spanish after all as about 20 meters further on from where Mike dropped the BMW, the snow finishes. (Take a look on mIke's website for some more photos of the snow incident, I was too busy just trying to stay upright to take photos)

So we're toasty warm back in Rio Grande and camping in the grounds of Hotel Argentino, a very cool hostel. We meet some fellow Brits, slightly 'loco', who are cycling up to Colombia for charity. We get to comparing photographs on our digital cameras when Mike sees it. The sign that all Trans American travellers have their photos taken at. The sign that tells you how far it is to Alaska in kilometers.
Doh!

Tierra del Fuego - finally

2006-12-04T16:53:00.000Z

We get out of town as quickly as possible the next morning - so that'd be about 10-11am. Nothing like taking it easy. (Although the accommodation was crap, they had hot showers)
The ride down to Estrecho de Magallanes goes smoothly, even with our first border crossing into Chile. Although, as the name sounds, it's very chilly. While we wait for the car ferry, I venture to stick a toe in the water. It really is too cold for that, so I manage to take my glove off and in goes a finger. Jesus b=??$%5 %%$%#$. It's freezing.
A short ferry ride, after a run in with the guy loading the ferry, and we have made it to Tierra del Fuego. It's strange but the landscape seems to feel different here, although I'm sure it's pretty much the same. Maybe it's the light, or maybe it's like we finally are making it to the start of our adventure. It's 3pm when we hit the ripio again - about 50 meters from where the ferry docked. So off we head, next stop, San Sabastian border crossing.
We get into the 'zone' on the gravel and it's not as scarry as I had imagined. We pass a few trucks and the guys are off. I can't keep up with the speed, I'm too busy looking at the scenery. It is captivating. There is something about it that I can't describe. So I won't bore you trying. We cross back in to Argentina at about 6:30pm.

'Tierra del Fuego'

Ushuaia is too far to reach that evening, so we stop in Rio Grande. Posh hotel - for us anyway as it includes breakfast. We're looking rather scruffy in our dusty bike kit as the business men come down for breakfast the next morning, in their suits for instant nescafe. Mmmm....yummy! I think I prefer our espresso that we make make in Mike's espresso pot.
So today we will reach the the beginning.

Tyre problems, Welsh Towns and not much else on Ruta 3

2006-12-04T16:27:00.000Z

'Mike doing the first of his tyre repairs'

After our little excursion around the peninsula, Mike realizes that his rear tyre has a puncture. Or actully, the repair he had in it had failed on the gravel road. So it's off to Puerto Madryn for a new tyre, depsite one already being on the way to Rio Gallegos (Or so we thought) for him. A night there, in a reasonable Municiple Campsite before heading off for Welsh Cream tea. We had been talking to a guy the night before who told us about this 'Artist' in Gaiman who had spent a lifetime decorating his garden with painted plastic bottles. We were also told that there would be the cheapest coffee and cake in town served there.
Next morning off we head. All I could think about was a lovely cream tea....mmmmmmmmmmmm............
We arrive in Gaiman. The young fellow in the tourist centre falls over himself to give us directions to the town's particular highlights. And off we head. The place is like a ghost town. Once again we've arrived before the season, or in mid-siesta. We check out the 'Artist' garden. To be honest, it's all a bit creepy, but you can decide for yourselves when I get around to putting up some photos. And to make matters worse, there is no coffee or no cake. Not only at this guy's place, but we can't find a cream tea anywhere in town. Gutted. Instead it's bland cheese and ham sandwiches from the garage.

'Can you tell what it is yet?'

That night we free camp in the pampas. I'm starting to realise that there really isn't too much to the east coast of Patagonia. It's just flat and windy.
We do find some winding roads into Comodora Rivadavia and some nice coastal scenery on the way down to Puerto San Julian, where we stop for the next night. The statues in this town are a bit strange also. A fighter plane from the Falkands War and a pirate ship. The Falklands is obvioulsy still a big issue on the east coast of Argentina and it's a good thing not to be English.
Rio Gallegos, well what can I say about this place. If you can avoid it, do so. The least friendliest people in Argentina that we have met so far. Expensive bad accommodation and damn it, Mike's tyres aren't here. Oh, and I almost forgot, a hail storm to set the scene as we ride around searching for somewhere to stay the night.
Tomorrow we are off to Tierra del Fuego..........

'Free camp in the pampas'

Ripio vs Tarmac, 8th November

2006-11-17T01:43:00.000Z

I learned in Wales that as soon as my bike sees a blade of wet grass, next to some mud, it will fall over.
So what the hell, we decide to go off the tarmac and ride 189km around the Peninsula anyways. Fortunately for me, it´s dry and there is very little grass. Still, I´m very nervous. First we hit sand. Funnily enough my bike doesn´t like this either, so the feet go down (rather than the bike and me) and I wait for Iain and Mike to realise that I´m not behind them. Mike´s bike isn´t too keen on the sand either so it´s u-turns back on to the gravel. I´m in front, just so the guys can help me pick up the bike when I fall over. 40km/hour seems way to fast but the tour buses fly past as do the hire cars. We do 79km to Puerto Delgado, only to be told when we pull up in the car park that as we´re not guests at the hotel, we´re not welcome. I´m exhausted by this stage and aching. It´s been hard work. And the landscape is flat and monotonous.
Iain gives me some pointers about the gravel and I am soon chanting to myself, ´Speed is my friend, speed is my friend´. We head off again and this time I actually hit 50km/hr. Things seem a little easier. By about 2:30pm, I´m starving and shattered. I notice as the road veers towards to the coast that there is a rather nice view. Maybe we should stop for lunch. We pull off the road, squeeze past a fence and nearly run over a strip of nails. That would have been fun all three of us with no puncture repair kits or spare inner tubes, miles from nowhere. What we should have realised is that we weren´t supposed to be there. However, in this National Park, it meant that there was something fantastic there that the tourists weren´t allowed to see. We stop above a cliff and when we (carefully) peer over, we are treated to a sight of thousands of seals sunbathing below. The beaches stretch on for miles and there are seals for as far as the eye can see. A perfect place for lunch. And it made the nerve racking ride there worth it.

'I´m not in a bad mood, I'm just tired and it's lunch time'

Lunch over we head up to Calafeta Valdez. I´m getting better at the gravel and I reach 60km/hour. The mantra is working and I´m feeling more confident.
At Calafeta Valdez, we are pulled aside by the National Park officer and are told off for stopping by the road. A tour bus operator had dobbed us in, seeing the bikes parked off the road by the cliff. Snitch. It didn´t matter though, the view was worth it.
Amongst all of the tourists (you are allowed to stop at Calafeta Valdez) we hear an English lady say ´Look, over there, whales´. We figure she is lying as we can´t see anything but more seals. But after following her and her tour group down the path to a look out, sure enough, there is a pod of about 5 Orca whales, seeming to cruise very close to the coast, sussing out the situation with what´s on the menu for dinner. Apparently these are the whales that jump out of the water and take seals off the beach.
5km up the road, we see penguins. We´re looking over a cliff edge again, thinking not a particualry close view. Then we realise there a few right by our feet. Friendly folk.
Deciding we won´t make it up to Puerto Norte, we cut back across the Peninsula. Despite being nearly taken out by a llama, I´m doing really well on the gravel road and make it back home in one piece, completely and utterly shattered, but very happy with the wildlife watching and riding. Good call on this one Mike!

'The llama I nearly ran over'

Peninsula Valdes

2006-11-17T01:26:00.000Z

It was Mike´s idea to head to the Peninsula for some wildlife watching. I hadn´t really taken any notice, still pre-occupied with the exoctic Patagonia.
We arrive in Puerto Piramides and the local campsite looks slightly worse, if that is at all possible, than the one in Viedma. We´re tired and cold from the wind so we opt for a cabaña instead. What I didn´t expect to see from our window was whales frolicking in the bay. I´m dubious about paying $120 (this is pesos rather than American dollars, so about 20 British Pound) for a 2 hour boat trip when I have this view (And I was also fortunate enough to swim with Minki whales on the Great Barrier Reef two years ago, which I didn´t think could be topped) but I don´t want to be a stick in the mud so go along with it all.
2pm the next day we head out on a large zodiac. There are 13 of us all with cameras at the ready. For the next two hours I take over 300 photographs but don´t worry, I wouldn´t bore you with all of them. Most of them are either splashes as I´ve just missed the whale jumping, or black blobs in the water, slightly Lochness Monsteresc. But I did get a few that I will hopefully get uploaded in the near future.

'Mum and bub in tail fin sequence'

For the entire trip, we zipped around the bay, stopping near enough to the whales not to scare them but close enough to get a great view, and watched mothers and their offspring frollicking, bull whales trying it on with the mothers, who just weren´t having any part of it, and curious calves who wondered what the zodiac was. There were so many. It was amazing. And although these weren´t the prettiest whales, barnacles everywhere, they were so beautiful to watch. I highly recommend a visit to Peninsula Valdes, Argentina, in November.

Mucho Viento, 6th November

2006-11-17T01:15:00.000Z

Now we´re getting somewhere. Heading into the exotic Patagonia. The wind has started and within minutes my neck aches from being buffeted around by a cross wind. By 11sies, I´ve got all my thermal linings on and unpacked my winter gloves. I´m very grateful for the last minute decission to bring them along.
Stopping for lunch in a Parrilla by a truck stop, we get the usual, ´Where are you from, where are you going?´The waitress, who has started to chuckle, walks over to the other table of customers, and relays them our story. They look over and burst out laughing. Apparently the wind is much worse further south and the truck driver thinks we´re ´loco´. They settle down and carry on with their own discussion. About 10 minutes later, the truck driver looks over at us again and burst into histerics. ´Mucho mas viento´, he says again. You can almost see the tears of laughter in his eyes.
I´m starting to get nervous about the wind.

Police escort and the worst toilet block in the world, 5th November

2006-11-17T00:49:00.000Z

We´re back on tarmac and get to Viedma late in the afternoon. We´re looking for the municipal campsite and pull in to the Tourist Office to ask directions. When she kept suggesting the campsites 50km down the road, I should have taken notice. But it is late and we want to get set up before sunset.
After 15 minutes of trying to squeeze past the locals cruising up and down the waterfront esplanade, as seems to be the thing to do on a Sunday afternoon in Argentina, I get a bit lost and can´t seem to find the left, then right then left again turnings that I was told. We end up on the entry to the bridge across to Carmen de Patagones, not where we want go, so we pull over. There is a policeman doing policeman things standing in the middle of the road who approaches us. I´m a little warry, still thinking about those ´fines´that other travellers had to pay. We tell him in ´un poco espanol´ that we are lost and are looking for the local camp site. He points to us a road in the opposite direction, thinks about it then indicates that we should do a u-turn across four lanes of traffic cut across through his barriers and follow him. He very slowly drives down a gravel road and it´s not until we´ve pitched our tents, paid $4 each and Iain decides to use the gents, that we realise why the tourist office girl and the policeman seemed very reluctant about the campsite. Iain´s face says it all when he returns from his business. Apparently we´re camping in what used to be the utopian campsite - in the 70´s - but a place that hasn´t been maintained at all since then. So after trying to kills us with what Iain´s faced described as worse than a public toilet in China, (He suggested that I not got near them no matter how depserate I was) the caretaker turns up and also indicates that the chica should not use the ammenities but instead use the shower and banos in his administration block. So off I head, towel, razor and shampoo (It´s been a while since a hot shower) to a safety officer´s nightmare. I always thought to wear rubber flip flops in the shower for the health of your feet, but it seems that it may also save your life when using showers in Argentina.
Now as an Interior Designer and aware of EU regulations, I know that there should be no power outlet within a metre of a water. And definitely not in a bathroom. This shower had electrical cables draped all around the room, the electrical hot water unit wasn´t hardwired but plugged into a socket about 10cm away from where the shower rose was. The caretaker very carefully unplugged it for me, not wanting me to come to any harm, but if the guys wanted hot water, they´d have to risk electricucian. It´s not too bad to be a chica when camping sometimes.

Free Camping, 4th November

2006-11-17T00:32:00.000Z

After the police incident, we hit our first bit of dirt road. It´s all a bit scary at first for me but my training in Wales pays off and I get to the dam in once piece. It´s a full moon and we arrive just in time to get the tents set up and dinner cooked before sunset. There is a storm far off in the distance, seeming to move in the opposite direction so we get a lightening show to boot. There is no place I´d rather have been. And once again, all is good with the world.
That´s until about 2am when the tent has seemd to turn itself inside out and upside down. For about two or three hours the wind batters us and I expect to be blown across to the other side of the dam. But the new tent holds up very well, I awake in the morning rather tired but in once piece, the tent in once piece and the bike still standing. At least the wind kept the midges away.

'Not a bad view from the tent, even if the bike is in the way'

In trouble with the law, already. 4th November

2006-11-17T00:15:00.000Z

Back to the story about the one way grid system.
We´ve left Azul with our bellies full, Iain has a new side stand in an effort to stop his bike falling over, and wanting to get on with some riding.
Travelling along Ruta 3 hasn´t been too bad, but Sami (Crazy Fin riding an Africa Twin) had given us some advice on a nice dam that was worth a look. So off we head.
After hours of straight roads again, we see the mountains in the distance. It´s not too long before we reach a small, 3 horse town called Salundgary. Now I say 3 horse town because that´s exactly what I saw being riden down the road. The first gauchos I have seen.
We´ve done the obligatory stopping to ask directions from the guy mowing his front lawn (this seemed to develop into a theme later on) and he sends us two blocks down and to the left. The local policeman has already driven by twice to check us out but the guys take no notice and follow the directions given regardless of the big arrow on the street sign indicating the direction of traffic. Now I´ve heard loads of stories about getting ´fined´for minor traffic offenses and don´t want any part, so I go to the next street at which I can turn left, and head down there. Once around the block and Iain and I find Mike and the supermercado. Iain parks up next to Mike, once again, facing the wrong direction on a one way street and I of course park correctly. They think I´m being overly cautious but it´s me who gets to laugh when the policeman comes into the supermercado and asks them to move their bikes to face the correct way down the street. And as usual, it seems the whole town is squeezed into the rather small shop, to watch the óut of towners´ get busted. All this in a town where there a tumble weeds blowing across the steet and the only other motorvehicle we have seen was being driven by the very friendly policeman.
As a side note, the guys do get the last laugh when I get bitten by the smallest dog as I walk out of the shop. He nearly got his mouth around my pinkie. I think Mike must have pinched him when he walked past first.

The Asado, 3rd November

2006-11-17T00:05:00.000Z

'Lamb anyone'

About 20 friends and family of Jorge and Monica, whose birthday we are celebrating, although it was a few days ago, have gathered. It seems they´ll take any any excuse to put a whole lamb over the coals (apologies to the vegetarians) and cook up a feast. There was more chorizo, lamb and wine then any of us could eat. And Mike and I made the mistake of finishing our plates which seemed to mean that we wanted more. We handn´t quite worked out that we should have said was ´Sufficiente´.
P.S. I have to apologize to my father and Mark Ogston, but it was the best BBQ I have ever tasted.

On the road, finally. 2nd November

2006-11-12T21:47:00.000Z

'It's a green Shepperton'

Most of you have an Aunty or an Uncle who live in Shepperton, Victoria or there near abouts, so it seems. So you´ll know what I´m talking about when I say that that is what the road to Azul looks like. They´ve planted loads of gun trees as they are fast growing and are used for timber, unfortunately they also soak up the marsh lands which sometimes isn´t a great idea, but that´s another story. There are loads of sheep and cattle. And it is flat, very flat. The only difference is that it´s green, much greener. What Shep would look like when not in a drought.
So after about three hours of driving in a straight line I almost forget what a corner looks like and am a bit stumped when we come across a large round-a-about. Fortunately I pull myself together just in time and get through it.
We pull into Azul mid-afternoon. The guys are having trouble with the one way grid system. Being an Aussie, it makes much more sense to me than the London one way systems so I tend to go down the roads in the correct direction. But more on this later.
We arrive safely at La Posta del Viajero en Moto. A small motorcycle shop/hostel/camping ground. These places are a great source of information and you meet all kinds of people, mostly on two wheels of the pedal and motorised variety.
After about two minutes, we´re invited to stay for an asado (BBQ to the rest of us) to be held on the following night. You´ve got to love the hospitality of the Argentinians. We didn´t even have to cook dinner that night as there was a large pot of Spaghetti Bolognese being thrown together my Mike (Anderson), another Scot on a BMW. All´s good with the world.

Buenos Aires

2006-11-10T13:39:00.000Z

'Javier and Sandra, our very helpful friends at Dakarmotos'

In Buenos Aires, there a two suburbs called Florida, our taxi driver took us to the wrong one. Three hours (should have been an hour) of driving around some rather dodgy looking industrial estates, thinking ´God is this where we´re supposed to be staying for the next few days´ and the taxi driver waving his hands around repeating ´Mama mia´. We were like children at Christmas time when we saw an orange Africa Twin (this is a dual purpose motorbike for those of you who aren´t too sure what I´m talking about) whose rider was actually wearing a helmet (in Argentina you have to have a helmet on your body, not necessarily on your head, although most people don´t even bother with this law) and shouted at the driver, ´Follow that guy´. Fortunately it was Javier of Dakarmotos, and not some other overlander on his way to Rio or somewhere else. Five blocks in the right direction and we arrive at Dakarmotos.

Just to fill you in, Dakarmotos is a small motorcyle workshop whose owners, Javier and Sandra, have set up a small hostel also with camping facilities, or you can just roll out your sleeping mat amongst the KLRs, Africa Twins, BMWs and a KTM being stored there - gets you right into the spirit of things although I admit, I had a bed. Predominantly overlanders stay there at the beginning or end of their travels so it´s a great place to meet people doing a similar thing and get up-to-date information on the roads, police and general travel conditions. A lot of people also pass through as Javier is rather handy at welding and fixing all the bits and pieces that have rattled loose, fallen off or just plain worn out. He was also fantastic at making my pannier rack a lot lore ´leg´friendly and quite a few kilos lighter for which I am rather grateful. And also gavce me a hand (actually he showed me how to take my front wheel off, and the front forks and a few other useful bits and pieces). By the time we left my KLR was finally prepared to travel.
Sandra also offers an invaulable service of helping clear the bikes out of customs. And considering between the three of us, we know un poco espanol, she was a blessing. Plus we never would have found the customs house or the warehouse where our bikes were being stored without her help. Mucho gracias to both Sandra and Javier for getting us sorted and on our way.

So Buenos Aires is quite a large city, and as everyone says, rather European. The people are friendly though, which makes for a nice change. And they weren´t laughing at our attempts at Spanish. Not to our face at least.
We did the usual, San Telmo, home of the Tango although we didn´t partake. Motorcyle boots aren´t the best things for gliding around a dance floor or the outdoor pavements. La Boca, the working class area with colourful houses. Palermo, nice outdoor markets and cafes, cheap but not cheap enough for us on our meagre budget. And to Cementario de la Recoleta, where Iain, our ever useful tour guide, informs us that Eva Peron used to be buried here until quite recently but has since been relocated. We later find out that she is still there but her hubby was relocated. Oh well, it´s all a bit morbid taking photographs of dead peoples tombs.

After a week of the best steak sandwiches, it is time to leave and on the Friday we get up early, Javier and Sandra come to the workshop early to unlock and let our bikes out, and finally, after a few hours of faffing (I´m sure I will get the hang of this getting going quickly thing, although Katie might remember, after 6 weeks on the road cycling around Ireland, I still couldn´t manage it) we´re out the front of the shop ready to go. Another 1/2 hour of checking and rechecking that everything is strapped on properly and hasta luegos to Sandra, Javier, Tom and Christina (German travelling on Africa Twins) our hostel companions, we get going.

'Mount up lads, it's time to get going'

Two hours later and three times past the turn off to Dakarmotos, we finally find the correct ruta and start our adventure down south. Next stop Azul.

Leaving the UK

2006-11-03T21:12:00.000Z

So after a rather tame leaving drinks session (For once almost everyone else was amuzingly drunk rather than me) on the Friday evening, I had a weekend of little sleep, rain and tears on the loungeroom floor trying to pack. Fortunately, after a few phone calls, Griff assured me he would look after the mess in his living room and I managed to get myself together enough to get to LHR T2 only half an hour late. Iain was already checked in so it was straight through to wait for Mike on his way from Scotland. I thought I had it bad but his plane was delayed, then there was a fire evactuation at Edinburgh airport, then he had to wait for 15 kids in wheelchairs to get off the flight before he could board. But we all made it.
So after a two hour flight to Madrid, and the most expensive G&T I think I have ever paid for (got to love Iberia I don´t recomend them) we get on our 16 hour flight to Buenos Aires, Argentina. I am almost relaxed, down a bottle of red wine and am asleep before you know it.

Essex

2006-11-01T11:00:00.000Z

With the rain and traffic past Clapham Common at 10am on a Monday morning, it was reassuring to know that the bikes were leaving for a better place, and that we would soon be following. Mike and I made it to Rainham (the crating company) in once piece, after being rather touristy and riding across Tower Bridge, (not quite the same as leaving from Trafalgar Square and riding all the way to Australia as I had first imagined years ago, but the Atlantic can´t be crossed by a ferry or trian like the English Channel). Iain met us there, just, on his lovely shiny new XT that he´d picked up only a few days earlier, we stood around for a bit, the bikes got measured, we said good bye and crating them to Buenos Aires was as simple as that. The bill came later.

Wales

2006-09-04T21:40:00.000Z

If you look closely, you can see that I'm still smiling. I must be mad, I'd just fallen into every puddle I passed, knocked over a centuries old dry stone wall and fell off everytime the KLR even so much as looked at a blade of wet grass. Ah, but it was so much fun.